#i want to keep this post in my back pocket

[flwrstqr]

MR. LOVERBOY ✶ RIVALS 2 LOVERS ( 日语 ) ╰—— 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

𝑜𝑓 · PREC𝓲S : enhypen hyung line x 𝑓!reader 8OOwc. . ── non idol au, enemies to lovers, fluff, skinship, lot of bickering ( MY D𝒾ARY ) ⠀

다니 : new layouts > < since juni && jenni wanted me to post this first here i am ㅋㅋ not to mention, a lot of my crushes.. i had an enemies 2 lovers trope

RBLGS&LiKES ── CLiCK ´ ∀ `)

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 heeseung leans casually against the lockers, his smirk as infuriating as ever. "what’s got you so grumpy today, pretty girl? didn’t get your beauty sleep?" he teases, his voice dripping with mockery. you glare, arms crossed. "don’t call me that. and maybe i wouldn’t be grumpy if you stopped existing." he chuckles, the sound low and annoyingly attractive. "oh, come on, admit it, you’d miss me." "hmm," he muses, tilting his head, "would you be mad if i kissed you, pretty girl?" your heart stumbles, but you keep your glare sharp. "yes, obviously." his grin widens, dangerously playful. "hmm, then i hope you accept my apology." before you can process his words, his lips are on yours—entirely unexpected. when he pulls back, he winks. "still mad?" annoyingly, maybe not.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 "come on, just one ride! i don’t bite," jay smirks, fingers drumming on the steering wheel of his sleek black sports car as he watches you huff in the passenger seat. "you’re insufferable," you snap, crossing your arms. the scent of his cologne fills the space. "i hate you, jay." his laughter is low, a little too smooth as his eyes flick toward you, twinkling with mischief. "i heard hate as love, angel," he drawls, leaning slightly closer. you glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but the faint tug of a smile at the corner of your lips betrays you.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 the room buzzes with compliments as your friends gush over your freshly dyed hair. "oh my god, you're so gorgeous!" someone squeals, and you offer a small smile. but then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot jake, casually leaning against the wall with that trademark smug grin. he saunters over, hands in his pockets. "new hair," he says, voice smooth as ever. "yeah," you reply, shooting him a slight glare, already bracing for whatever annoying comment he’s about to make. he tilts his head, studying you for a moment before smirking. "but i do believe i prefer blonde." you scoff, crossing your arms. "and i prefer you out of my life." he steps closer. "too bad, princess. looks like we're both out of luck."

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 the blackout plunges the entire building into darkness, and the murmurs of your friends echo faintly down the hallway. "y/n! where are you?" someone calls, but you stay frozen in place, breath hitching as sunghoon steps closer. "scared of the dark, sweetheart?" his voice is low. "you wish," you shoot back. before you can think, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a secret kiss. your heart pounds, but the moment is gone as quickly as it came. footsteps grow louder, and you pull back, breathless. "y/n! seriously, where are you?" your friends call again. sunghoon straightens, his expression perfectly nonchalant as he steps into the dim light. "she's right here," he says casually, like he didn’t just steal your first kiss

[sosasturns]

she will - c. sturniolo

in which reader does the wall dance and chris decides to join in on the fun… based on this request.

“don’t act shy now.” his voice slid through the room like the bass in the song, catching you mid-dip.

you turned, startled, eyes meeting his as he leaned against the doorway, sipping a can of pepsi like he didn’t just catch you mid-wall dance. the smirk tugging at his lips was enough to make you roll your eyes.

“chris, what do you want?”

“nah, the real question is, what you doin’?” he asked, nodding toward your phone, which was still propped up, recording.

you huffed, pushing off the wall, brushing your hair out of your face. “it’s a trend. go mind your business.”

“i mean, it is my business now.” he strolled in, setting his drink on the counter before leaning in, glancing at the screen. “you tryna post that?”

“maybe,” you shot back, crossing your arms defensively.

“nah, you gotta let me hop in then. can’t be lettin’ the world think you out here doin’ this shit alone.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “boy, you don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“don’t i?” he smirked, walking past you to restart the music. as ‘she will’ started again, he stood back, tilting his chin toward the wall. “aight, hit it. lemme see somethin’.”

“you’re annoying.”

“and you love it,” he quipped, sliding his hands into his pockets. “now c’mon, stop playin’.”

with a dramatic sigh, you turned back to the wall, resting your hands against it as the beat dropped. you started moving, slower this time, feeling his eyes on you, heat crawling up your neck.

“there you go,” he murmured, the words almost drowned out by the music.

you were just starting to lose yourself in the rhythm when you felt him behind you. his chest brushed your back, and his hands landed on your waist, firm but careful.

“chris—”

“nah, keep goin’,” he interrupted, his voice low, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against your hips. “you doin’ good. fuck it up.”

your movements faltered for a second, but his grip kept you steady, pulling you closer until your body melted into his.

“see?” he teased, his lips close to your ear. “told you i could help.”

“you’re so full of yourself.”

“nah, i’m full of you,” he shot back, his tone so smooth it had you laughing despite yourself.

the song played on, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of you—the bass in the track, the heat of his hands, the steady rhythm you both fell into without thinking.

as the music faded, you turned to look at him, breathless.

