#But a full fic will come in time!

[giggly-squiggily]

I’ve been waiting for this one! Okay so friend, let’s talk about Blue Lock. Rin and Sae, so I don’t know why BUT Sae is at Blue Lock I guess to help them get better and Rin is not having it at ALL like he’s constantly side eyeing him and making snide remarks. Sae is not saying anything because you know older brothers have a tolerance for bratty younger brothers. Bachira being Bachira is calling Rin out about it and teases him for it. Rin obviously denies it. Bachira lightly elbows him in the side in Rin gasp and flinch. Sae sees this and that’s when it dawns on him that he can put his little brother back in his place(and see him smile, but he won’t admit that)

YES! Oh my god, Lee!Rin makes my heart go pitter patter in the best way! This came off more Ler!Bachira but I promise the Sae and Rin tickle fight is in the making! I hope you like this little dabble in the meantime! :D

CW: Swearing

It was official- Rin hated Blue Lock.

Specifically, he hated this week of individual team training.

Why? Because Sae freaking Itoshi, aka the devil was here.

Ego must have had quite the sense of humor to put these two in the same room.

“Wow, RinRin, I’ve never seen you so grumpy.” Bachira grinned cheekily as he bounced up during a break, flopping down beside the green haired boy. Right now Sae and Isagi were having their one on one, the older boy going over different plays and ways for Isagi to improve. Normally Rin would be there to learn as well, but he was currently engaged in “Ignoring Sae and everything he does” matters.

Yes it was petty and more likely to screw him over in the long run but he didn’t care.

Ego wanted to bring Sae here, so this was the result.

“I’m not grumpy, I’m simply uninterested in anything he has to say.” Rin replied shortly, shooting a glare. Bachira grinned, unfazed.

“Sure, and that’s why you’re shooting side eyes at him and mumbling rude remarks the entire practice hoping he’d react?”

Silence. Bachira took it as a win. “You know- your brother’s pretty good at this stuff. It’d be best to listen.”

“It’d be best to shut the hell up and go back into whatever hole you crawled out of.” Rin growled, hoping his aggression would spook off Bachira.

“Oo, did I hit a sore spot?” Bachria laughed, elbowing his side. “Sauri Sauri, give your arm a shavy~”

“Tch, whatever.” Rin jumped at the contact, lowering his arm. He must have been noticeable, for Sae looked over, brow raised. Rin glared back.

“Oo, he’s looking at you! Smile!” Bachira poked him a few times, each gesture more intentional than the last. Rin flinched at each jab, his arm pressing tighter against his side as he tried to hold his glare. Sae tilted his head curiously.

“Bachira, yeah?” He called, making the other stop. Said boy blinked up at him. “Go for his hips, he’ll die.”

“Sae, you piece of sh-” Rin only just got out before said spot was ruthlessly attacked, Bachira laughing alongside him as he sang his broken english song about shaving arms on a “Wed-ness-day”. “Fuuhuhuck ohoohohohff, bohoohhwl cut!”

“Should we…” Isagi began, staring in awe at the duo.

“Nah, let it be.” Sae shook his head, something like a glimpse of a smile touching his lips as he turned towards their discarded soccer ball. “That’ll teach him for being such a brat today. Come on- let’s go over your footing once more.”

Send me a headcanon and character(s) and I'll write a short 300-500 word dabble for it!

[shanastoryteller]

it would make dean fucking furious, but i actually love the idea that jack sometimes calls sam "sammy" and that sam lets him. he's the only one besides dean that doesn't get "it's sam"

jack is always watching dean, and while part of that is search for dean's approval, the rest is because it teaches him how to interpret and be loved by sam

he calls him sammy when he's scared, or worried, or even relieved (seeing sam after lucifer brought him back would definitely elicit a sammy)

dean says it and it's sammy (protected)

jack says it and it's sammy (protector)

i also think he's seen dean and sam hug each other, sees how sam scrunches himself up so dean can still get his arms over his shoulders and folds beneath his brother. and when sam hugs jack, he hugs him sort of like dean hugs him, like how jack thinks dean used to hug sam twenty years ago

being enveloped, sam hunching over to keep him tucked into him, and for a moment jack feels like nothing can get to him

(sam used to feel this way too)

[souenkun]

Larry's random conversarion lines 🍙

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Random conversation 1:

Ever since I met a certain individual, I now find myself gazing up at the sky every once in a while. There's scenery you'll never even notice if you stick to flat, well-trodden paths. Just something I've observed. I don't dislike the vast, clear sky... But I don't think I can reach it. It's nice to know that there's something like that out there, though.

Random conversation 2:

Pasio seems to have many good restaurants. Ah, I'm not asking for specific recommendations, though... I actually enjoy walking around and looking for a place I might like. That's part of the experience. I seek the exceptional only when it comes to food. Pasio has a variety of cuisines to choose from, so it's hard to stick to just one.

Random conversation 3:

(Player), which do you tend to favor: the exceptional or the average? I was thinking of inviting you to have a meal sometime. Casually figuring out your client's preferences is a special skill that you learn as a salaried employee.

