#verse tag pending!

[gcldfanged]

@setirophx

Getting from Midgar to Junon had been a stressful endeavor, requiring assets such as falsified documentation and passports- New identities they had to memorize and manage to seamlessly obfuscate. Jae’s cover story had been easy enough, a simple name switch and a fake occupation. Immigrants from Wutai and Haneul typically had dual citizenship, so it wasn’t a massive stretch. Sephiroth and the child, on the other hand, had been more difficult. It wasn’t just a matter of cutting and dying hair, they had uniquely colored eyes to boot- Not to mention the former General couldn’t exactly pass himself off as any other eight to five salaryman.

The worst of it was behind them, they’d managed to get through to Yoon’s nation of origin. Shinra still had its industrial claws sucking the land dry of naturally rich deposits of mako, but they would not be risking a life in the capital city. The Turk took them further in the north along the various streams and rivers branching from the sprawling mountain range. Flat grassy planes and fertile hills began to give way to steppes and rocks. But they remained along the borders at the feet of the jutting dragon’s spine of cliffs along the peninsula, where the forest was dense. Game and flora would be more abundant there.

It took some time even by truck and Al was clearly growing rather disenchanted with how windy it was in comparison to the sunny shores of Junon or mild weather of Midgar. 

“I think this might be it,” Jae finally spoke, stepping out of the pick up. Ancient slices of tree trunks made a meandering pathway to a large house, clearly abandoned and in a questionable state. He was surprised that it was still standing, to be honest.

Al glanced around, looking less than impressed as he clung to Sephiroth’s leg.

“When are we going to go back?” the child asked, fidgeting in an anxious and unsure manner.

“This is going to be our home, Al. I grew up in this house when I was about your age,” he answered, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgic familiarity yet also awareness of the passage of time. It was still on the cusp between the end of summer and the start of fall, so the foliage was alive and vibrant green, trumpet vines and creeping ivy overtaking everything.

“Good thing winter hasn’t kicked in yet, or it’d all be snow.”

The nearest trading outpost wasn’t too far away, a small village a couple miles south. They could rely on dry goods and canned food for now, but when they had to contend with day long blizzards and low visibility, hunting would be their only source of steady food in addition to preserving grown vegetables during the fairer times of the year.

“Just keep your shoes on, I have no idea what kind of nasty bugs have probably been shacking up here. We get everything- Huntsman spiders, house centipedes, geckos- At least the geckos are cute.”

The hanok is mostly wood, stone, and earth, with sliding screen doors lined with additional panes of glass. Most of them were broken or cracked from wear and weather. The floors were heated via water boiler, but there was also a gudeul system for cooking and heating via firewood. There was a bathing area inside the house that required heat as well, but the bathroom was in a shed a couple steps away. A large gas generator was housed in a shed to run appliances and electricity, though they usually saved energy and relied on the gudeul in the wintertime.

“I’ll have find someone in the village to check the ondol system, since carbon monoxide poisoning is an issue if you don’t know what you’re doing… The generator seems okay, just dry. Water comes from wells and the mountain streams. Everything is totally overgrown, I’ll have to start over from the soil up if we want to have a garden.”

It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t great, either.

“We could make this work, but I’ll be honest- It’s going to be hard. We’re going to have to do ton of repairs while the weather’s still nice and winter prep is going to be… uh. Maybe we’ll just deal with that after we get the house in working order. What do you think…? No good?” he asks, looking over the place once more.

[mxthbladed]

@holyfurnace said: Royalty AU - Marriage Law - every royal must marry a commoner chosen by the advisor to keep the bloodlines clean (for Emily and Vaggie) Arranged Marriage Prompts

Of anyone that could've been chosen for the marriage law, she was the last person she could've thought of as being chosen. Yet, here was the royal guard, standing at her parents' door, asking for her to come with them as Princess Emily's chosen bride. As she was taken away, Agata glanced back to see her siblings at the window of their little cottage.

Once in the carriage and on the way to the castle, her heart was pounding. A woman in the carriage started to talk to her but Agata's thoughts were racing and she could only really listen, rather than speak in turn. As the woman said, when they arrived, Agata was immediately taken to a bath and scrubbed before being dressed in a beautiful gown, her hair being drawn up into an elegant bun. Once she was presentable, Agata was guided to the throne room and instructed to bow before Emily.

"Your highness, we have brought forth your bride from the village."

Agata's gaze raised hesitantly from the ground, glancing up to catch a proper look at Emily.