“you really can’t mind your business, can you?” you asked, shaking your head.

he grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “not when you makin’ my business look this good.”

@ sosasturns

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @allmylovc @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555

[scary-grace]

Off-Script (Act 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Act 1 Act 2

Act 3

The party’s in full swing, and even though you’ve been here for an hour at most, Tomura’s already ready to kill Spinner for forcing him to invite you. You’re the only actor at the party. Everyone keeps asking you why you aren’t at the other party, and Tomura’s getting really sick of listening to you explain that you aren’t important enough to go to that one. Once it’s been established that you’re a nobody like the rest of them, one of two things happens. If the person you’re talking to is a woman, they ask you about the fight scene you filmed with Tomura. If you’re talking to a guy, he asks you to dance – and you say yes.

Tomura thought you’d dance with him, since he’s the one who invited you. He made the mistake of saying that to Magne, who switched out the beer in his hand for the double Malibu shot she was holding and told him that unless he’d asked you to go to the party with him specifically, he hadn’t asked you out. Then Twice came by, stole Tomura’s Malibu shot and replaced it with a Long Island Iced Tea, and informed him that just because you play a mind reader in a movie doesn’t mean you can do it in real life.

Tomura threw down half the Long Island in one swallow and almost gagged. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She’s not gonna know you want to dance with her unless you ask her to dance,” Twice said. Magne nodded sagely. “So ask her to dance. Or – do that, I guess! That works too!”

Tomura had just finished off the rest of the Long Island. Twice patted him on the pack and he almost threw up. “Go get ‘em, Shigaraki! Or go home!”

Tomura thought about going home. Then he decided that he wanted to be drunker first, so he went back to the makeshift bar for something a little less instantly neurotoxic. But that hit pretty fast, too, and it hit hard enough that Tomura decided to sit down rather than try to walk to the shuttle stop and pass out on the way. So that’s what he’s been doing instead of dancing or talking or even drinking more. Sitting on a rock and watching the only actor at the party make herself at home.

Spinner sits down on the rock next to Tomura. Tomura tries to shove him off. “No. Go away.”

Spinner gets comfortable. “Heard anything from Dabi yet?”

Tomura fumbles his phone out of his pocket to check. “Nothing. He’s going to text you, not me. You’re the nice one.”

“Not hard to be, when you’re the one saying shit like I don’t care about this,” Spinner says. Tomura rolls his eyes and gets dizzy. “Look, it was – not great – when you were just being a dick to her. Now you’re being a dick to everybody.”

“It’s your fault for making me invite her.”

“Nope,” Spinner says. “You’ve been in a shitty mood about this since you guys filmed that scene. We all think you should just –”

“Ladies, and those of you who are not ladies, eyes up front!”  Yamada’s in Present Mic mode, which gives Tomura a headache on his best day. “It’s been brought to my attention that everyone is now sufficiently wasted enough for us to begin – drumroll! – the karaoke contest! Who’s up first!”

Nobody wants to be up first, like usual. The first round of the karaoke contest is usually just people bullying their friends onto the stage. Tomura turns to glare at Spinner. “If you even think about it –”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!” Spinner actually looks insulted. “We’re best friends, not mortal enemies!”

“Since you all are being shy, I’m going to pick a volunteer,” Present Mic announces. It’s not volunteering if somebody makes you do it. “And I’m picking somebody who has the pipes for this for sure! Give it up for Jiro Kyoka, who’s going to give us her best Dolly Parton impression on Jolene!”

Jiro smacks Present Mic on her way up to the makeshift stage, and he’s apologizing right up until the music starts. Tomura doesn’t know why, and neither does Spinner, but Jiro’s a good singer even when she’s had a few. The next person who goes up is Mirio, who’s tone-deaf on zero drinks but has had enough to volunteer himself. Attention grabs aren’t really Tomura’s thing – he’d prefer to go unnoticed most of the time – but he knows why the crew gets so into it. They spend all day doing ridiculous amounts of work, only for the actors to get all the credit if the movie does well. If they want to clown around, he’s not going to blame them.

“Room for one more?”

Tomura jumps and so does Spinner. It’s you, holding a water bottle and looking sort of tired. “Go for it,” Spinner says, shoving Tomura to the side and scooting away himself. “Right there.”

You sit down next to Tomura. Tomura hasn’t said a word to you since you got here. He looks around for something to say and comes up with something stupid. “You don’t want to show everybody up at karaoke?”

“If Yamada calls on me I’ll go up,” you say. “If he doesn’t, I’d just look like an asshole for grabbing the spotlight.”

“Isn’t that all actors do? Grab the spotlight?”

“Do you actually want it?” you ask Tomura. Tomura blinks. “You and the other stunt guys are closer to the spotlight than anybody else here. Why stay out of it?”

“That’s the stupidest question anyone’s ever asked me.” Tomura thinks that’s probably an overstatement, but he’s also on the not-fun side of drunk, so he’s giving himself a pass. “Why do you think?”

“So you’re telling me that if I waved a magic wand and changed your face to whatever you think it’s supposed to look like, you’d suddenly want to be famous?”

