#don't match length

[benjaminvox]

FOR: @carlavespucci WHEN: October 2024. WHERE: Social Beer and Wine Company.

Laughter was boisterous at his table tonight, it was rare that he and the boys still got to hang out, or all be around together at the same damn time. And while he was having the absolute time of his life, Benjamin couldn't stop himself -- checking his phone once more, and sighed: where the fuck was Benny? Late, no doubt. Zoe hadn't answered either, which was enough to have his jaw ticking -- and his friends had been quick to remind him that he was treading a line he should've stayed very fucking clear of. But what was life without a little bit of temptation?

That thought stopped him in his tracks when he heard the door open, his mind thinking it was a friend...oh, how he was mistaken. Through those doors, walked a woman. One he'd never seen before, and this was his local. A few "fuckin hells" could be heard, when the boys around the table followed his eye line. It wasn't exactly common to see pretty women in here.

It was what they called an Old Mans Pub.

"I think I should..." one of his friends started, pushing their chair out from behind him, but Benjamin was already moving, a cheeky grin on his face. He needed this...to leave his phone behind. The Rutherfords. He needed to be a man in his twenties.

"Sorry lads, you snooze, you lose."

It wasn't a quiet exchange, three boys practically tripping over themselves until Ben made it in front of her. A look of realisation now crossed his face. Fuck. What was he gonna say???

"Hi."

[tonibeltran]

x. status -> closed for @hairpintvrns (deacon) x. location -> somewhere in oak gardens

The room Antonio’s chosen to dedicate to his smoking is depressing. He’d thought the size of it wouldn’t matter, so long as there were sufficient windows, but as he sits on one of the armchairs he’d procured from some overly-animated guy on Craigslist (“Whoa! Aren’t you the guy from Amethyst? What are you doing buying off some sketchy site? Can I get a picture? Legend!”) and blowing out of one of said windows, he’s starting to think it might be less helpful than he thought. It’s the smallest room in this godforsaken house, but when it’s only populated by an inordinate number of bongs and unrolled joints, the size of it feels a little suffocating.

He has to do it in a room that Moon doesn’t have access to, though, because he’s many things, but he’s not someone who would endanger his cat. No matter how often she meows indignantly at him through the door. “It’s for your own good,” Toni calls out to her every time, and every time she meows back at him like a jilted teenager. He sighs, figuring he’s been locked in here getting high for long enough — he may as well come out of there and give her the attention she so desperately craves. Just as he kneels on the armchair cushion to properly close the window, his nose wrinkles in distaste at an unpleasant smell that wafts in from the outside. “What the fuck,” he mutters, closing the window in a huff. He leaves the weed room, sparing a pet for Moon before making his way out to his front lawn. 

He stands there, befuddled, taking a deep breath. The stench is not as prominent here, he notes. This may be a product of how high he is, to be honest, but the thought doesn’t stop him from following his nose like a hound, away from his front lawn and down the neighborhood’s sidewalk. He’s not sure just how far he gets into this sniffing debacle when he realizes he’s stopped smelling anything, and is instead stranded in some random house’s front lawn, probably looking insane. 

Before he can flee, his peripheral vision catches sight of a familiar figure — tall, handsome, and the architect of many nights of pleasure. Deacon Edwards, of all people, stands near this particular front lawn, looking just as handsome as the day Toni had first laid eyes on him. It’d been intoxicating, to witness such a prominent figure simply be, something Antonio had a lot of trouble with even back in those days. He thinks if he really puts his mind to it, he can probably remember what Deacon tastes like, though that seems like an inappropriate thought to be having in the middle of the day on a stranger’s front lawn.

Treading carefully, he approaches the other, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “Deacon?” he calls, making sure the sight of him is not also the byproduct of the weed. “Deacon Edwards,” he grins. “Either you don’t age or I’ve accidentally stepped through a time machine.”

