Gabriel:*gives Michael His Phone, Adam Is Calling* Here, Your Boyfriend Is Calling

Coach: What does your gut tell you?

Scott: 'Go ask Stiles, he'll know what to do'.

Cicero oh so humbly asks the listener to make some headcanons about him~

Of course! Crackhead Crusty the clown, love the bastard. This is gonna be long. 

- Cicero is a very good whistler. On days where his voice grew hoarse and faint from speaking to the Night Mother for hours on end, he’d opt to whistle a sweet tune for her instead. It’s one of the few things he can do in the sanctuary that won’t get on everyone else’s nerves. Though, at times it can be a bit creepy. Imagine waking up in the middle of the night in a dark, underground cave, and the only thing you can hear is an eerie, solemn whistle from a direction you can’t even discern. The fact that he’s an actual assassin and a jester makes it worse. He definitely does it to toy with his victims and freak them out when he’s traveling with the Listener.

- When he was much younger and much less insane, he was a bit of a ladies man back in The Imperial city, where he grew up. He’s always had a knack for sugaring up his words, especially so by song and prose, even before taking up the jester persona. He was definitely very good at using it to his advantage in his youth. He could charm near any woman willing to make eye contact, whether by reciting a memorized poem, or singing a sweet song. His silver tongue got him out of sticky situations where he almost got caught on his jobs as well.

- Get’s very antsy after a while without being told what to do or given a task. He’s dedicated his entire life to serving the Night Mother and the Listener, and being without an objective for too long really bugs him out. He literally doesn’t know how to function properly without having someone order him around and have him do things for them, it’s kind of sad. 

- He has very vivid nightmares from time to time, where he’s back on his last contract when The Jester was killed. Only this time, he’s the Jester, and he’s under the raised knife of shadowy figure he can’t quite see. His chest aches from the action of manic laughter, but nothing escapes his open mouth. He’s wrapped in deafening, creeping silence as the shadowy assailant plunges their knife into his chest, again and again. He sees the night mother standing near him, peering silently, scrutinizing him with a disappointed and angry look. He knows she’s angry that he won’t laugh for her; instead, he’s dying in pathetic silence. No manner of grisly death or torture frightens this man, except the disappointment of his unholy matron. He’s almost shook back into sanity when he awakes, and many of the other members revel in the fact that Cicero is silent for once, unaware of the unfortunate reason why.

- His excessive attachment to the Night Mother stems from the unfortunate loss of his own mother when he was at a young age. On one summer night in the Imperial City, when the air was sticky and warm and the sun was melting out of the evening sky, his mother did not return from work. She was a strong-headed woman, hardened by a life of poverty and the struggle of surviving while raising a child alone. He scarcely remembers her now in his adulthood, but as a young boy he would trail her all around their small shed of a home, clinging to the ends of her tattered dress. She worked for meager pay as a seamstress, stationed daily in the back rooms of a clothing shop patching holes, sewing buttons onto robes, and trimming fabric. She never came come after the sun set, adamant on not leaving her son in the care of her elderly neighbors after dark. When the moon peaked through the dusk clouds, he was sent to bed by the elderly couple who watched him on his mother’s work days. When he awoke in the morning, and his mother still had not returned, his insisted on helping search for her. He was met with a firm “no, you should wait here while we go find your mommy” but he was not having it. He screamed and cries until they gave in and let him tag along. They had turned down an alley nearby at the sight of torn clothes discarded on the ground, and the old couple pushed him backwards and covered his eyes a moment too late, for he’d already caught a glimpse of his mother’s bloodied, lifeless body. He has no conscious memory of those moments, he has no memory of ever having a mother to begin with, and he has no memory of the folded paper left next to her body, with an inky black handprint smudged into the middle of it. 

- He spent a good portion of his childhood after that at a rundown orphanage. He was a loner among the other children and scarcely spoke a word. He spent his waking hours playing by himself in the corner, picking apart dead bugs and skeevers with pins and shards of glass he found strewn about. He’d giggle and chortle as the blood smeared onto his hands, painting on scraps of old parchment with it. Any couple looking to adopt would immediately turn their gaze away from him, and onto one of his peers. He went many years without being brought to a new home until one day, close to his eleventh birthday, a pair of men dressed in darkened robes with red embellishments made their way inside the orphanage. Much to his surprise, they approached him. He was sat on the floor, carving away at his wooden bedpost with a dagger he most certainly was not permitted to have. For a moment he feared they would tell on him and get him in trouble, but they did nothing of the sort. Instead they asked his name, and when he murmured out a very shy “Cicero”, they took him by the hand and led him outside and to his new home. He was educated from that day on about the ways of the Night Mother, and the importance of the Five Tenets. He was glad to see there were a few handful of other children near his age at the new home that the two men called “The Sanctuary.” As a young child, with repressed trauma from his mother’s murder, he ate that cult shit up and immediately swore unwavering fidelity to the Night Mother and Dread Father, and not for a moment in his life did it ever diminish. Not in the silence of his matron, and not in the presence of the false leader. 