Tomura should have been paying less attention to who you were dancing with and more to what you were drinking, because while he’s pretty trashed, you’re sober. He’s miscalculated, big-time. “It’s not a trick question,” you say. “I just want to know why you pick on people for chasing something that you don’t even want.”

“Because it’s a waste of time for most of you,” Tomura says. Spinner protests, but Tomura ignores him. You came over here. You started it. “For every big star there’s a thousand people paying union dues who will be extras for their entire careers. How long do you plan on hanging out waiting for a big break that’s not going to happen? Find something else to do that’s – not that – and stop running around getting all starry-eyed. It’s pathetic. Sue me for being annoyed.”

Silence falls. “I’m getting another drink,” Spinner says. “Want anything, Psylocke?”

You shake your head. “I want one,” Tomura says, but Spinner ignores him. Like it’s his fault, somehow, when inviting you was Spinner’s idea in the first place. You haven’t said anything yet. Tomura replays what he just said to you, and guilt strikes him like a sandbag to the back of the head. “Uh –”

“Did you ever think it’s because we love it?”

“Huh?”

“If I was doing this to be famous, I’d have quit a long time ago,” you say. You pass your water bottle to Tomura and lean back on your hands, head tipped to look up at the sky. “Most of us aren’t stupid, or naïve. We know what our odds are like. Making it on the acting side – theatre, movies, TV, whatever – takes getting lucky. Or it takes knowing somebody who knows somebody who owes your mom a favor.”

That’s how Dabi got into it. His dad’s rich, his dad owns a production company, and his dad got him a bit part in some spy movie when he was thirteen that launched his entire career. Dabi’s career is Tomura’s career, so Tomura doesn’t bitch about it. Besides, Dabi’s good at it. But lots of people are good at it. Being good at it doesn’t mean shit, even when it should.

“I know it’s not going to happen,” you say. “Getting steady work is an achievement all on its own, and even that doesn’t pay the greatest. I could make more money doing almost anything else. But I really like what I do. The win for me is getting to do the thing I love every day.”

Tomura tries to wrap his head around that one. It doesn’t work. “Actors want to be famous. That’s why they’re actors.”

“There are other ways to get famous,” you point out. “Do the right kind of porn and you’ll get famous in a hurry.”

Tomura nearly chokes on thin air. “If I wanted money, I’d do something else. If I wanted fame, I’d do something else,” you say. “That leaves you two possible answers. Either I’m really stupid, or I really love what I’m doing. What do you think it is?”

“You’re not stupid,” Tomura says, still coughing. He twists the cap off the water bottle and sucks down a few swallows. “Except maybe for sitting here and putting up with my shit.”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I did to piss you off.” You take the water bottle – your water bottle, Tomura remembers too late – and take a few sips before handing it back. “Is it really just that I’m new?”

“No.” Tomura can’t even remember why. No, he can. “It wasn’t you at first. It was supposed to be Dabi’s fight and he made me do it instead, so I was pissed. And you wouldn’t take the stupid compliment, so I was pissed about that, too.”

“And right now?”

“Who said I’m pissed at you right now?”

“You, five minutes ago, when you were calling me and ninety percent of the actors in the world stupid and naïve,” you say. “What did I do this time?”

Even though Tomura’s starting to sober up, the alcohol smacks him one last time, and it’s a critical hit. “Danced with everybody but me.”

It’s quiet for a second. Then you get to your feet in a smooth, fluid motion that Tomura probably can’t even accomplish sober. “Okay. Now I need that drink.”

You don’t invite Tomura to come with you, but he follows you anyway as you make your way back towards the party. Partway there you stop and he walks into you. You twist around to face him. “You’re mad because I didn’t dance with you? You didn’t ask.”

“I asked you to the party with me, didn’t I?” The sooner Tomura finds something to lean against, the better. He might be sober enough to know he fucked up, but he’s still pretty drunk. Not drunk enough to forget what Magne told him. “If this is just because I didn’t use the exact words –”

“No, it’s because you’ve spent the last two weeks acting like you hate me,” you say. Tomura wants to say you’re exaggerating, but given that Toga and Spinner both called him out, he can’t really say that or anything else. “Now you want to dance? What am I supposed to do with that except get trashed?”

At least now you’re both on the same subject. “Dance.”

“Do you even dance?” You give Tomura a skeptical look. “I don’t know if you can keep up with me.”

Maybe this is how you felt when Tomura acted like you couldn’t swordfight. “I can dance. I was going to go easy on you –”

“Oh, shut up.” You grab Tomura’s hand and pull him towards the dance floor. Tomura barely has time to ditch the empty water bottle before the crowd closes ranks around the two of you, locking you in.

Tomura knows how to dance. More accurately, sober Tomura knows how not to dance, and avoiding that looks enough like knowing how to dance that he can get by. But that’s when he’s sober. When he’s drunk and there’s someone who clearly knows what they’re doing standing in front of him, he’s got absolutely nowhere to hide.