[trcshcans]

closed starter @crcwninferncs when: the tourney

tourneys were not alson's favorite thing about being a knight, she preferred to see real battle than putting it to chance of who had the better horse or better grip on their lance. but tourneys were what happened when the crown wanted to celebrate and show off their knights. she was glad to enter, a knight of the queensguard was a great honor and she wanted to show that she was meant for that honor.

clad in her own personal armor rather than the white cloak used for the guard, she sat tall on her horse. a chestnut brown mare that came all the way from winterfell with her when she was just a teenager. armor gleaming in the sun as she lined up for her turn to go. silver with a molded wolf on a field of snow, a fitting tribute to what she was, the lone wolf, a snow.

galloping up to the stands where the royal family was sat, alson held her lance up to them. her eyes on vaelora. oh how she wished to ask her princess for their favor, to wear it with honor as she road. but with all eyes on them and those of the queen, she knew it would not be wise. instead, her eyes shifted over to another silver haired beauty. "i wish to ask the lady rheyna waters for her favor," she called out. bastard and bastard, two outsiders in this city of high borns. surely that will upset the queen less than asking the one she truly wanted. as the favor is tossed on the end of alson's lance, she took one last look at vaelora before placing her helm on her head.

lining up for her run, alson gripped the lance tight in her hand, breathing steadily before they were set to go. off they went, two horses running at each other with weapons pointed. one pass and then another with each knight only getting a small nick on each other. finally on the third pass, alson thinks this is it, time to make the blow. there's a loud crash as each knight hits the other. only she is airborn as the other's lance just misses her shield and hits her square in the shoulder.

on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs, she can only hear buzzing in her ears and not the sounds of the crowd. get up, you must get up. you are the captain of the queensgaurd, you mustn't give up. "sword!" she yelled as she got to her knees. a squire running up with her long sword as the other knight is dismounting taking his.

"want to play, bastard?" the other knight calls out before steal on steal rings through the courtyard. but where alson was not strong with a lance, she was better with a sword, even with the ringing in her head and the pain in her shoulder. slashing and guarding, the fight was over almost as quick as it started as the other knights yells to yield with minimal blood shed, giving the match to alson.

breathing heavy, she throws off her helm and tosses it on the ground before giving the crowd a bow and walking out of the arena. it's not until she's alone that she allows herself a second to regain herself. hearing foot steps, she assumes that it's the squire come to help remove her armor and dress her wounds. "i am fine, just leave me be!" she calls before turning around. but once she does, she see's that it was vaelora who had come to her. "princess..."

[ofanjous]

tagging: anyone !!

location: the chapel within hôtel saint-pol 

     it had been some thirty years since isabella had departed her homeland for a throne she no long coveted and a husband no longer compendious. within that time, she had returned to the country of her birth only once, then she had been a queen as radiant as the sun in splendour, basking within the regality of her status. now she was naught more than a pitiful exile, shrouded by grief, vexation and an all consuming hunger for vengeance. the experience, may have been humbling to most – a prime example of how fortunes wheel could cast even the mightiest into the murkiest of waters – yet for isabella, the turning of the wheel had only heightened her own hubris. ardent in her belief they would one day bask in the sun’s rays once more, she had fortified, exerted patience and watched henry’s court as though a predator stalking its prey, awaiting the opportune moment to strike. 

such a moment had finally arrived, after twenty long years she had the opportunity to flex her political prowess within the court of her french relatives. her letters of support may have gone unanswered in the past, but to hear her pleas parted from her own honied lips was something no king nor emperor could disregard. whilst it was true that her position had been weakened since the death of her son, her husband still breathed and as greatly as she wished their roles had been reversed, at the very least he was still a direct threat, if only in theory alone.  it was for them both that she had taken to her knees in prayer that morning, the quietude of the chapel soothing her tormented soul and offering guidance for a woman who had long-since lost any semblance of sainthood. with her final declaration of devotion uttered, isabella made the sign of the cross upon her person, raising to her feet in order to light a candle for the slain martyr sprung from her own womb.

“ hasten to tell me what should be so important as to disturb a queen at prayer.” she spoke to the figure looming within the shadows. there had been a time when tears stained her cheeks upon her solemn reflection into all that had been lost and she would have confronted any trespasser, friend or foe, with the damnation of fire and brimstone, lest they gaze upon isabella in anything but her queenly regality. tears had long since ran dry, the drought of emotion hardening to icy glaciers. 

[deputyzed]

@wolfbeacons sent: ❝ do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in right now? ❞

HER HOME IS COMPLETELY DARK when she returns, still riding the high of the day's victory and the pleasant buzz a couple of celebratory drinks at the Spread Eagle had left. Today marked a huge triumph for the resistance. John Seed was dead, and with his death, there remained a flicker of hope that they may just succeed in washing away the stain left by the cult. Though there was still so much work to be done, especially in the Henbane and the Whitetail Mountains, the Peggies' influence in Holland Valley had all but crumbled. Now it was just a matter of time before the other regions followed suit and were liberated from their respective Heralds. The fight was far from over, but tonight was not the time to plan for the future, tonight was a time to revel in the glow of her achievements, leave the hard work for tomorrow.

Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol that had distracted her, or her own smug pride that kept her from taking complete stock of her surroundings before getting too comfortable for she did not notice the dark shadow lurking in her kitchen. Not when she first entered her home, nor when she turned her attention to the fridge while humming a cheery tune to herself as she perused its contents. It was not until a soft, but familiar voice cuts through the darkness that she became acutely aware she was not alone. 'do you have any idea how much trouble you're in right now?'

At first her mind refuses to believe the sound, the voice which haunts her nightmares is right here with her in her home, and not being blasted over some radio, or over the crackly static of an intercom at a Peggy outpost. More pressingly, she refuses to acknowledge the truth of the matter. She'd let her guard down, she'd become too comfortable, and had missed all the signals that someone had forced themselves into her home. Except this wasn't just a random thief in the night, this was him.

He was perhaps the most dangerous brother of the Seed family. His military background, army of Chosen, and understanding of the human psyche made him an intimidating target, and a deeply fascinating character, moreso than the rest of his family. He had put her through his trials once already, had played his sick games with her mind, and now she had walked right into his trap. Goosebumps crop along her arms, the hairs raising on the back of her neck as she stands frozen in place. A small, prideful, part of her is glad that he cannot see her shocked expression, she would not let him see her fear. Another, more logical, part of her realizes that her back is turned to him, making her all too easy prey, weak even. And you know what happens to the weak.

Quickly, she grabs a knife from the wooden block on her counter as she whirls around to face him. flipping on the lights in the process. The dim light reveals the large figure of Jacob Seed sitting quietly at her kitchen table, as if he had come to visit and was waiting all too patiently to be served his dinner. Like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, except there was no woodsman to save her, and she refused to be made into his next meal. Brandishing her knife in front of her, she glares at him with all the hate and disgust she can muster. She does not answer him, but instead asks a question of her own, her voice filled with venom. Her own form of rebellion in the face of danger. "Is that why you're here then? To punish me for all the trouble I've caused?"

[sammybishop]

Tagged: @jcktaylcr

Location: Trident Fitness

Admittedly, she's been watching the other woman train in the ring for several minutes now. Call her a glutton for punishment or a masochist of the highest order, there's something inherently fascinating in the way Jack works. How her feet dance across the floor at the expense of whatever opponent was foolish enough to step in the square with her. Maybe not dance, gentle grace isn't her forte, but she moves with the same lithe, regulated purpose. Aware of her body and always three steps ahead of the other person–– once upon a time that amazed Sam, too.

Nostalgia's a fickle bitch.

With treadmills and leg presses long forgotten, the blonde leans against a pillar and stares just long enough to get herself caught. While she hadn't necessarily intended that piece, she also did very little to prevent it. Their previous run-ins over the last six months hadn't panned out beyond hurt feelings, and the ground between them still wobbles unsteadily, threatening to swallow at least one of them up before their time is through. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were born with those gloves on."

[benblvckwood]

vindication rushed through him at aidan's words, voicing everything ben had come to believe about ronan bracken and his intentions. "i haven't said anything about it," he admitted. what was there he could say, that would not look like he was arguing for the sake of arguing, causing dissent amongst the riverfolk at a time where drawing together was the necessary cause of action? "he'll be looking for any excuse to cause an issue, though. i'd put coin on it. half a mind to give him what he wants and turn in my council badge." let hugo vance take his seat, and step away entirely. it was tempting, and the only thing that stayed the impulse was the fact it would further diminish his house, give bracken more of the upper hand than he already had.

who would be better to trust that you, ben? it was a sentiment he appreciated from aidan more than words. here was a man who, in his childhood, ben had near enough idolised. knowing he had his trust was a sort of pride, but despite his words, there was a niggling doubt. he had aidan's - but did he have iona's? ronan bracken certainly did, family or not.

it took little convincing for ben to rise to his feet, following aidan without protest. it was a reminder, of sorts, that though ben had experienced much men beyond his years had not, in other ways, he was still a green boy, the indulgence of drink and flesh on display in the hall all a bit overwhelming for him. he trailed a half step behind until they reached the river's edge, a black, glistening sheet under the night's sky, and he crouched for a moment beside it, forearms coming to rest on his knees.

