#{ don't worry about length }

[phantomyre]

@aonemanarmy

It had been several days since Sephiroth had locked himself within the basement of the Mansion. Time no longer seemed to have any meaning to him. But neither did the lives of those who anxiously awaited his return. There was a different air about him, now. Darkness had slowly crept into his heart-- a corruption that even caused the candles to tremble as he paced the room, alone with his thoughts. And yet he wasn't completely alone. Further down the small cloister and tucked in a cold chamber, another man was battling his own darkness-- a pandemonium of his demons, clamoring for control over their host. Two men within close proximity of each other, facing a corrupt entity who wanted ownership of their minds. Only one had chosen to unite himself with this powerful darkness and claim it as his own. Feeling the disturbance in the atmosphere, Vincent quickly sat up from his coffin. Something was not right. He was accustomed to the various monsters wandering the mansion. But this aura wasn't coming from an ordinary monster. A looming sense of devastation tugged at his chest, calling him to investigate. Though not quite understanding this feeling, Vincent arose from his coffin and made his way towards the library. The air seemed to get thicker the closer he moved towards his destination. There at the center of the library, a tall man with long silver locks was hunched over a book, several more scattered throughout the room. That hair... it couldn't be him.

There was only one person he had seen with hair that color. And though it was brief, he wouldn't forget the son of that beloved woman. Keeping to the shadows, Vincent pressed his back against the wall around the corner, remaining out of sight should the man venture out. Questions ran through Vincent's mind. What if it was Sephiroth? Why was he here, and what was this eerie aura about him? He could hear the man let out a depraved chuckle. As quiet as it was, it sent a faint chill down Vincent's spine. If this was indeed Sephiroth... The gun strapped to his thigh suddenly felt burdensome.

[bloodshotgun]

chapter 1 of my aro strahm fic is finally up! come get your angst everybody

Summary:

Things have been going well for Peter Strahm. Too well, perhaps, so when everything he values in life starts crumbling and falling apart, is it any surprise that at the center of the carnage stands no other than Mark Hoffman, an irritating detective that Strahm has been sleeping with for the past few months? Strahm doesn't want a serious relationship, and he isn't in love with his best friend, damn it, but Hoffman won't hear any reason and his jealousy is deadly in a rather literal sense. Old troubles resurface. New fears emerge. Not to mention that there’s a serial killer on the loose. By the end of the chase, will anything be left of his life for Strahm to salvage?

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

current editing moodboard, please send help

[fullmxtal-elrich]

@flamesignite Found Ed in Domino~!

Ed had been living with Roy for about a week now, however without a job he had grown restless and as a result, decided that while Roy was off on his military duties for the day, he would get some work done of a different kind.

By the time Roy arrived home for the day, the house had been deep cleaned in every corner and the scent of food was drifting through the hallway, with a very proud Edward finishing checking on a few things. Turning to greet his adopted father with a smile, he happily set a plate of baby-back ribs glazed with honey barbeque sauce (a recipe he'd learned from his mother years ago before she'd passed), along with coleslaw and some sauce on the side upon the table.

"Hey, dad! Welcome back. I figured you might be hungry so I thought it might be fun to have some dinner ready for you when you got back. There's some cornbread in the oven still, and I'm almost done with the Biscuits and Gravy, oh and there's sweet corn on the cob in the pot, if you end up wanting sone of that too."

He spoke as though it was the most normal thing in the world, though he sort of forgot that the only one who really knew he could cook like this was Al. He'd never shown these skills off to anyone else before, except maybe the Rockbells when he was learning some recipes from them.

"How was work by the way? Feel free to sit down and dig in, I still have to finish these last two things before I can join ya."

