#→ thread move (beta editor)

[kurogane-redfox]

"I ain't even sure when I first started drawin' personally. I know it was after I joined Fairy Tail but other than that I ain't got a fuckin' clue,"

Gajeel had been in Phantom Lord for quite a number of years prior to it being disbanded and all that. Back then anything that was an outlet for emotions other than negative ones were frowned upon or outright banned by the Master. Jose had seemed to like making his wizards suffer, but most especially those who were ranked S-Class, such as the Element Four, and the Dragon Slayer himself. Most of the shit the Iron Dragon went through weren't known to anyone else, not even Panther Lily who knew most things about his Dragon Slayer partner.

"Ya could always take a small class for drawin' if ya want to draw, I mean. Obviously it ain't required or anythin' nonsense like that."

He happened to like being able to draw and sketch even though he felt that his art was severely lacking in both quality and appearance. He was likely wrong though, if Levy's comments were anything to go by.

@booklovingfairylevy

[extasiie]

@frxncaise // continued.

“I can imagine it. Well you simply must find a moment to see the sights on your own terms. It is not Paris, but it is charming in its own way,” he says, his eyes following the sweep of the dancers through the center of the room. “How long are you to stay with us in Moscow? I have the vague idea your father is in politics, isn’t that so? Well I don’t know a thing about all that and I don’t see much point in learning, but I do wonder what can he possibly be up to here, things being how they are with the war they tell us is still going on, somewhere.” Anatole Kuragin spoke of war as he might speak of the weather. How could he do otherwise, when it meant so little to him and his life here in the city? Truth be told, he never thought of it, and only did so now because he was confronted with the daughter of the French ambassador. If any of that nonsense with Napoleon were ever going to interest him, it would certainly be in proximity to a pretty, young French girl.

[standingxbear]

[ cont from here with @redheadrecon ]

"Because I do not normally shorten my words and speak in full sentences. Unlike most people out here..." He paused, "Also my parents made us read a lot of books as children. We had a good library."

The White Legs had burned it to the ground. There had been little left of his town when they finally reached it. It had taken weeks to dig graves and it had been too many years. Most bodies were unrecognizable apart from distinctive clothing or jewelry. Most weapons had been taken after the war, but he had managed to identify some of his father's remains, bones, by the ceremonial axe he had fought with. He knew one of his best friends by red swoosh Nikes, another by his leather jacket with lightening and T.C.B. embroidered into it.

The town was mostly left alone, a bit too far remote in Monument Valley for much of anyone to care about. Even the White Legs. Their intention was never to 'take over'... But his father's radio station had been raided. Dozens of holo tapes taken. Maybe a hundred, maybe more. Bear couldn't understand it and it made him far more angry than he could even admit.

His hometown was starting to look livable again. But it had been hard work. Eventually he stopped insisting on doing most of it on his own and let Eagle help him.

"Thank you. For everything."

[andessence]

@polarean // continued.

Moritz holds the bedpost fast in her clammy hands as she watches him think and make comforting overtures at her like one coos to a frightened, cornered animal. ‘It is not bad to be who you are.’ Her knuckles are white from her grip. Does he really believe that? Moritz has about a thousand reasons to hate who she is, all backed up by the ire of her schoolmasters, the disappointment of her parents, and the rejection of her home, and all of these without anyone ever having to know what she is now, dressing up like a girl alone in some boardinghouse room in the dead of night to admire her own reflection. The stupidity had been fault enough to make her see that being who she was could indeed be bad. ———— But no matter how resolutely she attempts to reconcile herself to this sour truth, a craving for acceptance keeps her hoping it could be otherwise. It makes her wish that, for all her protests, Sylvain won’t stop trying to comfort her.

Melchior had once made her see that this was the nature of girls — to fight off a good thing as long as they could, and eventually to be won over, in spite of themselves. That’s the best proof she has that she’s a girl, deep down; she can’t help fighting off the good things she most needs.