Random conversation 4:

Lunchtime is one of the few things that a salaried employee like me can look forward to at work... We can decide whether to spend that precious time eating something familiar or trying out a new restaurant. It's not just about the meal. The decision-making process leading up to it is also something to look forward to.

Random conversation 5:

People, Pokémon... There's no need to overcomplicate things. Nowadays people only seem to want a shock factor. Something weird, something bizarre. When all's said and done, simplicity is strongest.

Random conversation 6:

You don't necessarily have to follow every instruction from your boss. But I pretend to follow them, at least, so I can avoid hassles later on. That's a technique you can use to get by in the workplace. Keep it in mind.

Random conversation 7:

I'm here in this famous tourist spot, but I can't really spread my wings while my boss has her eye on me. I guess I'll do what I usually do on my lunch break and find a spot to Roost...

[cows1012]

hello....... daemon au once again!! this fanfic changed my brain chemistry guys. please read it here!!!

[gods-perfect-idiots]

something something blood-soaked hands cradling your face something something

anyway here's the post btw

[poisonousquinzel]

if y'all ever want a bit of modern harlivy angst that ends happy and doesn't feel laced with ooc toxicity in the like "oh the writer's apparent reference for ivy's characteristics in their relationship is plant ivy and that's it wow..." I'd recommend their little story from DC's Harley Quinn Romances cause <33333 it's very special to me

they make me unreasonably emotional

Ivy after reading Harley's au fic where she gets to punch Joker with her at prom:

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[dubylou-draws]

Preview of a gigantic Japanese woodblock print- style KNY fanart I'm currently working on.

This is going to take an unholy amount of time to colour in, so... here's a WIP for now 😅

Expect to see the finished piece posted here at some point- and the backstory/ historical inspiration that goes with it, too!

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[itsfairly]

Illicit Toasts // 1920s!Nanami Kento x F!Reader

Summary: The prohibition of alcohol didn't stop people from getting their hands on it. It only made them find places where they could get their fill of giggle water in illicit establishments filled with booze, music, and social life. For Nanami Kento, however, alcohol was merely an excuse to visit this speakeasy. Yet, he did go to that place to get his high on something, someone else.

Word Count: ~5.1k

CW: 1920s AU (focused on the prohibition era), fem!reader, singer!reader, strangers to lovers (kinda), fluff (kinda), pining kento, mentions of alcohol, alternate between 3rd person and 2nd person.

A/N: first, you can find the artist of the fanart here! second, there is no doubt in my man that my man would look amazing in the 1920s aesthetic, look at him. i was thinking about this for a while and the covers from the postmodern jukebox helped. am i thinking about writing more about this AU? maybe, especially if people are into it. 1920s! Nanami Kento, you will always be famous.

Just what was he doing here? Coming back and pretending it was just for some booze that he could easily stash at home with the promise of some quietness and privacy?

Nanami didn’t know the answer. As he puts his wallet into his coat, he tries to think of one with no avail. He didn’t know why his feet kept walking towards that damned speakeasy as if it were a part of his routine. It felt as if his body got the best of him despite his mind telling him it was a bad idea to come to a place like this as someone of his reputation.

He was wealthy, had a nice job, a status that put him high on everyone’s list on his appearance alone. He felt like he was risking it all by just coming here. Nanami had the means to contact a bootlegger and get that alcohol he used as an excuse to come here. A bar that could get raided at any moment and put him in jail by just being there. It would be his ruin if that were to happen.

No money.

No job.

No status.

But despite it all, he still walked towards that door. Knock. Knock, knock. Knock. Knock. A pattern he memorized the first time he came here when a friend of his implored him to accompany him for a drink. Little did he know back then how much he would play this rhythm against the rusty door with a dimly lit room behind it, full of chatter, drinks, and entertainment for those who were willing to risk it.

Funny thing is that, though Nanami is a heavy drinker, he is a loner at that. Those extravagant parties held by people of his status were too luxurious for his taste, he only attended them to keep his connections intact and for the promise of booze. He much prefers to drink in the comfort of his own home. No superficial conversations. No drunks trying to flirt with him or overstep his boundaries. But to drink for the joy of it rather than to survive the event.

He was about to turn around after questioning why he kept coming here when the door opened, a voice greeting him into the bar. It reeked of the smell of old wood, strong liquor, the dreaded tobacco smoke, and the light colognes and perfumes mixing together as they escaped out the door and into his nostrils. It was a last warning. Though he was still standing at the foot of the door, he could still change his mind and leave to get his fill back home. The unique smell reminded him not only of what awaited him if he entered but also brought a sense of tension. Was all this secrecy and feeling of rebellion against a law that prohibited some fun worth everything he worked so hard for?

But that warning fell on deaf ears. Ears that were busy welcoming the real reason he was coming back in the first place. It was not the alcohol, it was never the reason why his body walked the streets until he reached this door. It wasn’t a taste or a smell. It was a sound and a sight.

It was the pretty singer who held her own against the band and rose above the chatter as more than mere background noise to fill the air.

You.

