#flew too high

[thesensibilityofagirlintrouble]

halsey - lucky

[3lkin]

actually suffering

[abyssboo]

I love Philza and his canonical “literally icarus”

[mylovely7even]

"Apple of his eye"

[supertyphoon-kai]

My favorite flavor of romantic NeuviFuri is always Neuvillette being soft and reverent towards Furina. But I like adding some Top Furina/Bottom Neuvillette to the mix and making Furina just as smitten to Neuvillette as he is for her.

I imagine once she gains more confidence, Furina starts to take the lead in their intimate moments. Her dearest Iudex is beautiful, afterall. She loves admiring Neuvillette's body, kissing and touching every part of him, leaving marks across his body. Neuvillette is left breathless and completely pliant under her. He's not used to all the praise and attention Furina is giving him.

[lookatthethrones]

Otto Hightower watching the consequences of his actions unfold before him:

[ghost-proofbaby]

congrats on 1k!!! 💙💙🌻🌻 I would like to request Eddie and my favorite song of the moment which is 'House Song' by Searows. it's kinda sad but cozy, so feel free to go easy on my heart and not write it angsty. or do. 😭🥰

thank you bluey <3 oh my word, this is my first time hearing this song and it is so terribly cozy and yet so sad in such a familiar way. i chose to focus on the lyric "something inside of me is rotten, i have to find it and cut it out", and also was inspired by the line from Euripides in which Orestes says "it's rotten work." and Pylades replies "not to me. not if it's you."

also, totally unrelated, but if i could lock this piece away in my soul until my days end, i would. i got way too carried away and made a fool of myself i fear.

warnings: none except bad writing and me taking a metaphor too far as i tried too hard though be warned this one is in third person rather than second to switch it up!!!

1k celebration - come party with me!

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People do not make good homes.

It is a hard lesson Eddie has had to learn in his twenty three years of life. 

Wide, innocent eyes are not open windows with billowing curtains. Caressing limbs are not bed sheets to wrap you up on wintry mornings. Pursed lips are not crackling speakers bleeding out familiar tunes as a record turns against a needle. Soft kisses aren’t the scent of clean laundry, tired yawns aren’t creaks from the attic, and ribs are not enough to build up the four walls to make a home. 

It happens every time; Eddie lets someone in, he opens himself up and lets the vulnerability drip from him in waves, until the fatal day comes in which suddenly the front door is closed on him, never to open again. The locks have been changed, the windows have been slammed shut, the sheets have been tucked under mattresses to grow cold. All the familiar, comforting old vinyls lay to rest and gather dust in a crate in the corner of abandoned rooms. 

People do not make good homes. He has come to accept this. Until she came along. 

Maybe her soft eyes weren't open windows to let in a summer’s breeze, but he swore he could still see the sun pouring in through their freshly painted panes. Maybe her steady arms weren’t clean sheets from the dryer, but they still blanket him in warmth all the same when they’d wrap their way around his waist. Whenever she’d open her mouth and give him a glimpse into her mind, it didn’t sound like his uncle’s old albums. It was something new, an unfamiliar melody he could neither tune out nor hum along to. She was a labyrinth of possibilities, a new shiny two-story house with the picket white fence. Bare feet against wooden floors that didn’t creak with protest, shimmering light fixtures that didn’t flicker with uncertainty, a front door swung wide open as if to say, come in. Make yourself at home. 

And when he made no move to come inside, when he stayed planted in the pristine front yard clear of weeds and verdant with hope, she had simply left the porch light on for him. She shut the door, but she never turned the lock. A reassurance that her offer still stood, in soft smiles and understanding nods, until he was ready. 

People should not make good homes. But then again, people like her existed. 

Eddie kept up the battle long enough. But eventually, the war inside his mind had raged long enough, and he walked up those front porch steps. He reached out for the unlocked door, and it was a breath of relief when it opened for him with a gentle click. She never locked him out. She had kept her promise of an offer. And when he finally arrived in the entryway, when he finally breached the threshold, she was waiting there, eager and gentle and beautiful, already reaching for his coat. She had been waiting. Always waiting, always patient. Just for him.

