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[champagnexowishes]

“Where did you go to school?”

[iamumbra195]

If Ashlyn Banner was a character in a typical magic manhwa she would be the cool mage that remained isolated in the tower for over a decade without any sort of human contact until they were forced to due to the MC’s stupidity or in her case, Aiden’s shenanigans.

She would subsequently be roped into the chaos against her will, all while trying to figure out how to properly interact with real people after all this time and trying to protect this rag-tag group of people with varying backgrounds from certain death.

Aiden would be the crown prince who hated his position and responsibilities after the war so much he decided to become an explorer. It was a risky business with so many unexplored magical lands so it was right up in his alley but his parents only agreed to let him go if he brought his cousin Ben with him as a companion. Ben would be the powerful knight who was heavily traumatized and rendered mute during the war, working on finding himself once more while he and Aiden explored the world together.

Tyler would be the promising young knight who's trying to gain some prestige in order to take care of his family. Taylor would run the repair shop their dad left them but struggled to find a lot of customers due to the stigma that a woman couldn't possibly be strong enough or smart enough to do good repairs. The repair shop was incidentally right across the flower shop Logan's parents ran while he studied something with math or science at a fancy school and occasionally came by to help.

And the Crane Cult are the Big Bad™ that are using a blood sacrifices to call on the power of a higher being or something like that. And they wear bird masks of course.

Ashlyn vs Maverick in a magic duel, when?

Kinda Part 2: Here

[abiiors]

midnight, car lights 🌃 // george daniel x reader

a/n: a second fic for the george bbf!au that's been plaguing me lately!! (a third one is coming soon). also happy 10 years of self titled <33 i'm scheduling this to come out at midnight uk time tihi

cw: none really, just fluff and flirting. maybe a very tiny age gap?? like 2 ish years

wc: 3.3k

“let’s go on a joyride.”

those words bounce around in your head like the dvd logo, said to you at 11:50 in the night—whisper-shouted would be more accurate. from under your balcony no less, like some fucked up iteration of romeo and juliet. 

so far you have failed to come up with a coherent answer for george who stares up at you expenctantly.

you lean over the railing, your curiosity piqued. "a joyride…” his words repeated back to him in a disbelieving deadpan voice. 

he nods eagerly. in his hands is a tiny heap of small stones—the source of the clinks on your bedroom window that had scared you half to death. when george follows your gaze, he drops the rocks hurriedly, dusting off his hands. 

“it’s a thursday night…” you point out. 

he clicks his tongue. “and you’re clearly not doing anything.”

your eyes narrow at his little jab. sure he’s right but come on now, he didn’t need to point it out like that.

“my brother—”

“is out on his ‘date’.” he makes a little face at that and you stifle the urge to laugh at how icked out he looks. clearly, some more questions that you need to pester matty with. but that’s for tomorrow. right now you raise an eyebrow at the way he cuts you off and finishes your sentences.

“my parents—”

“are asleep!!” his voice acquires a borderline whiny quality. “i checked!” he confirms proudly and before you have the chance to present him with further counterarguments, he throws his hands up in the air. 

“come on, little healy,” george’s grins a feral little grin, “scared you’ll get caught?”

you bite your lip, determined not to let him see your smile. it’s midnight, you’re in your pjs—an old ramones t-shirt and tiny shorts that barely come up to the top of your thighs—your hair is half out of your ponytail. in short, you’re the ugliest you’ve ever looked in front of george. 

meanwhile he looks like he’s just stepped out of an indie rock magazine—black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that hangs loosely on him and yet somehow fits perfectly and his beloved vans. at this point, you’re sure george could wear just about anything and still look drop-dead gorgeous. 

“only a little drive? i promise i’ll get you back home in one piece.”

truth be told, you had made up your mind the first time he asked. a slow tingle of thrill slithers down your spine. the goody two shoes who’s never even smoked a cigarette before he came into the picture. about to sneak out the window at 11:56 pm. 

“okay,” you mumble to yourself. the small smile you’d tried to stifle escapes anyway. “okay, fine.”

george grins and whoops silently, fists the air in triumph. it does something funny to your stomach–his excitement. 