He still remembers the first time he saw you on that stage. He could barely understand what his friend was talking about when they brought him here. He was busy looking at you and hearing the pretty voice that captured his attention the moment he walked in. You didn’t seem to mind the fact that people were too caught up in their own conversations or the delightful buzz their whiskey and bourbon brought instead of hearing the music. But to him, it was the complete opposite. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, take you off your mind nights after seeing you for the first time. You brought him a high no liquor had brought before and you don’t even speak to him. You were just doing your job, a living by singing in this dimly lit bar full of patrons breaking the law. You were the star of this speakeasy. 

Tonight was no different.

Your voice stood out from the chatter that filled the room, dripping in a silky passion that lured him into stepping in and taking a seat at the bar. It was obvious you weren’t performing for anyone but yourself. The way you sang each song, each lyric, was intoxicating to Nanami. It was like a spell that drew him in further into this attraction he felt for you. It was always such a raw performance he could only describe as passionate and immersive. He could hear how you felt every emotion from your voice alone. Vulnerable, intense, alluring. To think he could list everything he heard in your voice would be an impossible challenge he would gladly take.

But your looks came along and he knew it was over. Your performance was more than just your voice, but also the way you moved. You were a temptress, sensuality in its purest form. Swaying side to side at the rhythm of the keys and strings, almost as if your hips marked the tempo for everyone to follow. But you were more than that. It wouldn’t be fair to see you as sex-on-a-stick that others had reduced you to. Not when you had this bright and cheerful smile on your face every time he saw you on that stage. Or when you did these little gimmicks with your gloved-covered hands that always captured his attention as you acted the lyrics. One thing was certain: the way you looked and performed told him you were having the time of your life up there.

He could see it in your face alone. Your face, your angel face that told him how much fun you had when singing. It was as if you were one with the music and wanted to keep it that way. Showing each and every emotion of the song as if you wrote it yourself. Dancing and acting as if no one was watching. He admired that. It drew him into you. Authenticity was written all over you, displaying so many parts of you and showing this energy of yours that made you much more complex than anyone in his class.

There was no doubt. You were a performer through and through.

But to him, you were this enchantress. Seduction follows your every move and sound. You looked so confident, so comfortable on that stage surrounded by liquor and smoke that others were so distracted by, missing the real deal. The straight loose dresses you wore with fringes and beads that moved with you, the pearls that added an elegant touch, the gloves that covered your skin, the t-strap shoes that clicked with every step, and that makeup that wrapped everything together.

You looked like a doll, shining in the spotlight and surrounded by this lively and strong aura he couldn’t help but be attracted to. So addicting like the glasses of whiskey he drank, but much sweeter.

As another number came to a close, you bowed at the audience. Even if you didn’t receive much applause, you didn’t care. You know what comes with being an entertainer at these places: barely any recognition and a lot of cons such as getting arrested for even being here. But you loved it. The ambiance was calm, nothing too crowded or loud to keep the place safe from a police raid; the lights added a sense of secrecy and sensuality that you were all in for, and the best of all, the pay. Jobs like this were hard to come by, those that paid you to do what you liked.

Even if your day job brought you a lot of tension and stress, it was this gig that allowed you to shake those feelings off and let loose. Shine like the way you were supposed to, be treated like a person and not a number or some airhead. Sure, you were often shaken off as part of the background of a rebellious experience that people were quiet about. But it was tit-for-tat—go through hell by day and live the crème de la crème at night. No family to control you, no boss to scold you for no reason, and no judgemental looks for not being a mother or married.

You looked back at your band, clapping at them for their performance so far with a bright smile. You quickly excuse yourself, asking them to play a few songs without you as you go and fetch yourself something to drink. All this smoke made your throat dry, which was a no-no for a performer like you.

Making your way to the bar and asking for a light drink—the bartender’s choice being a bee’s knees—you notice a blond man with his elbow resting on the bar. You looked at him, instantly seeing the signs that he was of a higher class than the usual patrons. Tailor-made suit in a pristine condition fitting him perfectly, the material looking expensive from how soft it looked alone. Handsome face free of facial hair, his skin probably as smooth as one can be, something not many had the privilege of due to tight schedules or lack of resources.

The drink was a dead giveaway. From the looks of it, it seemed to be whiskey neat. Most people opted for the much cheaper beer, not for something like whiskey. Let alone neat and not on the rocks. It told you it was someone who had the privilege of drinking enough to be able to handle the harshness of it and its expensive price. 

Not only that, but the drink seemed unattended as told by the way his hands were further enough from the glass. People normally downed their drinks if they were alone, the lack of another glass near him told you he was probably on his own tonight. But no. He didn’t seem in a rush to drink or be accompanied by someone. He was alone at a bar with a drink he hadn’t sipped from during the alcohol prohibition. What are the odds?

You think of starting a conversation with the man, intrigued about him, when the bartender handed you your drink. You smiled at them, thanking them for their service as you took the glass by their stem and brought it to your lips. Honey, lemon, and most importantly, gin invade your mouth as you taste the forbidden drink. Sure, alcohol isn’t the best thing to drink when performing a set, but it’s not like a sip once in a while hurt. Especially with how hard it is to get these drinks when one doesn’t have the means, working at a speakeasy seemed like a blessing.