- He really likes carrots because he finds it cool that they match his hair. Literally, that’s the only reason why. Ironically he also loves rabbits, despite hating most other animals. Probably smuggled a few pet rabbits into the sanctuary over the years growing up. Definitely pesters and prods the Listener/dragonborn to let him have one as well, now that they’re the leader and can demand the other members put up with it. Eventually he gets one and names it something stupid like Cornelius. 

Percy, the wonderful king of firsties

Ginny, the twins, and Ron don't confide in Percy like the other siblings at Hogwarts. Percy feels useless as a big brother and not needed, so once more reminds them that he's always in the library if they change their minds. While Percy's working on an assignment at his normal spot, light shuffling steps stop right before him. Percy's head is buried in a book and he's half paying attention when a small first year asks him for help. The boy confesses that he overheard Percy tell his family he was always available for help, and he thought since he doesn't have any siblings or friends he could ask Percy for help.

Percy agreed reluctantly not realizing he immediately said yes to someone who's not a Weasley sibling. At the end when they finished the first year Gryffindor is appreciative and more confident, rushing off with a big smile.

A couple days later Percy's at the table when he hears something, perking his head up there are now a few first years with pleading eyes. He waves them over and bright smiles shine back at him.

A week later Percy lifts his eyes above his book and he sees he's surrounded by a small crowd of children, ranging in houses and eager for his guidance. There are some Slytherins who show up to the session Percy leads shy and excited. At a certain point the first years bring homemade cookies (requested by children from parents), knitted/crochet items, and drawings of him/random things to gift him for allowing them to hang out with Percy.

Sometimes, it’s difficult for Cicero to cope with being alone in the Sanctuary, on the rare occasion that all the other initiates are out on contracts. It brings him back to times when it was only him and the Night Mother, but even then, she never spoke to him so it was unbearable silence. So whenever he’s left alone, with just the Night Mother, he curls up at her feet and automatically starts to strain his ears, jumping violently at the slightest sounds; much like he did back in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. It takes quite a while for the Listener to piece it together but when they do, they insist on bringing Cicero along whenever they know the Sanctuary is going to be momentarily abandoned, just to keep him out of that darker, maddening place.

Sheriff Stilinski, answering a call to the loft: I came as fast as I could, what’s the emergency?

Derek: I accidentally raised my voice at Stiles and I need to be arrested.

Sheriff Stilinski:

Sheriff Stilinski, softer: Derek, we’ve talked about this.

Okay, but in The Batman, Gordon seems like the only cop that’s ever glad to see Batman there? Maybe Martinez too, but everybody else is very standoffish, suspicious, and just really don’t seem to like that there’s an adult man in a bat mask and a cape walking around doing their job better than they are.

Which leads me to believe that Gordon not only came up with the idea of the Bat Signal, but he suggested it and fought for it. Went to the head honchos with a 50 slide powerpoint presentation on why it was a good idea. Argued with his superiors that not only was the Batman a good presence, but that the GCPD needed a way to get in contact with him and summon him to crime scenes.

Imagine he lights it up for the first time to test it out (without telling Bats), and Bruce sees it and immediately hauls ass to track down where the source of it is. He arrives there as Batman, and Gordon is standing there with a stopwatch and four other cops. And Gordon is just like “BOOM! I told you it would work! Eat shit! And in 7 minutes flat! Pay up!”

Tommy: Ranboo, this is my brother.

Tommy: Wil, this is my Ranboo. Wait-

Ranboo: Hi, I'm his Ranboo! :D

asks and submissions are appreciated!

i've been collecting text posts, realized i had run out, ran out to collect more for this sole purpose.

P2

God I need Crystal's wardrobe.

Tubbo: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Ranboo: *crouches down*

Tommy: *sits on the floor*

Tubbo: I hate both of you.