#bestie (rom)

[mblue-art]

🚨 yearning boy 🫵 yearning boy alert 🫵 🚨

silly guy yearning at 4am over crush who is also silly

alt under the cut

alt. without the shoujo manga bg

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

btw historically russia has greatly opposed the union of romania and bulgaria. this is just something really funny to keep in mind for me.

[starker1975]

Tom Holland cites Robert Downey Jr, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Zendaya as the actors who inspire him most/are most honest with him. 🥹🖤

[texasbama]

Shannon Thornton

At the 54th NAACP Image Awards

[lexithwrites]

remus, regulus and mary all write fanfiction

[jils-things]

WEEBEHEEHHEEHEHEHSGGDFH KICKING MY FEET BLEGHHGGHTGHHGH BLEGHGHCVH YES 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖

[mulderscully]

i really am hopeful that soon we get to a place with lgbtq media where we don't have to compare all mlm and wlw content to each other as a way to judge whether something is good or not. sometimes a piece of media is not bad, it's just not your cup of tea and that's okay! i personally love horror and romcoms, so i love what we do in the shadow and i love rwrb, but those two things really have nothing in common aside from the queer element so it's not fair to lump them together. the same goes for lumping wwdits in with ofmd and good omens, the same goes for lumping rwrb with heartstopper. they're different pieces of media and some people will like them all, others will like some and others might not like any of them and that's okay! in the last ten years we have made a lot of strides in terms of queer rep in television, film and literature that i think sometimes people get stuck in the idea that they HAVE to watch smth because it has gay people in it and they don't die etc and while to a degree that's true still, every year i see more and more art that is catered to different tastes within the MASSIVE AUDIENCE that is the lgbtq community and i think that's wonderful.

[generously-general]

In honor and memoriam of OFMD, my favorite Discourse™ to come out of this fandom was people feeling "enraged" and "disappointed" after figuring out that the actual historical figures of Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet were not good people

[murasakiyuzu]

the holy quartet is complete

[samsayswhatever]

I want her to be my Lesbian best friend

[galaxirin]

What happens when copy off each other’s answers for Willem’s test, end up failing, and now blame each other for said fail

Bonus ft. Maria and Rom 🥺:

[mblue-art]

ough,,,, you givb me lust brainrot,,,,,,, hes jbust a littol guyTM,,,,

-juni

HECK yeah 🫶🫶🫶 good thoughts, i hope ! he deserves to be appreciated 💜

mme whne,when lust sans does anything that's so very him

(emoji src)

[ariannafraserwrites]

From the genius brain of @dangertoozmanykids101 - the stories behind the Holiday Rom-Com Title Generator.

I posted the Holiday Rom-Com Generator to celebrate the release of Taming the Beast - A Romantic Christmas Disaster and my fam, @dangertoozmanykids101 took it a step further. SO MANY steps further. This woman is genius. Her brain goes where no other brain dares to go. Have a look and if you're lucky, she'll write your story too!

From the comments on the post...

@dangertoozmanykids101 A Season of Joy

dangertoozmanykids101

Hey @spectre-posts Now I would bet that some Don Juan might argue that our dearest friend Joy is always in season. She may be flattered by such a grand compliment. Or she may find it a bit aggressive and presumptuous.

dangertoozmanykids101

OR @spectre-posts in an ABO universe our sweet Joy may be truly elated with anticipation as she is finally presented to the world. Long long past puberty and now fully matured into adulthood, her current state finds her in the beginning stages- the blossoming of her true nature. Whatever that might be, this is truly The Season of Joy.

dangertoozmanykids101

@iamthejeanette OHHHH!!! The Spirit of Mistletoe!!! Wouldn't this be an amazing paranormal xmas story??? Every time our heroine happens to step through a doorway or passage, archway, Mistletoe is hanging above, and yet curiously no one ever remembers hanging it there. It must be a prank of some sort, right? But an entire garland pf mistletoe has found a way to frame the entrance the Lee Way Tunnel in the Bicentennial Park downtown - a walking tunnel that connects...

dangertoozmanykids101

.... that connects the north end of the park with the South side so that walkers and joggers and bike riders, roller bladers, stroller runners can all avoid the throughway and its rush hour business traffic that dissects the park in two. Mistletoe appearing there seems to like a paranoid delusional coincidence to possibly consider that it has anything to do with our heroine, until the exact same man very politely with irresistible charms stops her mid step under the...