Your thoughts are interrupted before you set the glass down, the blond at your side snapping you out of them with his velvet voice. It was a few words, but they were enough to detect a certain elegance that matched his appearance. Modesty and opulence easily summarize your impression of the man before you.

“Your performance was lovely.” He said nonchalantly, turning his body to face you as his hand wrapped around the glass of whiskey. 

It’s not like people didn’t compliment your singing. They did…once they were drunk or when they were seeking attention. But compliments from someone who looked like him? Sure, he sounded casual about it and it almost made you think he was being sarcastic. But when you turn to look at him, ready to give him your usual “you can give it a go if you want” answer, you see that he was being genuine. He was waiting for a response patiently, his thumb caressing the side of his glass. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place, it seemed like nerves but there was no reason to feel like such.

You flash him a small smile, nodding your hand towards him. “Thank you, I’m sure it would’ve paired so well with your drink. Shame that it seems unattended.” He looked at you puzzled, looking down at the drink in question before turning back to you. “I was not aware that one could pair alcohol with performances. Especially with everything going on right now.” “Then you’re missing quite the opportunity. Neat whiskey? Jazz and blues pair up well with it, which is our set for tonight. You’re lucky the band is still playing as we speak, you can still enjoy the combination of taste and sound.” You smile, looking back at the band and then back at him.

He wastes no time to take in your silence as an invitation to try the multi-sensorial experience. You see him swirl the liquid in the glass, the piano and trombone standing out from the band of instruments, and then taking a sip as he lets the alcohol wash over his mouth to savor it.

He chuckles, his brows jumping once in delight as turns back to you. You raise your eyebrow, now waiting for his response.

“My first thought when pairing alcohol is usually food. I’m afraid I’ll have to start thinking about what I will be doing when drinking a certain drink.” He says, his eyes showing that delight when he turns to you.

“Hopefully you keep that idea long after you leave this place. It’s quite fun to pair things with others we haven’t thought of before.”

“Really? Is your drink especially paired with your performance tonight?”

You look down at your own drink, taking it into your hand and bringing it to your lips for a small sip. You nod at the taste, the fresh taste of gin swirling on your tongue while the smooth run of the trombone plays in your ears.

“Absolutely.” You say with a small chuckle.

The man before you decides to stand up, pushing the stool back as he does. He turns his body to face you completely, a soft and calm expression decorating his face as he looks at you in what could only be curiosity. But this one is different from the curious looks you usually get. It’s not perverse or mere amusement. It’s as if he’s finally living a moment he thought of for a while, a moment he thought would never happen. It’s different and unexpected, sure, but it’s new. His expression almost leaves you breathless, now becoming curious as well.

He extends his hand to you, his eyes never leaving your face as a blink-it-and-you’ll-miss-it smile decorates his. Though others would think his expression is firm and stoic, his eyes tell you otherwise just like his voice does. That velvet voice of his drips from his lips once more.

“Kento Nanami. May I ask for your name, miss?”

Your name sounds just like the melodies you are so used to singing on the stage. It is a smooth and harmonious sound that goes easy on his ears when you say it. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face for long, showing it for a second as he felt you reach out to his hand and shake it. It was only for a second, but it was enough to know how dangerous you were becoming to him. 

With your hand on his, he turns it around and kisses the back of it like the gentleman he is. It’s soft and gentle, not wanting to come off strong as if you’re only an object to him. You weren’t and he wanted to treat you with the respect you deserved. Nanami’s lips soon leave your gloved-covered hand but his hand still holds you carefully, looking up at you with gentle calm eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He says, sure that if he were to say your name it wouldn’t sound so angelic like you say it. He drops your hand near your lap, careful to not be so harsh the moment he lets it go.

Shaking him up like this with only your name? He never planned for you to have this effect on him, let alone this quickly. He never thought he would be drinking next to you, finally having a name for that gorgeous smile that shined on the stage. He didn’t think life would be able to bring you two together even if it was for a few minutes. 

Your voice was as pretty when speaking as it was when singing, the sound of your name sounding like every other night you performed on that stage. He couldn’t help but repeat it out, lucky enough to play it off as if he was just checking if he heard you right. That in itself was an irony considering all the trouble he went through every night he wanted to hear you sing.

And now he was hearing you speak to him.

The band playing as the rest of the speakeasy melted away and it was only you in his view and ears. You were an arm’s away from him and it was a chance he had to take, at least to compliment your performance. Not just of tonight’s but of every night, even if he wasn’t there to hear it. Soon that compliment led to small talk that then led to presenting each other. Now here he was, immersed in the casual conversation between you two.

No stocks, no gossip, no work. Just chit-chat in which he didn’t need alcohol to push through it like he does at big events at work or with people he’s forced to spend time with. It was talking for the pleasure of it. Something an introvert like him found reserved for certain people. But here you were, able to sneak past that detail of his and put him at ease despite all the giddiness he feels inside him from finally being able to speak to you.