[daz4i]

dazai won't die not only bc it's a shitty writing decision in a story with bsd's themes and the way the story has been going so far but also like as a business decision this might tank bsd enough to get canceled lol. he's the most popular character in every single official fan poll (as in, those run by the magazine and channels that host bsd or the companies that own the rights for it in the west) if he's permanently killed off you would lose like half of the readers. if you don't believe in good writing to get us out of here believe in the power of capitalism, as awful as it is

[sesamestreep]

follow me like the moon (chapter 2)

When Bodhi turns it over to her with a thoughtful, “And how’s everything with you?”—well, Jyn rightfully panics. “Uh…there was a really hot guy at the diner the other day…well, night. The other morning. Whatever,” she offers, pathetically. After a year of working overnights, you’d think she'd know what to call it. “Really?” Bodhi asks, obviously intrigued. Because he’s the best, and even if her life is objectively less interesting than his, he still cares about how she’s doing. “Yep.” “And?” he presses. “What happened?” “Nothing happened,” Jyn says, trying not to scoff. “He was a customer. He came in, he ate, he left.” “Like the proverbial panda.” “What?” “The panda. From that joke? ‘Eats, shoots, and leaves?’” Bodhi explains. “Never mind. It’s just a dumb joke.”

(read the rest on AO3)

(start from the beginning)

[newdestination]

[Starter for @gamblingrimsley ;; The Couch Incident]

Ingo folds his hands over his chest, eyes resolutely affixed to the ceiling. He can feel his headache throb in time to the beat of his heart, nausea twisting in the pit of his stomach and light sparking in the corners of his eyes. It’s not the worst headache he’s ever had, certainly, but it’s not exactly easy to think around the pain running tracks through his skull either, ricocheting like a broken off arrowhead. Nanu had been generous enough to allow him to stay and rest while they were out, and he’d certainly be remiss to not exercise that particular kindness. Ingo isn’t entirely certain he would have made it back to their hotel with his lunch or ability to think intact, had he attempted to make the return trip; the volume and light levels of the modern era are a completely different beast.

Cities here are alive— they practically breathe beneath the skin of concrete and asphalt, bodies flowing like blood through streets and veins. It feels like the world is constantly screaming within the bounds of proper civilization, caught in a net he doesn't know how to escape from. It tangles and cuts and weaves itself beneath his skin— his temper runs hot and his attention runs cold, and it feels like he's losing pieces of himself out in the streets of Sinnoh‐turned‐Unova‐turned‐Alola. They're all the same smear of color, rusty and raw.

Ingo... Ingo would have fit right in.

It makes Nobori feel foreign. Out-of-place. Like there are Zoroark howling at his door with those horrible sounds, metal screeching in the hazy afternoon. He can convince himself that he can open that door and let them in, but his own strikingly mortal body always seems to fail him at the last step. It hurts. He wants it to stop.

Sometimes he thinks this place is going to eat him alive.

Sometimes he's certain it already has.

Ingo can feel the small paws of an alolan meowth pace a small circle in a halo about his head, tapping inquisitively at the sides of his face before abruptly flopping down right into the nook of his shoulder. There are uncaring little paws kicked up over his mouth, furry and small. The world sings with starburst light behind his eyes at the slight pressure they bring, lancing through his head like a hot iron rod.

He’s not suffocating— he supposes it could be worse. Ingo can hear a small chuff from Gliscor somewhere down on the floor, but his partner doesn’t rise to defend Ingo’s honor or dignity— the ace is plenty used to its trainer being used as a glorified jungle gym to say the least, no matter the barely metaphorical nails being dragged through the tender side of his face.

He tugs the brim of his cap lower over his eyes in an attempt to block out the dim sunlight filtering in through the windows, dappled across his face in soft waving patterns. Ingo had turned the lights off after Nanu and his brother stepped out, but his migraine is still protesting under the fragmented eye of the harsh sun; he’s just glad none of the pokémon he’s sharing the space with seemed to mind the change in light, either. He can faintly hear small feet give chase across the room, a soft pitter-patter that strikes so loudly that it reverberates through the roots of his teeth. Meowing. Hisses and spitting and purring croons so soft he could knead it into a cloud.

...

He's not making much sense even to himself at this rate. It hurts. 