dangertoozmanykids101

... Under the presumptuously suggestive vine that seems to be growing more similar to a weed than a cherished holiday novelty decoration. But this same man appears out of the blue, repeatedly stops her directly under a simple mistletoe bouquet, politely requests her permission to kiss her, as is the holiday tradition. And traditions as enjoyable and harmless as a simple kiss must never be ignored. Quite right.

dangertoozmanykids101

Ohhh @tilltheendwilliwrite Yes! Yes! I bet you could work with that!! Oooo, imagine a Comedy of errors!! Everywhere they go, somehow the entire area loses power. Cursed to forever be a clutz or or just an electrical jinx. Ooo, like the witch finder general's great great great great great grandson in Good Omens! Remember how he destroyed every computer he touched? Lol Or an 8 day hike cross country skiing through the wilderness!!! Oooo! Doesn't that sound romantic???

dangertoozmanykids101

Oooo, or my favorite trope of all - stranded together during a blizzard WITH ONLY ONE BED!! With no light pollution, and only the starlight reflected off the bright white snow. How long will they possibly be stuck there? Eight nights possibly??? LOL

dangertoozmanykids101

Ohhhh @sultry-rachael snow globes send my brain into overdrive!!! Can you imagjne the 8 nights - kinda like an escape room, each Snow globe is a puzzle from one Holiday wonderland to the next. Ohhhh, imagine the comedy having to fend off elves and reindeer even shepherds in a surreal nativity scene themed snow globe. And they're all trying to prevent you from progressing to the next globe. A bottomless pit of snow - do you escape a sink hole of snow the same way ....

dangertoozmanykids101

.... the same way one escapes quicksand??? A maze of evergreen trees. Animatronic hugging snowmen? Jack Frost nipping at your nose (and anything else that pervert can get his mouth on. )

dangertoozmanykids101

And the eighth globe finally brings you to Santa's lap!! Horray!! Now have you been naughty or nice, he'll ask.

dangertoozmanykids101

@americasass81 wait... What was yours???

dangertoozmanykids101

SQUEAL!!! @notpedeka !!! A Fete of Banter!! Ohhhh, imagine the quintessential enemies to lovers!!! Guess who insists upon escorting you through the entire Winter Festival in Town Square this year. None other than your political rival on the city council. His endless chatter leaves you exhausted, enraged, and an acute case of TMJ inflammation, aka LOCKJAW!

dangertoozmanykids101

The past two months, every minor decision has become a huge micromanaged issue requiring heated debate. And the councilman inciting the ceaseless drivel is the same antagonist who you are now somehow obligated to spend the entire festival night with as though it were some sort of date. The entire night, you're clenching your jaw and grinding your teeth, yet completely failing to hold your tongue - WHICH , though you regret to admit, as aggravated your jaw....

dangertoozmanykids101

....aggravated your jaw to the point that you can barely open it large enough to slide a straw between your teeth. I'm picturing every carnival activity creating a whole new stupid spat between the two. Doesn't that sound like fun???

dangertoozmanykids101

Ohhhh @nildespirandum Only one night of snow globes??? Thank god!!! Because one night is all your heroine can handle! This is a big big deal - a huge honor - or so the big boss told you. Why you were singled out for this task, you have no clue. Honestly you would rather not dwell too much on that question. But tonight was the big night and you assure the big guy that you will NOT let him down. YOU had been chosen to watch his snow globe collection tonight.

dangertoozmanykids101

That's right. YOU - you are very talented and highly educated, some even say gifted, and of course your mother always knew you were special. And now YOU have the highly coveted position to babysit a room full of snow globes. Yep. A grid of pedestals each topped with a glass sphere filled with glitter or white confetti, and cozy little houses covered in snow or tiny itty bitty dolls doing all types of mundane tasks - a man surprising a woman at the door w/ a Xmas tree

dangertoozmanykids101

Kids building a snowman. An old man shoveling the driveway while a family's car is stuck in a snow bank down the Street. You see the kids running down the street straight to Grandpa's house. A couple cats sitting in a window watching the birds at the bird feeder, kicking seed all over the fresh white snow. Wait.... How many cats are in that window??? Your Job tonight is to watch over the globes. Like a security guard locked inside the vault with the money....

dangertoozmanykids101

Except you're also expected to clean each one - no dust, no finger prints. This is ridiculous! How the hell are you supposed to even maneuver through this room? Did I mention the pedestals were set up like a grid? Trying to navigate through a minefield would be easier than walking through this room to merely access the coffee pot in the back corner of the room. Mew. Mew And NOW you're fucking hearing things!!!

dangertoozmanykids101

How many cats were in that first snow globe? You could swear that a third cat had been in the window just a moment ago. And now that you look more closely, there are kitty footprints leading out from the front door with its little pet door flap. WTF? Those footprints weren't there last time you looked.

