#it was on malboro so if you were one of them

[aethermimic]

Hey, didn't expect to slay Odin today, but I'll take it.

#it was a fun fight actually #my group was really organized #i joined midway through and they invited me when i found the fate #it was on malboro so if you were one of them #y'all were great =D #ffxiv #ffxiv musings #ffxiv crystal #ffxiv malboro #malboro

[bldngiris]

꒰OKLAHOMA SMOKESHOW ꒱ . . . d winston !

pairing(s) : book! dallas winston x fem!soc! reader

in which y/n dreams of escaping tulsa but her dad is holding her back. however dallas winston listens and yearns.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : yelling, swearing, r's father is an ass, r is a soc but she doesn't like being one, discrimination. movie dallas used only for visuals even though i used blonde book dallas in mind!! mentions of religion, angst

robin chirps : happy easter!! this fic is inspired by oklahoma smokeshow by zach bryan :) bold is the song lyrics!

go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like.

y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror and took a look at herself one last time before heading out the door. if her father had caught her wearing anything other than appropriate soc attire, she would be done for. the amount of times she had been hit on by cocky high class boys who just wanted to get into her pants was numerous, alas her father didn't care. "you don't want to look like one of those greasy balls of garbage do you?" he would ask her. truth was y/n didn't want to be a soc. sh didn't want to be a greaser either. she wanted to escape tulsa and live in a city without labels and get away from all the hostility stored away in the streets of tulsa.

i know your daddy ain't home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears

y/n had made her way to the diner with her friends. however, her "friends" had left her midway through the walk home to go hang out with a group of other socs. it had started to rain and the closest place y/n could go to was bucks. y/ns feet subconsciously made their way to the building lit by neon beer signs, ignoring the voice in the back of her head saying, "if i catch you 'round one of them greaser places.."

she slowly opened the door to the place, as a mixture of tears, mascara and raindrops ran down her face, her hair sticking to her face, her dress drenched. many eyes were on her as barely, if any, socs came to bucks. whispers, some louder than others presumably by drunk men were heard as y/n sat on one of the bar stools.

them boys are out and they're angry and they're lookin' for blood In the back of a blue old pick up truck. you've got nowhere to go although you're all gussied up

y/n sat at the barstool, a shaggy, pale, blonde boy sat beside her, a malboro cigarette hanging out of his mouth loosely.

"hey man, what're you doin' out here?" he asked the soc, curiously, in a sluggish tone of voice. y/n sniffled.

"my friends left me when we were at the diner, n' i didn't wanna get jumped, it's dangerous walkin' home by myself, y'know." she sniffled again. "plus, it's cold and wet." she paused again. dallas listened, as he hummed and nodded, understanding what she was talking about.

there's so much whiskey in his coke it'll make her nose bend

"that really sucks man," he muttered taking a sip of his whiskey and coke, y/n could smell the drink from her seat. dallas did't turn away or ignore her after that. they spent the next hour talking.

but she swears that his love is a damn god send

don't get me wrong, dallas hated socs. but y/n was different, under the high class, hair done, pretty dress facade, she was a normal girl yearning for more than just a privilege title. the two could relate on another level which dallas had appreciated. dallas and y/n both wanted more or less the same thing, both wanted to escape tulsa, but more or less everything was holding them back from doing so.

she's known god since she was a child, she used to play in the yard and she would dream of one day

y/n played in the front yard of her house with a white picket fence. she saw two kids around her age, playing over by a park around the 'border' between the west and east side.

"hi! im y/n can i play with you?" she asked the three children. they were greaser children, as seen by the difference in their appearance.

'til the world came around and took her dreaming away. told her how to dress and act and smile.

"sure! im soda, thats johnny and that one over there is steve" one said. soon enough, y/n's father had come out of the house, soon following a burst of yelling came about. "y/n get over here and away from that white trash." he exclaimed. y/n wondered, how could a grown adult be so hostile toward children? y/ns father grabbed the little girls hand and took her back over to the freshly painted house on the block.

'y/n, sweetie, you know better than to talk to those type of people." he told her. "now, im sure mrs. sheldon and mrs. valances children would love to play with you hm?" he said. the little girl with pigtails and turned around to watch the greaser kids looking at her sadly, eventually cheering themselves up and laughing softly as they played on the monkey bars.

she's an oklahoma smokeshow. he's an asshole from back home. she'll never make it out alive.

that night, at bucks dallas and y/n talked for hours. y/n told dallas about her image and how she was forced by her father to keep up the good girl act, how every soc guy just wanted to get in her pants and how she's never going to make it out alive.

dallas told her about how he grew up in the streets of brooklyn, new york because his asshole father didn't give a shit about him. his mother and grandmother didn't have enough to provide, because his dad kept taking the profit to the bottle. he ended up in juvi by the time he was ten for theft, trying to provide for his family until he just left and ended up here in tulsa.

that small town bar scene, where small vices kill your big dreams. he'd take you home but he's too drunk to drive.

"but my dad will never let me leave, not until i'm 21 at least, and if i do, he'll list me as a runaway to the police and they'll come and find me." she muttered, solemnly. it was nearly midnight now. dallas way to intoxicated to drive. y/n had used bucks landline to call a cab as she made her way home, thinking of the boy who had changed her life in a mere few hours.

well, I've been here, I've been up all night. thinkin' 'bout a life with you and i. one you'll never know 'cause you're a small town smokeshow.

dallas layed there, head empty except for the thought of y/n. it was nearly 3 in the morning at this point, but all he could think about was the girl who he had just met but felt like they had known each other for years and there he continued dreaming, because unfortunately for him only one of the two got their 'escape' from the prejudice of tulsa, oklahoma. unfortunately, it wasn't y/n. unfortunately, it wasn't the way either of them planned.

#dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston oneshot #dallas winston imagine #the outsiders x reader #angst #the outsiders #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders oneshot #the outsiders x yn #the outsiders x you #the outsiders x fem reader #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders 1967 #book! dallas winston #collected works.

[shveris]

satosugu, crack oneshot, based on this official art (their asses are not working)

satorou really, really, hates his job. absolutely hates it.

but for all the wrong reasons.

warnings: drinking, cigarettes, satosugu’s frontal lobe is on vacation

“how can someone be so dense?!” the brunette clickes her tongue softly before chugging down the rest of her beer. everything about this is horribly entertaining but also incredibly frustrating.

“you know, satorou, you could just tell him you have the fattest crush of mankind on him”, she suggests (for the nth time) and the man next to her continues whining into the counter his head is currently resting on.

“bitch i did! like, three fucking times already! he always responds with ‘and i will crush your head if you don’t bla bla bla’”, he complains, waving his right hand around in the air to make his point.

shoko did not sign up for this.

“you think an intervention would help?”, she ponders, half serious, half joking, and it has her friend snort loudly. he turns his head to look at her, brows raised: “intervention for what exactly, to drop his obliviousness? he was born with that i fear, good luck.”

“nah, he needs to stop being in denial”, shoko rolls her eyes and immediately regrets it as she feels the 6 pints of beer kicking in (finally), “he looks at you as if you were the world, man, sickening to watch.” satorou giggles like a middle schooler.

“either way, you better hurry the fuck up with this, i don’t wanna be losing my money because you two morons can’t get your shit together.” shoko presses her lips to a thin line, thinking about the fifty bucks she had bid on her two friends, and hakari’s shit eating grin.

“i still can’t believe everyone of y’all made a fucking bet out of us, such bad friends and coworkers, i’ll complain to HR tomorrow!” the brunette can only snort and fishes for the pack of malboro in her pocket.

“complain about what?” satorou falls off his chair — and gets caught because of fucking course he gets caught, man’s a damn princess, shoko thinks — upon hearing the voice behind him. ocean eyes wide in shock when he whips his head around: “suguru! don’t sneak up on us like that!” he lets himself get manhandled back onto the barstool.

“and your balance sucks.” the raven keeps one of his arms wrapped around satorou and holds his free hand out to their girl bestie, asking for a cigarette. she stares both of them up and down, eyes lingering on suguru gripping satorou’s waist, and shoves a cigarette into his hands, muttering a curse.

“nah, nah, my balance’s perfectly fine”, the white haired claims, pressing himself closer to suguru’s chest, “i could show you!” the ravenette looks at him with amusement written all over his face: “and how exactly do you plan to ‘show me’?”

“well, for starters, i’m great at walking perfectly straight on the stones of a sidewalk! not that i’m straight but you get the point. and then, also, i think i could keep my balance very well after bouncing on your dick for hours!”

shoko wants to go home. she can feel the lesbian inside her leave. she should start being homophobic or something. change of careers.

“you don’t have the stamina to bounce on my dick for hours, ‘toru”, suguru rolls his eyes, takes a hit from his cigarette, as if he’s talking about the damn weather. shoko meets satorou’s eyes and she can see a vein pop on his forehead: “you see this shit, shoko?!”

“dear lord, yes i do, and i wish i weren’t”, she mumbles. the bet has been going for over a month already, she really didn’t think it’s this bad. maybe she should do something? but, nah, that’d be against the rules of the bet, she’s pretty sure sukuna would beat her up for cheating.