"it is better," he nodded, turning to look up at aidan from his lowered position with a lopsided smile upon his face. "sorry to drag you from your party, cousin." there was genuine apology in his tone, as though he were ashamed, despite his relief to be out here rather than back in the hall.

the mention of kingship was the topic ben knew many had on their mind, and it hung in the air between them, heavy and unavoidable. ben's gaze turn thoughtful, and he rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his palms as he did. "i don't blame you," he said. "i wouldn't want it, either." in that he was sincere. the responsibilities he already bore were a weight around him. if he had power, it was because others saw fit to bestow it upon him. only a madman or a masochist, he had decided, would seek it.

he turned to face aidan now, the thought behind his dark eyes obvious. "i don't think there's many within the riverlands who don't stand behind her," he spoke slowly. "obviously, it does the vale no good to discredit her, and i don't think the north will give her trouble either. dorne is dorne, they probably haven't even thought of it as an issue, and the reach sends ronan bracken's friend to suss everything out. might be something later, but for now, it's the lions and the dragons." he was repeating only what everyone knew, what aidan himself should know. "if you think saying nothing is the best option - well, that's for you to decide. but they might look at you and decide that no declaration is in itself a declaration."

he shrugged his shoulders, hands finding his pockets as he looked back towards the water. "them kings, they'll tell you to take her throne. people here might tell you to stay in her shadow. i don't think you need to do that, either. what the riverlands needs is stability. someone to make sure the bank will hold if the river begins to flood."

Aidan drained the last of his wine, setting the goblet on the table with a thud. His blue eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and frustration as Ben spoke of the council, particularly Ronan Bracken. He couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. "Lord Ronan Bracken as Hand," he repeated with a tone thick with disdain. "My sister in her infinite wisdom. It’s like appointing a fox to guard the henhouse. But she insists it’s politics, that it keeps the peace. What peace is there when he’s plotting ways to dig at our kin? I’m sure his appointment had you ready to bite through your tongue." Some things had not changed about Aidan Tully, a temper as hot and fiery as his Tully red hair.

Aidan leaned back in his chair, his grin softening into something warmer. "Well, who would be better to trust than you, Ben? You’re not some scheming Frey or a self-important Mallister. You’re family, and family is the only thing that matters at the end of it all."

But as he glanced at Ben, noting the way his cousin’s gaze avoided the women and how stiffly he held himself, Aidan frowned slightly. "Come, take a walk with me. It’s hot in here." He pushed himself up, motioning for Ben to follow. "Let these fools enjoy themselves. I need some air."

They weaved through the crowded hall, the revelry continuing behind them as Aidan pushed open a heavy side door. The cool night air greeted them, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the party. Outside, the river murmured softly, its dark surface reflecting faint glimmers of torchlight from Riverrun.

For a moment, they walked in silence, the only sounds the crunch of boots on the dirt path and the distant laughter echoing from the hall. Aidan finally stopped near the water’s edge, his hands resting on his hips as he inhaled deeply. "Better, isn’t it?" he said, turning to Ben with a small smile. "I suppose I’ve been too long away to remember what makes for proper company. You’ve been patient with me tonight, cousin, and I thank you for it."

A beat.

"I don't wish to be king. I won't declare intentions or support for anything until I know she can do this." And perhaps some lingering anger and uncertainty. Aidan didn't care for any of it, alas, he was the man of his house and he at least needed to be informed.

[kinciskarma]

muse: Reyna Levy (Muse could be changed just lmk) open to: females/males connections: stranger, friend, friend's ex, ex, fwb, anything that works? plot: Going old school with this. Reyna was driving (could be to your muses place or not if going with the stranger option), her car died and she forgot to charge her phone, so she ended up stranded. It's raining and she knocks on y/m's door.

Of course it had to start pouring the moment that Reyna's car ended up dying on the side of the road. She grabbed her phone, trying to turn it on but it was just the dead battery blinking on the screen. Groaning, Reyna's icy blue eyes scanned the dark street, seeing a place with a light on. Knowing this is how horror movies started, she was thinking about holding out and maybe walking to a store or some place, but she didn't know how long this was going to be and she was already beginning to get cold with how drastic the temperatures dropped since the first drop of rain fell. Sighing, Reyna threw her keys and phone into her bag. As soon as she opened the door to her car, she made a run for the only lit place on the street.