dangertoozmanykids101

Mew. There it was again. Your ears had to be tricking you. Mew. And up jumps a cat onto the folding table in the back of the room. Knocking over an empty mug and scattering sugar packets all over the table and gloor.

dangertoozmanykids101

Floor.

dangertoozmanykids101

On your way to collect the strange cat on the coffee table, another cat rubs up against your leg. Startled - you flinch and bump a snow globe to your left. Oh shit! You catch it and steady it back onto its pedestal. But just for a moment everything was still, until it all began to thrum

dangertoozmanykids101

And snow starts to fall INSIDE the room.

dangertoozmanykids101

Oh @ariannafraserwrites @caffiend-queen . Such a hardworking talented writer, burning the candle at both ends this holiday. You've even been falling asleep at your type writer most nights recently. But after a particularly late night wracking your brain to get past a writers block, you had almost fallen out of your chair even - finally deciding to drag your sorry ass off to bed in defeat. Lo' and behold, the next morning a Short Little Story had been typed up.

dangertoozmanykids101

And a brand new little pair of shoes. On the table next to it. LOL. Maybe the cobbler hadn't thanked his little elves sincerely enough.

americasass81

@dangertoozmanykids101 Mine is Eight Nights of Cocoa

dangertoozmanykids101

Oooo! @americasass81 I've got it!!! On this fancy dancy 10 day cruise ... with destination desserts, a ChocoCruise or travel the world of chocolates!

dangertoozmanykids101

dangertoozmanykids101

Of course a world famous Chocolatier will be serving many of his signature dishes that you had only heard of on the food channel and in foodie magazines. Would he truly be just as charming in person as he appears to be in the public eye? WELL OF COURSE HE WAS!! He easily charmed the pants right off of you. And then made a chocolate mold of YOUR ASS!!! Now was that before or after he gave it a good HARD bite??? As well as a firm spanking. You might even need to cancel...

dangertoozmanykids101

... cancel our slot in the shuffle board tournament. You won't be sitting for a few days, let alone moving anywhere more graceful than waddle. Toward the end of the cruise, heading back to the port you boarded on, your beloved Chocolatier unveils his newest masterpiece, siting a few specific artists who had inspired him, as well as several beautiful Passengers who agreed to participate and model for him. And wouldn't you know; there in the middle of this chocolate

dangertoozmanykids101

In the middle of this large chocolate sculpture, sat a perfect replicata of your butt. From the curve where your glutes meet your thighs all the way up to the dimples above your tailbone. The added tiara resting on one cheek seems a bit overkill, but you are still oddly honored and flattered.. until you register that there are other chocolate body parts obviously molded from a real woman. From a real body. Her LIVE body. But he's sooo charming-how could you blame anyone

dangertoozmanykids101

You found him irresistible. You let him pour hot molten chocolate over your bare ass while you lay in a marble table lined with wax paper. Looks like someone had Choco poured over their legs and feet. Several chocolate hands and feet gracefully peppered the statue of holding strawberries, oranges, slices of pineapple. Of course someone modeled their bare breasts - definitely much larger breasts than yours. Another modeled her neck and chin. You could just imagine...

dangertoozmanykids101

.... you could just imagine the purr of his voice as he guided her to Lean back, stretch her neck farther, farther, lift your chin a bit more. Very good. Just as smoothly as he convinced you to arch your back more, my dear. A little bit more. Spread your knees a bit wider. Yes, do you feel it now, hot and so smooth dripping down your most intimidate place. How does that feel, darling?

dangertoozmanykids101

Broken from your thoughts after tuning out all the flashes and shouting journalists and fans, the glamorous chocolatier announces, "Before we take anymore questions, please let us introduce the beautiful goddesses who gifted me with their presence and let me borrow their bodies to create this piece of work. Please please, ladies,

dangertoozmanykids101

Please please ladies, come on up here to me. You know who you are. If you don't come up, then we'll have to come to you.

[lanihaluki]

i’ll be summer sun for you forever

[art from chapter 7 of my post series revenge of magic fic, “every second counts”!]

[hysokaz]

For art reqs maybe Wing + Zushi?

bestie :D

[maxillis]

The hardest part is remembering that the heat on your skin is only a memory. You can try to take it from there, if you want, but instead you focus on water; something cool, something comforting, before you turn to something harder to soothe out the muscles that ache from two marathons—one of endurance and another of fortitude.