“so, back to that ‘reporting things to HR’ stuff, what was that about?”, suguru asks and the brunette is very tempted to spill the beans — but, again, that’d be against those goofy rules so she keeps her mouth shut, looking at satorou because that man is a born actor.

“eh, someone took a shit in the employees restroom today and didn’t flush”, satorou waves his hand up and down, again, and shoko will always be impressed by how good of a liar he is.

“sounds like toji”, suguru thinks, “that man has issues, dude, how he hasn’t been charged for assault yet is one of the seven world wonders.” satorou only nods in agreement and shoko orders another beer.

“not sure how you made a correlation between ‘not flushing the toilet’ and ‘felony’ but okay.” satorou barks with a singular ‘hah!’ and shuts up when suguru pinches his waist.

“no, you know what, actually- this makes a lot of sense-“, shoko has her eyes on the raven again, “something’s wrong in your frontal lobe, logical thinking seems to not be working for you properly.” suguru only feels half insulted because he has no idea what a frontal lobe is but he does get the implication of shoko telling him he’s stupid.

“fuck’s that supposed to mean”, he still asks, with playful anger lacing his words. there is a tinge of curiosity nagging his mind, whispering to him that he missed out on something. shoko is definitely hinting towards some underlying issues there.

“eh, figure it out for yourselves”, she dismisses his question and takes a sip of her beer, the bitterness of it tasting sweet in contrast to the cigarettes she’s been inhaling. suguru has his eyes averted and hums a “uh-huh” with his lips around the filter before he shifts his attention to the white-haired once again.

“suguru, can we go to this new pastry shop after our shift? they have new items on their menu!” the raven smiles fondly upon seeing the excitement in satorou’s whole body language and he finds himself agreeing — not that he is ever able to say “no” to him anyway.

“we could also pick out some flowers, i have a picknick planned for us on thursday night”, suguru puffs out the cigarette smoke and undoes the buttons of his uniform coat to get some air. he misses the confused looks the other two are giving him and tries not to cry when the smoke catches in his eyes. why does it always have to sting this bad?

“picknick? how come?”, satorou eventually asks, curiosity and suspicion walking hand in hand inside his mind. he watches as the ravenette lifts his head and takes the half-finished cancer stick between his index and middle finger: “for our anniversary? who’s head are you in right now, satorou.”

gojo satorou’s soul left his body.

his chin is on the floor — never mind that, he is floored. absolutely floored.

shoko almost chokes on the mouthful of alcohol and is convinced she just imagined hearing that, telling herself she is just drunk and wants to be out of her misery (she wants her money). but then she takes another look at suguru and is sure this is, as a matter of fact, reality and very much the present. she tries to close her mouth but it’s not working in her favour: “what. the fuck.”

suguru looks at them as if they’d just insulted his whole bloodline, mild irritation and annoyance making the crease between his eyebrows deep like canyons.

“what do you mean ‘what the fuck’?”, he asks and satorou doesn’t even hear him because he’s more than chin-deep inside his own brain, too fuzzy and it feels like his body is vibrating — he doesn’t know his mouth is still very much wide open and suguru wants nothing more than to shove his dick inside.

since shoko is generally faster in gathering herself so she quickly tries to make sense of the raven’s words: “what do you mean ‘what do you mean’?”

truly the conversation of geniuses.

shoko is pretty sure satorou short-circuited, the man having his chin so deep down in hell as if he is trying to catch flies with his mouth, and suguru has never looked more confused. if her fifty bucks weren’t involved, shoko would’ve taken a picture and made it her new home screen background.

she absentmindedly lights another cigarette and pinches the bridge of her nose. if this really is what she is thinking — nothing in the world could’ve prepared her for this. how does a man like suguru even live. never mind that, how does a man like satorou made it this far in life?

“let’s take a few steps back”, she finally says and nudges the side of satorou’s chin with her free hand (he slowly picks it up from the floor), “you said anniversary. what anniversary?” suguru looks at her as if she just grew a second head: “‘toru’s and my anniversary? we’ve been dating for a year now, hello?”

shoko hates how right she was with her suspicions but she’s also very, very, happy about getting money.

“we’ve been dating?! for a year?!”

ah. satorou.exe restarted successfully.

“what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?!”

shoko notes how invested the bartender seems to be in the situation and she can’t blame them.

“wha- when? how even- you never-“, satorou’s thoughts are running a whole marathon with blindfolds, bumping into each other and anything, tangling themselves together like strings. the word vomit coming out of his mouth makes shoko take another sip of her beer and she hopes that’ll make him even more funnier.

“satorou, we sleep in the same fucking bed, you kiss my cheeks regularly, we go on dates every other day, we literally have pet names for each other.”

shoko decides she’s homophobic now.

chapter 261 destroyed my mental so i’m uploading this to hopefully make some of us less depressed. personally, i’m more depressed now because of what we could’ve had

i might write a part 2 to this someday, idk, i rlly like this au but i’m also on the verge of chewing off my lips and i need a break from life

#shveris’ blue spring #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu #shoko ieiri

[rhettabbotts]

call it what you want - a rhett abbott series || chapter one

series masterlist | next part

warnings: reader is called angel throughout. mentions of smoking and drinking. i believe that is all.

a/n: i am so nervous for this as it’s my first series so please be gentle with me. i hope you all enjoy!

Ten years ago…

“Rhett, slow down!” You shouted over the music that was blaring through the speakers of Rhett’s beat-up blue truck and the wind that was whipping through the rolled-down windows. You couldn’t stop the giggles that bubbled in your chest. Dust was clouding behind the tailgate as Rhett continued speeding down the dirt-covered back road. 

“Woohoo!” Rhett bellowed, his dimple prominent as he grinned at you. He finally slowed down and busted into a fit of laughter at the state of your mussed-up hair. 

“You’re a damn lunatic, Rhett,” you fussed as you flipped the visor down to look at the mess on your head. 

“You love it, Angel. Your life would be boring without me.”

“And you would be in a juvenile detention center without me.”

Rhett knew you were right. From the moment you two met on the playground in fifth grade after you busted Noah Morrison’s nose for pushing Rhett off the jungle gym, he knew you’d be there for him. You were constantly keeping him out of trouble. You really were his guardian angel, even though you hated the childhood nickname. 

The truck slowed to a stop on the side of the vacant road, the evening birds were chirping and you could hear the cicadas starting their nightly song. The Wyoming sky was painted with beautiful pinks, the moon was making her appearance known. You loved this place, you loved being here with your best friend. 

Rhett turned the music down, switching the Def Leppard CD to George Strait. His taste in music never failed to amaze you. He hopped out of the driver’s seat and made his way over to your side, opening the door and holding out a newly callused hand to help you out. 

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you said in a posh voice.

“M’lady,” Rhett said in return, bowing as you stepped out onto the soft grass. He let the tailgate down, allowing you to hop on first before he followed suit. Taking out a pack of Malboros from his front pocket and lighting a cigarette, he let out a loud sigh. 

“You’re gonna give yourself lung cancer, you know?”

“They don’t call them cowboy killers for nothin’, Angel.” Rhett quipped, the white stick hanging between his lips, glowing ashes falling in little flakes. He had started growing his hair out, much to his mother’s dismay. But you thought it suited him, his curls were more prominent peeking out from the baseball cap he always adorned. You sat in silence as he took slow drags from the cigarette, Amarillo by Morning playing softly from the speakers. 

“Rhett?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll be friends forever, won’t we? Promise me nothing will come between us.” You were nervous as you spoke, your voice shaking slightly. 

Graduation was approaching and you knew you and Rhett had different plans. He was going to go to vocational school in Cheyenne, just a forty-minute drive from the ranch. You, however, were moving to Arizona. The thought of being separated from Rhett - being hundreds of miles away - made you feel nauseous. You didn’t know why and chalked it up to the feeling of anxiety. The anxiety of leaving everything you’ve ever known behind, moving to a place where you knew no one. Rhett could sense your anxiousness, so in tune with your emotions. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, Angel. You know that. We’ll see each other on breaks. Four years will fly by before you know it,” he reassured you. 

As you sat there watching the setting sun, leaning on your best friend, you knew he was right. Nothing would tear you apart. 

You stayed close despite the distance between you. When you were home on breaks, your mother complained that all you did was run off with Rhett. He was there for you when you had your first heartbreak. You were there for his first ride and tried to be there for every ride after that. You were still inseparable, even after all of the years that passed and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Present day…

Rhett groaned as his pounding headache worsened the second he opened his eyes and was met with the blinding sunlight that was seeping through his open curtains. He stretched and felt his entire body ache. That damn bull they had him on the night before really fucked him up. At least he won. The muscles in his shoulder pinched and twinged, causing him to grimace. He had one too many beers and shots of whiskey last night. How the hell did he even get home?

His phone buzzed with a new text and he couldn’t stop from grinning at the sight of your name. You were confirming your celebratory lunch, you told him you were buying after his winning ride. He wondered if you were in the same distressed state he was in currently. It was just barely 8 am but his parents were bustling around the house, the Saturday chores had already begun. He rolled out of bed, reaching for the bottle of Ibuprofen he keeps stashed in his nightstand. 

