#pls do not feel the need to match

[hiddcnhorizcns]

@justsurv1vor

the cold, briny air whipped through the longhouse, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the promise of conquest. the flickering light of the fire cast dancing shadows on the wooden walls, illuminating the hardened faces of erik's most trusted men. they gathered around a large oak table, its surface etched with scars from past battles and laden with maps of distant lands. chieftain of the northmen, erik stood at the head, his gaze fixed upon the parchment spread before them. bjorn, erik's right-hand man, his braided beard glistening with beads of sea salt, leaned forward. "the saxons to the south grow complacent, erik. their villages are ripe for the taking, and their riches would fill our coffers." a murmur of agreement rippled through the room. the saxons had long been a thorn in their side, their fertile lands and wealthy settlements a tantalizing prize just beyond their reach. but erik was not convinced yet. "true, bjorn," he replied, his fingers tracing the outline of the southern shores on the map. "but we must also consider the lands to the east. the slavic tribes have been fractured by infighting. they are weakened, disorganized. if we strike now, we could claim their territories with minimal resistance."

their reunion was cut short by the sudden clamor of heavy footsteps and the creak of the longhouse door being flung open. the firelight flickered wildly as one of his warriors, ivar, burst in, dragging a captive behind him. the harsh grip he had on her wrists betrayed the urgency of his mission, and for a moment, anger flared within erik at the interruption. "erik!" ivar's voice was breathless, his excitement barely contained. "we found her skulking near the outskirts of the village." he pushed the captive forward, a fine young lady whose hands were bound with rough rope. her cloak was mud-stained, but beneath the grime, her bearing was noble. erik recognized her immediately, and the half-formed shout of reprimand died in his throat. it was the daughter of an ealdorman, a formidable saxon leader and one of their most persistent foes. erik had lost one of his warriors at the ealdorman's hands, and received his head days later in a chest, and erik has been plotting ever since just how to seek his retribution. the longhouse fell into a tense silence, every eye fixed on the captive.

his gaze shifted to ivar, who still held the girl with a rough grip. a mocking smile curled erik's lips, and he allowed a note of chastisement to seep into his voice. "ivar," erik said, his tone dripping with mockery, "is this how we treat such an esteemed guest? have you forgotten all your manners?" ivar's eyes widened, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before he quickly released her. he took a step back, his posture stiff and uncertain. the other men watched with rapt attention as erik began to move, each step deliberate and slow, until he stood face to face with the girl. "leave us," erik commanded, his voice ringing with authority. "every one of you." there was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty among his warriors. bjorn glanced at erik, his brow furrowed, but a slight nod from him quelled any protest. reluctantly, they began to file out of the longhouse, their heavy footfalls echoing in the silence. the door creaked as it closed behind the last of them, leaving her and erik alone in the dimly lit room. erik's smirk widened, satisfaction evident as he let the silence stretch, his intense gaze burning into her.

[howellslides]

babes my experience is not universal and blah blah blah but when i bring up how much pain i’m in by using positivity and humour, that is not the time to respond with sympathy and sads. like if i’m joking about it i’m either not ready to be upset about it or i’ve already done being upset about it, you being upset about it for me is just pushing me into that space unnecessarily and kinda makes me feel like i’m not allowed to like? talk? about my day? unless i’m catering to your emotions in the first place.

also, like, just match my energy, the conversation is gonna be way funnier if we’re both joking about it cuz let’s be real bodies are already engineered terribly and there’s something hilarious about mine not even meeting that subpar standard

[skrunksthatwunk]

yu yu hakonstruct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men.mp4

crossposted to youtube

[kachuuyaa]

going out of my hiatus to say: what the actual fuck was this chapter and wyy did it have to be BRAM OUT OF ALLL PEOPLEEEEE FUCKKK

[elijahfalvey]

WHERE / Blue Harbor Public Library.

WHEN / Any day, any time!

WITH / Jasper Finch — @fromharbor.