He studies you, trying to see if he can copy your moves, but you don’t really have distinct moves. What you’ve got is pinpoint control over every part of your body, which is what Tomura has, except instead of using it to make it look real when you have to fake getting shot, you’re using it to make dancing look like it’s what you were designed to do. He’d never know you dislocated a rib today if he hadn’t seen the bruise. All he can see is how your moves match the music, how confident you look. It’s hot. Tomura doesn’t think you’re trying to be hot, but he’s still not sober, and he’s paying way too much attention to everything your hips and your ass are doing. He’s supposed to be dancing, too. How is he supposed to look away from that?

Someone bumps into him, and he stumbles forward a few steps, right into your personal space. It doesn’t throw you off even slightly. “I was wondering when you were going to join in,” you say, barely audible over the music. Probably only audible because you’re pressed up against him and your mouth’s barely brushing his ear. “Is this you going easy on me?”

Tomura thinks he could be the best dancer on the planet and he still wouldn’t be able to compete with you. His hands come up of their own accord and settle on your waist, like the two of you are slow-dancing at a junior prom, completely out of sync with the music. You laugh, quiet and dark, but you wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck and rise on your toes to whisper in his ear again. “Pretend we’re fighting.”

You were just fighting. Weren’t you? It takes Tomura a second, but once he gets it, he gets it, along with a rush of adrenaline that’s absolutely insane. He pulls you in tight against him and you lean in, lining your body up with his centimeter by centimeter, limb by limb. One of your arms peels away from around his neck and traces down along the line of his shoulder, and Tomura raises his arm to match, ready to catch your hand by the time you reach his wrist.

Once he takes it, you spin out and away from him, like the two of you are ballroom dancing or some shit. But you come back closer than before, your back pressed to Tomura’s chest, leaning against him. Still holding his hand.

The handholding is fucking with Tomura’s head. He lets go and wraps both arms around your waist, and you twist in his grip to face him, a moment before tipping sideways on purpose. Tomura knew you were going to do it. He felt you telegraph it, the same as you did during the fight scene, and he’s ready to catch you. It looks like you’re ballroom dancing – again – and Tomura’s friends are probably losing their shit watching it, if they’re watching – but you trust Tomura to catch you, and he does.

He sees a smile cross your face before he pulls you back up, and you instantly tip the other way. He’s not as ready for that one, but it doesn’t matter as much, because you’re hooked one leg over his hip and caught yourself.

It’s like you want to break Tomura’s brain. Fuck it. If you’re fighting, he can fight back. He wraps one hand around your back to help you up, but he catches the crook of your knee with his other hand and pulls you tight against him. He feels you startle; then you lean into him again, not quite grinding on him but close enough that his cock doesn’t notice a difference. Or it wouldn’t, if Tomura hadn’t drunk so much earlier. He’s never been so thankful for whiskey dick in his life.

He doesn’t let go of your leg, and you don’t pull away. You wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck again and you tilt your head, studying him, your gaze flicking downwards, then back up. Tomura’s pretty sure you were looking at his mouth, and with your head tilted like that – do you want him to kiss you? Is that why you’re looking at him like that? If he’s reading this wrong, he’s going to fuck everything up, whether he kisses you or not. So he might as well get one kiss in. Tomura squares his shoulders beneath your hands and leans in.

“Hey!”

It’s possible that Tomura’s never been as pissed off at anybody as he is at Spinner right now. Spinner’s standing right there, looking sort of panicked, and you pull away from Tomura instantly, clearly embarrassed. “What?” Tomura shouts at Spinner. It’s lucky that the music’s loud. He can get away with shouting. “What the fuck is –”

Spinner holds up his phone, the screen brightness cranked to maximum. Dabi’s texted – both of them, only Tomura didn’t notice, because he was with you. get me the fuck out of here right now

Shit. Spinner turns and heads off the dance floor, and Tomura follows him. He grabs your hand on the way, so you won’t think he’s ditching you completely, and instead of pulling away, you come along. Once the three of you are clear of the dancers, Spinner turns to Tomura. “If he texted us, that means it’s bad,” he states. Tomura’s not going to argue. “I’m too drunk to drive.”

“So am I,” Tomura says. For a little while longer at least. “If we wait fifteen minutes or something –”

“He said right now,” Spinner says. “It’ll take fifteen minutes at least to get there. He fucked himself over in thirty seconds last time.”

Thirty seconds is generous. Dabi’s managed to get himself into cops-calling trouble in fifteen seconds or less before. Tomura didn’t want to be involved in Dabi’s sobriety, but he didn’t want to fuck him over, either, and this qualifies. That’s not even mentioning what’s going to happen to his career if Dabi drops out of this movie. “We blew it,” Spinner says, his face ashen. “He’s never going to forgive us –”

You tug lightly at Tomura’s hand. “I can drive.”

Tomura looks at you. So does Spinner. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” you say, “but I can tell it’s urgent. I don’t need to know what’s going on to be your designated driver.”

“You didn’t drink?” Spinner asks. You shake your head. “Great. Can you drive stick?”

[bigassmoth]

continuation of this here

It's been a week and a half and Leo is already complaining again.

Sho half-listened to Leo as he polished Bonnie in the garage. Just five minutes ago, although it felt much longer, Leo had flopped onto the couch and launched into a rant about his comment feed.