Rhett sneaked out of his room and to the bathroom across the hall, not ready to face the look of displeasure on Cecilia and Royal’s faces. He washed last night’s sweat and dirt and alcohol off his body under the scalding water. After brushing his teeth and towel-drying his hair he made his way down the stairs to face his parents. Royal was already out in the barn while Cecilia was cooking breakfast. Smells of coffee and burning bacon hit Rhett’s senses and his mouth watered. 

“Mornin’ mama,” he mumbled as he placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek. 

“You were out late last night. Heard you stumbling in,” Cecilia recalled. 

“Sorry. Met Angel for some drinks and-”

“Rhett, you can’t keep doing this. Your father and I aren’t getting any younger and you need to start thinking about your future past bull riding,” she said and Rhett knew where this was heading. It was a conversation that came up more often than not. 

“Mama-”

“You need to think about settling down, finding a nice girl. Instead of chasing all of those no good little-”

“Mama!” Rhett exclaimed, stopping her before she could finish her sentence. 

“Anyways,” she continued, “you are getting too old to be doing stuff like that. You’re twenty-seven. It’s time.”

Rhett doesn’t know what caused the words to tumble out of his mouth. He doesn’t know if it was the hangover clouding his judgment, the irritation he was feeling from the everpresent cloud of disappointment he felt whenever he was in the same room as his parents. But the words came out nonetheless. 

“I am seeing someone.”

Nice going, jackass. 

Cecilia’s face lit up with excitement, her hands clasped together as the questions came in rapid succession. Rhett couldn’t keep up, his nerves got the best of him and the only thing he could blurt out was your name. His stomach dropped the second he said it. 

“Oh, Rhett! This is- oh, you’ve just made me the happiest mother alive! You know I adore her so very much. How long?! She should come by for dinner! I need to speak with her mother. Oh, this is just so exciting! You know, we’ve been saying for a long time you two would end up together.”

Rhett flushed at her words. He hates lying to his mother, and he hates that he’s dragged you into this unknowingly. He mentally smacked himself as he forced out a smile for Cecilia. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone yet. We- this is all so new and we don’t want to tell many people. Mama I am begging you not to say anything,” he pleaded. 

“Don’t you worry about that, Rhett. I won’t say a word,” she said, mimicking zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the imaginary key. 

Rhett had to see you and he had to see you fast. His hands shook as he explained what had happened that morning and he couldn't bear to look at you. You sat silently eating your toast as he rambled on, waiting for him to finish before responding.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Your raised voice caused a few patrons to turn in the direction of the table you shared with Rhett. “Out of everyone you know, you said me?!”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry, okay?! I panicked! She wouldn’t lay off and I had just saw your text and-”

You shoveled your eggs into your mouth as you scowled at your best friend. He wouldn’t stop apologizing, coming up with every reason in the world as to why he could’ve said your name to Cecilia a few hours prior. 

“You know everyone in town is gonna know by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know. I can tell her the truth, I can tell her I was still drunk, I can-”

“Rhett, stop. No, don’t do that,” you said. You sat in silence for a few moments, pondering on what the next steps were. “How long do we need to do this?”

“What?”

“How long do we have to pretend? A week? A month?”

Rhett’s eyes widened at your suggestion. He couldn’t believe you were going along with this. 

“Um, well… My parent’s 30th anniversary is coming up next month. It’s gonna be a big party. Maybe until after that?”

You sighed and took a sip of your coffee, nodding.

“Okay. Until after the party. Rhett, you’re gonna owe me big time.”

He reached across the table to grab your hand, thanking you repeatedly as you rolled your eyes. You finished your food without another word. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the thoughts swarmed your brain. Surely it wouldn’t be that bad, fake dating your best friend. Your friend that you’ve been in love with since seventh grade. Here you were now both pushing thirty and still single. It’s just a friend helping out a friend. You tried telling yourself this for the rest of the day, repeating it like a mantra, hoping it would stick. This next month was going to be absolute torture, for you anyways. You just prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t slip up and confess your true feelings to Rhett, ruining everything that you’ve built over the past several years. 

#call it what you want #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott series #outer range #outer range fanfiction #rhett x angel

[humblemooncat]

Follow-up to my house tour post, here are all the lovely homes I visited today!

@candycryptids - Aether, Siren | Lav Beds W11 P25

Your home was so cozy, and I absolutely love the use of the space you were given! The sunken couch area downstairs was an instant fave. I love those types of living area layouts. <3

I also may have been a gremlin and went in your walls fish tank. :3c

Overall, very lovely place! Highly recommend visiting! <3

@scholarlostintime - Crystal, Zalera | Mist W9 P20 & Crystal, Mateus | Lav Beds W19 P57

I'm sure a lot of us here on tumblr are familiar with the Cracked Cluster, it's a beautiful venue! And I finally got around to touring the whole place today!

I gotta say, both of your homes are lovely and very well-decorated!

The one in the Mist is so classy and very reminiscent of Sharlayan!

Whereas the Cluster is very cozy, and you can definitely see the inspirations from Mor Dhona!

Overall, these are both very lovely places, and definitely worth checking out! Especially on a night when the Cracked Cluster is open for business!

@selnyam - Crystal, Malboro | Lav Beds W27 P49

Oh goodness, this place was so cozy and colorful! I love the use of the space, and the little bedroom area was so cute and spooky!

I did love this warm little nook though, perfect for a cat nap. :3c

Hope you and your friend's roulettes went well, and thank you for having me!

Overall, absolutely adorable forest abode with a touch of the void! Definitely worth stopping in!

@vasheden - Crystal, Malboro | Lav Beds W29 P29

First off, amazing location. I love that little cottage with the bridge so much. You did such a nice job on decorating!

I adore the inside as well, the little knickknacks on the walls, and the green that is very reminiscent of Rinkah were lovely touches!

Overall, a beautiful place that I would certainly recommend stopping in to!

And last but not least this round;

@zylphiacrowley - Primal, Exodus | Lav Beds W10 P31

I was curious, but then I understood. xD

Left your mans some pocket money since I needed one of those partitions. <3

Upon entering, I was absolutely FLOORED by the layout! You did such a nice job with the space, and it really gave me hobbit hole vibes! Extremely cozy, as the WoL's space should be. uwu

Overall a HIGHLY recommended spot to visit! Trust me, the previews don't do any of these places justice, but I wanted to encourage y'all to visit yourselves. :3c

If you guys have any other houses or apartments you'd like me to visit, drop them in the comments here or in my DMs and I'll do a part 2 when I have the time! <3

Thank you lovely people for inviting me to your homes! <3

#House tours #I love seeing all the creativity that people have with their homes #Especially those who make the most of a small amount of space #It's so cool to see the usual layouts flipped on their head #I definitely look forward to touring more in the future!

[prttydolls]

revenge for her ˖*°࿐ᵕ̈ Peter Ballard

ೃ⁀➷ summary ; eleven witnesses what peter had done.

ೃ⁀➷ warning(s) ; violence?

ೃ⁀➷ author note ; omfg!! thank u for the attention you all have given to my 1st part <3

eleven was horrified, she was scared.

she had been circling the rainbow room back and fourth waiting for peter to come back, she's wondering what did peter do to the guards? and what about y/n where'd she go?.

“GET AWAY FROM ME YOU-.... YOU MONSTER!” a scream from outside tbe rainbow room was heard once again, but this time it was from a female voice, but it wasn't y/n or any of the other subjects.

it was one of the female guards, and that even scared eleven more than ever.

eleven slowly went out of the rainbow room to investigate, and eleven saw what she didnt expect at all.

peter looking slightly bloody, his blonde curls were messy and there were two passed out guards on the ground. and those two guards were the very same ones that electrocuted y/n.

“im not gonna be nice anymore christine, where is the key to the boiler room?” peter demanded.

“i told you! i-i dont know!” christine (the guard) stampered, while handing a bunch of keys to peter.

“LIES! i know you hid it somewhere! and if you dont tell where you dont wanna know what will happen.” he threatened the poor trembling girl.

before eleven knew it, the girl was pushed back to the wall harshly making her pass out.

peter kneeled down to the unconscious guard, and took the keys from her.

eleven heard peter say “such a liar, if only she couldve told the truth.”

peterʼs footsteps slowly disappeared, now eleven had time to think what had just happened.

˖*°࿐ᵕ̈

y/n woke up with a uneasy feeling, she was in the boiler room. no way out, and she was even tied to a pole.

what the fuck happened?

she suddenly heard the sound of keys jingling on the door, her eyes widened.

this was her chance!

she tried screaming , but the fabric on her mouth stopped her making her screams muffled.

all you could hear ; MFFFHHHH?!! HELFP!!

“theres no need for screaming, my love.”

peter?

peter slowly went down the steps and took off all those nasty ties that those guards attached to her.

“p-peter!, i thought you'd never -”

“come for you?, how low do you think of me y/n/n ?” he teased, she rolled her eyes but she still felt the shocks tingling on her body time to time.

peter held her in his embrace, and she gladly hugged him back.

“what did they do to you?” peter asked the girl.

“t-they asked me alot of questions about our relationship, and when it started.. i think 004 saw us, and told them..”

peter muttered a small damn that kid.