You didn’t seem that much different off-stage. You were lively, charming, and able to hold your ground. But you were also much calmer, casual, reserved even; though not to the extent he is. It simply confirmed to him that you were a hundred percent yourself when you were performing, authentic to yourself even if you weren’t showing all parts of yourself. You still had that welcoming energy in and out of the stage.

Your body was facing his just like he was facing yours as you two sat at the bar with your drinks. He was finally taking sips of that ignored whiskey long after he ordered it while you had allowed him to take up your small break. It wasn’t the most interesting conversation in the world, to be frank. But if any of his friends saw him at the moment, they would know Nanami was hanging onto every word you said.

“I’m more of a hermit.” He starts, setting his drink down at the bar. “I do drink with friends and explore these speakeasies, but I much rather enjoy a drink in the comfort of my home.”

“Oh, so you’re able to afford that luxury of owning alcohol?” You smirk at him, tilting your head towards him. You sigh, relaxing your shoulders with your hands on your lap. “Although, I understand. I get overwhelmed in crowded places and would drink privately if I could.”

“Overwhelmed? A singer?” He raises an eyebrow at you. He wasn’t teasing you or being sarcastic by any means. He knows it could come off that way, but he was intrigued. You seemed comfortable when you sang, dancing around as you became one with the music and the world disappeared.

“It’s different!” You laughed softly, bringing your glass to your lips. “I like singing and people don’t really come to these places looking for music. They come for this.” You gestured to the wall stocked with all kinds of liquor, a quantity that could lead everyone working at the establishment to be imprisoned. It’s a wonder the police haven't found this place, neither of you would be here at the moment conversing. “I am just part of the experience but not the main attraction. That lets me act like there’s no one around.”

Nanami nods. Though he completely comes to this bar for the opposite reason, he can see how it is easy for you to shake off the nerves and get behind the microphone. If you were only a prop that added to the illicit and almost seducing ambiance for people to drink in, then you could let loose and not many people would remember it. That and because some drank to the point of blackout.

“I see, not much of a people’s people, are you?”

You shrug your shoulders, pursing your lips. “I like the stage, I like to perform. I don’t mind people, but sometimes it can be too much to have all that…energy at all times.”

Nanami chuckles, knowing that feeling too well. Sure, he wasn’t a performer like you. But he had to deal with numerous people at work, at social events, and in his everyday life. Be polite, never turn down a conversation too quickly, talk about the work he hated, pass time with people who only saw him as a walking wallet or an eye candy, and live up to his status’ expectations…he was much more comfortable with his privacy.

“I understand. Guess it’s part of work, is it not?”

You nod, a sympathetic smile coming to your face as you bring your drink close to your lips. “Part of life to be honest.” But before you take a sip, you knit your eyebrows as you look down at it. You turn your attention back to Nanami, lifting your drink in the air with a much more genuine smile, and say, “Cheers, for being able to hold up for this long.”

He feels the same giddy feeling from earlier creep up to him again, shaking them off as he takes his glass and clinks it with yours gently. He cheered for other things all the time. This shouldn’t be any different just like giving a compliment to a stranger.

Maybe it is because this time is much more genuine than all those times he had to tolerate rather than celebrate.

“Cheers then.” He hums. Pulling the glass back and lightly raising it towards you, he savors the strong earthy notes of his whiskey. He has tasted this flavor before many times, but tonight, the bitterness felt much less overpowering thanks to your presence.

Much to his disappointment, the moment is cut short when your head turns towards the stage. He looks in the same direction, the cello player throwing his head back to signal you that you need to come back for the next set of songs. You sigh, slowly standing up from your seat with the drink still in hand.

“Duty calls.” You hum, looking at Nanami with a gentle smile. “This was fun. Maybe you should start sitting closer to the band rather than being all the way here.”

Nanami knits his brows, confused and intrigued by your insinuations. Before he can ask about what you mean, you quickly jump in to clarify it yourself.

“I get on that stage almost every night, I would be a poor performer if I didn’t recognize my audience.” You take a last sip of your drink, placing it on the bar for the bartender to take it away as you thank them with a smile.

Nanami feels his heart race. He didn’t know he had come so much to the point that you recognized his face. He thought he would pass unnoticed on each of his visits, becoming a wallflower that no one would interact with but the bartender. Looks like he was wrong. You of all people noticed him.

He takes a quiet deep breath to calm his speeding heart, his face facing you completely. It could be the whiskey talking, the liquid courage guiding this whole interaction that he thought would never happen otherwise, but he decided to take the chance and say.

“I’ll make sure to get the best seat.”

“I’ll make sure to save it for you.” You answered back, a soft chuckle escaping you.

You take a few steps away from your seat, slower than when you were coming from the stage to the bar. You then turn your head to look back at Nanami, hands coming together in front of you.

“You should get gin if you come next week. We’ll play swing and I find the combination quite wonderful.”

Nanami hums, the smallest of smiles escaping his stoic front as he looks at your polite and fairly demure behavior. He notices the ways your eyes grow shy as you wait for his response, understanding that it is an invitation to come next week.