The heat rises from your chest to your face, where a sturdy bump on your forehead is threatening to grow. Still, it hurts less than the sight of a little girl stuck in an active Cressidium war zone. You know you’ll see her gift to Alaska in FACTORY-RESET’s cockpit by your next deployment, whenever that is.

Best to clear your mind for now—or fog it away, given how many drinks you find yourself taking from quite the unassuming bartender. They don’t recognize you in the slightest. This is another comfort you don’t take for granted; the prosocollar around your neck masks your true voice, and your paranoias about eavesdropping or confrontation die. You haven’t said anything incriminating, but you’ll be damned if you take a step out of your mech that isn’t calculated. And this stress, this constant vigilance, metastasizes.

You’re drinking with a man, you realize. He’s dripping blood on the floor and the noise is only unbearable to you. Quietly, splat, splat, he drips, not yet glancing over. His glass raises between you, waiting to meet your drink with a cheers. In clear defiance, you refuse to raise your hand to the red-stained glass.

It bleeds onto you, crimson on your palms and under your nails. You don’t blink away the consequences of what you’ve done, not even when you feel droplets drying in your hair. You continue to drink, ignoring the metallic taste that you know isn’t alcohol. It doesn’t make a difference to you.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to look. It’s only us.”

It’s something that man, that son-of-a-bitch in the specter would have never said, you're sure. The only words out of him before had been “kys” and you hold little belief that he had anything nicer to add after the fact of his death. It couldn’t be him that came to drink with you tonight.

Before you know it, you are looking up at the seat next to you, searching for what you are certain to hear next.

He’s gone.

You tell yourself to forget the first time you heard those words, and the second time, and the third. It's been a long time since you were young, green, and unsure. Back when you couldn't bear to look, you always had someone to look for you, to charge ahead, or to take a life. Still, the memory of sickness and disgust reviles you. 

The taste in your mouth is your own blood, as it turns out. You've been biting your tongue for the better part of two minutes in the best interest of not freaking out every person you're drinking near, or saying something to your own bodied memories that you might regret. You take your drink to the end of the bar before the bartender can think you look too sick to hang around. 

We all learned it from the best, you think. We as in a long-gone squadron, as in a colony home in ice-ring orbit, as in a family of people who are carried on by the only one remaining. This is why you accept the clap on your shoulder, the memory reverberating with a "Well done!" that you couldn't misunderstand if you tried. You did well today. You've always done well, even when you didn't. And like a school game between children, you were the last to look, so it's only fitting you'd be the one to carry it all home. He says it again to make sure you heard it full and well.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to look. It’s only us.”

There is no us anymore. Just like there is no we, and truthfully no you.

⤝⦽⤞ What secrets do you know?

You shoot him cold between a double-barrel and a pillow. You don’t even blink. But, you do sit with him, still caught in whatever celestial dream that turned out to be his last, as you pat his knee.

“Well done.” It is the only thing you can bring yourself to say. For a long time, you cannot, cannot, look away. In your heart you know that it’s only a matter of time before someone comes in to check on the noise, yet you remain there, and when the door inevitably opens—

Pop. Your shotgun flies up to the headline of the now-open door frame, and another body hits the floor. You don’t look at this one, your gaze still fixed on the man in blissful sleep. It isn’t how he would have wanted to go out, being put down like a dog. That was how they wanted him dead. Not you, but that person who owns the shotgun you grip with white knuckles, cocking back and launching a pretty red shell onto the bed. The dead man catches it with his cheek.

You look at him instead of the other corpse that regrets joining you.

“You don’t have to look,” the dead man says. He’s looking at you and he’s trying, somewhat, to smile. It all comes up cracked skin and blue veins. “It’s only us.”

You swallow your heart down your throat, but it all comes back up.

Standing at attention in front of your Field Commander only seems easy because of the mental preparation you have bounded through on the ride from the dropship, back to your base. The noise of your shotgun still rings in your ears. You don’t realize that your team has left you until you hear the door close; the disorientation is not letting up, only staved for now by the red-hot brand of your former Lieutenant’s medallion-lined jacket in your hands. You’re keeping it as a souvenir. You hold on for dear life, like this alone can keep you from falling over. It’ll work well enough for now.

“You’ve done excellent work this week.” In all your months of working with this company, you’ve never received such praise. From anyone else, it’s a praise that might even be received warmly. Work had been agonizingly slow; intel was hard to come by and politics kept you from blazing your guns for longer than you ever felt comfortable. In the end, the very person that you had been searching for had been the one who kept you closest. You can’t ration it into a victory.