“well dont worry, i have a plan for us to escape right now. so we wont have to limit our love for eachother, and we'd reshape the world together. how's that sound?”

y/n softly smiled at her boyfriend, his usual neat hair was disheveled.

“that sounds perfect peter, i love you.”

“i love you too y/n.”

people who wanted a pt 2 : @wifeyofeveryone @mineatticatinwonderland @merlieve @eleazarkate @cirixwqnd @freyafriggafrey @i-shall-abide @andyii456 @whiishu @flowevol @xhiiyuv @shatteredflowers @raineeace @haleymaccosplay @malboro-cowgirl @sapphireplums @dr4cosimp

#peter ballard x you #peter x you #stranger things #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard x y/n #henry creel x you #henry creel x reader #henry creel x y/n #x you #fanfiction #vecna x reader #001 x you #001 x reader #— {🐚} her work's !

[angelosearch]

Behold! My Final Fantasy VIII-themed Dinner

In case anyone is curious...

Cocktail - Quezacotl's Thunderstorm

Pretty simple - Vodka, orange juice, (meyer) lemon juice, and plain seltzer served in a light-up novelty glass. (not pictured: the logo on one side for the Christmas event it came from LOL

Appetizers - Mini Hot Dogs and a Balamb Garden Salad

Each ingredient of this salad is representative of a different enemy that you fight in Balamb Garden at some point. There's iceberg lettuce (glacial eye), Radicchio (Grat), grape tomatoes (Bombs - the red ones are literally called sugar bombs), honey goat cheese (Granaldo), candied walnuts (raldo), green goddess dressing (green like caterchipillar), and tajin (something with a bite for bite bugs). I think this would have come together better if I had made the dressing, but I will be happy to have this for the lunch for the rest of the week.

The mini hot dogs were frozen from a box lol.

Side Dishes - Malboro Tentacles and Mashed Norg

The Malboro Tentacles are extremely tender, slowly cooked asparagus with A LOT of garlic (need that bad breath), and some chili flakes for spice. I also threw in some soy sauce for color. This is exactly how I imagined they would be when I set out to make them, so I am pretty happy about it.

Norg - pointless boss, great side dish. These are pretty basic buttermilk mashed potatoes but I wanted to maximize the yellowness. I used yukon gold potatoes (even peeled them, which I never usually do), a dash of tumeric, and lots of butter. That wasn't quite yellow enough so I dug to the back of my spice cabinet and found the saffron I was given as a gift and can never seem to find a meal special enough to use it for. HONESTLY, these were so good. Definitely going to do this again.

Entree - T-Rexuar Steak

I was REALLY worried making these. I've made steak before but I usually use pretty simple seasoning. But for a T-Rexaur, I wanted the outside of the steak to be reminiscent of a T-Rexuar hide. So I actually marinaded the steak in a Tikka-like sauce (paprika, cayenne, tumeric, ginger, garlic, lemon, yogurt) because I was looking for redness. I have NEVER put yogurt on steak before - YIKES what a risk. When I took them out to come to room temperature before cooking them, I patted excess marinade off and added a generous amount of salt, paprika, chili powder and garlic in hopes of creating a redish crust. Then I seared them.

Guys. I don't know if it was the marinade or what but this is some of the best steak I've ever made... or even had. The crust was excellent and the steak was so tender. Def getting a permanent +1 to strength for this one.

Stay tuned for dessert!

#yes I am a freak who loves a theme sorry #not me considering writing a FF8-themed cookbook?!???! #this was fun #final fantasy viii anniversary #final fantasy viii #food #cooking #theme dinner

[ilyamatic]

Mixed Emotions, Heart Still Open

Oh no, the meme has become a bit of a series. Catch part one here and Vissenta's pov here.

CW: Drug use, relapsing

Song: Where You Are by John Summit and Hayla

Andrico was not running away. They don’t run away from anything. They were making a… strategic exit.

Because the thing about Julian Devorak, the love of their life and bane of their existence in equal measure, was that he was easy to spot in a crowd. It was hard to miss the guy who was more than a head taller than everyone else and dressed like a 90s goth mall rat. So when they noticed that distinctive mop of auburn curls, Andrico decided a visit to the bathroom was necessary. And if the bathroom was located next to the fire exit? Well…

Now, should that have led them to another club? Probably not. It was a festival weekend. That meant after parties. That meant drugs. That meant a couple of lines snorted in the bathroom, a new dealer’s number saved, and a very awkward conversation with their NA sponsor when they unblocked him in 3 weeks. That meant 5 years of sobriety down the drain.

Nasty work.

That being said, those were problems for future Andrico. Andrico right then? Oh, they felt good honey. Better than they had in weeks. Their blood was pumping, their inhibitions gone. There was only the music, the bass, the bodies writhing and grinding against theirs. Andrico didn’t have to think about Julian cleaving their heart in two or the strange way Vissenta got under their skin and stayed there or the empty apartment they were going back to. They only needed that moment, that high. Time meant nothing and each moment bled into the next.

Another line, a new song, laughter spilling into the streets. A stranger’s hand in theirs pulling them onto another dance floor. Rinse, repeat.

But there was only so much cocaine they could snort before they ended up in the hospital again, especially after so long. The high couldn’t last forever. They had to come down at some point. It just shouldn’t have been like this.

“Dunya?”

They should just ignore him. The music was loud enough, yeah? They were still far gone enough. They could do it.

“Dunya please. We have been looking for you all night. You left your purse and phone behind and–”

A strong arm wrapped around their middle and tried to gently guide them from the dance floor. Suddenly Andrico wasn’t floating miles above the Earth. They were in some too hot warehouse surrounded by people they didn’t know and Julian was there, holding them.

They were back in their body and it hurt.

“Let me go,” they pleaded with a weak shove.

“Dunya, we have to go,” Julian said gently. “It’s near dawn. We have to take you home.”

They could feel themselves starting to cry again. “No no no. Let me go. You don’t love me.”

“Andrico.”

They couldn’t handle the crack in his voice. They began to cry in earnest.

“You don’t love me, you don’t love me, you don’t love me but you won’t let me go,” Andrico sobbed. “I love you, let me go.”

Another set of hands came and rested on their shoulders, gently leading them away. They knew Vissenta’s touch anywhere. The sobs continued.

“You don’t love me,” Andrico said again. They repeated it like a mantra. They didn’t know who they meant anymore.

They soon found themself bundled in the back of a car. From the smell of Malboros and hand sanitizer they knew it was Julian’s. They would cry harder if they could but they were wrung dry.

A weight draped over them, all sea salt and burnt wood. Julian’s coat.

Whispers filled the car as he took the driver’s seat and Vissenta slipped into the passenger’s. Snippets of “what did they take?” and “how much?” caught their ear.

They were so tired.

Once the car began to move Andrico allowed themself to flop to the side. Vissenta’s head snapped towards them.

“He-y Drico,” their casual tone misplaced with the worry etched on their face. “Can you sit back for us buddy?”

Andrico shook their head. It was too much effort.

“Okay, that’s okay. Just let us know if you start feeling sick alright?”

“Or don’t lay on your back please?” Julian cut in.

If they had the energy they would snort. This wasn’t their first rodeo. Instead, Andrico allowed their eyes to close and focused on the car moving beneath them. In no time the whispers became white noise and they were able to drift off to sleep.

If they dreamed in thundercloud gray and olive green, that business was their own.

#the arcana #julian devorak #ilya devorak #the arcana julian #the arcana ilya #vissenta senadz #andrico the soft chaos boy/girl/barrel of crabs #modern au #but like if andrico never used their phd and became a baker #and was... kind of an asshole #sometimes you gotta untz untz the pain away tho #content warning: substance abuse

[quietly-by-myself]

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 30

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta reading and hearing out all of my ideas. It's been a tougher arc to write and you've helped me a lot.

CW: group homes, children without parents and trauma relating to that, minor character death (Cyril’s friend), smoking, heroin addiction, overdose resulting in death, caretaker breaks down, ADHD/medications relating to ADHD, found family

===

When Cyril heard the other kids at his school talk about their families and what they were doing for Thanksgiving, Cyril couldn’t help but feel a sense of envy. He knew it was a sin to hate others for something he didn’t have. Cyril just couldn’t help himself.

The people who ran the group home were good people, but they weren’t parents. After all, they switched all the time. Just when Cyril thought he liked one of them, they changed. Sometimes, he got switched home-to-home. Moved around like a pawn on a chess board, but with a lot less care and thought.

Throughout it all, Oliver was there.

Oliver, the loud. Oliver, the mischievous. Oliver, his friend.

They were opposites but somehow both managed to be on Ritalin. Well, Oliver was on Ritalin. Cyril was on Concerta. But it was the same chemical for the same diagnosis, so they found a comradery. When Oliver got himself in trouble, Cyril was always there to save his ass.

Cyril was always afraid to lose him, but he never did. There was security in Oliver. When Cyril got moved, by some odd chance, Oliver always moved with him. In a way, they were a bonded pair of cats. They were unwanted strays, but they had each other. 

Certain times of year were more difficult than others. November and December were always horrible months for Cyril. Holidays about family and love - both were things that Cyril didn’t have. 

Thanksgiving dinner at the group homes was always the worst. Donated turkeys and sides, pie baked by a charity. It made Cyril feel less human, almost.