Elijah didn’t often come to the library — he wasn’t much of a reader, if he was honest — but he found himself there every so often, usually at the whim of his seven year old stepdaughter, Hattie, who absolutely loved finding new books to read. This particular trip was no different, the little girl having begged him to take her for no less than a week before he was able to find the time to make it there, just the two of them. He still didn’t really understand why she always asked him to bring her and not her mother, who he believed to be far more intellectually equipped to steer her in the right direction of literary choices, but he wasn’t going to complain when dragging him through the different sections made her so visibly happy. It’d been thirty minutes — maybe an hour — before she stumbled into the media center, browsing through what he hoped were kid-appropriate films for their next movie night. It was around then, typically, that Elijah dipped across the aisle, his interest perpetually caught by the hundreds of CDs that were available for rent. There was hardly ever anything that he’d actually take out, purely because he didn’t have a reason to, but he didn’t care. It gave him a similar amount of joy, just looking, so he would. Every time. “Oh.” His fingers caught the case of a Fleetwood Mac CD, pulling it out from the row to glimpse at the cover art. The Original Fleetwood Mac was written across the top, along with photos of the first incarnation of the band; an interesting find for a local library, that was for sure. Holding it gently in his grasp, he glanced up to find an employee mere steps away, and before he could stop the question from spilling out, he found himself asking, “Hello — excuse me, sorry. This is a ridiculous question, perhaps, but … do you guys happen to sell these,” he lifted the CD, showcasing it, “Or is it strictly borrowing?”

[g1bsongirl]

𖤐⋆.˚  STATUS  ... open .ᐟ 𖤐⋆.˚  LOCATION  ... anywhere outside baybee .ᐟ

what was the saying — music on, world off ? certainly applied to iris. the girl was in a trance, fully encompassed by the ‘smooth’ sounds of 100 gecs frying her eardrums. one notch up and crimson would’ve no doubt dripped from her ears. a grimace contoured her features as soon as her playlist shuffled. who the hell snuck ‘sail’ by awolnation into her rotation ? before she could even hit next, the wheels of her rollerskates swept up from beneath her. blunt force caused her body to stumble back. looked like something out of a cartoon, had it been, a giant text would’ve appeared in a decorative bubble … ‘ boing ! ’ headphones lay beside her, the obnoxious beat blaring. perhaps the song was a warning sign ? should’ve listened. instead, she accepted defeat, laid there and took a gander at the sky. “ s’nice day — huh ? ” head tilted as she squinted, trying to catch a better glimpse without mutilating her pupils. “ is it just me or does that cloud look like billy the puppet ? ” wasn’t her first time falling and it certainly wouldn’t be her last. “ y’think you could spare me a hand ? ” she extended an arm out, fingers splayed, and offered a lax grin.

[thetorturedmusesdept]

@youllalwaysbemyporcelain Marie & Miguel

The crowd was still cheering as Marie and Miguel exited stage left, having just performed their duet Baby It's Cold Outside together at the Winter Market. Immediately, Marie got helped into her big fluffy, furry white coat by a member of the tech crew, who she thanked. Her heart was still thumping, racing hard in her chest from the adrenaline that always came with performing. Such a rush Marie always felt, every single time, and it only grew when the crowd cheered. She loved performing, truly loved it, and performing at Christmas time just felt even more magical.

She was grinning from ear to ear when she took Miguel's arm in her hands and leaned on his shoulder, walking with him to the dressing rooms. She giggled, sighing dreamily. "That was so fun, I can't wait to do it again. We absolutely should perform together more often. Our voices compliment each other, non?"

Luckily, the dressing rooms weren't far. As they walked closer to her door, Marie continued to gush about everything. "You are a natural on the stage, Miguel. This is so great, wasn't that amazing?" Again she asked a question without letting him answer before continuing on, now at her dressing room door. "You sounded so good, I cannot thank you enough for performing with me, monsieur." She turned to open her door and walked inside, turning back around to face him. She had her mouth opened to speak, but that was when she saw it.

The mistletoe hung just above her dressing room door... right above and in between Marie and Miguel. She had hung it there as an excuse to show affection through cheek kisses with those she liked or was close with, and more than that, she had a very romanticized fantasy of experiencing a real mistletoe kiss one day. Now.... it hung between her and her friend.... Miguel. Her eyes traveled from it to him, slowly, and she felt heat in her face as she blushed out of embarrassment. Did she just cheek kiss him like she normally would any other friend? Would that be awkward? They had gotten close in the short time they'd known each other, but would he feel awkward about sharing a kiss, even if just on the cheek? Would he want a real kiss?