“I’ll get gin then.” He assures you, his heart beating quite hard now despite the tranquil effect whiskey always has on him.

You smile. A bright smile that could have brightened this dim speakeasy on its own. You nod as you add, “Thank you for the chat, Mr. Nanami. Don’t be a stranger, please.”

And with that, you turn back to the band, a light pep on your step as evident by the way your dress’ fringes jump.

Nanami turns back to the bar, looking down at the empty glass before him and then at the glass you were drinking from. He sees the bartender take both away and asks them for another glass of whiskey as jazz begins to play again.

His feet once more guide him to you, walking through alleyways and empty streets long after the sun had set down with the moon and stars keeping him company. His mind is much quieter this time than the last, now aware that logical questions and should-statements were impractical to ask when it came to this new habit of his.

As he walked on the street that had the downward stairs that guided him to the seemingly unsuspicious door in the neighborhood, he was greeted with the sight of a few police officers who appeared to be heading to the same place as him. They were quite the number and Nanami knew what it meant. The warning that his heart was sending through his veins caused his steps to speed up to the policemen, gulping any sight of uneasiness down before he spoke up.

“Gentlemen, evening.” He bowed his head at them, his tone ever so neutral at this moment as if this were just another negotiation he did every day at work.

The men turn to him, inspecting his appearance before saying a thing. They bow back at Nanami with one of the policemen taking a step forward to him and taking out his badge for him to see.

“Evening, sir. I’ll have to ask you to evacuate the area, we’ve received reports of illicit production and sale of alcohol in this area and we will enforce the law on everyone at the establishment. A law-bidding civilian like yourself should save the trouble of witnessing such enforcement.” He warns, acting all high and mighty with Nanami as if they hadn’t met before.

Nanami takes a step forward to the policeman, digging out his wallet and pulling out a couple of bills that he then keeps in his hand. He smiles politely at the man.

“Officer, I appreciate the warning. I am afraid that there are no such activities in this area. I want to save you the trouble of wasting your time so you can be able to enjoy your evening as well. After all, there is no issue with enjoying yourself, is there not?”

Nanami reaches for the man’s hand, pretending to shake his hand as he places the money in the palm of his hand. To anyone walking by, this is just a citizen thanking and warning the law. To them, it is just business.

The officer smiles at Nanami, hypocrisy slipping through in the smell of cheap beer as he nods. He turns to the rest of the policemen, telling them that they got false input and that they should just head to their usual patrol around the north side of the city. The men bid farewell to Nanami, silently thanking him.

Nanami sighs once they are gone, leaning against the staircase fence. They were the same officers as last week, he isn’t stupid. The condescending tone alone told him that much. He is lucky he has a good job. Otherwise, he would have to buy cheaper alcohol if he kept using his money to bribe the cops away from there.

After a few minutes, Nanami walks down the stairs to the door that would’ve been busted open had it not been for him. Knock. Knock, knock. Knock. Knock. The pattern that is now ingrained in his body makes his heart race in anticipation. He walks in, almost sitting by the bar as he remembers your words from last time when he sees an empty seat for one closer to the band. You weren’t kidding last time…

Nanami walks towards the said seat, still a bit further from the stage since it is set by the wall. But as he sits, he notices there’s a reason why you specifically save this spot. He notices you recognize him, your smile beaming while you’re performing the swing set you mentioned last week. It was a clear and unconstrained view of the singer. No chairs in the way, no paths that others could take that would block the view for either of you, and no light that shone too brightly on either of you that would make it seem as if you were just a flash of light. It truly was the best seat.

But what made it better was the fact that you kept looking at him during your act, catching each other’s eyes without a doubt in mind that it was him you were looking at. No one else.

His heart races, more than it has ever before at this speakeasy. It wasn’t the thrill of drinking his negroni that contained the gin that was so prohibited at the time. It wasn’t bribing the law and breaking it. It wasn’t the girls that looked at him and tried to flirt with him. None of that made his heart race and the drink wasn’t helping ease that feeling down.

As he realizes the reason for his heart practically beating out of his chest that it would have run out of this bar from the sheer force, he looks at you. You, you, and only you as you swirl your pearls around your finger with a soft hum for everyone to hear. Maybe you were just, if not more addicting than the giddy water he drinks.

Nevertheless, there was one important difference. He can quit the booze, but not you.

[azu1as]

You are amazing! Amazing! And I'm a greedy person, so I propose: Older! Time traveler! Baek Cheon and Tang Bo compete for Cheong Myeong's affection. CM is oblivious and CMun is in hell reserved for protective older brothers. Those perverted bastards! How dare they lust after his precious, naive and innocent sajae?! He'll break their heads!

You're so sweet to me 🥺🫶 thank you so much!!!!

also I ADORE TIME TRAVEL AUs sm you have no idea how giddy I got when I saw this ask WAHAHAHA

»—————————–✄

"Oh? He's pretty handsome..."