So, when Oliver snuck a note under the table, telling him to go out “to the bathroom,” Cyril took the invite to leave.

The two of them left out a window and went to the creek by their group home - their designated meeting spot in the rural jungle they found themselves in. 

Oliver was smiling wickedly. It was never a good sign.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Malboros. 

“I got these at the store.”

Cyril looked at them in shock. Oliver was grinning proudly.

“Did you steal them or something?” Cyril asked incredulously. 

“Maybe,” Oliver responded, pursing his lips jokingly. 

“Oliver, that’s a crime! What if they find out? You might get sent away.”

Of course, being sent away was always the fear. Group homes were some sort of sick privilege - there was always worse. Cyril wouldn’t survive without Oliver.

Oliver gave Cyril a small shove. “Don’t worry so much.” He pulled one of the cigarettes out of the box and offered it to Cyril. “This will help you relax.”

Cyril took the cigarette from Oliver reluctantly. Oliver gave him a light the minute he had it in his mouth.

It was true. The cigarettes did relax him. Within ten minutes, he felt better.

Cyril sighed. “I’m just tired of feeling like this object of pity, Noll.”

It was easier to talk without the weight of the fear of being judged hanging over him.

“I know what you mean.” Oliver took a puff of the cigarette. “I had to sit through a talk about ‘people who don’t have families for Thanksgiving’ and being sensitive and shit. I don’t want their sympathy. I want a fucking family.”

Cyril nodded a little. They were a bonded pair of cats, but they weren’t really family. Just deeply bonded friends of the soul, perhaps. 

“We’re seventeen. It’s over for us.” Cyril looked down at the cigarette. “The fuck does my life matter?”

“Because you’re here, Cyril. You’re here with me. You’re brilliant. You could become a doctor. Then, nobody can tell you that your life doesn’t matter. You have so much more of a future than me.”

It was true - Cyril had a 4.0. Oliver had maybe a 2.9 on a good day. In a world where high school grades determined their futures, Cyril was someone who would thrive. Cyril loved his friend. He tried to convince him to try community college, but Oliver wouldn’t budge. 

Oliver was wicked smart. He had a good personality. All he needed was to believe in himself more.

After a while of silence, Cyril began to hum. It was “Born in the USA” - Bruce Springsteen. He always liked the opening. So did Oliver.

In fact, he started singing, “Born down in a dead man's town.”

Cyril began to sing along with him. “And the first kick I took was when I hit the ground.”

Eventually, the two of them sang it with irony. “You end up like a dog that's been beat too much. 'Til you spend half your life just to cover up.”

Yes, they were dogs that were beaten too much. It would take half a lifetime to cover it up. Cyril just didn’t realize that yet.

They talked for a while longer until they came back stinking of cigarette smoke. They got yelled at, but it didn’t really matter. Cyril was just glad to be with his friend. 

—

Sacha awoke the next morning, thinking about the odd dream he’d had. Something about Cyril freaking out about needing Narcan. It had to be a dream - some odd mix of his past overdose and his housemate being a doctor.

His head pounded and he felt jittery. 

What had he done last night? He used to sleepwalk. Could he have sleep-walked and hit his head?

When he went over to the counter, Sacha saw the bottle on the counter.

Hydromorphone.

Cyril’s words came back to him. That was the medicine that Cyril was shouting about in the dream.

It wasn’t a dream, Sacah soon realized. He really had accidentally taken two of a very strong opioid instead of acetaminophen. 

Shit.

He’d told Cyril about his overdose, hadn’t he? He didn’t want Cyril to know. He didn’t want Cyril to think him stupid or ungrateful or any other number of horrible things.

What would Cyril think? Surely after everything, he wouldn’t abandon Sacha. But what if he was extra watchful? What if he forced Sacha on medication to ensure it didn’t happen again, just like Master had?

Sacha forced himself to take a few deep breaths.

“It’s okay. Cyril is safe.”

That was right. Cyril was safe.

—

Something was wrong with Cyril. He hadn’t spoken to Sacha much at all that day. In fact, he’d even picked Amber up in his arms and petted her gently. Cyril never picked up the cat. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her - Cyril was just always nervous about hurting her. 

Was it because Sacha had admitted to attempting suicide?

Sacha didn’t know, but he needed to say something, clearly. 

“Cyril, I, um,” Sacha took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Cyril was a little startled. “For what?”

Sacha started to quiver. “For telling you about my overdose.”

An emotion resembling discomfort and remembrance flashed over Cyril’s face, before he came back to his normal, concerned look. “It’s okay, Sacha, to be open with me.”

“It was different. I can tell something’s wrong.”

Silence hung between them for a while. Eventually, Cyril put Amber down on the ground, where she quickly walked over to Sacha.

“It’s, um, a personal topic that I don’t talk much about, my history with overdoses.”

Sacha wasn’t happy with that answer. In fact, he felt a little dejected. “Mine was a suicide attempt. It was the only time I ever had access to the means. It- it was dumb luck that I survived it at all.”

It took all the courage that Sacha had to say the last part of what he wanted to say. “I’ve said mine. Can you tell me yours?”

Cyril sat pensively for a long time. Sacha’s heart was beating out of his chest. 

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Neither have I told anyone.” Sacha was desperate. He felt so useless. “You’re always helping me and listening to me. Let me return the favor, Cyril. Please.”

Again, silence hung in the air between them. 

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t have much else to do.”

Cyril chuckled a bit. “You’ve become so much more confident. Those tattoos really did change you.”

Sacha cringed. Those thoughts came back. He was too confident. He was arguing. He was being disobedient. It was bad. He was going to be punished.

What should he say to prevent that? What could he do? Sacha had already argued himself into a corner.

“Calm down, Sacha. Take a few deep breaths, okay?”

Cyril’s voice brought him back down to reality.

Right, he wasn’t a slave anymore. He was safe. He was okay.

…

Cyril took a deep breath, wringing his hands together. He’d told his story occasionally when he needed to for essays and the like, but it was never a comfortable subject. 

“I don’t have a family, Sacha. I was a foster kid. I lived in a group home.” 

Sacha was listening so intently it almost broke Cyril’s heart.

“I was transferred a fair bit, but there was this friend I had who was always transferred with me.” Oliver’s grinning face appeared in Cyril’s head. “He was kind and happy and sweet, if not a bit scatter-brained and stubborn. He was the one who encouraged me to become a doctor. He was talented with writing. He helped me with my essays for college applications and again with personal statements when I applied to med school.”

Those late nights they spent together came back to Cyril pleasantly. “He was my only connection to other people. But he struggled in ways I never knew. I presume he had what you’d call an addictive personality.”

Cyril took another deep breath, his voice shaking. “I stayed where I grew up, as did he. He became an electrician - trade school. I worked at the only emergency room in the area. One day, there was a bad batch of heroin in the area. He turned up dead at the emergency room. My name is on his death certificate. I had to call the time of his death. I had to tell his mother - his mother came to be a part of his life when he was twenty. She was the one who convinced him to go to trade school. He was 28 when he died.”

Tears formed in Cyril’s eyes. When Oliver had died, a piece of him had died with him. That hole in his heart hurt each and every time he thought of his deceased friend - the other half of their bonded pair.

“I never knew he struggled with heroin addiction. God, if I knew, I would’ve walked to the ends of the earth to help him.”

Sacha moved quietly, putting Amber down, and over to Cyril. He pulled Cyril into an embrace.

For the first time, someone embraced him first - to comfort him.

Cyril broke down crying in Sacha’s arms.

“That’s hard. I’m so sorry you went through that. It- it sounds awful. Even with everything I’ve been through, I can’t imagine having to call the death of your closest friend.”

Cyril sobbed tears that he hadn’t cried since he looked over the edge of the bridge that fateful day. 

With Oliver’s death, Cyril thought he’d lost all ability to form human connections. After all, he felt more like a stray cat or a beaten dog than a human being for most of his life.

However, as Sacha held him in his arms, he began to realize that it wasn’t gone forever. No, in fact, he had another way to connect to people. It was Sacha. Sacha, the stray cat that Cyril had found on the verge of death. Sacha, his little brother that he needed to protect.

“I thought I’d lost the ability to have another human connection. It was so hard back then.”

Cyril pushed Sacha back, tears still flowing from his eyes. “But I’ve found you. You’re like a little brother to me. So don’t give up on life. Okay?”

Sacha bit his lip anxiously and nodded a bit. 

“I love you, Sacha. I really do.”

To his surprise, Cyril heard back a response he never expected.

“I love you too, Cyril. You’re my family.”

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae, @whump-blog, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @whumpycries, @whumpkinz

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whumpblr #whump community #recovery whump #overdose #addiction #drug/substance use/abuse #smoking #sacha #cyril #mutual caretaking

[cwarscars]

"Are you willing to share one of your war stories, sir?"

the general cocks a brow, a second of scepticism - a disbelief lingering that the other could be entertained by such a thing. so often had he told old stories, recounted them to his kids, to his men - in the media and on tv. war wounds had become press tours, newspaper clippings and gossip columns. propaganda. truths twisted in an attempt to encourage young men and women sign the lives away. would he have it any differently? of course not. but sometimes it was worth it to think about.

why tell a man like weiss of old exploits? would it inspire him? have him eager to claw his way from deepground and up toward the surface - to fight on shinra's behalf as any good soldier would?

heidegger has his doubts; but more-so, his pride. a pride that whispers old stories in the back of his mind, that remind him of his old self. a time before shinra, before all of this.

a half-smirk takes his lips, a fire spell summoned by the click of his fingers - a light of his cigarette and quick kiss pressed to its end. was it dangerous to smoke down here? ah, as if he cared.

