#also ---

[ronmanmob]

Ron and Claude the Mastiff have much the same reaction to snow - thanks but no thanks; we’ll be going back into the warm like civilised folks now xD

[culberr-blog]

'feel like making a home here?' (rent au maybe?)

critical role starters. | accepting.    ↳ @funginerd.

    Home.

    Even the word feels foreign, lips shaping it in an echo of the other man’s statement. Home. His eyes scan the beat up brick walls, the cold, cracked concrete floor, the broken window that lets the icy, wintry air in, flecks of snow collecting on the sill. Hugh moves over, dusting it off. The place is dusty, it’s small, and it looks like it could fall apart at any moment, like the beams above their heads – slightly rotted – might simply give way and crash down on top of them. But, even all that being said…

    Home.

    “The word’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

    His bag drops onto the floor, and he adjusts his coats, the scarf around his throat – even the layers can’t quite keep out the chill. But it’s got a roof, it’s got four walls, and most of its windows intact. It’s got a door, and it’s got Paul, looking at him expectantly. 

    They don’t have much, either of them. They’d met on the street, and he’d been convinced that was where they were going to stay. He takes a look around, one more good, long glance, and he finds himself smiling, finds himself warming to the idea more and more. ( Though, maybe it’s just that they’re finally both out of the wind and the snow, for the most part. )

    “…yeah. Yeah, I think I could call this place home.”

    They don’t have much, either of them – but they could have this, this place, if nothing else. A home. A real home. 

    Warmth blooms in him, and he finds himself moving across the floor, catching the other man’s hands, giddiness curling through him. He squeezes Paul’s fingers, smile brilliant and wide.

    “I mean it’s…a place to study. And I can bring you books from the library and not worry about them being stolen or getting damaged. We could – ” He lets Paul’s hands go, turning to gesture widely, spanning the area with his hands. “We could find a couch – I know some of the students just throw theirs out when they leave the dorms – and put it right there. A rug. A table?”

    Turning back to the other, he beams. “A home! Of course I could make a home here. How did you even find this? Who did you have to murder – ? No, don’t tell me. I want to keep the plausible deniability for as long as possible.” A pause. “But if you ever do need to dispose of something, the school’s lab has all sorts of chemicals, and also a morgue for the medical students – ”

[mydearnamine]

worthytowield : ☆ —

    ❝ Do you think... I can pass the Mark of Mastery and become a great Keyblade Master like you, Riku...? I don’t think I have what it takes... ❞, she whispered, bowing her head in defeat before anything more could be said. There’s a lingering sadness between each word, stringing together the core of her deeply rooted insecurities. Although they rarely spoke, Naminé somehow had a feeling that he would understand her peaking anxiety that gnawed at her everyday. After all, who better else to give her advice than Riku himself?