“hold on a minute,” you tell him before making a mad dash to your wardrobe for an acceptable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. 

the subtle nude lip gloss is inviting but you know it’s too much. he’s probably just bored on a thursday night and has nothing else to do. so begrudgingly you settle on a lip balm and brushing out your hair. 

it’s fine. it’s normal. and anyway, he’s not going to see you as anything more than matty’s little sister, so what’s the point?

another little rock clinks on your window followed by a soft whisper-shout. 

“hurry up!” the clear impatience in his voice makes you giggle but you look at the mirror a final time, smoothing out your unruly hair. this is as best as it gets. 

after all, this is not a date.

“can’t exactly fly out the window, george,” you respond drily as soon as he comes back into view. 

he looks around curiously, toeing the grass and pulling it loose with his shoes. you can practically see the wheels in his head turning, generating ideas that you don’t entirely trust… matty’s friends aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed—not according to you anyway—but once george gets an idea, it is downright impossible to deter him. 

“that looks good enough,” he mumbles but you catch it anyway, catch the spot his eyes are trained on and your stomach plummets about half a foot. 

“have you—have you lost your mind?!” you stifle your screech halfway through, looking at the boy in front of you like he’s grown two heads. 

george shrugs, looking the least bit bothered and points to the pipe next to your window. 

“it’s sturdy, look,” he gives it two firm raps with his knuckles. “and there’s the brick for you to grab onto. and i’ll catch you.”

the last part has your ears perking up. you look at him with a raised eyebrow. it’s only a floor. the ground below you is soft grass that’s regularly mowed and looked after. if you fall, the most that will happen is a bruised ass (and a bruised ego). besides, the alternative is to go your through the front door and risk waking up the whole house. 

“trust me!” he bounces on the balls of his feet, eager and impatient. 

george stuffs his hands in his pockets, veins on his forearms taut with tension. his colourful tattoos are a stark contrast to his all-black outfit. should you trust him? 

“if i fall—”

“you won’t!” he answers confidently. “i’m not going to let you get hurt.”

your heart skips a beat at how soft he sounds, mumbling the sentence more to himself than to you. a shadow of tenderness crosses his features, or maybe you’re just projecting. just a silly little girl with a crush on her brother’s best friend. a cliché. 

“can’t let my best mate’s little sister get hurt,” he clears his throat. and your heart drops in your chest. of course not. to him you are nothing but matty’s sister. ‘little healy’. 

“’course not,” you mutter begrudgingly and grab onto the pipe.

george stands below you, hands raised, neck craning to guide your steps down the exposed brick wall. there’s taking risks and then there’s whatever the fuck this is. regardless, you have put a disturbing amout of faith is george and now there’s nowhere to go but down. literally. 

the last few feet loom between you and the ground. your sweaty palms almost slip and involuntarily a whimper escapes you. 

“almost there, sweetheart,” george murmurs. that word snags in your brain. all thoughts fly away, and before you know it, you’re missing a step, foot slipping on the rough wall. there’s a split second of panic, the beginning of a scream that dies in your throat as soon as you feel a pair of hands around your waist. 

warm, rough hands on soft skin. 

george, holding you up. 

you’re practically pulled flush against his chest, wide-eyed and flushed from the almost fall. funnily enough, the vertigo intensifies the moment you look up into his eyes. they’re just as wide as yours, mouth parted as if he was about to say something. 

for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still. the world around you fades into a distant blur as you and george remain locked in this suspended moment, bodies pressed close together, his towering over yours. his warm breath tickles your skin, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heart against your chest.

"are you okay?" george's voice is a hushed murmur, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

you manage a shaky nod, finding your voice after a few seconds. "yeah, i... i think so."

george's grip on you doesn't waver as he slowly guides you back onto the solid ground, his hands lingering on your waist for an extra beat before finally releasing you. you take a step back, both to regain your composure and to put some distance between the two of you. 

"thanks," you mumble, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "i don't know what happened there." you giggle nervously, unable to stare directly into his eyes. 

"no need to thank me,” he smiles, “just glad i was here."

the two of you stand there for a second, the weight of the almost moment hanging in the air. then, as if on cue, george's playful grin returns, diffusing the tension like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"good to know i can make your heart race like that, little healy," he begins with a teasing glint in his eyes.

despite the heat creeping up your neck, a small laugh escapes your lips, the tension finally breaking as you roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. "you're unbelievable, george."