"you're interested, hm?" he breathes smoke "well, i can't say that i blame you-" who wouldn't want to hear such stories. after all, there had been so many best sellers based on the general's old life. and there was that movie - a movie that the general public loved ! ( and heidegger had quietly despised ).

he parts his lips with the intention of telling about the old days in wutai; a temptation to twist the man's mind with more hatred of their rival nation but something instead stops him. an old nostalgia that creeps along the thick line of his lips.

"a man's team...can, at times, be just as good as him-" there's a sigh in the smoke of his cigarette, old memories drawn in grey - not entirely told "i once had a squad at my side. when i was young; maybe around your age." he can remember their names but barely their faces; of course, the twisted expressions of anguish each man left after death is not one that easily escapes him. but hell, it's better not to remember them that way.

he continues, body leant against protective glass. as if the other will interrupt his story with a swing of his blade.

"the comradery was brilliant. these men - the sort who would lay their lives down for what they believed. they were brave, tough. no strangers to battle" a time when soldiers weren't cowards, when men didn't shake in their boots at the sight of trouble (though that isn't entirely true, is it?) "together, we fought many battles. our rapport with one another was truly magnificent -"

after a pause and another puff of his cigarette, he speaks again.

"there was a time when we toppled a great malboro together" excitement teases his words, a man reliving his hay-day through old stories "a great malboro! should you ever have the displeasure of fighting one - you'd know they make for a rather disgusting adversary. one soldier, eric, was his name - got caught face-first in the creature's 'bad breath' attack." a scrunched up nose and a half smile see him almost laughing "i've never seen a man go green so fast; he wouldn't touch a vegetable for three weeks after that-" another chuckle "he'd say 'noo, it looks too much like one of 'those fuckin' things - keep your gysahl pickles to yourself'. we all had a good laugh over that one..."

he thinks of missing them, laments the loss of good soldiers ( decent men ) - friends. but then something stops him, a bitter toxin that rises like bile. that shuts off emotion and has his final words, dry.

"all of them eventually died on the wutai front."

#(answered) #(ic) #i was gonna write more after that ending but thought nah ima leave it with him just dropping that #dudes so bitter #i watched the iron claw and think the dad from that #*big yikes* #this ask is so *mwah* and i love u for it #weiss say there like o.o 'u ok?' #im sorry this got so long T_T

[hamstermastersamster]

I really wish I knew what to feel about FFXVI! Have a bit of a jumbled mixed-feeling very wordy word salad about it.

I've finished it, including available DLC. I liked it, overall (excepting the ending, which was . . . egh). I can confidently say there were no times that I LOVED it. Most of the time it was just kinda all right?

It took about half the game to feel like I wasn't in the tutorial area anymore, which I think is a consequence of its very linear and didactic construction. A great deal of forward momentum is driven by people telling you to go and talk to so-and-so, go here, do that, running through connected areas in a short sequence and then back to the 'hub'.

Lots of games are like this, under the hood. But FFXVI does a bad job of hiding its bones, somehow. It feels linear and, unfortunately, sometimes tedious and repetitive as a result.

BUT . . . the game's simplicity, straightforwardness and forgiving nature make it such a stress-free gaming experience that I can kinda appreciate it for what it is. Unlike big overwhelming open worlds with a million parallel objectives and map icon vomit, I didn't have to think very hard about where to go and what quests to do in what order:

you always just do new sidequests and marks pretty much as soon as they appear, and before you progress the main plot; they get predictably spoonfed to you in small doses between big plot events and are basically unmissable because they get highlighted on the map (to the point that the Alliant Reports function for finding quests is basically redundant).

You can, in a limited fashion, explore the big areas that are currently open to you but the game won't let you off-path until it wants that. Fast travel is available and free.

You can't fuck up your character build because you can reset and rebuild at any time for free, ability-by-ability, as often as you like.

Gear choices are limited to no-brainer best-in-slot decisions and, while accessories can apply different effects, they make almost no noticeable difference to 99% of combat.

It's impressively accessible - even if you don't play on 'story' difficulty, there are accessories you can choose to equip that give you an easier time of e.g. dodging in combat

If you die (which, honestly, should be a really rare occurrence on normal difficulty), you can come back with all your potions and high potions refilled at no cost.

You get big warnings if you're about to advance the plot to the point that you will miss stuff.

Lots of people will hate this, I guess, but as someone who can find overwhelming busy complex games a bit ennervating at times, I have enjoyed completely switching off my brain after work to play this one. You don't have to make any decisions.

Still, it does lead to a game world that feels designed for the player and the game, instead of something that lives and breathes on its own. You can explore and find potentially-interesting locations but until the game says it's allowed to be interesting, you'll find nothing there. One of the worst examples is finding a memorial to a very important person to Clive in normal world exploration, but until the end of the game, you can't read it or interact with it at all so you (the player) don't know what it is. But it was there all the time! USE YOUR PRETTY BLUE EYES, CLIVE-

The combat, which at first I thought was fun (and at its best/toughest, still can be fun), rapidly becomes very repetitive. Once you've killed one type of enemy variant, you've basically killed them all. One giant guy with an axe/hammer is much the same as every other, strategically.

My mind boggles at the fact that you're given all this diverse elemental power and . . . none of the enemies even have elemental strengths/weaknesses? :\ You can kill a bomb with fire attacks! I mean . . . come ooooon xD There's also no concept of a status effect besides a brief stun, which completely neuters malboros/"morbol"s. Man, if they had let you switch between all your eikons and given enemies elemental attributes . . . feels like it would have been exciting.

Along with a half-baked, barely-there crafting system that really only upgrades your one basic sword and 2 armour slots in terms of Numbers Go Up, it means there isn't a lot of depth to, well, anything combat oriented. There's also no incentive to really swap and change your ability loadout for different fights since you can find 3 eikons and 9 abilities that work for you and just spam them for the whole game in the same rotation with plenty of success. Being limited to 3 equippable eikons makes it too much effort to experiment.

There was one fight against a notorious mark that I attempted underlevelled and was difficult because of the damage output, and I had to really learn the enemy moveset and dodge and parry at all the right times, and that was the closest to a Good Time in a late-stage fight that I got. Makes me think a playthrough on the harder difficulty might actually make the game more engaging.

(Also I'm really bored of stagger mechanics, there MUST be something else out there Dx Game Devs, please save us!)

Soundtrack has a few nice tunes (the 'dark' Prelude/crystal theme is poignant) but most of the ambient stuff was forgettable. I really loved some of the combat themes - On the Shoulders of Giants and No Risk, No Reward in particular! Unfortunately they got stuck in my head at the same time I came down with a virus that put me in a high fever and I spent one delirious night with them playing at max volume constantly in my addled brain which would not sleep. This has given me some uh, complex associated feelings about the tunes >_>; Not the game's fault though.

I liked a bunch of the ideas and vision for the world of Valisthea, but I'm not totally sure they pulled off the grimdark Game of Thrones vibes they wanted (just throwing blood spatter on everything makes you look like DA:O, not GoT xD). It was like they wanted to be soooo dark, but it only ever felt like they scratched the surface of all these horrible events they were trying to portray, and sometimes it was hard to take seriously.

The dedication to non-RP British accent VAs was a delightful treat, however! Hearing JRPG characters say 'ta ra' gave me warm fuzzies. (It is so weird hearing Cid when Salvage Hunters is on TV though, lmao - there is simply no mistaking that deep, rough Yorkshire accent xD).

I did really warm up to most of the main cast by the end, even if I think most of the characters in this game have the most boring designs I've ever seen. It took a long time, but the Hideaway folk became fond friends. I started to enjoy running around listening to all the updated conversations with people after major plot events - one of the few player-directed explorations you can really initiate.

I would die for Gav >:[ Every game protagonist should have a little geordie sidekick who primarily exists to be wide-eyed and say "fuck me" when shenanigans are afoot.

I enjoyed soft-spoken raspy-voiced himbo Clive a fair bit, too. I will keep him. He can be a blorbo, as a treat <3

#final fantasy xvi #hamster plays #my hand is a withered claw after some of those chronolith trials and the dlc boss fight #it's looking forward to a nice calm turn-based RPG

[asscrackcreed]

since we are sharing dreams i gotta share one dream ive shared on tumblr before but its been years

i was in paris with my friends. they wanted me to take them to the eiffel tower and I was crying and trying to explain them that ive never been to paris after the tower was built and omly during the french revolution. them the revolution started (of course!) and i lost them. luckily Napoleon was sitting on a stair case to some building and I sat down with him. he gave me a green malboro (they had recently stopped selling green cigarettes in eu so that was real cool of him) and we watched Arno do something idk the place was on fire. there were also zombies. He asked me if I wanted to taste his jam. then I woke up

i was gonna ask if you possessed arno but then he offered his jam which must be code for hot gay se-

#yeah #assassin's creed #ac #arno dorian #napoleon #ask #benewhorian

[kazeofthemagun]

@shiroi---kumo asked the summoner:

⚔️ - from Puff

The Wind defends

It was difficult to keep one's head down when one were taller than everyone else in the room, with blood-red hair and a nasty scowl. It was even harder when one was bestowed by one's mother with seven crystalline horns and a blade longer than the table they were forced to huddle at.