Atop your Field Commander’s desk is a large metal suitcase, closed and facing you. She continues to ignore it as she speaks to you with gusto and a smile so kind that any fool too trusting might think her to be an angel—she knows, and you are grateful, that you are no regular fool. The smile won’t hit her eyes.

“I can only commend you for eliminating our…old friend. Plenty of people in this building wouldn’t have the guts.” Not like your guts, she means, but you do remember how you spewed them all over the old motel room and opt to keep that part to yourself. It isn’t like the cleaners would say shit. “I’m not sure how long he was planning on staying alive, though, as long as he kept giving you his keys.” 

What else can you say?

“I’m not sure either, ma’am.”

It seems to satisfy her well enough. She hums, nods, and seemingly decides that she isn’t making too big of a gamble by passing on this gift. What a mistake it would turn out to be, but for now she is the one in blissful unawareness.

When the suitcase pops open, a snow-white shotgun glares your reflection back at you. The truth is, you don’t look like you’ve just come back from killing your closest companion, the only other living legacy, other than you, of a galactic disaster that everyone else forgot—you’re smiling, softly.

“I’m glad you can appreciate a weapon worth admiring.” Her voice grates down on you. You’re certain she’s aware. Knowing her, she could smell it like a shark in the water.

“Thank you.” When your voice catches, you pass it off as pure admirance for the craftsmanship. It is a gun you could put on a wall or display in a case, glistening and smooth, certain to catch the eye. A closer look would tell you that it’s a working shotgun just the same. “Was this custom-made?”

“Without a doubt. She’s all yours. I shouldn’t have to tell you to watch out for the recoil on this one, right?”

You only pause for a moment. It’s enough time to remember the red shell hitting your dead Lieutenant's cheek, and the sure feeling that he would wake up to ask, fuck was that for?

You wonder if you should kill her now, judging the weight of this new model in your grasp. You don’t care that the dirt from your hands leaves prints and smudges. The pride must come from the intense amount of cleaning that would be necessary for this weapon to keep its luster. You know you aren’t wasting a second of your time on anything that isn’t gun oil.

You have hesitated too long to do what you want to. Your following answer is mechanical.

“No, ma’am.”

“Stellar. I’m expecting you at 700 hours tomorrow. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant. ”

It’s the first thing to hurt you since you left the ice.

⤝⦽⤞ Where is the rest of your team?

What do you wanna be? I dunno, I kinda wanna fly one of those airships. You know, the big ones. The ones with a bunch of cargo? You wanna be a space trucker?! Maybe I do! I could just go out and fly until the end of the galaxy. They’d pay me good. Come on, that can’t be all you care about. Stupid. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re not making money! I’d rather hang out all day. Why work out there when we could just stay here? You can’t hate me so bad that you’d run out of the galaxy. …Nah. I’d come back. I know you would. You’d miss all this! 

When he threw his arms out, you laughed, and you punched him square in the chest.

Ow! Fuck was that for? I have more than just you to miss. Fine. I won’t take all the credit. I’ll just take most of it. You can have a solid five percent of the credit. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were saying you loved me. 

When you wake up, your head is throbbing in more than one place. You go through your memories for over an hour in the bathtub; how you got to the bar, who you were with, how you ended up leaving—not everything comes back. The man from the specter does.

I’m ripping your spine inside out. If you say it loud enough in your head he has to hear it, right? If you get angry enough, if you kill him with enough blood and luxury to satisfy a king, he has to appreciate it more than being executed in his sleep, right? If he knows the person doing the killing, if he can look in their eyes and give one final scream, then it would be better than dying a coward’s death, wouldn’t it?

You storm out to your closet, to the pockets of your Lieutenant’s old jacket—the one you still wear everywhere you go—and you pull a long, metal chain from the breast pocket. It jangles as it hangs from your hands, and even more when you unclasp it.

You’re grateful no one else was in that cockpit with you. You ripped that pilot’s tags straight from his neck and shoved them in your pocket when you pierced through his heart. 

Coward’s death or otherwise, there are certain things you would chase to the end of the galaxy. Your anger, for one. Your past, for another.

His tags join the collection you’ve amassed. You can’t count how many names you’ve stolen (though you could, if you could manage to rifle through all of their names)—or how many bodies were probably buried unnamed, or who might've been lucky enough to be found by their family. What does it matter, when there’s no one left to remember yours? 

You return the chain to the jacket's left breast pocket. The pilot from the specter claps your shoulder. Instead of saying the only thing you believe you’ll be hearing next, he kisses you.

Then, there is nothing. You are alone.

You feel that, in a world where your luck is dictated by dice, you’ve come up snake eyes.