Would she? "Sacre bleu... Of course, I uh-um, I forgot I put that there." She laughed a bit awkwardly, and casually shed her coat and tossed it aside as she tried to think of whether or not to go for a kiss - and what sort of kiss to make it. She tried to read Miguel, tried to feel for what he wanted. "Mistletoe... I mean, you know what they say, right...?"

[angelbenningflint]

who: open starter ( @eventidestarters ) where: district 13

The first weeks after the arrival of the folks from 8 and 12 had been hard. Most of them had lost everything. And Ángel who took pride in being able to cheer people up, was unable to do so. Not only because the loss they had suffered was so immense, but because he could barely get himself to leave his rooms. Their loss had reminded him of his own. His matching wound may have not been as fresh, may have protected itself with scar tissue, but it was there all the same. He found himself feeling much like the young boy he once was, trapped in a room for a much different reason. But eventually, after remembering all he had learned from the good doctor, he found himself able to face them, embarrassed at how long it took him to welcome the new members of 13 into the fold.

But as the weeks passed and that dark feeling seemed to no longer haunt the halls, Ángel began to love all the new life that had been injected right into the heart of 13. He could feel the fresh energy pumping through the veins of their concrete home. He loved talking to them, getting to know what it was like in the other districts, hear what their food tasted like, what traditions they held. He also loved showing them how they did things in 13. Their food might not be impressive, but their tech was, and as a tech supervisor, it was something else to watch them interact with it.

All that being said, for the most part, Ángel loved the new circumstances of 13. But, as someone who had lived alone for the past 7 years, suddenly having a roommate was...Something that made him want to stick a fork into an electrical socket.

"Oh for fucks sake," he cursed as he walked into the last hideout spot he had on his mental list, only to find it occupied. "Did everyone suddenly develop a rat like sense of being able to sniff out all the hidden nooks and crannies of this place?"

[wickedlvst]

closed for @hurtrite for this starter call // based on (x)

platinum hair shone brightly in warm candlelight, leaving the resemblance of a halo, as she took a few tentative steps towards the blonde giant of a man. with the eyes of both their clans upon her and her older brother’s gaze glaring daggers into her back to keep her moving, knowing all too well how she’d fought this alliance tooth and nail, it was impossible not to feel like the sacrificial lamb led to its slaughter. not that she couldn’t understand why her older brother had been pushing this marriage, all too determined to end the war that had already cost both of them their father in a brutal battle, leaving most of the men of their village incapacitated if not a mutilated corpse on a field drowning in blood. if it meant offering her up as a sacrificial offering to a merciless barbarian to avoid further bloodshed, not to mention the eradication of their people, he probably would have let them all fuck her one after the other right there on the battlefield. freya couldn’t even really blame him for this decision, instilled with an overwhelming sense of duty and loyalty for her people - even if she hadn’t been allowed to fight with them as so many other women of their village had. the jarl’s daughter was too precious a cargo to risk her getting hurt, too valuable of a bargaining ship. it hadn’t mattered to either her father or brother that she could fight as least half as well as some of their men, that she’d have rather faced the possibility of a brutal death out there with them as opposed to being left behind to imagine the worst, without being able to do anything to help.

but freya supposed it didn’t matter anymore. all she could do now was to hold her head high and make the best of an impossible situation. if it meant sleeping with a knife in her bed to keep her future husband from killing her in her sleep, so be it. only a fool would trust him to not try anything so cruel and she might be many things but a fool she was most certainly not, mind almost as cunning as that of the trickster god. she came to a stop only a few feet away from him, keeping her body with all her might from trembling at his intimidating presence. she was not going show any sign of weakness, refusing to act like the prey her family apparently considered her to be. forcing a smile onto her lips, she squared her shoulders, trying her best to make for her lack of height and overall fragility with a good posture. "i look forward to bringing our people together and setting an end to this war that's already cost too many lives", she opened the conversation, tone polite yet an attentive listener would easily notice the hint of an accusation behind them, obviously putting all of the blame for the bloodshed on him, "may the gods bless our connection."

[ariaboughton]

@audrasmythe

It felt a bit weird meeting Audra - after all, they have a mutual friend through the one person that Aria is not allowed under any means to talk to. But she worries about him. Hates that she can't stop thinking about if they've killed him. She could ask, and it's on her mind to do so - but she won't do that either. She just sits in it and waits. If she's good, if she's useful, then maybe it won't be too long before she knows something.