Sylvain is looking at her dress — (It was Mama’s dress, and heaven only knows what she thought when she noticed it was missing. Did she discover the theft right away, or only days, maybe weeks after her son flunked out of school and disappeared? Surely she would have been too embarrassed to mention it except to Moritz’s father ... if the two of them even spoke about Moritz anymore and had not disowned her, leaving her name a taboo in her childhood home.) — but Sylvain is looking at it and he is asking her something about it that she doesn’t understand. 

“How to...? Sorry.”

She does not step back out from behind the corner of the bed, but her weight shifts, and she leans out, the skirt rustling, as if she might come forward.

[more-than-a-princess]

Continued from here for @quickdeaths !

Sonia was pleased: they hadn't reacted poorly to her decline of their offer. In fact, they seemed optimistic that underneath all of the fine tweed and silk, there was an athlete buried there. They weren't wrong: she took to physical activity almost as well as she took to memorizing languages and an array of facts, useful or otherwise. "Thank you for your vote of confidence," She replied with a hopeful smile in return, "Though I think it'll be in the best interest of everyone if I attempt such acrobatic skills with the wheeled boards in more suitable attire: it wouldn't suit anyone if I became seriously injured."

Of course, that meant anything from breaking a bone to receiving the smallest scar. For all of her sporting events and military training, her tutors had been careful not to permanently mar the Princess of Novoselic's appearance, particularly anywhere that could be seen by the general public. She had an image to uphold, like everyone else in the House of Nevermind. But that didn't mean, for the present at least, she couldn't admire the skill this person had: Sonia accepted the board carefully with both hands, inspecting how it was all put together: with a rough surface on top, presumably to grip the person's shoes, but her eyes lit up as she turned it over to examine the design underneath.

"Wow!" She exclaimed. It was both dark and colorful at the same time, a look that matched its owner. "This is super-hip and cool! I would definitely guess that a cool teenager owned this, fo' sho'! It is a...skate-board! I see now, because it has wheels." She nodded and gave the owner their skateboard back, the amusement still flickering in her blue eyes. "I shall hold you to that offer," She chuckled, bringing a hand over her mouth to hide her teeth: it was polite to do so, after all. "End-user access! That is a new way of putting it. But yes, my family has many rules and is quite strict, though it is to be expected."

They had a unique way of phrasing things, but it wasn't the first time she'd made a friend with such eccentricities. It wasn't even, it seemed, the first time she'd make a friend with such a quality from Hope's Peak Academy. She'd been prepared to offer her own name in return, but instead Sonia nodded in recognition first. "Yes!" She confirmed cheerfully, "I am a student at Hope's Peak Academy. My name is Sonia Nevermind, it is wonderful to make your acquaintance today, Tsubasa-san."

She'd offered her hand for them to shake, but something else was far more pressing. At least by the electronic beeps that caught Tsubasa's attention. Sonia tilted her head for a better look, studying the small device in their hands. "Is Yotsubatchi a sort of game?" She inquired. It certainly looked a bit smaller than the consoles Chiaki Nanami used, but it could be a platform her friend did not play very often. "But you've mentioned feeding: perhaps a pet? One of my friends at school is most excellent with all sorts of animals: he brings many of them to the classroom, to the chagrin of some of my classmates."

Partly due to her natural curiosity and partly due to proper etiquette, to inquire after others instead of speaking about one's self at length, Sonia chose to keep their conversation going by peppering Tsubasa with various questions. But once she'd regained their attention, she shook her head with a smile. "Oh, simply me being interested in your friend," She nodded to the device before looking back at them. "But if you do not mind, I should like to watch you practice for a little while longer before returning to school. Your skating is very exciting, I should like to watch more of it: it looks quite complicated but you do it with such ease!"

[explodcor]

OOC: Due to legacy editor being deleted, any drafts I have left to do (which is A LOT) will be moved into the new editing format with a link back to previous replies. As much as I'd LOVE to keep all the threads on the same thread (so mutuals can re-read from one place), reblogging from those original legacy editor posts will break code in the new editor. It does a lot of stupid shit like double posts the same post twice or gives a pop-up each time I reblog.

[radicalrascals]

@openedxdoors (cont. from here)

Not all alchemists liked sharing their knowledge. The one that James had come across was one of those greedy sorts. He was also on a list, for using human lives in his work. A list that had been given to Oliver, a hero who traveled the various worlds and realities that were connected through magical doorways.