…Perhaps it wouldn’t cause too much trouble to take a nap— that usually helped at least to some degree, and the warm, purring body sprawled across the right side of his face is awfully convincing…

(It doesn't take very long for Ingo to fall asleep right there on Nanu's couch, feet dangling awkwardly off the far edge of the arm rest.)

[estfenrirswood]

location: thistle & sage | open to all!

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the quiet streets as Aiysha unlocked the heavy wooden door of Thistle & Sage, her heart swelling with anticipation as her lavender matcha latte chilled her hand. Today was no ordinary day—it was the eve of a full moon, a time when magic hummed with a potent energy that resonated through every corner of her shop. Thistle & Sage exuded an inviting aura of mystique. Aiysha had spent weeks preparing for this moment, carefully arranging shelves adorned with shimmering crystals, jars of dried herbs, and intricately carved wooden wands. The scent of lavender and sage mingled in the air, soothing and invigorating at once.

As she lit the last of the incense sticks, their fragrant smoke curling upwards like tendrils of possibility, Aiysha felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The town seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the mystical night to come. Werewolves, with their heightened senses, would soon roam under the moon's watchful gaze, and fellow witches would converge to harness the lunar energies.

Outside, a few early risers paused to peer through the shop's windows, curious about the new additions to the shop. Aiysha knew that some would be drawn by curiosity, others by an inexplicable pull towards the mystical energies that emanated from within. She welcomed them all, knowing that each visitor brought with them a unique story and a quest for understanding.

With a final adjustment to a display of moonstone amulets, Aiysha stood back and surveyed her domain with a sense of pride and reverence. The morning sunlight filtered through the shop's windows, casting soft patterns of light and shadow over ancient texts and shimmering crystals. Everything was in place, poised for the magic that would unfold with the rising of the full moon.

Aiysha flips the "Closed" sign to "Open" with a satisfying click, then pulls back the curtains beside the door, inviting more morning sunlight to spill into the shop. With a contented sip of her latte, she sets the cup down and flips a switch on a Bluetooth radio, seamlessly connecting her phone. Jhene Aiko's voice fills the air, gently chasing away the lingering quiet with a soothing melody.

[ofniightshade]

open start ♔ @inaducursehqstarter location ♔ enchanted emporium bonnie's shop during 6/20 plot drop

something  was  wrong.  she  could  feel  it  in  the  very  air,  an  oppressive  heaviness  that  seemed  to  cling  to  her  skin ┈┈   weaving  through  the  magic  that  enveloped  them  all.     there  had  been  a  time  when  she  longed  for  simplicity ┈┈   when  lifting  feathers ┈┈   lighting  candles,  and  coaxing  plants  to  grow  were  the  pinnacles  of  her  magical  prowess.  she  reminisced  about  her  travels,  the  joy  of  discovery,  and  seeing  the  world  alongside  the  man  she  loved.  but  now,  especially  recently,  a  restlessness  churned  within  her  soul ┈┈   a  silent  call  from  the  spirits  that  echoed  in  her  bones.  they  sought  a  bennett  witch  ┈┈   and  she  felt  the  pull  keenly.  was  it  foolish  to  want  to  answer?

with  a  flick  of  her  wrist  ┈┈   one  of  the  tomes  flew  off  the  shelf  of  her  quaint  shop  on  to  the  counter  before  her,  its  pages  fluttering  open  under  her  magical  command.  her  eyes  narrowed  as  the  door  creaked  open  ┈┈   an  unwelcome  intrusion  into  her  sanctuary.  "pretty  sure  that  sign  says  we're  closed,"  she  called  out,  her  voice  laced  with  warning.  her  magic  ignited  at  her  fingertips  ┈┈    shimmering  with  a  readiness  to  be  unleashed.

[avastyetwats]

Plotted starter for @izzyeffinhands

It wasn't the first time Stede has given Israel a backrub. It was something Stede really enjoyed doing because of how much much it relaxed his lover, how much it calmed him, and how he could help the tension from the day melt away. Anything Stede could do to help Israel relax and to make him feel good, he would do. He loved doing so. Besides, it allowed Stede to just... touch him, to feel him, to love on him, to adore him. To worship him, even, which didn't have to be done in just a sexual manner. And it wasn't. Not for them. They had their different ways of worshipping one another, and this was one of them.