Still — she prepares by reminding herself that it'll be good to go out and be around someone that she knows she can trust. The text had come in at the perfect time, really - right when she'd been about to drift off into another spiral of anxiety that had seemingly overtaken most of her life these days.

No drama, just a clear head, beautiful art, and maybe a laugh or two with a friend. She could do that. Easily. She'd dressed and done her make-up so as to hide just how tired she was lately. She cracks an easy smile once she spots Audra just outside the venue, lifting a hand in greeting.

"Hey!" This feels so far outside the realm of what she's been dealing with the past little bit that it's almost a relief to just be. "I hope you're ready for me to ramble your ear off about how beautiful everything is."

[hcllishsins]

closed starter > ft. @veneror !! ( lucifer )

this version of hell was .. different . it felt more permanent than avernus . which , one could suppose it was . especially considering , you know , he died . his plan to take part in the rite of ascension failed , and instead , his bastard of a master managed to complete his ascension , sacrificing astarion in the process . the vampire wasn ' t entirely sure how long he ' d been in hell , since time passed different here . perhaps it had been a week ? maybe two ? at present , the elven vampire was crouched over his prey , his fangs sinking deep into the demon ' s flesh . as the rich , crimson blood flowed into his mouth , a rush of exhilaration washed over him , momentarily drowning out the screams of his victim . demonic blood tasted more bitter than that of someone who was alive . but .. even though he himself was dead , his hunger still remained , and it was even more ravenous than before . and so , he needed to feed . thankfully , even in the depths of hell , there was a twisted sense of satisfaction in the hunt . the scent of another flooded astarion ' s senses immediately , and he heard the slight footsteps that entered the mouth of the alley way . the hand that held the victim up immediately loosened and dropped the limp body . spinning on his heel , then came a harmonious giggle . a hand swiped over his mouth , clearing away any droplets of blood that may have stained his chin . " ah .. " he hummed , raising a both of his hands , palms facing the other . " it ' s not what it looks like .. well , actually .. it is EXACTLY what it looks like .. oops ? " then came another giggle , seemingly holding no remorse for almost killing the demon who now lay hunched on the ground .

[sterlingwhitvale]

who: @fatefought (ezra klair) where: d13 kitchens

It really wasn't fair for 5 year olds to have food allergies. They were young and stupid and unobservant. And his 5 year old had a tendency to passionately partake in conversation with whoever was at her table while eating, never paying attention to what she was shoving in her undiscerning mouth. And Sterling, had gotten lax. He was so used to himself, Cecelia, or their families preparing their meals and knowing of Satina's allergy, or being in the capitol where every meal was made to order and could be easily changed, that in all the changes of coming to 13, Sterling had forgotten to let someone know.

It was harder here, of course, all meals being prepared en masse for the large population, and he had no idea, really, on how to make it work. And he had stewed and stewed on it, almost to a ridiculous amount. Although, he had realized some hours in that thinking on something small, like a food allergy, was a great way to avoid thinking on the other, much larger, issues in his family's life at the moment. Notably, the increase every day of questions from his kids about their mother's whereabouts. He was running out of answers, and each day Jax looked at him more and more intensely. It was unnerving, his own eyes staring back at him in that way.

So he took his 30 minutes of 'reflection' time to make his way down to the kitchens, having finally figured out the best way to go about it would be on a small person to person sale, rather than a large one. --- He was surprised to see the man he had heard was practically the sole reason so many tributes had escaped the arena was present, working away in the kitchens, when Sterling had expected him to be elsewhere, in the training rooms, perhaps. "Ezra, right?" He knew better than to sneak up on someone who had been in the games, so he tried to make himself known as quickly as possible.

Sterling was not a loquacious man by nature, and having never spoken to the man before, it wasn't a tone he usually took with people he didn't know. But in a way, he felt as if he did know him. A man who joined the rebellion due to his love for a victor. It was his own story, as well. Perhaps the familiarity was undesired by the other party, but Sterling, having never needed any company other than his wife and his family, both the one he created and grew up in, found himself adrift as he had lost most of those and unsure if they'd ever be found. So, almost embarrassingly, he found himself reaching out.

"Blacksmith. Rebel. Cook. Anything not in your skill set?"