Just in those few seconds, Reyna was already soaked by the rain. Her clothes being stuck to her body and her teeth clattering as she rang the bell and consistently knocked on the door until someone opened. "Sorry to be all 90s about this. My phone died and my car died... is there anyway I can borrow a charger or your phone to have someone come pick me up?"

[flamesque]

₊❏❜ ⋮ i'll chase you to the ends of the earth. ⚬𓂂

@dolasach

He is used to it; however, that didn't mean he accepted it.

Rafayel sighed as he let his head rest against his palm, the same thing being drilled into his mind by the endless sea of words spewing the history of Lemuria and the world on the surface repeated like a broken record from the elders. He seemed to be falling asleep and was immediately scolded for not paying attention.

Evidently, something came up that had the elders leave the vicinity for the time being and this served as an opportunity for Rafayel to escape. He had attempted in doing so a few times, but he was sure that this time he would be able to be successful. 

A blue fish swam around him and held his hand out, allowing the fish to swim over his palm. 

"Shall we head to the surface? It's a little boring right now and I'm tired of hearing the elders saying the same thing over and over again." 

The fish continued swimming over his palm before seemingly directing him toward an opening to which he was able to squeeze through. It was then he realized that he was out of the city walls of Whalefall City and was able to swim to the surface.

He thanked the fish before it disappeared back through the city walls and Rafayel didn't have to think twice as he turned away from Whalefall City to swim up to the surface; however, before he allowed himself to fully come out, he swam slowly as the damn words from the elders rang in his head. 

"The world on the surface is dangerous, even if those people worship our Sea God, there is a chance that someone will try to capture him."

"As the previous Lemurians have..." 

"Rafayel, you must never venture out to the surface world. Your people are here, that is all that should concern you." 

And the annoying part of all. "The Sea God will one day meet the Goddess of the Forest, and when that day comes, should he fall in love with her, it will be the beginning of the downfall of Lemuria."

Rafayel always thought it to be those stories to be something a parent would tell to their child to make them listen. And besides, Rafayel had always been, not only a rebellious soul, but one of sheer curiosity. 

Once he peeked out from the water, he spotted a woman by the shore. And he had seen a few other humans before, but something about her was different and he couldn't help but to swim towards the shore, closer to her. Who could she be? For some reason... he needed to know and while he doesn't know why he needs to, he simply just has to try; in a way, it felt as though there were residual feelings, feelings that weren't from him and that in itself baffled him.

So without thinking, his mouth opened to speak.

"Who might you be? You don't seem... human to me, although you do appear to be." He tilted his head briefly before letting out a laugh. "Ah, apologies. This is bold of me, I will admit."

[pushspacetocontinue]

Eclipse - Villain Verse thread for icangiveyouanything

@icangiveyouanything

The interviews had been a perfect start to getting his messages across to the world. People liked him, as much as it felt strange to admit to himself. Audiences were receptive to what he had to say as he answered questions. Of course, he had to pretend he was just as confused as everyone else when it came to his miraculous recovery from the long coma. Not everyone could know the truth about how he was given this second chance to save them all from themselves.

Not yet anyway.

It was a quiet day for the time being. He sat on his balcony, a small smile on his face as he watched the sunset with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. But then he felt a familiar presence in the air, and the smile grew just a bit wider.

"I think we have an old friend visiting, Misty."

"Meee..."

[elysbrax]

"of course they will." elys spoke with a cool, smooth confidence, as though the reach's ships were of no more consequence than gnats gathering around a picnic. it was an issue that sounded as though it were in hand. if arron had dominon over the western waters in his sights, elys did not doubt his ability to get it. he spoke as though it were a given. perhaps it was. arron spoke favourably of being bold, but it took a certain type of man to turn boldness into legacy. in that, at least, the two of them had a common cause.

and perhaps it was that which encouraged him, which let his inherent boldness shine through. "what do i see a need for?" he repeated, a low, throaty chuckle escaping him. he leaned forward, as though he was sharing a secret that only arron could understand. "me."

in truth, there was little he could offer tyland lannister beyond that. the king had wealth, had power, had authority. in the face of it, it was a meagre offering - if elys had not presented it with the quite confidence of a man who knew his strengths, and knew what he could be. he believed there was none like him, not in the westerlands, not in the entire kingdom, with the unshakeable assurance of a man who had found himself tested before, and rose to the challenge, each and every time.