"It's been foreeevvveerrr and they are STILL calling that NPC a gold digger- as if they have the brains to dig! Our ~Honorable Senpai~ doesn't even know about designer labels- one time they complimented my jacket only because-" Leo changed his voice to mock the honor student, "-it looks very nice with your hair."

Sho remembers that incident, Leo met your casual compliment with aggression when he assumed that you recognized the brand and was vying for scraps. Your response was confused and then to sheepishly admit you hadn't realized it was a luxury brand and just liked the colors. Leo spent a good 10 seconds being too flabbergasted to speak and then later called Romeo to gossip about how much of a country bumpkin you are.

"Uh huh." Sho gave a disengaged comment while Leo paused in his ranting.

"Ugh, that gorilla is saying they are coming back from doing recon. I can't believe I keep getting left here- especially when senpai knows how bad Mido fumbles every interview."

"Didn't they leave 3 hours ago? I bet Sasquatch got them lost" Sho joins in on the discussion with passion this time, sharing a smirk with Leo as they imagine the likely scenario that Mido confidently leads you to dead-end after dead-end.

Leo sends off a text and a few seconds later Sho's phone vibrates in his pocket. He puts down his shop cloth to pull it out and after reading the text he frowns at Leo.

"You asked them to stop at Starbucks and didn't tell me? What if I wanted something you asshole?"

"Ehh that's not my fault, I figured if your precious bff really cared about you that much then they would reach out. And lo and behold..." Leo looked at Sho with a faint glimmer of envy in his eyes before directing his attention back to his phone. He scoffs. "Seriously, what's the point of posting that NPC is the 150 thousand followers I gain are all annoying as fuck?

"Your account really grew that much just from pretending you have a toxic relationship?"

"Duh. Everyone loves watching someone elses relationship go up in flames."

"You have issues, dude." Sho sighs and types you a reply with his order.

--

"We're back." Alan announced himself as usual, walking past the two ghouls while carrying a cardboard box presumably full of files for them to comb through for the next day. You were a quick step behind him, holding a drink tray and several paper bags.

"Hey." Sho greeted you while Leo only grunted in acknowledgement. You handed Sho his drink and bag- which he opened to reveal a chocolate muffin he promptly split with Bonnie. You set the remaining treats onto a nearby toolbox and turned around.

"Could you unzip this real quick?" You tilt your head forward so Sho can access the covert zipper at the top of your neck. With a face full of muffin, Sho hums and deftly yanks down the tab so you can free yourself of the cop costume.

Leo watches the casual exchange with crossed arms.

"Can you hurry up and give me my stuff already?" His voice is flat with irritation. You step out of the second-skin as it dissipates and hand Leo his drink and a paper bag.

"Mido senpai." You call out simply and, as Leo would make fun of him for later, Alan appeared like a dog hearing his name.

"Hm?"

"Turn around, please." He follows your instructions without question and you quickly reach up and unzip him as well. Job complete, you grab your drink and treat and sit on the couch near the center.

"Thanks." Once upon a time Leo and Sho would have assumed that Alan was just adept at hiding his embarrassment but time has proven that such deference to you made no blemish on his ego.

Alan sat down next to you, the sink of the couch almost pushing you into his lap as you instinctively scooch further into the center.

"Oi, idiot." Leo claims your attention as soon as he is able, "This isn't starbucks. And this isn't a whipped rose latte either." He thrust the cup into your face, making you recoil into Alan.

"Starbucks tastes awful." You offer a half-explanation as Leo lowers the cup and instead presses his face into yours.

"How the fuck am I supposed to post this boring shit on instagram, huh?" He was razing you, Alan stopped his delicate sips on his black iced coffee to say something but you beat him to the punch.

"Then don't post it." You sigh and put a hand on Leo's head, pushing him away from you. Without him practically breathing down your neck, you are able to unstick yourself from Alan and get properly comfortable on the couch.

"You don't really get this whole influencer thing, do you?" Leo grumbles and slumps into the arm of the couch, stretching his legs onto your lap. You adjust easily, lifting your paper beg to rest it on his knees so your precious baked good didn't get squished.

"They didn't have any rose latte's, so I go you a chai. I figured you would like it beca-"

"Chai? Chai tea? Isn't that just black tea and milk?" Leo kicks his heel on Alan's leg.

"Actually 'chai' means tea." Sho chimed in 'helpfully', bemused by the display in front of him. Leo was a professional at riling people up, capable of getting the most extreme reactions with just a few words. But Alan was an immovable rock, so caught up in his own head and goals that everything in his periphery seemed worthless to pay attention to. You didn't have Alan's temperament but have gained an elusiveness that made you float above Leo's tactics. It was interesting for Sho, watching Leo vie for your attention and Alan's acknowledgment.

"I don't give a fuck." Leo looked at Sho as if he betrayed him.

"I think you will like it." You begin again, "I asked them to make it extra spicy." Leo had seen the 'xtra spic' written in sharpie on the cup.

"Ugh, whatever. This cookie better be good."

"It's peanut butter." Alan interjected now, without looking up from the file in his hand.

"I- What!?" Leo gaped at you as you sipped your drink. You shrugged.

"I was in charge of drinks, Mido senpai picked up the snacks."

"You need the protein."

