#rottine

send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon i have

unsurprisingly, carmilla is a weapons nerd. she finds genuine pleasure in learning the historical details, craftsmanship, and cultural significance of weaponry from different periods and locations. if interest is expressed in conversation, she is more than happy to share her extensive knowledge with much enthusiasm.

despite her more refined palate, carmilla has a substantial sweet tooth, one she indulges more often than she cares to admit. she holds a particular fondness for pastries, favoring pastelitos de guayaba and almond croissants especially. she even keeps a small jar of caramel candies tucked away in her desk drawer, emergency sweets for days when working hours grow particularly long.

@rottine asked:

obviously we know he misses his own day and age when he was fully human- what’s a small, everyday thing about the modern world he actually prefers compared to the middle ages? or if there’s nothing he likes / prefers about it, talk about that, too!

i think he misses the sense of communal living. people said hello to each other—absolute strangers on the road. they huddled with people they barely know around a fire, or strolled into bathhouses just to talk, and laughed and shared stories. people knew each other by name. they knew their neighbors. you relied on each other. in ways, they were all your family. 

religion is less strict. people are freer now. 

downside: nobody goes to church anymore.

since his parents really shaped his love for whimsy and fantasy and myth, what’s his favorite story/tall tale they ever told him? was nicholas the kind of child to beg for a bedtime story?

i’ve mentioned it before, but nicholas’ mom used to tease he was a changeling. he was too magical, too infused with a love of fun and curiosity, to be anything but a thing of the fae. where’s my son? when is he coming home? what did you do with him? and she’d viciously cheek-kiss a five-year-old nicholas into a crater in the bed. it’s not the most magical story, but it stuck with him. especially now.

he was born when it was believed his mother was too old. he was their miracle child. there was always going to be a magic to him.

yes, he begged for more stories. just one more.

how does he take his coffee?

always a little too sweet with a little too much cream. he miraculously never seems to be able to make the perfect cup, either. it’s always just a smidge burnt, or a smidge blonde, or a smidge something, even if he knows how you like it.

he’s more of a tea man.

does he have any favorite food(s)? how’s his spice tolerance?

nicholas notoriously doesn’t eat enough, but he nurses a bit of a sweet tooth. he likes tarts, particularly with jam. lemon or orange anything. tea cakes. tea biscuits. “not too sweet” is the best compliment.

he doesn’t think black pepper is spicy.

what side of the bed does he sleep on?

whichever is closest to the door.

that said, he historically has always slept in too-small beds that barely fit a single grown man. priest and all.

what’s his favorite animal? what’s his favorite mythical creature?

his father told him whales bring you home. once, he saw a man, fetaled and rolled into a parenthesis, carried to shore on the back of one. maybe an albatross because he likes to imagine his father, now dead, could be watching him through it.

he would also be a cat man.

Height Comparisons // @rottine ;;

Margo is at perfect height for looking at human!Ruby's chest. Just saying.

sinday headcanons.

@rottine : 🌙do they need an emotional connection or are one-night-stands an option? 🫂how do they feel about friends with benefits?

🌙 do they need an emotional connection or are one-night-stands an option?

he's definitely a one-night-stand guy more than anything else rip. but he's also someone who does need that special immediate connection with someone that he would consider as a partner for a ONS. he wouldn't just get intimate with someone just because he finds them physically attractive while getting weird vibes from them character-wise. he's waay too scared for that (bc in truth he's a lil scaredy-cat who's very scared of being touched). unless he's too drunk for his own good, of course.

🫂 how do they feel about friends with benefits?

"And?! And John Doe got up from the slab? And walked away?! Is that what you're saying?!"

"What else does it look like to you?! He was six foot five! WE put him on there!"

"Call Dr Tine."

"…Are you for fucking real? She's going to have our fucking heads--"

"Call Dr Tine, now."

✦✦✦ ─────── WITH TREMBLING HANDS, Howard pressed his back firmly against the old oak tree. His teeth chattered against the glass surface of a smartphone in his mouth, the pillar of shivering light from it pointed firmly on his gaping stomach, the sutures haphazardly pulling his flesh together, fighting his own innards from prodding their way out of the wound before he could manage to sew himself shut.

The stench of his decaying insides no longer bothered him, but the blackened, rotten blood of his insides did. Most of it had been siphoned out of him before someone had got inside of him, feeling around his fucking organs, but it now had time to regenerate its filth, now seeping from within.

The long stretch of cut ended just below his breastbone, now flying up to his shoulders. Howard groaned. Plenty of Vicryls left but he was naked, tired, and most importantly, so, so fucking hungry. so fucking hungry. so fucking hungry hungry hungry hungry

He turned off the phone's backlight, let himself lay limp with an unopened suture foil in his other hand. In pitch darkness and no longer panicking while cradling his entrails in his arms, he finally realised that the mountains were quiet. Unseen eyes burned into him, nailing him against the oak tree. Had he not the basalt of the cliffs, had he not the salt of the sea, Howard knew the darkness itself would have churned him into mince where he lay, saved merely by the fact that he was -- is -- the child of a mountain.

"Please," he begged quietly. "I'll leave. I'll clean up. I just need a moment. I promise. I promise."

he  lowered  the  second  body  before  their  feet  ,        like  some  peace  offering  ,  there  was  no  reverence  behind  it  .  o'driscolls  deserved  none  .  not  in  his  eyes  .  he  had  been  before  ,  but  only  briefly  ,  and  still  not  understanding  fully  the  concept  of  this  little  agreement  ,  still  he  obliged  .

                                           𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔                              @rottine :  ❛ you ever think about purpose? ❜

"  not  really  .  "       that  was  a  clear  lie  ,  he  thought  about  it  often  ,  writings  and  scribbles  on  sketch  paper  .  a  feeling  of  compassion  within  ,  riddled  and  suffocated  by  the  killer  without  .

"  don't  think  these  guys  are  either  .  "       he  pointed  to  the  bullet  ridden  bodies  below  .       "  unless  their  purpose  is  to  be  6  feet  under  .  "