[malkaleh]

Tudor What If: Anne Boleyn Has Sons

‘The birth of her first son Thomas and then four more boys (and two more daughters) changed history and changed the course of the world.’

[veloriaharmonia]

@honkaisteinrail

It had been early evening when Chessa got the call to come to the Outer Ring to treat a group attacked by bandits. It wasn't anything new for her, since she was one of the few willing to go out there who didn't already live out there, though she was told she'd need to keep things discreet.

Didn't need to tell her twice. She did recognize the women as she treated their wounds and checked for head injuries, but it wasn't her place to mention it.

Other than maybe a quick text to Tempera. But he could keep a secret, too.

She stayed in town after treating them, just talking with the locals and waiting to see how things went. When she spotted Lighter with one of them (and another nearby) she could see him saying something, then pointing to her and heading off on his way.

"How ya feeling?"

[shadovan]

@lcftyambiticns continued from here:

Lorroakan rarely left his tower —— why would he risk getting stabbed in the back by some lunatic when he had his minions assistants to run errands for him?

Today, however, his presence was required at the Counting House, and he was dead set on taking his frustrations out on the next innocent employee and letting them know that his VALUABLE TIME wasn't to be SQUANDERED.

He paused when he spotted yet another execution notice hanging on a wall. This city was truly going to the dogs...

' You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen. '

Initially ignoring the voice, Lorroakan suddenly felt someone staring at him. Was HE being addressed? With a perplexed frown, he slowly turned his head.

What in the nine hells... The audacity of some people!!

The wizard blinked, taken aback and bewildered, as he gazed at the pale man who was shamelessly ogling him.

". . . . I beg your pardon??" He wasn't flattered ( perhaps a little ), but offended and felt his cheeks flushing.

"I suggest you cease gawking at me if you value your well-being," he snapped, distaste and disdain his voice; clearly flustered unnerved by the . . . unexpected attention.

His left eyebrow raised at the threat — or was it more self-defense on the other’s part? Both could be applicable depending on how the remark had been received. Perhaps his tone hadn't come across as he had expected.

"My well-being? I doubt you could do much to me," he said with a smile, a simple shrug of his shoulders while Tareque rested his arms on the table in front of him. It wasn't even a remark of arrogance, just simple fact. This form would be destroyed, but it would only come back stronger.

"Besides, it was a compliment," the lich added, gold eyes looking the man up and down without a hint of subtly. "But now you're looking at me like you just had a pointy stick shoved up your ass, so I may need to retract it."

He wouldn't. The sentiment was still accurate, but how dull would it be to simply walk away without causing more of a fuss? The fact was that Tareque was merely that damned bored, and Lorroakan was providing a pleasant view of a distraction from it.

[vinzred]

new thinblood malkavian boy Tag Wilson

[theoldsecretkeeper]

" hey , uh . margarine ? "

oh , it's creecher ! coming out of her hidey hole like the telltale annual groundhog , except the only portent she brings is .. apparently a pair of bickering italians . sorry . one italian and one very - not - italian - american .

.. wait who is that dude with peppino --

" got some sort of timeline issue . i figured you might be able to help with it . " one hand emerges from her hoodie pocket to jut a thumb back at the two .

Margarita was just window shopping again, she been doing that a bunch recently, i mean there were a BUNCH of neat things out there! She rarely got out to visit town in her own timeline so maybe-

" hey , uh . margarine ? "

Oh! Creech! No one else called her that nickname besides Creech!

"Yeah?-"

She turned around, thinking she would only see Creech, but she saw Sacch and.. who? That was someone she never seen before. She stared at the man bickering with Sacch, He looked weird and.. mean looking? Was that mean to say? What the hell were they all saying? She could hear Sacch's, this stranger, and Creech's voice but it was all just pass one ear and the other.

"C-can yall speak one at a time i-i can't focus with yall bickering. Please-"

@lultimagoccia & @crvptd

[maudlxne]

❝ You drink poison in front of somebody once and suddenly you're the problem. ❞

[sunlitmews]

@spokewar gets a starter from Ishtar:

"I know I've seen eyes like yours before. Stewjoni right? From that rim world with all those glowing mosses?" Better to keep conversations to such mundane things, instead of whatever crimes she may have committed that could have possibly brought a Jedi to her ship…or more precisely to the little stall she had set up on the dock.