“right then,” he toes a small pebble, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “shall we?”

his car is cleaner than you expected. 

sure there are some receipts and empty plastic bottles on the floor, even a jacket in the back seat for some inexplicable reasons but it’s nowhere near the pigsty that is your brother’s car. 

“in you go,” he motions, casually holding the door for you. internally you’re grateful that he can’t see your flustered expression. 

it’s a tiny gesture, barely even a gesture really—just a boy opening a car door for you. but he’s not just a boy. he’s george—the boy who makes you mad beyond belief and annoys you with the smallest of efforts. the boy who makes you stumble over your words. the boy who is your brother’s best friend. 

“my my, george,” you tease to cover up your flustered silence, “manners. when did that happen?”

george rolls his eyes as he closes the car door behind you, and you settle into the passenger seat. you notice the faint scent of air freshener, attempting to mask any lingering odors from the cigarettes he no doubt must have smoked earlier. you glance sideways at him when he gets settled in the driver’s seat, unable to hide the hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

"believe it or not," george retorts, putting the car in reverse, "i do have manners sometimes. just don't expect it all the time."

another playful taunt crawls up your throat, about to make it’s way out of your mouth when george casually just does the hottest thing you’ve ever possibly seen. your heart is in your mouth as you try not to stare at his arm behind your headrest. george, oblivious to your freak out, focuses solely on reversing the car from its little hiding spot. his cologne—something warm and smoky—fills the tiny car. a space that is so overwhelmingly him that you have to swallow roughly every couple minutes lest you do something incredibly stupid. 

like grabbing his face and kissing him senseless. 

especially with how inviting his light stubble looks. 

instead, you pointedly stare out the window at the dull grey road beneath you. 

“scared?” he teases, misinterpreting your darting eyes. 

all you can do is shake your head. there’s no way you trust your ability to speak right now, especially as half of your brain is focused on not ogling his arms and hands. 

this was a mistake. this was a stupid, idiotic, avoidable mistake. 

“come on! aren’t you excited to do something reckless for once?”

you are, you really really are. there’s no denying it as the car finally maneuvers out of the parking spot and away from your house. 

you let out a silent sigh of relief. the tension in the air begins to dissipate, and you take the opportunity to relax your grip on the seat. you sneak another glance at george, this time allowing yourself to truly take in his features.

his bleached hair is tousled—just the right amout of effortlessly messy, and his full pink lips only intensify the butterflies in your stomach. george is beautiful—from the way his hands grip the steering wheel with confidence to his jaw that tenses as he focuses on the road. all of it makes your heart race again. you can't deny your silly little crush, can’t deny all the times you have wished george was anyone but matty’s best friend. that you actually had the courage to kiss him. more than that you can’t deny all the times you’ve wished he would kiss you first. 

“where are we going?” you clear your throat, distinctly aware of how breathy you sound. 

george shrugs. “maccies, i think. been really craving some milkshake.”

and then he has the audacity to snicker at your gaping face. “a milkshake…” you trail off, wondering if hitting him on the head would be taking it too far. “sure, good to know i risked my life for your milkshake cravings!”

“pfft,” he blows air, taking his eyes off the road and training them on to you. “admit it, sweetheart, you were ready to, oh what was it? ‘risk your life’ for the thrill of it. don’t lie to me now, i saw it in your eyes.”

there it is again, the little flutter in your ribcage at the s-word. george seems so casual about it too, throwing it around like it doesn’t bother him whatsoever. and maybe it doesn’t, maybe he uses that on every single girl he talks to. the thought curdles in your stomach. 

“fine then,” you huff, turning back to the window.

the mcdonald’s is a flurry of people—drunk and high students looking to satisfy their munchies, homeless people looking for a cheap meal and shelter. exhausted employees handing out orders with a dead expression on their face. you almost feel sad, making them prepare two milkshakes at this ungodly hour. 

you turn to george who is busy studying the menu with the utmost curiosity. 

“strawberry,” he mumbles to himself then turns to you. “or no, wait. banana?”

you quirk an eyebrow. “strawberry is superior.”

“which means that’s what you’re getting,” he replies and goes back to perusing.