"the west does not lack for vision or strength, or even wisdom." he drawled. that was not what was in doubt. "but that alone does not hold a kingdom together. i have been listening to what our recent visitors have to say about these lands. they scorn us as much as they fear us, and that is not inherently bad thing - but we cannot give them any excuse. no sign of any weakness in the armour."

he leaned back in his seat then, hands folding and coming to rest on his stomach in a pose that would seem relaxed, if not for the way his spine remained rod-straight. "the lannisters are not shy about surrounding themselves with those who have value. lefford, serrett. and brax." the addition of his own house was pointed, saying without words that he believed himself a man of value. "you do not need me to tell you that you and the king don't lack for what it takes to steer the westerlands into something even greater than it already is. and i am precisely the sort of man who can support the both of you in that."

"They are an ever present irritation." Those ships should have been his, he wouldn't beat around the bush. He wouldn't forget. Robbed by a crippled knight who found himself lucky enough to call the king cousin. He clenched his jaw and then smiled as he looked at the other. "But even those issues will find themselves resolved." These seas were his and he would need to prove it. Just needed to put the pieces in the right place.

Arron agreed with the other, nodding his head as he listened to her words. Loss left a mark on all. Arron felt something...he couldn't put it into words it was more than mourning the wife. There has been so much to mourn that Arron didn't know if he was using the right word any longer.

The west thrived on more than the skills of Tyland Lannister, they survived on the backs of strong and wise men, men who knew where their loyalties should lie and he worried of the growing Serrett influence around them. "There's no crassness to be found in speaking truthfully, boldly." His father once told him that the Gods favored the bold and so did the Lannisters.

The Lord mentioned Fair Isle and he understand him, nodding his head. "Fair Isle is Fair Isle, Elys." And it was his domain, the Isle needed him. "Fair Isle turns boys into men and shows what we're made of, always. And court could do with those who see things the way men like us see them." He smiled, slightly, "what do you see a need for at court?"

[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.

[cozylittleartblog]

random note about king on that animation, i got really lucky with how simple his animation was and how clean my sketches were to begin with that i was able to do very minimal cleanup on what i had sketched (and add back. his horn. it's supposed to take place just after echoes of the past, Oops) and call it done that way instead of having to redraw the entire thing like i had to on his dad

first sketch > line cleanup > nearly final animation (i'd added slight eye movements last-second but otherwise that's the final)

[alex-perry]

who: open to everyone

where: in front of the asbury hotel

Alex stood outside The Asbury Hotel, squinting at the revolving doors like they were his arch-nemesis. How many times had he been here this week? Four? Five? He'd lost track. At this point, the front desk staff probably thought he was lurking around the place for a heist—or worse, a Yelp reviewer.

He tugged at his perfectly ironed, oatmeal-colored button-down and checked his Tissot watch, even though he wasn’t meeting anyone. Okay, Alex, he thought. You just need to get inside, blend in, and no one will question why a random guy is inspecting the cornices again.

To be fair, this wasn't his fault! He was sent here to find out how the fuck The Asbury Hotel had managed to capture that effortlessly cool boutique hotel vibe, and it wasn’t like you could just Google “how to make a hotel look cool without spending the next Avatar movie budget.”

Spotting someone in front of the hotel, Alex saw his opportunity. He walked toward the person, flashing the most non-threatening smile anyone could muster. "Hey, are you heading inside?" he asked, voice an octave too high with fake casualness. "I, uh, forgot something in the lobby the other day." Which wasn’t necessarily a lie — he'd actually forgotten to inspect the ceiling beams up close.

[clementinebriar]

The thing is, Clementine usually leaves well enough alone.

Who is she to give another hardworking, scamming woman a hard time over working hard to scam people? A couple of fake tarot readings never hurt anyone — she doesn’t think. It’s not like she has the statistics to back that up or anything, but for the most part, she thinks what Opal’s doing is harmless enough. A woman’s gotta make a living. More power to her, honestly. Godspeed, and all that good stuff.