Such was the life of an outlaw - two outlaws, to be precise. Call them attached at the hip; That mostly just meant the promise of a double cash-in for bounty hunters.

...To stupid bounty hunters.

"L...Lord Makenshi..?"

Ah, saßu. Here they go again.

The quiet, but still perfectly audible whisper seemed to catch the entire tavern's attention like a barrel of gysahl thrown right in the midst of wild chocobo. Gossip spread like wildfire, and the warrior of the Four Winds was just about to tug at his companion's cloak and see them both out the door from whence they came.

The telltale shing! of drawn steel would decide otherwise, however. A few startled gasps followed, a woman screamed and was promptly shushed by her husband.

"Well? Aren't ye His Lordship the Earl's wanted fugitive, Makenshi? Er something?" A hoarse voice, breath reeking like a mix of alcohol and something so ungodly the Wind reckoned the man could pass for a malboro. Some burly male, blond of hair, nose so square you'd think he shoved a brick up there - holding a broadsword in the Soil-Adherent's face while speaking to the prince behind his back.

At least until his attention returned to the taller male. "And ye? Who tha fuck are ye? Well yer some two weird mothafuckers en't ye? Pretty sure me 'n ma boys have seen a poster of yer ugly mug as well." A roar of laughter from the back. "Well, lookin' like we're gonna be eatin' twice as good today, lads!"

A gutsy fellow, that's for sure. Along with six more at his side, now beginning to circle around like a pack of vultures. Three humanoids, two lizardmen, one of a race he had not previously seen. Some horned avian beast with a moody eye, looking every bit as insane as he must have been to draw a weapon on the White Devil and the Destroyer.

Then again, who wasn't mad in Wonderland..?

Because the Black Wind sure was.

A hand shooting out to snatch the blade by the edge, seizing it in a grip that easily rivaled steel. Chilling blue eyes staring right up into half-drunken almond, a perfect void of emotion that challenged the surprise quickly welling up in the sellsword's gaze.

Black blood trickled down tan skin as he forced the blade down, the other man's strength yielding before his. Surprise gave way to shock when the bruiser failed to free his weapon, the Windarian's hold not giving a single inch. The ocean hues of the Hunter's eyes burned like cold fire.

"You won't."

It was an instant; The other's blade yanked closer, the sarcophagus of the Magun striking like a hammer and the man's arm snapping like a dry twig at the elbow, showing bone. Call him brutal, or, as White Cloud preferred - 'unrefined', or 'lacking finesse', there was a method in his madness. If you didn't know any better, you might think he even enjoyed the howls of pain - like Chaos itself. You would be wrong, though. What the Wind so gladly bred; Was fear. A precious tool in every heße-alihkar's arsenal.

And fear did work its magic. The gathered warriors stepped back in momentary terror, watching their leader fall to the ground, blood quickly pooling from the open fracture. His blade clattered to the floor, and Kaze simply kicked it away under the tables, where it politely remained.

The lacerations upon his palm already in the process of healing, Kaze reached for the handle of Orthrus, the hound's slavering maw now pointed at the merry little band of misfits. He seriously doubted whether even one of them knew what a gun was, and had half the mind to blow off somebody's hand or foot to acquaint them with the concept. His Other would probably chew him out for that, but he would deal with a grumpy Cloud later. For now, however, he'd rather not decorate the entire tavern with viscera and bone shards.

Not good for patronage, he imagined.

"Move." The mage ordered. His voice itself, though quiet, was like distant thunder - electrifying the very air. The Hunter did not exactly like to repeat himself, and the near beastly sound with which he could speak was often enough to get the point across. The rare few times it didn't, however...

"I said MOVE!"

Orthrus barked, and the avian's talons exploded in gore. A shrill screech, another sword falling to the ground, curses in an alien language. The sound of knocked over chairs, more screaming - all around, wonderful. Well, that was one way to teach some backwater village the concept of a firearm.

"Fuck..!"

"...He... Monster!!"

"What the hell?!"

The mercenaries seemed to have learned their lesson, quickly stepping aside to clear a path to the door. Before 'Lord Makenshi' could possibly say a word, he was herded along by an arm encased in gold while the Destroyer's crimson weapon still kept its baleful sights on the less than fortunate offenders.

He pushed White Cloud through the entrance, then slammed the door behind them.

"Bloody curs..." He growled under his breath, and headed to a back alley to lay low and discuss their next destination. It would seem they were - oh, what a damned surprise - not quite welcome in these parts, after all.

#:D #Kumo is allowed to chew him out for this he just takes the reins and causes *cough* some chaos #shiroi---kumo #[[ask response

[gingerel]

It was Cor’s idea. Just a test, he says, to check if his instincts are right. It’s mostly that which gives Ignis the confidence to try. He’s never seen Cor falter in this regard.

“He could get hurt,” Gladio says, voice low.

“Don’t you think he can do it?” Cor responds.

The blindfold is already tight over Ignis’ eyes, his hands gripping the waist-high balance beam before him in preparation for the task ahead. It means he can’t see, so when Gladio gives no verbal response Ignis remains in the dark about Gladio’s feelings on the matter.

About whether Gladio has faith in him to do this task or not.

He wants to know, needs to know if Gladio thinks highly of him. If he respects Ignis’ skill and talents — believes he can do more than only what he’s shown so far.

“Ignis,” Cor says. “Just take it slow.”

Ignis nods and pulls himself carefully onto the beam, arms spread wide as he gets his feet secure and finds his balance.

It seems narrower now, without his eyes to guide him. In theory this is easy, Ignis has crossed this beam a thousand times — on his hands, carrying weapons, defending from simple attacks. All he has to do this time is walk.

Neither Gladio nor Cor say anything as he starts moving, slowly inching along with one foot in front of the other, getting stable before taking his next step. Sooner than Ignis anticipates his left foot moves forward to find nothing but air ahead of him. The shock of it causes him to wobble, but not fall.

He dismounts, stumbling on the squishy mat and throws out his arms to brace him if he ends up falling now. They’re caught in other hands, large and warm and maybe not as familiar as Ignis would honestly like them to be. Gladio transfers both of Ignis’ hands into one of his own, resting them against his chest while he works his fingers into the knot at the back of Ignis’ head and unravel the blindfold.

Ignis blinks up at him, squinting at the bright light of the training room.

“I knew you could do it,” Gladio says, and his thumb almost seems to linger against Ignis’ cheek as he fully pulls the blindfold away.

Ignis smiles.

- - -

Ignis startles awake but everything stays dark. He reaches with his hands, palms slipping over poor-quality cotton until his knuckles bump against the bunk’s metal bed frame. The world lurches around him and he remembers they’re moving, train slipping along the tracks towards Tenebrae.

He skitters his hand across the mattress, searching, almost desperately so even though there’s not enough space for two people in these beds, especially not if one of them is Gladio and yet still he hopes, prays that if he just reaches enough eventually he’ll catch hold of his boyfriend and —

Warmth covers his hand and Ignis sighs, relaxing back against the pillows.

“You okay?” Gladio asks, almost whispering — as much as he’s able too, anyway.

For a minute he thinks of lying, of saying yes, of course but he doesn’t have it in him. Not after the malboro, not after so long with the sewage like stench filling his nose and feeling damp halfway up his calves. Not after the fighting, the shouting. Not even Ignis can lie so completely. Even so, he can’t bring himself to be honest either, so he just flips his hand over and squeezes Gladio’s fingers while saying nothing at all.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio says roughly. He said it before, too. As they were settling into the bed, whispered along with a kiss against Ignis’ forehead.

“Don’t think on it,” Ignis says. “The boys?”

“Noct’s sleeping. Prompto went for a walk,” Gladio explains.

“And you?” Ignis asks.

“Just keeping watch,” Gladio says.

Ignis knows there’s no use in telling him there’s no need to keep watch, that they’re as safe as they’ve been in a long while on this train. For what that’s worth, anyway. Ignis can’t even do it himself now, guilt Gladio into taking a brief nap at least, while Ignis is the one to sit up and look over them all.

Ignis has never been this lost before. Has never quite felt so much like he’s stumbling, even while laying down. He feels like his hands are eternally grasping for a hold just out of reach, and he’s not so much climbing a staircase but an escalator going round and round the opposite wat to him in order to keep him fixed in place. Stationary. Without development.

Gladio squeezes his hand and Ignis gropes forward with his other until he’s gripping Gladio’s wrist, reaching round until he can feel the steady, even pulse of the Shield against his fingertips.

Gladio is alive and strong and calm.

For now, being able to be sure of those things will have to be enough. Ignis will have to trust Gladio to take his hand and guide the way until he’s no longer in the dark — or until he’s learnt to see even without it.