At Alan's (unwanted) comment Sho erupted in laughter. Leo scoffed and fully laid back on the arm rest.

"This is so stupid." He muttered and without thinking, took a deep drink from his cup. The mixture warmed his bones, pleasantly sweet and spicy.

The conservation turned to details about the case as you and Alan relayed what you had learned on your excursion. Leo listened while tapping blankly on his phone notifications, not even taking in the information on the screen while he thought about how one would go about catching an anomaly. It was reflexive, that he took a selfie as he sipped his drink and posted it with the generic hashtags: #latte#girlfriend#bestgfever#couplegoals.

Everyone returned to their rooms after making a plan for tomorrow and sending you off to your decrepit dorm. It was only in the bath that Leo realized what he had posted would become an issue- because someone had made a video about it.

"-As we all know, Leo only likes light floral drinks. Which we love about him- but apparently his girlfriend bought him this drink which is an EXTRA SPICY CHAI. She doesn't even know his taste preferences-"

The comments were predictable: This is the same one boring girlfriend that is using him for money.

Leo rolled his eyes so hard he swore they got stuck in the back of his head for a second and shut his phone off before throwing it onto his pile of clothes on the floor.

"Seriously, that NPC brings in way more trouble then they are worth."

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Hi friends!!

I know have been pretty absent on here recently. As much as I miss all of you beautiful people in my pocket, unfortunately, I think that my lack of presence on here may carry on into the foreseeable future ☹️

Life has just been very busy, and with even more things coming up, it’s been hard to find the time to keep up with writing and everything going on at Tumblr dot com- as much as I don’t want it to, it’s taking a backseat for now.

This most definitely is not goodbye!! My intentions are to get back to writing and posting again when I have some more free time, but right now, that time is few and far between 🥴

I may be on here every once a while, but if you don’t hear from me, please know I miss ya’ll and love you from the very bottom of my heart 🥹💛

[fluff-n-cookies]

DABI Warmup

Note: I haven't written in a hot minute, just a warm up to get back into the flow of things. This post is a platonic x reader.

Dabi is Reader's father, Reader has blue eyes like his. No use of Y/N

For those who don’t know, this post is related to these

Pt 1, Pt 2

---

Civiliains are silly, fickle little things.

They're ignorant, that's what they are. those were Dabi's, well, Touya's, exact thoughts as he smoked on the balcony. the cool night air stung at his bare arms and seeped into the fabric of his pajama shirt. it didn't matter much though, not when the bustling streets of Yokohama are still wide awake.

He chuckled at his own thoughts, a chuckle then turned into a strangled cough. Damn lungs.

He couldn't be the one to think of such things though, it wasn't right for him to belittle others for remaining ignorant when he himself had his own little civilian daughter who he had been keeping in ignorant bliss for her whole life.

He cannot be the one to talk when he had intentionally refused to talk about heroes with her, or even speak of his day at work with the league. he would immediately change the topic of conversation the moment it turned to heroes and villains.

Dabi flicked his cigarette over the side of the balcony, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants to see what his daughter was doing.

she had fallen asleep on the couch, elephant stuffie in hand, curled up under her favorite blanket. the My Neighbor Totoro one that was only 2 USD at their regular thrift shop.

she was a toddler by now, she had been watching him smoke on the balcony to give into his nicotine addiction since birth at this point. he would always set her down on the couch with a cartoon on and a bunch of stolen toys so she wouldn't get bored. he would then watch her from the other side of the glass sliding door that separated the balcony and living room.

it always felt a tad bit wrong though, to leave her alone like that, but addiction calls, it's hard to resist, I guess.

You know what's sillier than civilians? being a father.

it means having to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to get your daughter dressed and ready. I means having to help her choose the dress she wants to wear today and then consoling her when she can't choose, gets to overwhelmed, and cries until you bribe her with ice cream.

it means stashing her school pictures and drawings in a little shoe box under the sink because you don't have the heart to throw them away and you can't afford anyone suspecting you have a daughter if they see her picture in your stolen wallet.

it means downloading Disney and Studio Ghibli movies from a pirating website for movie night the next day. despite knowing full damn well that she'll probably fall asleep half way through and never bother to finish the movie.

Silly, so silly.

so silly and so fun to be able to ignore the pain and suffering in this world and just focus on helping her finish math homework. (the first question was 2 + 3) and then making her favorite food for dinner because she got an A+ on her spelling test.

Maybe being a civilian isn't all that bad.

---

Tags ; @red4-0 @likethegardenyk @suktoru @blurryperrtymoonlight @harkenizalone @lostiolite @rllytriedrn @mellyxqz @cupkiki @xxnessinessiellexx @dehlieee @mossysoup @ijwsbdinp @byul9158 @suksatoru @ssetsuka @savatar-de-mordor @justanotherweeb666 @frog-fans-unite

figured you guys might like some updates.