"I have a little dried glow-root left, if you're looking for something from home. Though my journey-cubs cleared me out of most of it, good for the fangs, and little moon likes the texture." Yes, offering snacks was a good choice, no one needed to look for poisons, or misdeeds, nothing to see here. Just a normal Cathar merchant, selling assorted plants, with no assassination training, and definitely no room filled with so many toxins the very air could kill.

"I've definitely got some tea-moss somewhere, people generally don't look for it, so I don't run out too quick. Good thing too, it grows so slowly off-world."

[gcldfanged]

#I keep thinking he will literally try to eat anything too #like that meme of the owner's hand like pulling the cat's head back from his cup noodles photo

H E L P

[sirenum]

@el-perro-rabiosa tempted fate;

Darkness laid like a blanket over the Konni building, all was still and peaceful within those fortified walls, bar a few security guards, though their ranks were gradually being thinned by the dog prowling the corridors, until she finally made it to the high-security private apartment at the top of the building.

Deft hands worked away at the lock on the door, hidden in the shadows of night, until the door swung open, revealing a rather angry looking Makarov

."Ah... I told them stealth isn't my thing." Freya muttered, giving a light shrug as she stood to her full height, quirking an eyebrow as she looked up at the slightly taller man. "I expected you to be taller."

Makarov would look down at Freya his eyes not flickering a single ounce of emotion even after her callous words. He was tall enough in his eyes , plus it wasn't like height necessarily meant anything when one was trying to cause destruction and unleash horrors that would twist the most fragile of minds.

However this insect before him had been a pain in his side for far to long. A little bug that had taken more than it could chew and now shed face the consequences to her actions

" замолчи. Do not speak unless you're spoken to грызун. "

How Makarov wished to ring her neck right now. The audacity that she was here..attempting to break into his "home" was despicable. Repulsive and invasive.

He was the only one who should be allowed to break into the lives of others. The only one to destroy... so having someone attempt and fail painfully was repulsive and disgusting to him.

" you have one minute to explain before you get a bullet through your skull... or even I'll make it more fun. I will shoot both your shoulders and then plant the last one right between your pathetic eyes."

[orphanedshadow]

@spokewar asked: Offers her a vaguely interesting rock

It may have only been vaguely interesting to some, but to Kara, it was more than enough to almost bring a sad sort of smile to her face. There was a small vein of something running through it, one she recognized. A small brush with her thumb, and with the Force had that vein sparking to life with a dim yellow glow, one that brought the child some comfort. Her free hand moved to write, the other cradling the stone like a baby bird. “FROM HOME.” The rock was just like her, light-years away from Dathomir, and she supposed it too may never find its way back. “MAKES LIGHT IF ASKED.”

[malkaleh]

🌈 + and OC of your choice <3

John Welles. Earl of Norwich. parcere subiectis et debellare superbos [spare the subjects, wage war against the proud]

such a beautiful boy - my sweet antinous, you were meant to lay against me, wrapped in nothing but fine silks

He’s intelligent, handsome, a dashing spy and courtier. Cultured, witty and well read. The perfect renaissance man, much enamoured of the Empire of Rome. The Duke of Norfolk’s trusted agent and friend. A monster and a gentleman.

John Norwich is one of my Tudors OT3 verse OCs. He respects one (1) of these fuckers and that’s the Duke of Norfolk. He would love the dark academia classics aesthetic. He has plans within plans. He’s the monster haunting Thomas Cromwell’s nightmares, who took him age ten and never wanted to let go.

When he finds ‘his antinous’ at court, a favourite of the monarchs and as beautiful a man as he was as a child (to Norwich) he is determined to reclaim him. For is he not his slave, his property after all.

with so much thanks to @lemurious for giving me Norwich’s latin motto and @nocompromise-noregrets for being a friend and plotting partner <33333.

[wdwctrl]

@twcbelts asked " you keep saying and doing things like this, i might just end up pregnant. "

he might have a problem, and that was his need to keep his cock nestled within her walls, feeling the way she would fit so snug around him as he'd keep fucking up into her, keeping his seed right where the more feral side of himself wanted it. he had a deep desire to fill her up, have her round with his baby. he'd just murmured about stuffing her full when she spoke up, her words sending an almost primal urge through his veins though he knew she meant them mostly in jest.

she was pressed back to his chest, thighs spread wide to open her up for brutal thrusts. hand had encircled her throat as she finished speaking, not squeezing too tight but pressing just enough that she knew how fucking close he was to doing just that. his free hand slid down the front of pale torso, calloused digits finding her clit and circling in a teasing manner. "you'd love that wouldn't you, gatita? be round with my baby," there was a hint of dark need within his voice, the man damn near feral at the thought of her pregnant with his baby.