A single shot rang out

The bullet ripped through the alchemists' brain, causing is head to jerk before he fell to the ground.

Normally Oliver would use is sword, Calibur. But given the subject of alchemy, he figured it best to keep the magical blade out of things.

He let his arm drop, and holstered the gun before kneeling down before James.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry that I used you for a distraction. Maybe I can buy you dinner to make it up to you?"

The old alchemist had lured James in with promises of knowledge and like little red riding hood fell for the wolf's disguise, the alchemist apprentice fell for their fake kindness and generosity. He should've stayed with his uncle, no matter how unkind and strict he was, he was a good teacher and he certainly never tried to make him an ingredient.

James was still stammering apologies when his assailant dropped to the ground and it took him a full second to fully grasp what just had happened.

"A distraction?!," he piped up, "No, I'm not okay. The old geezer tried to turn me into mince. I was about to become pie filling. Or worse a sausage roll. God, I hate sausage rolls." When in doubt: Ramble. Apparently James' motto.

But once he'd calmed down and was done venting his frustration, he got up and meekly offered: "No, but thank you. Dinner sounds nice, actually. I'm James by the way. Alchemist in training."

[dhampiravidi]

ronnie x jasmine/artemis/the traitor

continued from here (moved to comply w/Beta editor):

It was like a work conference for organized crime. There were maybe fifteen people inside the hotel's largest event room, all dressed in some kind of business casual or formal wear. They represented different "families", each characterized by their members' ethnicity and the territory they claimed within the United States. But Jas knew that they all had one thing in common: they were going to die in the next ten minutes, courtesy of her. She just needed her plan to go smoothly.

Common sense said she couldn't just walk in, pull out a semi, and start shooting--there were innocent waiters scattered about the room, offering amuse-bouches, petits fours, and generous flutes of champagne. Thankfully, she knew that the waiters would be shooed away at some point because she'd managed to get a program for the event. Apparently, the hotel had requested some kind of itinerary, presumably so they could give their guests all the necessary amenities, blah, blah, blah. Jasmine doubted the hotel would turn down the kind of money that the crime lords could pool together. People always turned a blind eye whenever money was involved. The only unknown was how much they felt their services were worth.

She was waiting a building over, sniper equipment ready. Close combat was more efficient in her opinion, since it almost guaranteed executions. The only challenging part of that scenario was getting away, and half the time that was made easy because she already had to carve a path to her target in the first place. But when it came to taking out multiple targets at long range, there was always the possibility that the enemy's entourage could and would trace her shots back to where she was set up. Once they did that, Jas only had about five minutes, tops, before she was caught. One step at a time. She'd been in worse situations and gotten out alive.

Half a second after the last waiter left the room, Jas swept the room using her laser sight, found her first target, and started shooting. The first shot narrowly missed, because the asshole had to bend over for something. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. So she lined up the shot again and pulled the trigger. While her first target was staggering, about to fall over, Jasmine looked for the next face she'd memorized and took out two more scumbags before anyone at the little event even tried to take cover. Sometimes it was hard not to take a certain pleasure in what she did. Yes, she was doing the world a service, but her job wasn't something she'd encourage kids to do. She had dedicated her life to making the world a better place, the only way she knew how. There wasn't any going back, and there certainly wasn't a happy ending in store for her...

Four left.

She played Chicken (more like Idiot) with one target, finding the woman's head to line up the shot, then shooting far away from her so she'd think she was safe. Three left. Jas could do this. She could go back to her hidey-hole without a scratch. Maybe, depending on how much energy she had to put on a decent disguise (her sniping outfit didn't exactly scream "casual, typical young woman in her 30s"), Jas could even get Starbucks, or something interesting from one of the small places near the apartment she was squatting. She'd have to beware of the many CCTV cams in the area, but that was a given. In the modern day, anyone could be found. Even though she had been caught couple times, and tortured, she refused to give up. So she just had to be careful. Luck wasn't a thing when your parents had been killed in front of you.