“if you think, for even a second, that i would let you steal—”

“so territorial, sweetheart,” he teases, eyes still on the artificially lit board. “fine. two strawberries then.”

george places the orders, giving the cashier his winning smile and handing over some cash. she perks up slightly, eyeing him through her lashes while george leans against the counter. a sudden heat burns through you, wild and unpleasant. 

heartburn, you tell yourself. the milkshake will fix it. 

or maybe not looking at george being flirty would fix it but oh well…

so you turn around, finding yourself an empty seat and leave him to bring over the drinks. 

minutes later, you almost jump out of your skin when george places the cool take-out container against the nape of your neck without warning. 

“real mature, george!” the shriek causes a few people to throw distasteful looks your way but he looks absolutely unbothered and oblivious.

“such a grump,” he snickers and motions for you to follow him. 

armed with your milkshake, you settle in the car once again. the car park is almost dead at this hour of the night and you wait for him to start the car back up, for him to tell you what the next steps are but george only taps tirelessly on the steering wheel. a complete 180 from five minutes ago.

tap. pause. tap tap tap. pause. tap. pause. it’s restless and rhytmless; not like his usual tapping where he’s lost in own tune. his milkshake sits untouched, condensation dripping onto the dashboard. 

you wrap your lips around the straw, sucking on it noisely, sipping on the sweet, cool liquid while you observe him closely. “something’s on your mind.” 

your statement makes him blink. so you’re right then, something is on his mind. he’s more fidgety than usual. in the stillness of the night, his thick swallows and knee jerks are painfully obvious. 

“what’s up…” you trail off, unsure if pushing him would be the right move. 

“there’s this–well. i want to–”

“this is new.” the amount of glee in your voice should be disturbing to you but you can’t contain it. because it is new. 

you’ve seen george be arrogant and annoying, laddish and even on occasion, sweet. but you’ve never seen him be shy before. 

“shut up,” he mutters to himself, then sighs loudly. “okay fine, it’s better if i just show you.”

you follow his movements inquisitively, his imperceptibly shaky hands as he takes out his phone and opens up a non-descript recording titled track 11

his phone screen illuminates his face in the dimly lit car as he hovers over the audio file. the soft glow casts a warm, intimate ambiance, making you acutely aware of how close you are to him in the confined space. your curiosity and anticipation mount as you wonder what he's about to reveal.

"i've been thinking about this for a while now," he clears his throat, finger lowering to finally click on the file. "and i want to share something with you."

at first, nothing happens. all that comes out of the speakers is static and then some more static. but just as you're about to speak, the car is filled with the opening notes of a song—one that instantly tugs at your memory. It's a tune that you have heard before, at different points in time. it's the song that matty’s hummed to you on days you were ill in bed, a song you heard them play at band practice. it’s a song that george and matty laboured over for days. the one that brought you all closer together.

and now it sounds all put together. the final piece of the puzzle locked in.

matty’s voice is stronger than you’ve ever heard, adam’s guitar and ross’ bass sprinkling magic onto it. and then there are the drums—precise and clear and passionate. just like how george drums his fingers on his lap now, matching the beat of the song.   

when the song ends, there's a brief silence in the car. the weight of the notes and the sincerity in his eyes hang in the air, leaving you breathless.

"george," you finally whisper, "that was..."

“we finished it,” he smiles, looking down at his lap. “so we recorded it…”

“it’s…”

there you are once again, at a loss for words. almost certain that there might be actual tears in your eyes. 

“that was…”

“shit? derivative? lousy?” he tries to laugh it off, covering up a vulnerable moment with his jokes but you’d be damned if you let that happen. 

“perfect.” 

the words echoes around the car resoundingly. there’s no challenging your opinion. the song is perfect.

“and you listen to me once and for all george daniel, if you call that song names in front of me one more time, if i hear you call it shit and derivitive and lousy again—”

before you can finish your sentence, george leans forward, crashing his lips onto yours. there’s a crackle of electricity in the air around you, the slowing down of time as if you’re having an out-of-body experience. as if you are a fly on the wall watching two people giving into the magnetic pull between them. but george cups your cheek with his hand and you jolt back into your body. 

his lips are cool from the milkshake but the kiss is searing hot, teeth clashing against teeth. your bodies trying to get as close to each other as possible despite the gearstick between your seats. george tugs on your bottom lip, smiling wide as if he can’t help it—grinning ear to ear.

by the time you pull away, you’re both breathing heavily—practically panting. he doesn’t pull back entirely, instead he keeps his eyes closed and his forehead rested against yours. the grin stays on his face. wide and gorgeous and making him look so boyish. 