Never one for empty platitudes it obviously takes Gladio some effort to say, “Everything will be okay.”

Likewise, it is not easy for Ignis to give a bland comment agreeing with this, to pretend he believes that to be true.

“We’ll get through it,” Gladio adds. “Together.”

And that, Ignis knows to be true.

#gladnis #eliotfic #Gladio #Ignis #ffxv #ffxv fanfic #myficlets

[saratogaroadwrites]

Toxic (3/3)

Toxic | saratogaroad rating: G+ wordcount: 1160 characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia, Prompto Argentum relationships: background Promptis other tags: background relationships, Canon-Typical Violence warnings: Canon Typical Violence chapter: 3/3

-

Gladio comes to a realization that has been a long time coming. Noctis realizes a thing or two as well.

=

Zegnautus Keep presses down like a weighty thing, a sword ready to fall on their heads. Prompto is safe, thank the Six, and so is Noctis. The four of them are together again.

Gladio's heart still sits heavy in his chest, a rock in the pit of his stomach as he sits and keeps watch. They've barred the door to the barracks, ripped the loudspeaker off the wall and left sparking wires in its place. Umbra, Six only know how he got in here to begin with, lays on Noctis' bare feet. Exhaustion clings to the mutt like a second coat, clings to all of them like capes. Prompto is conked out, half sprawled in Noctis' lap, Noctis himself is asleep sitting up against the cold concrete wall, Ignis is actually snoring on another bunk, shoes still on, and Gladio...

Gladio sits, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, and watches. He watches their chests rise and fall in ease, listens to the snoring, and tries to push back the lump in his chest. They're all safe, no thanks to him, and have been keeping that way for a while.

Hell, Noctis survived a Malboro, getting stabbed in the freaking lung, and making his way through this hellhole of a fort with nothing but life-sucking magic and his father's sword. It's clear he doesn't need Gladio anymore. Maybe he hasn't for a long time.

Maybe that's okay.

"You tryin' to drill a hole in my head?" Noctis asks, voice sleep muddled. Gladio tenses as the prince--no, his King now, and he's been for a while--stretches his leg as best he can without dislodging Prompto. He rolls his neck and looks Gladio in the eye, tired but aware.

Gladio swallows hard and looks down.

"No," he says quietly, "Just...trying to figure out some things."

"Uh-huh." Noctis doesn't sound convinced. He quirks an eyebrow, pensive. Either he's too tired to speak or waiting Gladio out, but the silence pulls. Gladio licks his dry lips and shakes his head.

"I've been...kind of an ass."

Noctis raises his other eyebrow; they both disappear beneath his fringe in his shock. Shame colors Gladio's face as Noctis says, "Kind of?"

Gladio looks away. "Okay, a lot of an ass. And a really lousy Shield."

"That's what happens when you run off out of nowhere." Noctis shrugs a shoulder, voice oddly casual. "But I think--"

"Noctis," Gladio cuts him off. Noctis blinks at him, startled by the use of his full name, and Gladio sighs, because he knows he's lost the right to call him Noct, after all this. He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and looks up to meet his King's gaze. "I need to tell you something."

"...What?"

"I'm sorry. A lot of the things I've done were out of line."

Noctis blinks at him again. Once, twice, three times. Then his shoulders sag and he tips his head back against the wall. Absently, he starts to comb his fingers through Prompto's hair, the Ring a stark contrast to the sunny color.

"I'm not," Noctis sighs, "Going to say it's okay, because it's really not, but I get it." He looks over, peering at Gladio through his bangs. "I get it. None of us are taking this shit well."

"No kidding," Gladio looks down at his hands, the blood caked beneath his fingernails, the calluses in the joints of his knuckles. "I just...I said some really bad shit to you. Did shit I shouldn't have." He swallows back acrid bile, "...You could have died because I was an ass."

"Gladio..." Noctis sighs, "I made that call and I was stupid about it, okay? That one's not on you."

"I made you feel you had to," He clenches his hands together. Once they'd gotten Noctis settled in the sleeping car, Prompto ever at his side, Ignis had taken Gladio aside and explained, in no uncertain terms, what Noctis had said. Ardyn had nearly made him a replicated image of Lady Lunafreya, a blade between the ribs meant to kill painfully slowly.

He would have died in the swamps, cold and alone, all because Gladio had been such an ass and forced him into feeling that he needed to go it alone. His knuckles go white beneath his grip.

"I made you think you needed to prove something," He says, grimacing as Noctis makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, "And that's..." He sighs heavily, stomach knotted somewhere by his feet. His father would have disowned him for his actions; Iris would have kicked his ass then made him get up and do it all over again. He'd have deserved both of their reactions.

He also deserved Noctis'. He can't deny that any longer. He forces himself to look up again, to meet Noctis' knowing, understanding look.

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty," Gladio says formally. He stands up, presses a hand to his heart, and bows low. Noctis makes a choked off noise again. "I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me." Noctis is silent for a long moment. Gladio does not move, life in his King's hands.

"...I forgive you," Noctis says softly. Gladio looks up so fast his neck cracks painfully. Noctis is looking at the ring on his finger, the shard of crystal gleaming even in the dim light. He looks to Gladio. "So stand up already and get over here." He slips down against the concrete. "It's cold."

Gladio's heart skips a bit. Noctis shifts just enough to make room for him on the too-small bunk without disturbing Prompto.

"...you...really want to share with this big of an idiot?"

"No," Noctis shakes his head. "I want to share with my big brother." He smiles, though it's a tired, ragged edge thing "Family fights, right?"

His heart starts beating again. "Yeah," Gladio chuckles softly. He stands up just long enough to sit beside Noctis, toeing off his boots. "They do. They can be really stupid about apologizing, too." He settles against Noctis' side. Umbra lifts his head, sniffs the bottom of Gladio's foot, sneezes, and settles back in. "Works out, though."

"I hope so," Noctis says, leaning against his arm, "cause if you fought like this with Iris, I'd have to kick your ass."

Gladio can't help it: he laughs. Prompto stirs enough to lift his head and blearily blink at the two of them, but when no yelling pierces his half-asleep world, he burrows his face back into Noctis' stomach and drifts off again. Noctis sighs deeply, leaning his head on Gladio's shoulder.

"I'd like to see you try," Gladio finally says. Noctis barks out a half-asleep laugh of his own, but offers no contest. Before too long, he's asleep again.

Once more the dutiful Shield, Gladio returns to his watch with a lifted heart.

Whatever happens later, whatever they end up facing, he's sure of one thing: everything's going to be alright.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #ffxv fic #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia #!fic #series: crystalline shards #fic: toxic

[clerisy-fc]

Mina's Invitation

Hi! I’m Mina!  Mama said I was allowed to invite people over to see our FC house!

I’m always looking for new friends, so I hope you come visit us.  The address is Shirogane, Ward 17, Plot 28 on Malboro (Crystal DC).

We’ll start in the yard!  This is my favourite spot to sit and have a snack in the sun when mama makes me go outside instead of reading inside. Mr. Fuzzlekins likes his tea with lots of sugar, though Sunny doesn’t let me use as much as he’d really like.  

Sometimes I like to pretend to fight like papa with Lulu and the training dummy, it’s so big!  And I have to watch out for some of the chocobos in the stable, most are friendly, but I think Mei’s is hungry all the time and Lett says that it could eat me in one bite!

Going inside, I like to get into the fruit and other snacks that Elucia and Sunny keep in the kitchen.  They’re always so tasty!  Though, I do have to share the sweets with Gloyn, she’s got a bigger sweet tooth than me according to mama Sofy and Blodyn.  Mama and papa said I shouldn’t have too many, but Elucia always sneaks me extras when they’re not looking.

Going upstairs, there’s a bit with drinks I’m not allowed to have for a long time, but there’s also a stage!  I saw a bunch of the adults playing on it and we’ve had a few costume contests on it too!  The costumes were all so pretty! I like singing and dancing for Mr. Fuzzlekins and Lulu like Amis plays her instruments for other people.

Going all the way to the basement, there’s a library for everyone that my papa has been working on with mama for a long time.  I have a whole play area to myself by the stairs!  Though, I do have to share with Alba when Marisol and Gologa have to go do something, but that’s okay!

I don’t like being stuck behind the gate, but mama, mama Sofy, and papa all say it’s to keep me safe, so I guess it’s okay for a bit.  I do like all the stuffies I have, though.

Oh! Now it’s time to go to my room!

My room is through here, my bed is shaped like a carbuncle and so are my slippers! I don't understand why the adults look annoyed and also laugh about my slippers, though.

I have a pretty nightlight that looks like stars and the moon, and it makes me feel safe when I’m going to sleep at night!

Let me show you Papa’s study!

Look at all the books!  Isn’t it amazing?  Most of them are too big for me to read yet, but papa says that he thinks it won’t be long before I can start going through his shelves.

I hope you visit soon!  I can’t wait to meet you!

I’m going to sit here and wait for papa to get home, he should be back soon and I’m feeling sort of sleepy.

(Screen credit - @aurelia-polyps - Thank you SO much for making Mina come to life!!)

#lumina rayne #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv #house invitation #bring chocobo feathers and books #pretty please