Tang Bo almost spills the alcohol he was pouring into his cup. His eyes immediately snap towards Chung Myung's face as he slowly lowers the bottle back on the table.

This guy slouched in front of him wasn't someone who gave compliments that easily. It took months of nudging and stubborn insistence for Chung Myung to finally admit that Tang Bo was 'passable-looking, sure, whatever'—a compliment that had to be drawn out tooth and nail but one that Tang Bo won through hard work and effort.

So, surely, he must have misheard Chung Myung's muttering.

"Did you say something, hyung-nim?" Tang Bo asks, smile twitching stiffly at the way Chung Myung's gaze remained locked on something—someone—behind Tang Bo as he took a long sip from his own cup.

"That man behind you," Chung Myung replies, pointing at the subject of their conversation with his mouth non-too-discretely. "He looks like a traveling prince or something."

Tang Bo doesn't know what minute expression passed through his face, but Chung Myung catches it well enough and raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I'm serious." Chung Myung insists, not realizing that Tang Bo is irritated for a completely different reason. "He really does look like some well-off to-do guy."

Tang Bo huffs and turns around without any subtlety whatsoever, determined to see what 'this prince guy' looked like to have managed to snag his hyung's attention so easily.

Tang Bo lets out an indignant noise. Okay, he'll admit it. The guy was abnormally handsome. He had well-defined androgynous facial features and an equally well-defined body, Tang Bo thinks, as his gaze locks onto the man's thick and muscled arms.

There might have been merit in Chung Myung's comment about this guy probably being a prince of sorts. If he was, Tang Bo would hedge a guess that he was a runaway one.

The man wore faded, plain white robes without any discernable insignia marking him from a sect or family. He had a similarly white headband strapped across his forehead with dark bangs framing an unblemished face.

If he was trying to disguise himself or hide his identity, he was doing a terrible job at it. Despite the simplicity of his outfit, his presence alone (and face) demanded attention.

"Told you." Chung Myung cheekily says, laughing at Tang Bo's disgruntled expression.

Even Tang Bo could admit that the man looks like he stepped out of one of the many heroic epics that common folk often passed around through books and verbal tales. How unfair.

Grumbling lightly, Tang Bo turns back to their table and throws back his cup of alcohol. "Bet he's just some rich runaway brat."

"Eh? Probably. But—ah, huh?"

A shadow falls over Tang Bo and he watches as Chung Myung's surprised face ends up trained above Tang Bo's head.

"Hello." The man greets them with his deep voice.

Ugh, Tang Bo grimaces as he pulls back his chair away from the man's shadow. Even his voice sounded handsome if that were even possible.

But Tang Bo was the gentleman between him and his hyung, so he replies, faking politeness, "Can we help you? My companion and I are in the middle of a meal together, you see."

Tang Bo tenses, immediately on guard when he sees the man's eyes sharpen as it turns towards him, clearly recognizing the dismissive tone Tang Bo used.

Other than an indecipherable flash in his eyes, the man's face (which felt more punch-able by the second, if you asked Tang Bo) remained unchanged.

The disruptor kept his gentle smile and Tang Bo was certain that he chose to stand where he did because of the way the lightbulb illuminated his face from above.

"It's alright, I can wait."

If Tang Bo had any less self-control, he would have already grabbed the man by the lapels of his faded robes and tossed him out of the establishment himself.

Who the hell was this man to have the audacity to look at his Chung Myung with such a warm gaze as he said that?

"Ha. Ha." Tang Bo grits out, a vein in his jaw ticking.

He doesn't care if this man looks like the textbook and fairytale version of a heroic warrior. His shamelessness should cancel out that stupid-looking face of his...!

Tang Bo feels a part of his soul leave at the unfairness of it all when Chung Myung shifts in his seat in involuntary self-consciousness.

Normal people wouldn't have noticed that—hell, not even Chung Myung himself probably realized!—but Tang Bo knew his hyung. They've spent too much time together to not not know each other's body language.

So why?

Why the hell did Tang Bo just spot a smirk on the man's face, huh?!?!

Chung Myung's eyes waver momentarily for reasons Tang Bo couldn't pick out, but Chung Myung hesitantly (why, hyung?!) opens his mouth and asks, "Have we...met before?"

Tang Bo's eyes nearly bulge out of his skull at the flirtatious-sounding sentence.

He knows Chung Myung doesn't realize it, but his hyung was personally handing over a signed warrant to this man, allowing him permission to take as many shameless liberties as he wanted.

In times like this, Tang Bo wishes his hyung wasn't as socially oblivious as he was.

He knows it's a futile hope to wish that the man missed the opening. But he seemed to recognize that Chung Myung was asking the question with pure face value.

Nonetheless, Tang Bo wishes he hadn't suggested this very detour for some alcohol because then they wouldn't have encountered this tall man in front of them.

The stupid, headband-wearing man hums as he fiddles lightly with the pink tassel on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

His gaze goes a bit distant as if recalling a far-off memory, and when he blinks back to reality, he lets out a deep, vibrating chuckle and locks eyes with Chung Myung.

"You were unforgettable."