[twistedisciple]

Bringing a Knife to a Bunfight [Griss & Zelkov]

@elusivia

continued from here “*Queen* Ivy.” The correction was automatic, though unnecessary. The manifestation of anything that he disliked seemed to be what Griss would hone in on. He felt some satisfaction that Ivy’s presence had an effect on Griss, though his work was far from done. There was a sort of passion in war, though it wasn’t the sort he could lose himself in peace in like a hobby of creation. He begrudgingly admitted that there might be an inch of common ground between them. Zelkov was compelled to play the fiery game of risk, cloaks, and daggers, even if he itched to go back to his quarters and do an impression of an old cat lady minus the cats and with far too much yarn. He expected some sort of egging on regarding stabbing, but Griss blew his expectations out of the water. Zelkov blinked. He stared, blankly. Griss had so much metal on his face that he wondered, vaguely, if the piercings ever got infected. Whoever I need to pray to to make sure that he never comes to *me* about that, I’m praying… “You’re so *desperate* you’d pay for me to gut you like a fish the way some people pay for daily eggs and milk.” Half whispered, confused awe, and if anyone had been wondering what they were talking about, he doubted they could’ve guessed. He was surprised enough that his revulsion didn’t quite make it through. However, he was always on the clock, and Griss knew how to hit the alarm. Ivy. “You wouldn’t *dare.*” Zelkov leaned close as he could without making actual contact, only having to move an inch or two, eyes narrowed with a leer. “*Two* can play at *this* game, Griss. I do not know how you and your master *cheated* death, but if I can elude even *you*, would you wager *Zephia* against my blade?”

Desperate. Griss would’ve argued but, yeah, maybe it was true. The battle earlier had done little to sate his appetite for punishment, and in fact had the opposite effect - he was starving for more, and Zelkov just kept dancing around promises like words had any cutting power to them. Was he gonna stab him or not? Honestly, he couldn’t tell now if the man even wanted to get rid of him, but Griss did delight in the way the proposition finally seemed to put him at a loss for words.

“Is that a yes? ‘cause you could start right now unless--”

The cool professionalism snapped back into Zelkov’s eyes far too quickly for Griss’ liking. He should have guessed that Ivy would have been a red button word, but maybe now they could finally get somewhere. A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat as he met those piercing gold eyes without so much as a blink.

“Zephia might be the one giving the orders, but she doesn’t need me protecting her. If ya wanna make enemies that badly,” his grin stretched wide enough to show off nearly all his teeth, “go for it. But just know that I’ll be real sad you didn’t pick me to slice. Might even make me want to hurt you instead.”

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( C.ullen R.utherford ; continued )

        𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, noticing how his fingers flexed instinctively in search of his sword. For something to grab onto. He was still wary around Roland, watching every movement and turn to make sure he wasn’t adding any additional ingredients with his magic usage, but slowly by slowly, he eased up around him. He spoke vaguely of his time in the Circle Tower, growing uncomfortable when he realized that this memory could resurface something in Roland as well, that he held his tongue. In his own time, Cullen didn’t like to think of Lake Calenhad, or anything involving his Templar days other than the lessons he had in combat. But he had to think of it. He had to remember it and he couldn’t scrub it from his memory. 

        He sighed out a breath when Roland finally spoke, shifting the topic to a more comfortable subject. He could feel his chest expand from the comfort of an easy question. Yet, he didn’t know the definite answer to it.

        His eyes darted to the cabinets. ❝ I would believe so, ❞ he answered as simply as he could, not denying or agreeing to it. He swore he could remember one of the bakers adding peanut butter to a dish, but he could be mistaking one ingredient for another in his hazy memory. ❝ Try the cabinet there. ❞ He finally lifted a hand and gestured towards the cabinet at the end. ❝ Josephine has mentioned Seheron in passing, yes. The baker has used peanut butter before. ❞

        His voice softened its restraint when Roland asked about his own baking experiences. A smile curled at the edge of his lips and he tilted his head slightly. ❝ Maker, no, ❞ a laugh escaped between his lips. ❝ My sister was allergic to peanuts. My mother preferred to make a feast when she baked, so no ingredients were wasted. ❞ That meant pies, cakes, and cookies that accompanied dinner. His mother had made candies before when she had little to work with, but she preferred to make grand meals that would last for weeks. 