[xtarmanderx]

Okay, I’m torn about what I want to make you write BUT you’ve promised me that your 7x7 fic will be out soon SO I’m gonna ask for more Auction Ruca 🙃

🩵🩷💜🩵🩷💜

At this rate, you and @jamieroyjamieroy are gonna have the entire fic written and posted in snippets haha. Here you go! ❤️

-

The night air is cool by the time the evening comes to an end. Rocker immediately shivers, regretting his choice of short sleeves, but it doesn’t escape Luca’s notice. Luca slips off his suit jacket and wraps it around Rocker’s shoulders, gently tugging on the collar and making a show of smoothing it out as he stands in front of Rocker. Up this close, Rocker swears he sees constellations in Luca’s eyes. They have always mesmerized him, an endless blue, and now they capture him in a steady gaze.

“Better?” Luca asks, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” Rocker asks, dodging the question. “You said you had plans tonight.”

“Didn’t want to ruin my whole surprise.” Luca’s eyes twinkle and Rocker’s heart begins to race.

“Don’t do that,” he warns weakly. Luca’s gaze softens, both hands curling around Rocker’s shoulders, and they prevent him from retreating. Luca knows him too damn well.

“Donovan.” He closes his eyes at the sound of his name, swallowing, and opens them again. Luca’s still there. Not a dream then. “I want to take you on a date. Not just beers and a burger or fish tacos, but an actual date. A restaurant with candles, the whole nine yards.”

“You could have just asked. You just…” Rocker shakes his head, trying to pull back, but Luca doesn’t let him go. “Luca, I’m not-“

“I’m not going to let you finish that train of thought,” Luca warns him seriously. “And I’ve been trying to ask you out. You weren’t paying attention.”

“I…” Rocker’s speechless as he tries to reflect over the last few weeks. Invitations out had always turned into group hangouts. “You set this up.” He accuses softly.

“Didn’t know it would be so easy. Tan was happy to help. My whole squad has been placing bets on us with Edwards.” Luca chuckles, sliding his hands down Rocker’s biceps, and squeezes twice. “I’m not asking for your heart, Donovan. Not if you don’t want to give it to me. But I want to prove that I’m serious about something with you.”

“Luca…” Rocker croaks, hating the way his voice is failing him at the present.

“I’m not pressuring you into anything.” Luca says firmly, stepping back and removing his hands. Rocker shivers for an entirely different reason this time. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay. No hard feelings. But if you do, I promise I’ll make sure you have the best time.”

“I know you’ll deliver.” Rocker murmurs. “Dominique, this could…it could change everything between us.”

“I’m hoping it does. You’ve got this coming week to think it over, okay? Hicks told me the voucher’s good for the next six months, but I know we both have next Friday and Saturday off. Just think about it?” He phrases it like a question and Rocker nods, his head still spinning. “Good.” He slides his hands into his pockets and starts to turn, smiling over his shoulder. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“Wait,” Rocker takes a half step after him and falters. “Your jacket.”

“Keep it. It looks better on you.” Luca’s crooked grin slides into place and Rocker’s heart roars in his chest.

[lunapwrites]

Segment: Like the last one, but different lol

(edit: this is a mostly-duplicate of segment 4 that was posted accidentally but I'm keeping it for reasons.)

Looking back, James thinks some days should come with a warning label. Something to say: maybe stay in bed today. Try again tomorrow.

But that morning, he didn’t suspect a thing. Had no way of knowing.

He met with Lily first: their usual rendezvous point at the old bridge, legs dangling over the edge as they shared the last of his cherry PopTarts, the last of her cigarettes, the story of how the big news had gone over with their parents.

“Could have gone worse,” Lily said, sighing. Pursed her lips to wiggle her septum ring. “Mom cried a lot, Dad left the house, Petunia called me a slut… so, you know, normal Friday night.”

He winced. “If it helps, first thing my mom did was ask when you were moving in.”

Lily huffed out a laugh, flicking ash. “I love your mom. What’d your dad say?”

“Not much, really.” James shrugged. “He was happy for us, though.”

What his dad really had been was quietly disappointed, though he’d still offered to help out while they got their feet under them, offering them both jobs at the office because you can’t support a family on a musician’s salary, Jamie.

Which was currently true, yes, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have PLANS, okay?

Lily nudged him. “When’s the gig?”

“Uh, I think Pete said doors are at six? Sooo…”

“Five, got it.” She stood, brushing off her dark leggings. “Remus isn’t driving again is he?”

James suppressed a shudder; Remus was barely able to fit them and their gear in his beat-up Ford as it was, but adding in his habit of speeding and general disregard for traffic rules… "God, no. Pete's got the van back from his dad. No more TARDIS."

"Thank fuck."

They finished their cigarettes in companionable silence, stubbing the butts out in near unison. Lily held her hand out for his, tucking their discards into an old Altoids case she kept for just this reason, slipped back into the pocket of her hoodie. She stared down at her own body like she could memorize the shape, burn it into her brain.

James took her hand. "You gonna be alright playing tonight?"

"Yeah." She managed a brave smile. "I'll be fine."

She probably would be. Lily was tough like that — tougher than him at any rate.

He was about to ask if she wanted him to help her pack when something behind him caught her attention, green eyes widening in alarm.

She smacked his shoulder. "James, look." Pointed towards the other side of the bridge — or past it, rather, down to the riverbed below. "Do you see that?"

And yeah, he did.