[shadovan]

@infernalxmachinery cont.:

Karlach looked down at the....elf? At least she thought he was an elf. He's elf-shaped in any case. Her tankard made a quiet thunk as it hit the bartop beside her. She had hoped going to the Mermaid on a quiet night would mean less people. She was sorely mistaken.

"You have no idea how bad of an idea I am, promise ya that."

Dammon had managed to get her stable but...she was still blistering anyone who managed to get too close. Thankfully not nearly as bad as a few months ago. She hadn't managed to set anything on fire recently, so that's a bonus.

Regardless, she was still lonely and most people avoided the giant tiefling like the spellplague.

Perhaps it hadn't been the most eloquent remark on the lich's part, but at least she hadn't veered away from the crass nature of it. Karlach wasn't the only one that people actively made to avoid, so her response intrigued him far more than it probably should have.

In his case, it was typically the lingering scent of musty graverot and the chilling presence that granted the lich a wide berth by the public.

"See, that's precisely the thing you shouldn't say to someone who's curiosity is too tempting for their own good," he pointed out with a widening smile.

Regardless of what developed from this, Tareque was never one to turn away pleasant conversation with a stranger. Even if by using lewd commentary as an ice-breaker. Hell, sometimes that was the most interesting way to strike up a meeting.

[visionheld]

@stillgrows : "Kaveh." When Kaveh turned at his name, Haitham reached out a hand to fix some hair near his ear—it had become tucked somehow, likely from Kaveh himself messing with it, and was sticking out as a loop. Once it was fixed, Haitham turned his attention back to his book without another word.

It’s no secret that Kaveh is prone to getting absorbed in his work. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time with the man could tell you that. His principles forbid him from doing anything half heartedly, becoming entirely engrossed in any project he's been tasked. The rest of the world seems to melt away in those moments, the only things within the room being himself and the select few objects and equations that make up his muse at the time.

Naturally, when one is so deeply fixated on a single subject, more minor things such as their surroundings and physical presentation slip out of focus. He is well aware that this is a habit of his. Therefore, when Kaveh is in his studio or out working on site, the architect portions off some of his acute focus in exchange for some general self awareness. Ideally, he would be able to devote all his attention to what he's working on. But neglecting the attention of his colleagues and clients would make him a discreditable architect, just as much as it would if he started cutting corners on materials, or settling for a generic design out of laziness.

However, in instances like today when he is alone in the comfort of his home, Kaveh discards this outside awareness in order to increase productivity. Here, if he starts to neglect subjects outside of his project, he's not effecting or harming anyone but himself. His reputation as a brilliant, reliable, and accomplished artist can remain untouched. The future of Kshahrewar, and the arts as a whole can rest safely knowing that its star has not yet dwindled.

Kaveh doesn't know when Al-Haitham entered the living room. He's been vaguely aware of the scribe's presence for the last few hours but he saw no need to waste his energy on acknowledging him. It would seem that the feeling is mutual, as his roommate had also failed to greet him upon entering the room.

Kaveh imagines Al-Haitham prefers it this way. His junior has always preferred the peaceful quiet, and is not eager to disrupt it for anything. He imagines Al-Haitham also prefers it when Kaveh specifically is quiet, as the scribe does not hesitate to comment or complain when Kaveh is disturbing the peace.

The thought makes Kaveh's brows twitch in annoyance, momentarily considering getting out his tools and making as much noise as possible in retaliation. But ultimately he discards this idea. Al-Haitham isn't worth the trouble, and besides -- It's not often these days that they can share a peaceful moment in the same space. With Kaveh pouring over his blueprints, and Al-Haitham reading his book at his side, content to share the comfortable silence together... It almost feels like the old days. It almost feels like nothing has changed, even though everything has.

But those days are over, and anything that resembles them is short lived. Someone has to break the silence first. Someone has to pull away the curtain and ruin whatever amicability is shared between them. Many days it's Kaveh's doing, the architect so mistrusting of any goodwill Al-Haitham may spare him that he seeks to reveal whatever hidden motive the other may have.

However, today Al-Haitham breaks the silence first.