[kuroosdarling]

(୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤) : you’ve been matched with … KAGEYAMA !

@cathybarn

[pctaldrunk]

@yoakkemae​ asked   :    17) one muse has been holding a grudge only to discover the other has been secretly doing something to help them. // ran & kid.   -   SHOOT IDK WHICH MEME THIS IS (ACCEPTING)

Sonoko’s celebrity crush is loud and exuberant, but it is endearing and harmless - and sometimes, unfortunately inconvenient.  Despite the nature of a great majority of her acquaintances - she’s not her father and she’s not Conan and she doesn’t always enjoy spending Saturday nights at a gala or a museum, WAITING and watching for the phantom thief to appear in a room teeming with nervous policemen. And anyway - she always wondered if it isn’t true that the more people present, the more options he would have to impersonate? - As it turns out she PARTICULARLY doesn’t enjoy Saturday nights she spends locked in the bathroom in a likely drug-induced slumber while said thief runs amok - presumably wearing her face. If she hadn’t been strapped into something so complicated (at Sonoko’s insistence, no less) or had sturdier shoes - well, as her mother had said from an early age, there’s no crying over spilt milk. 

Despite the weakness that lingers in her limbs from the sleeping smoke - being left in a camisole and shorts made it easy to kick the door to the stall nearly STRAIGHT off its hinges when she comes to to the sound of footsteps and caught a glimpse of white from the crack beneath. It’ll be a disadvantaged fight, since her head is still spinning a little - if she isn’t gassed again immediately, anyway - but when she prepares to kick Kid’s stupid hat off, she notices that he isn’t holding a jewel in white gloved hands but rather a familiar looking pair of shoes. Sonoko had lent (or rather, presented) the impractical but sparkly monstrosities to her earlier that very evening - and while she knew better than to let Sonoko dictate her wardrobe, her scuffed boots did seem out of place for the venue. 

Voice is croaky when she asks, incredulity coloring her voice, “...Are you...putting heel-liners in my shoes?” Registers the STING that half-circles her ankles finally, the incessant discomfort that she didn’t quite manage to ignore all night - feet suddenly cold on the tiles. Realizes, a moment later. “...And last time, the bandaid for those new flats.” Silent, still, watching as she leans against the door, for longer than she’d planned to. It’s strange to think about - she’s grown up surrounded by the idea of justice, and yet Ran has always had a strong ATTACHMENT to the idea of kindness. To find it in a world renowned jewel thief, so suddenly and in so simple a thing, after wanting to bite his head off for a whole evening...was jarring, to say the least. Mumbles, half to herself - “...I guess you’re the gentleman thief for a reason.” 

[earlyspringtranscendence]

i desperately need hangmox to be on early bc i have no energy drinks and school in the morning + i was gonna nap today but then didnt

[elijahfalvey]

— LOCATION: The Labyrinth.

— CHARACTERS: Elijah & Dee ( @deexkaplan ).

Elijah could always tell when Leon was particularly bored, even when the grumpy barman who he’d consider one of his closest friends wasn’t around to torment him with his thoughts in person; his phone vibrated in his pocket so many damn times he felt nothing but compelled to answer, or at the very least check to make sure that it wasn’t something actually important. There were plenty of scenarios where glancing down at the device proved to be incredibly inconvenient, like when he was busy — which, not for nothing Leon, he quite often was — or like right now, when he was tucked away in a booth at the Labyrinth across from Dee, mindlessly chatting and sharing a few drinks. He’d agreed to come out with her in order to actually spend time with her, not to be distracted by the incessant buzzing of his phone. However, the frequency of notifications was becoming harder and harder to ignore by the minute. Regretfully interrupting her, he pulled the damn thing out from his clothes and said, “Sorry, Dee. Sorry, one second. Someone keeps fucking . . .” His tone teetered on light frustration as the brightness of the screen illuminated against his face in the dim lighting of the bar, and there it was: several new messages from ‘Leon Woz do not answer 💔’ staring back at him. He huffed out a breath and decidedly put off answering any of them, setting his phone to the side on the table they shared face-up. “It’s not important. Sorry — I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

His eyes found their way to Dee’s as the screen turned on again, and low and behold, ‘Leon Woz do not answer 💔’ was calling him. The impatient bastard.