        His eyes flickered down to his hands again and he finally moved a step, opening the cabinet he referenced. Before his eyes spotted the small tin of peanuts, he could smell it and it was almost foreign to him. ❝ Here, ❞ he grabbed a hold of the circled tin and set it on the counter. ❝ Would that be enough? ❞

@eritvita

[heavyweighthappy]

@arandomnerdsrp358​

The more she watched him fumble, the more she thought that he was adorable.

“I am going to be completely honest with you, if it’s not art class I dont really care. Nothing keeps my interest quite like art class. Do you like history?”

“I-- yeah, I mean, yeah, generally.” Harold gave a shrug, “People are interesting. Events.” Boy, was he sounding like some dumb big jock. Not that he even was, technically, yet, though his dad wanted him to try out for football when the season came.

“What kind of art do you like?” Harold knew even less about art, but if May was interested then he wouldn’t mind listening to her.

[generalzelgius]

@unforestalledreturn - moved from here:

          Amidst all of General Zelgius' seriousness and stoicism, there was the ability to adapt to various situations, even those he was not used to in the slightest. He had a way with his words, motions, and a knack for 'going with the flow' as a last resort when no preparations could've been made. Sure, that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable though as this was way out of his territory of behavior, but yet, something inside of him was having fun. It could've been Genesis' carefree attitude and how easy it was for him to be this flirtatious which was starting to rub off on him. He wasn't quite sure if this was a good thing or not.

          But then again, he had somehow managed to stun Genesis into silence, which greatly amused him. After all, the general did crave power, and to be in control at all times. Again, it was just a comfort thing, not necessarily meant to be malicious. The spread of crimson slowly starting to color Genesis' cheeks did not go unnoticed, however, making his following gestures absolutely comical, if not cute. Was he actually managing to break down Genesis' confident flirtatious nature ? Fascinating. He must really be interested in him.

          The cut of meat, 'mistakenly', aimed at the corner of Zelgius' mouth was tactfully scooped into it, him turning his head at an angle to get all of it inside, the juice of the meat once more dripping from the corners of his lips. The only difference from last time is that his tongue did not flicker out, instead turning expectedly to Genesis, emerald hues gazing down at his partner's supple lips.

          ❛ Hmm, this is your mistake for being so careless, you should fix it then.   ❜ His tone was far from demanding, but rather one of persuasion.

[blankticket]

@baddestdangerboy:

[ continued from here! ]

"Aw, you're no trouble," Vash chuckles, before his mind follows it up with: …Right?. That was a hell of a lot of ruckus caused alone. "But aren't you here the same way 's me? Helpin' out that Star, and finding yourself in a place like this for it."

He pushes the medical bed aside, the friction causing a groan of heavy plastic and metal against linoleum. Maybe Badou hit his head; thankfully, they were in the medical wing of the ship to address that, if needed. Vash's hand is still out in offering, ready to support the other.

"And by 'calling out' I meant more—"

"Marco!" A lone unidentified voice calls further out, distant.

Vash tilts his head to point in that direction, as though to silently conclude 'like that'.

[petitsdieu]

"I think, poetry more than anything has a narrow audience." There's less room for casual admiration and connection. It's easier to halfway like a film than halfway like a poem. But she shrugs, thumbing back the corner of the page to mark that particular poem for later. And then she closes the book. Does two books make a pile? Maybe a start of one. Funny, since she planned on popping in for a breather and not actually finding anything she wanted.

He's got a lot to say and it's all a little more morbid than she expected. So in that regard, he's correct. "I guess we'll never know." She comments on whether or not someone like that would get proper help now. Certainly, there's a better chance now but she's had her own struggles and it definitely doesn't feel easier. She glances down the aisle, reading in her head the different genres she can see from where she's standing. But more importantly, she's looking for anyone that might have a camera pointed at her. A little corner of a bookstore might seem private and secure but she's used to standing in locked hotel rooms and still feeling like someone's watching her. "You think he really cut off his ear?"

cont. ft. @wehavefoundthestars

[ofprevioustimes]

[ @kallistcs / cont. from here ]

Her words were useless. 