Kaveh instinctively tenses at the sound of his own name, bracing for whatever snide remark his roommate has prepared for him or his work. Surely, that's what this is about, isn't it? He can't imagine what else would be deemed important enough to pull Al-Haitham from his precious book, especially not when he's outright ignored Kaveh when he was trying to talk to him last night in order to read it. Despite his better judgement, Kaveh turns to face the other, a sharp comment of his own resting on the tip of his tongue like a weapon.

Kaveh is prepared to defend himself from whatever criticism Al-Haitham has in store for him. But he's not prepared for what actually happens.

A look of alarm quickly replaces the frown on his face when he realizes how close his roommate is to him. Had he always been this close? Had Kaveh been so engrossed in his work that he'd missed Al-Haitham getting closer? More importantly, what does Al-Haitham think he's playing at getting so close to him? Can't he see Kaveh is in the middle of something? Does he think it's funny messing with him when he's got a looming deadline?

Kaveh stiffens as Al-Haitham reaches towards him, confusion now seeping into his startled expression. The scribe's hands find their way into Kaveh's honey blonde hair, freeing the strands that had gotten mussed with a tender ease. Kaveh is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but stare back at his roommate in utter incredulousness. Al-Haitham does not meet his gaze, keeping his eyes on his senior's hair.

Kaveh notes how focused Al-Haitham looks in this moment, his eyes steady and resolute. The sight brings forth an uncomfortable twinge to the pit of Kaveh's stomach, a sensation he's long come to associate with his former best friend but has never had a name for it. In his newfound disquiet, Kaveh feels suddenly compelled to take Al-Haitham's chin in his hand and make him look at him properly. All these years have passed and he still can't be bothered to show his senior proper respect, even when he's going as far as to mess with his hair.

But before Kaveh can deflect or give in to his impulses, Al-Haitham withdraws. The moment of intimacy, as confusing and unwarranted as it may be is over. Al-Haitham has returned to his book like nothing had even happened, like Kaveh wasn't there at all. Kaveh feels another twinge in his gut, a rush of indignant warmth rising to his chest and face. What in Celestia's name was that about? What kind of person just runs their hand through someone's hair without permission and then goes back to pretending they don't exist?

The architect scowls, standing from his seat and throwing his hands on his hips as he levels his irritated gaze on his roommate. “ Was that all? Is that seriously what you thought was worth interrupting my work? Honestly, Haitham does messing with me bring you so much enjoyment that you have to disturb me first thing in the morning? You know someday I should come into your office and disrupt you like that! See how you like it! ”

As if to make good on this threat, Kaveh gives into his own impulses and buries a hand in Al-Haitham's hair. The gesture is much rougher than when Al-Haitham had done it. Kaveh's hands are coarse and calloused from years of manual labor compared to the soft hands of a comfortable scribe. Not to mention the clear annoyance in the architect's movements as he briskly combs Al-Haitham's gray hair upward and out of his eyes.

Ordinarily such an obvious attempt at starting a fight would be met with disgruntlement and disdain from Al-Haitham. But yet again the scribe surprises him. At last he meets Kaveh's gaze, an uncharacteristic wide eyed look in his piercing eyes. The sight makes Kaveh stop dead in his tracks, feeling his stomach drop as he realizes what he's doing. He pulls his hand away with a speed that would suggest that Al-Haitham's scalp had burned him.

Even after Kaveh has withdrawn, Al-Haitham still stares up at him in silence. His gaze only makes Kaveh feel more agitated, the twinge in his stomach now so great that he feels may vomit at any moment. He'd made all that fuss, thinking he'd prefer it if Al-Haitham looked at him. But now Kaveh understands that this is much worse.

He's never been uncomfortable being the subject of others' gazes before. But no one looks at him like Al-Haitham does. No one seems to really see him like he does. That truth frightens him, frightens him so much that he had pushed his friend away because he hadn't wanted to be seen. He still doesn't want to be seen. Not like this. He doesn't know what to do with it.

“ I'm going to work in my room, ” It's Kaveh's turn to break the silence, abruptly announcing his departure. “ Don't you dare disturb me. My deadline is tomorrow morning and I only have two thirds of this proposal drafted, ”

Without sparing a moment to let Al-Haitham get one last word in, Kaveh haphazardly scoops up his blueprints and supplies and storms out of the room without another word. To his own frustration, despite his best efforts Kaveh is unable to return to his original state of focus once inside his bedroom. The twisting of his stomach lingers hours after the exchange in the living room. Worst of all, the image of Al-Haitham's brilliant eyes staring up at him has burned deep into his mind, searing through any and all designs Kaveh had been working on previously.