And every time Stede would touch Izzy like this, he'd often trace his scars with the tips of his fingers as though trying to help heal them more. It was also Stede's way of reminding Israel of all that he's overcome, of how strong he is, while reassuring him that he was safe, that he'd make sure no harm ever came to him again if he could help it. Not only would he use his fingers, but his lips, as well. He'd often pepper his skin with featherlight kisses, all along his scars and between them, moving up to the back of his neck while his fingers danced up his sides just as he was doing now. Touching, and kissing, him with such gentleness and care as Stede always did.

He pulls his head back, then, and slides his hands to the middle of his lower back and starts their journey back up. His thumbs pressing against his spine and rubbing in circles while his other four fingers are stretched and spread apart, applying equal pleasure as he moves up his back, feeling all of the built up tension within him dissipate. When he reaches his shoulders, he doesn't move back down. Instead, he pushes both hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, now caressing his scalp with the tips of his fingers and then his nails as he moves them back down to his shoulders. Gods, his hair is so beautiful, Stede thinks to himself with a smile.

He becomes distracted with it, his focus now shifting from his back and to his hair, which he's certain Israel won't mind. He combs his fingers through smooth, dark locks lined with gray that Stede very much loves. It's attractive, really. Sexy. And it matches wonderfully with his neatly trimmed, salt and peppered beard. Everything about his man oozes sex and charm, he radiates beauty and allure. All which Stede has complimented out loud before, including in this moment as he runs his fingers back up through his hair, loving how it's grown in length. It's perfect for simple styling, something Wee John made evident the night of Calypso's birthday, and sitting here now, Stede can't help but want to do a little something. Something he wonders if Izzy has ever had done to his hair. He knows how much he enjoys having it played with, something he and Stede have in common, but Stede can't help but wonder what all he's had done to it. If anything.

His fingers resurface just above his ears and he uses his nails to gather what hair he can before bringing them together, meeting in the middle of his scalp, testing the length. He really has grown it out more since they've met, even more so with the help of Stede's own products, and oh, how the ideas are flowing now. "Israel," he breaks the silence finally, hands letting go of the hair he had gathered and now just brushing them through again. "have you ever had your hair braided?" He questions, the reason for his asking probably obvious. It's been a while since Stede has braided anyone's hair. Since, well, his daughter. Where he actually learned to braid and do other simple styles. He smiles at the memory of his daughter sat in front of him, or even in his lap, while he brushed and braided her hair. Bonding moments with his daughter... moments of actually being a father.

"May I?" He asks after some seconds of silence, his fingers not having stopped playing with his lover's hair, not even for a second.

[busaikuknee]

[pinehutch]

white-knuckling being a functioning adult by reminding myself not to worry about the haircut until I've washed and restyled it myself

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[nostalgia-tblr]

Reminding myself that I resolved not to delete any fics that have a bookmark on them😭

[seccndchances]

@starbcrnsx (Elain & Cassian)

Elain had been making her way home from work, a bushel of sunflowers resting against her forearm as she did. She contemplated taking the long way home, but had decided against it last minute. A choice that quickly rewarded her, She noticed a tall familiar figure. Her eyes widening at the sight, she picked up her pace quickly. "Excuse me." She called out, before doubt slowly began to creep in. She had ran into both sisters at this point and had come to realize too late that they didn't remember her. She didn't know if she could handle yet another person she knew and cared about not recognizing her. She took two calming breathes before continuing forward. She had to view his wings as a sign, Azriel had his alongside his memory. How could the magic of this place logically explain away the existence of his otherwise. "Cassian?" She called out, reaching a hand out to touch his back to draw his attention. "Cauldron protect me, do you recognize me?" She questioned carefully, bracing herself for disappointment.

[sysig]

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