After ten years, it didn’t surprise her anymore. She could read the response through his silence when he looked away from her. The way he covered his mouth with a tremulous hand revealed more than anything he could have said. A decade of war had not made him tougher, nor had this marriage taken away his softness–and all the worse it was for Paris. The more he clung to it, the more he’d suffer.  Yet Helen stood quiet and dignified on her spot, watching her Trojan husband struggle through his sobs to regain his speech, observing his every move with a studious glance.

She answered him only with her eyes until he was done. Her knowing stare read through his tears and his denial, facing those sides of Paris that he himself would not dare to look into. His speech was foolish, but he was not. More than mere grief over the loss of a brother, the death of Hektor had come as a bitter reminder of a harsh truth from which he’d been flinching for a long time. Troy was doomed, but they’d known it since the very first day. Paris refused to admit it, but he himself had told her of Aphrodite’s promise and the prophecy in his birth–it was only a matter of time before the city would fall. He could pretend not to know this, but some part of him did. 

“There is no sooner, Paris”, she told him, ever so stoic. You cannot hide from the cut of Atropos like you hid from the cut of Menelaus' spear. “There is no shouldn’t”. The temptation behind his thinking was obvious. It was sweet to imagine that there might have been a different reality where his brother wouldn’t have had to die the way that he did; a world where Paris could rely on safety and comfort to sustain his poin of view. Tempting… and pointless. There was no such reality - and the indulgence of this kind of thought was what had brought him back to their chambers when he should have been dueling her other husband, as it now left him clueless on how to deal with his grief over Hektor.

There was only one way, but he wouldn’t like it.

“Only blood can pay for blood. Not tears. And this—”, she told him, pressing one foot harder against the shards to make a point. A faint tension on her jaw was the only glimpse of pain that crossed her face—otherwise her eyes and her posture showed only strength and fierceness. “---is how royalty bleeds.”

[nobleburn]

@hallowleylines continued from here

"Oh, please," Nikolette grumbled, even as she stood up to mend the rips in her clothing with a cantrip, the magic stitching back together the fabric far more easily than it had her body. If Iona thought Nikolette not the sort of person to make such demands, she was sorely mistaken. "Every moment of one's life isn't mapped out." Otherwise, it would mean what happened to her was meant to happen, and of that, she could not abide.

"And that was not my point," she added, flicking her sword a few times to get the still-wet blood from its edge. "I have no qualms about being challenged. I'm a hero, after all." Yes, and quite a good one. Certainly, the coin-grubbing scroungers in their tattered rags, perpetually smelling of sweat and three week old dungeon musk who styled themselves adventurers would have crumpled entirely betwixt the beast's mandibles.

Once her sword was appropriately cleaned, Nikolette sheathed her sword and returned her attention to Iona. "But fighting local wildlife is not my idea of appropriate heroics." She gestured around to the relative emptiness of the space around them. "I don't see any terrified townsfolk, nor a village under siege. There's not even a respectable, but ill-prepared, traveler in need of rescue."

When she looked at it, the beast wasn't even particularly impressive. It was perhaps the size of a horse, so it didn't even cut a particularly imposing figure. Maybe had it been the size of a dragon, it would have felt a greater achievement. "So don't twist my words. I have no intentions of abandoning my quest, regardless of the obstacles in her way." Nikolette was a stubborn sort, ill-suited to changing her mind at the best of times, and 'the best of times' this empirically wasn't.

"All I'm suggesting is that you use your little soothsaying tricks to avoid pointless diversions and instead steer us towards somewhere in need of my assistance, and with the people present to properly appreciate it." Really, was that so much to ask? She was a paragon of heroism, the likes of which any person should feel honored to witness. That she would even lower herself to solving the problems of the common provincials made her, in her opinion, downright saintly.

Unable to whistle due to her gloves, Nikolette clapped twice and produced a magical chiming sound with another minor spell, leading Lamy to come trotting out from where she'd hidden during the fight. "I'm fine to continue." Planting one boot against the stirrups, she hoisted herself up onto her horse, looking down at Iona with a flat expression. "Are you?"