Tang Bo's lips tremble. Why did it sound as if this man was insinuating something? His words felt like a romantic confession as well as a pointed barb directed at Tang Bo.

Chung Myung coughs lightly at the odd compliment thrown at him and throws back in one go the remaining alcohol in their shared bottle. He chuckles awkwardly before motioning at the man to sit down on the other side of the table.

Tang Bo doesn't think Chung Myung realizes it, but a light pink flush is spread over his cheeks.

And Tang Bo, unconsciously crushing the cup of alcohol in his hand, knew that it wasn't because of the alcohol.

[tcfactory]

This is fully a personal preference thing honestly, but I've been turning it around in my brain why I don't like BingQiu specifically when I'm at worst neutral on almost literally any other ship and I think it boils down to this: it's really important to me that in a ship that's supposed to be lasting and stable at least one character can say "I see you for what you are and I accept you for all there is to you". And that's just not a thing with BingQiu.

Binghe literally can't know a huge part of Shen Qingqiu - the part that is Shen Yuan, the part that wears the scum villain as a mask that it can never even take off completely - because of the transmigration and the System. He also idolizes his Shizun and at the same time puts on mask after mask so that he can be Shen Qingqiu's lovely white lotus which also don't help.

And Shen Qingqiu's head is full of so many bees, so much denial and self-delusion that we watched him actively think himself in circles rather than admit that Binghe might be interested in him for three whole books. I don't trust him to have a reasonably realistic idea of himself, much less of someone else. Especially not Binghe. He will make up a picture in his mind about how things are supposed to be and it has to be an act of divine intervention for him to budge from it. He will deny reality if he has to, so he's incapable of seeing Binghe as anything other than the Perfect Protagonist.

I don't often see Binghe shipped with others (he's so singularly No Thoughts Head Empty Only Shizun that it's hard to put him with anyone else. Shen Jiu sometimes I guess, but he is shipped more with Bingge which feels like a distinctly separate thing to me and anyway, it's usually predicated upon the realization that they are both similar kinds of monsters, even if Bingge outdoes his scum villain by several orders of magnitude) but Shen Yuan has a few choice ships that either challenge his expectations enough that his denial and delusion breaks down eventually (Liu Qingge, Shen Jiu, etc.) or ship him with Airplane who knows him for what he is because he's also a transmigrator and he's familiar with Cucumber bro's acerbic inner self.

Other ships too. QiJiu/LiuJiu/QiJiuLiu any variations of these three tbh thrive on clearing up their misunderstanding and starting to see each other clearly again. MoShang get together once they start to properly pay attention to each other and their respective needs. Airplane in general has just an impossible understanding of whoever he's shipped with as only Author and his creations can have. Tianlang-jun's weird charm comes from it that he can't (or possibly refuses to) pretend to be anything than who and what he is beyond the most superficial disguise.

And BingQiu just doesn't have that. They are both too obsessed with an idealized version of each other to ever see things clearly and that's what makes their dynamic not very fun to me personally.

[static-radio-ao3]

nanny regulus ‼️‼️‼️

HE'S HERE ‼️

absolutely serving the best outfits known to man, please picture him like this when reading the nanny au <3

that being said, i think he'd still be able to pull james wearing a trash bag because i think seeing regulus and harry getting along is like crack to james,, he's like ogggjhhh ok so here's this super cute guy IN MY HOUSE who makes my son laugh... i need him NOWWWW

[thatlesbiancrow]

tfw you run out of thanzag fics so you start reading phoenix wright fics and pretend

[spiritsong]

day twenty-four: blood magic

#Veilguard30 by @pavus · writing prompt

wordcount: 4.3k lavellan and solas agree to try blood magic just the once.

The sound of the village — the music slipping out from the Singing Maiden, the clanging and clashing of swords and shields, the simple chatter of daily life — began to fade as they walked deeper into the wilderness of Haven.

When all that was left was the sound of their muffled footsteps and their breathing, coupled with the cracking of branches falling from the weight of snow and the scurrying of small creatures, they continued further still. 

They needed privacy. Sylathe could imagine little worse than being happened upon by the villagers, or by Inquisition soldiers, or worst of all, Cassandra Pentaghast.

Privately, she wondered at Solas’s willingness to go along with this at all. From what little she knew of him, he seemed a level-headed and cautious man — someone who carefully weighed the consequences of all possibilities. 

When one of those possibilities was the Seeker chancing upon the Elvhen apostates secretly practicing blood magic in the woods… well. 

continue on ao3.

[starchasersunseeker]

Is it just me and my fyp or is it finally another wave of people reading / talking about crimson rivers? Because if so I am /so/ here for it!!!

Crimson rivers is a masterpiece that broke me and put me back together over and over again too many times to count

The worst part was that I predicted everyone's deaths {of those that did end up dying} and knew exactly when it was going to happen...

Like in the chapters that it happened I could sense it.. I knew it was coming so every time i started sobbing before it even happend.. they were still all good and happy and I was already crying and mourning them 😭💔

Anyway happy reading to everyone getting into it or rereading it!! {I am living for all of this new cr content}