Her walls were fresh with paint, layering over any imperfections left behind by previous tenants. All scuff marks left by kitchen screaming matches had long been buffed out of mahogany boards. There are no ticks in door frames to account for the change of her height over the years, no frames of the ones before him she had let in. No signs of anyone having made her house a home before him. He couldn’t see her history in the way she could see his. Instead, he had to listen to it. Over cups of lukewarm coffee made just the way he likes it, over photo albums she describes that sit in a box in the attic, left to rot but never be forgotten. He learns of her past as she speaks of it as if it didn’t happen to her, as if it had been some movie she’d seen on late night television. And his heart aches. Because as she tells him all this, as she hands over a key to her heart and shows him how to unlatch her bay windows, he can see what her eyes beg of him. 

This has never been a home before. Please, make this house a home. Please.

But he’s terrified. His past is a conglomeration of abandoned cookie cutter homes, void of the warmth he feels beneath her surface. A doom town waiting for the atomic explosion. That’s what he is – the atomic explosion. He is the chaos and the destruction, the thing to burn down all that he holds sacred. It wasn’t hard to figure out; he had always been the common denominator in his own rotation of his own tenants. He’s terrified to add her home onto the end of the street, to lay in wait for the day he ruins all that they are. All that she is. 

But then she’s kissing him. She’s kissing him, and she’s holding him, and she’s reading her favorite books aloud to him in the afternoon lulls, and he can’t help but indulge. Because she’s home. She’s baked cookies and framed photos of better days. She’s hot chocolate and white Christmas mornings. She’s strong oak trees in the backyard and fresh cut flowers in the kitchen. 

People do not make good homes. But she is more than a metaphor.

The key to her hangs heavy on his keyring, but it is worth the weight on nights like tonight. Nights where he watches the rise and fall of her chest as her cheeks presses to his bare shoulder, her hand still curled around his even in her sleep. She loves him, she waits for him, she makes him feel more at home than anyone has in his twenty three years of life. Even after she had discovered the rot deep inside of him, she stayed and persisted as she digs it out and places down new baseboards, prepared to stand by his side as he makes the necessary renovations to himself that have been years in the making. She’s everything to him. She’s his home, his past be damned. 

People do not always make good homes. They are nothing more than houses, and just because the lights are on in the windows does not mean they are meant to be the place you lay your head to rest. They do not come prefilled with the love and warmth that is needed to be good homes. It is a process, aching and terrible and hard enough work that most people will not bother. But with her in his arms, Eddie thinks he is finally learning what it means to make a house a home. 

It was never about him making her house a home. It was about him finding home in himself, with her picture on his bedside table and her breath on his neck as she rests easy beside him. This lesson, as it turns out, wasn’t quite as hard to learn.

[blackbirdffxiv]

Ellie when she had the voidsent: "So I can't get drunk; I heal so quickly it's hard for me to get remotely intoxicated unless I'm quite literally drinking one alcoholic beverage after another with no breaks in between."

Ellie without the voidsent: "HOLY SHIT I CAN GET DRUNK AGAIN!"

*Two hours later*

Ellie:

Needless to say Ellie is re-learning how to enjoy life now that she's not playing host to the very thing that was both saving her ass and killing her at the same time.

[skhardwarevers1]

chat nobody speak to me I’m regretting my actions as a writer

[lexalovesbooks]

I forgot how hilariously useless Orion is for most of the last graduate lmao

[andromeda3116]

am i or am i not watching the og inuyasha in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-three? who knows? not me, for sure. i would never. how dare you accuse me of such a thing.

[fantasywritten]

@theresastargirl asked: “ do you regret letting me get close ?” - sam

THE HUNTER SIGHED DEEPLY. It wasn’t that it was a hard question; it was just that she would hate the answer. The best course of action was to lie. But Sam wasn’t a liar, never had been, so he just looked away. “Only because I’m afraid of what’ll happen to you.” It was the truth. EVERY WOMAN he’d ever been with had either died or left him, and Sam was starting to think he was cursed — or just destined to be alone.

[xumoonhao]

ladybug :)

[thecryoftheseagulls]

Icarus as a trans guy name though

[cactusapple]

secret scale color: unlocked

[sleebyjam]

Finally got a couple herba mystica after at least 20 5+ star raids, aaaand...lose them because I found a shiny I wasn’t looking for and had to save without getting what I was looking for