“um,” you start and break off into a quick laugh. 

"i've wanted to do that for quite some time now," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?” 

“yeah.”

with some hesitation, george lets go of your face, opening his eyes to look at you a second later. 

“damn, sweetheart,” he sighs again, chuckling a little. “this is turning out to be a great joyride, huh…”

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy

add yourself to the taglist

[fictionfordays]

WALLABY!!!! stopping by to gift u some milk (or drink of choice) and cookies <3 i stumbled on your reo smoochin' headcanon and i- :( i'm currently getting slam dunked by my time of the month so this is both detrimental to my health and also keeping me going 😔 any thots abt nagi's kisses??? i feel like he'd either be rly shy about it or would be FERAL hehehehehehe

(Aged up 21+) Seishiro Nagi x GN!Reader

CW: SMOOCHIIIIINNNNGGGGG, suggestive towards the end and I'm not sorry :D (some grinding)

WC: <260

A/N: SOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL I feel like I never get to write anything for Blue Lock any more :'( Sorry if these are too short! I feel like Sei is pretty straight to the point and gets what he wants even if it's a hassle ykwim?

Back to Main Masterlist | Blue Lock Masterlist

❀ Kisses with Nagi are shy and simple

❀ Usually just a sweet peck to the corner of your lips, maybe a small peck to your nose or cheek

❀ If you catch him feeling soft, he’ll pull you into his lap, tossing his phone or game controller to the side, fingers threading through your hair while his other arm wraps around your waist

❀ His lips are warm and soft against yours, the lingering scent of his soap wafting through your nose

❀ He starts slow, just enjoying the tender feeling of you pressed against him. Your fingers explore his neck and chest

❀ The longer the kiss goes on, the more desperate he becomes, nibbling gently on your plush bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth

❀ He’ll tug on your silky strands, getting you to gasp and moan into his mouth, his hands caressing your low back and scratching your scalp softly as the kiss grows more heated

❀ From here it can go one of two ways:

A chaste kiss is placed on your lips and forehead as he pulls away, smirking at how flustered and needy you look as he gets back to his game/video or

His hands move to your hips, urging you to move against the growing bulge in his pants as his lips and tongue move quicker against your own, sloppy and desperate, low whines escaping his mouth

❀ Regardless, his kisses are never scarce and you’re never ever left doubting how much he loves and cares for you

Tags: @enchantedforest-network @sin-and-punishment @blackfire2013 @kamorikiri @kakujis @jjkwritingss

Also tagging my Nagi girlies (gn) @linpunny @nymphoheretic @suyacho (I see you babes in the chat ;] ) Sorry if I forgot anyone! I'm shit at remembering usernames

Wanna be tagged? Join the Taglist!

I do not own these characters. All rights to the original creators. All content—created rights are reserved to Wallabypirate©2023.

[witchrealms]

(x)

[puppyie-innit]

tickles for when yur sick/feelin icky っ◞ ﻌ ◟ς

my stupid big bruder has dis new old habit of playin doctor wif me..

like checkin reflexes an sayin how the t-word is soo important for my health

i love hate it

(bubbie knows how much ive always feared doctors an avoid em, especially when it comes to shots an strong smells.. so i fink dis is kinda his way of comfortin an showin me dat not all doctors are scary, an none of em are designed to hurt me.. i wuv him)

anyways, here’s a scenario story thingy inspired by it:

The room is quiet except for the hum of an old heater and the rustle of blankets as I burrow deeper into my makeshift cocoon. Sick days are supposed to be restful, but my “doctor” has other plans. He leans over, stethoscope in hand—an actual one, from who knows where—and mutters somethin about checkin my reflexes.

I groan, already suspicious.

He gently pokes at my side, and I squeak involuntarily. “Ah-ha,” he says, with mock seriousness. “Reflexes are still sharp. Good sign.”