Except they’ve managed to intersect, somehow. Clementine works hard on her fakes, word gets around, bound to reach Opal, at some point. And now there’s something like — she doesn’t want to be so bold and assume the other woman is scared, but there’s some definite tension coming off her in waves when she’s around Clem. She figures it has to do with the fact Clementine knows whatever schtick she’s got going on around Blue Harbor isn’t real, but she cannot overstate how little she cares about what other people get up to. If she didn’t so badly want her mother to be able to find her still, Clem would’ve probably been forging her own brand new identity as well, to do crazy, questionable shit.

All that being said, it’s a little surprising to find Opal at her front door. Dionysus stands readily at her shoulder, knowing full well outside is not for him, tiny little bird claws firmly dug into her skin. Raising an eyebrow, Clem glances at the bottle of wine in Opal’s hand — one of the cheap ones Clem used to get drunk on at thirteen, looks like — then meets Opal’s gaze again. “Only if you’re aware you’re not getting any of that,” she gestures at the bottle in Opal’s grasp. Turning on her heel, she leaves the door open in a silent invitation, making her way to the small kitchen to look for two of those cheap, plastic wine glass imitations she stuffs with the Tupperware — despite her earlier declaration of selfishness. “Close the door behind you, would ya? The fuckin’ creep across the hall can smell it when the door opens.”

WHERE: clem's place WHO: @clementinebriar & opal

This was certainly not Opal laying low and playing it safe. Since she'd adopted this new façade, she'd done very little to actually build out the character she'd decided to play here. Was it that this town was full of more shady types like her that could recognize a game or was she just losing her touch?

Either way, she shouldn't have been here. Their business should have been a one and done— no well-worn path to trace between them. But for as careful as she always had to be, she couldn't deny that it felt just as good as it did terrifying to remove her mask. Clem didn't know her, even still, but she knew enough. Just as Opal knew enough about her should she ever need to indulge in a little mutual destruction.

So, here she was, perfectly manicured nails— painted a drab olive green she hated, but thought the character of Opal would probably love— curled into a loose fist to knock against the door. In her other hand, a bottle of grocery store wine. As the door opened to her, Opal smirked, raising the shit wine in offering. "If I pay the troll toll, can I come in?"

[rewritingtales]

location   :   coming   out   of   a   random   portal

magic   is   not   to   be   messed   with.   to   hear   that   a   man   with   simple   magical   beans   is   the   one   responsible   for   all   of   these   portals?   it's   almost   sickening.   firstly,   that   he   didn't   think   about   it   himself.   secondly,   that   now   when   he   asks   the   mirror   who   the   fairest   of   them   all   is   he's   going   to   get   so   many   other   worlds   mixed   in   with   his   own.   it's   enough   to   make   him   want   to   be   another   curse   on   someone,   but   this   time   he   doesn't   have   a   reason.   the   precious   king   of   his   former   kingdom   wouldn't   have   it   now   that   he's   all   grown   up.   everything   seems   to   be   making   him   sick.

then,   almost   like   a   lightbulb   turning   on   inside   of   his   head,   he   remembers   that   he's   not   alone.   grimhilde   takes   in   a   deep   breath   and   let's   out   a   soft   sigh.   he   takes   out   his   compact   mirror   and   opens   it.   after   a   brief   look   of   his   reflection,   he   notices   his   father's   spirit   coming   out   to   talk   to   him.   “i   didn't   summon   you   and   i   don't   want   to   hear   what   you   have   to   say.”   he   quickly   snaps   it   closed   and   puts   it   back   inside   of   his   jacket   pocket.

he   continues   to   fix   his   suit   so   that   it   looks   well   placed.   he's   not   wearing   a   tie,   there's   no   need   since   he's   no   longer   at   the   ball,   and   the   top   three   buttons   are   off.   he   leans   down   and   grabs   the   basket   that   he   brought   with   him.   it's   filled   to   the   brim   with   apple   pies   and   fritters.   he's   trying   to   be   friendly.   at   least   in   his   mind.   really,   he   just   wants   to   get   people   to   think   he's   hot   again.   what's   hotter   than   a   man   that   bakes?

after   surveying   the   area   around   him,   grimhilde   spots   his   next   target.   he   walks   over   to   them   with   a   soft   smile   on   his   face,   although   all   he   can   see   is   their   back.   “hello   there,”   voice   is   soft.   you   attract   more   bees   with   honey   than   with   vinegar.   “i   seem   to   be   all   turned   around   due   to   the   magical   traveling,   but   wanted   to   give   you   this.”   he   taps   them   on   the   shoulder   with   his   right   hand   and   extends   his   left   with   the   basket.