“St-stop!” I squirm, but I’m smilin now, even if my stuffy nose makes it harder to breathe. His fingers dance along my ribs like they have a mind of their own, “examinin” every ticklish spot they can find.

“It’s important for your health!” he insists, ignorin my half-hearted protests as I wriggle under his grip.

He doesn’t stop, of course. He never does when I’m laughin like this, even when I’m breathless and weak from bein sick. His hands shift to my tummy, givin it the lightest scribbles that somehow feel the worst.

“See? Tummy’s all jumpy. Definitely a sign of improvement,” he teases, grinnin like he’s cracked some groundbreakin medical discovery.

“Y-you’re the worst doctor ever!” I manage between giggles, kickin weakly at the blankets, which only traps me more.

“Worst?” he gasps dramatically, pressin a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in tickle-ology.”

I whine through a laugh, half-buryin my face in the pillow to muffle the sound. “That’s not even a real thing!”

“Sure it is! And as a certified tickle doctor, I prescribe more giggles to cure what ails you.” His fingers find the spot just under my arms, and I squeal, thrashin as much as my sick, blanket-bound self can.

“Nooo! I’m—hehe—healthy! I swear! You don’t need to—eee!—check anymore!”

He slows for a moment, just enough to let me catch my breath, but his hands rest threateningly near my sides. “Hmm… I dunno. Maybe one last checkup. I have to be thorough, after all.”

I growl, both dreadin and secretly lovin what’s coming next. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re giggly. Now hold still—doctor’s orders!”

I want to hate it—really, I do—but I love the way he makes me feel safe even when I’m too sick to do much else. His silly “doctor” game doesn’t hurt; it just reminds me that some things, like him, are soft, warm, and safe.

[blood-mocha-latte]

to the millionth degree

The metal of the jailhouse bars was cool against his lips. 

Their hands, clasped together and resting on the steel, seemed to generate the only warmth in the open, echoing room.

“Carwood,” He said, voice strained and shaking, hands warm and rough. “It’s not too late—”

“Of course it is,” Carwood cut him off. It was almost like they’d switched positions, in two years. Neither hunted nor hunter, neither loved nor lover, the same in the most opposite way. “It’s always been too late. Since… since the day I first saw you, it was too late.”

Dark eyes bore into his and barely wavered. Slender, calloused fingers tightened around his own before releasing them.

“Go.” Ronald Speirs said, and stepped further back into the cell. “Before I won’t let you.”

-

19.4k - Rated E - Read on Ao3

[themosthatedbeingg]

//— ooc

There are rumblings in the MCR fandom and im putting on my clown make up but …. BUT on the off chance we are actually getting something .. I will be completely unhinged .

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

WAITTTTT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING MEEEEEE BAIZHU’S RERUN BANNER IS IN FOUR DAYS????????????? FOUR FUCKING DAYS????????????????

[thedirtwitchk]

Man, it hits different when you’re listening to the climax of an audiobook alone on the freeway at night and you’re free to scream and holler and cry as loud as you actually need to while the twist is twisting your soul up and wringing out your heart…

(Book spoilers in the tags)

I’m at the “end” of Don’t Fear the Reaper.. 1hr 49mins left 💀

[sectoralchromatics]

A collection of random cheers slogans/banners from spectators in old rallies because I have too many of them and also. Why not ?

(Horrible translations and rally names in the alt description)

[10yrratiolover]

Crumbs guys, crumbs!

I appreciate this little tidbit a lot actually, I've always seen Ratio as a very perfectionist yet not obsessive kind of person in regards to both his work and life in general. I think his desk would be neatly organized yet not always free of clutter, for example. He doesn't have the time or energy to worry about every single little detail of everything.

[kakusu-shipping]

Mushroom Kingdom Pride Parade!!!

[adhdtsukasa]

i find it horrible and very unfair that saki and ichika have mixed focuses almost back to back with one event gap in between because t1king precious memories means that i'm legally obligated to t1k hello good day as well

[beddybites]

re reading old hulk comics. love this moment teehee

[moe-broey]

Anyways I hope I'm not just the local Alfonse and Sharena blogger to you, I hope I'm also thoroughly Just Some Guy