Looking back, he's not sure what made him jump down there. A hunch, maybe. Instinct. But what he was sure of was the fact that when he reached the body that had washed up on the riverbed, legs still floating in the freezing water, that body was still somehow alive.

Lily called for an ambulance, put the dispatcher on speaker so he could walk James through CPR — just keep going till they get there — and he kept time by singing Another One Bites the Dust under his breath. Black humor if he'd ever heard it, protocol or not. He studied the boy's face, deathly pale as it was, framed by half-frozen ringlets of black hair, marred by a hellish bruise on his left cheekbone. A trio of tiny moles curved along his right. Familiar.

The paramedics came, got the boy stripped down and wrapped up in one of those little tinfoil blankets, looking more like a burrito than a maybe-corpse. But he was alive — for now at least. James hoped he'd make it.

The cops hung around, poked around the riverbed. Asked James and Lily for their statements, and no, never seen him before in my life.

It was Lily who voiced the thought nagging at the back of his brain, as he walked her home. "God, he looked just like Sirius, didn't he?"

-

They agreed not to talk about it for now — not because the cops had asked, but because it was bad enough half the band was involved to begin with. No need to freak everyone out over nothing. Because it was nothing. Probably.

Lily packed a few bags and passed them out the window to him, trying to get as much out as they could before her dad came home from work, and he squirreled them away in the spare bedroom across from his. Not because his parents had any puritan ideas about them sleeping in the same bed — no point now, anyway — but rather because he thought she'd like her own space, separate from his.

Pete picked them up at four, Sirius with his feet up on the dash, Remus half hanging out the window behind them like a lanky sheepdog with his stupid shaggy mullet and even stupider mustache that no one — literally no one — could pull off but him. He drummed his hands against the side of the door, grinning.

"Hurry the fuck up, Potter! Things to be, people to do—"

"I'll fucking bite you," James growled, staggering slightly under the weight of half his drum kit. Sirius jumped out of the front seat, coming round to take the cases out of his hands and shouting at Remus to get off his ass and help (which he did, swatting Sirius firmly on the ass as he passed.)

The gig was at some little dive bar in the city — one of those ones that actually had a stage in the back, not like the last time, Pete swore. They’d been stuck in a corner awkwardly for that one, like what the fuck is up Dennys kind of awkward, playing asses to elbows. They couldn’t play like that — Sirius, especially, needed room to breathe.

If you asked any one of them what they played, you’d get a different answer. Sirius would say what if jazz had teeth? Remus would give you about fifteen different subgenres no one’d ever heard of where one would suffice — like, seriously dude, what the fuck is Djent?. Lily would leave it at shit, I dunno, metal I guess. Peter called it progressive if people didn’t know genres, math rock if they did.

James just called it music.

They’d all been band nerds, and later jazz ensemble nerds, and most of them played five or six different instruments except for Remus, who played guitar. And anyone could be forgiven for thinking that made him the weak link of the band somehow — I mean the rest of them could all switch instruments at the drop of a hat, and did sometimes just for shits and giggles. But the truth of it was that they were all just dressing on the sides: Remus was the meat and potatoes. He worshipped at the altar of Tosin Abasi, studied John Petrucci til his fingers fucking bled. Sirius and Lily played guitar; Remus was a guitarist.

This wasn’t to say that they couldn’t keep up, of course. But no one was under any illusions. The crowds they’d been attracting came to watch Sirius and Lily because they played well and they were both insanely hot. But they came to watch Remus to see the face of God.

And sure, Remus could get a bit pretentious about music in general, but he never hogged the stage. Never tried to run away with songs, just kinda grooved in place and let Sirius live out his virtuosic wet dreams in the spotlight, let Lily prove that yes, bass does deserve to be heard, #justiceforjason. They were loud and brash and percussive and strangely symphonic. And James got to accompany them, got to sit there behind his kit and somewhere between the double bass and the high hats would find himself slipping into a rhythm with them as they just fucking jammed. For two hours.

The ride home was quiet, Lily dozing in the front seat with her head against the window. Sirius lay across the backseat, Remus standing in for his pillow, James his footrest. Neither of them minded.

"You've been quiet today," Sirius observed, eyes closed. James still knew it was directed at him.

"Yeah. Long day."

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

James caught Lily's gaze in the mirror. She sighed, leaning back against the headrest.

"I moved in with James today."

"I thought you wanted to get your own place first," Remus asked, frowning.

"I did," she allowed, "but I didn't really feel like growing a whole ass person by myself, so…"

The whole van went dead silent as three sets of eyes snapped to her face, Pete whipping around in his seat to gawk.

"Wait, what—?"

"Dude, eyes on the fucking road!" Remus shouted, kicking the back of the driver seat just in time for the rumble strip to prompt Peter back into the correct lane.

Sirius had taken the opportunity to sit up, pulling himself forward by the backs of both seats. "Hang on, are you really?" he asked her, wide-eyed, gasping as she nodded. He turned to look at James, beaming. "No shit?"

"Yeah," James said, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

Remus shot him a wicked grin. "Swim team captain, huh?"

James kicked him in the leg, earning a sharp jab himself, the two of them continuing to trade blows around a cackling Sirius until Pete let out a sharp whistle.

"Yo!" he snapped. "Keep that shit up and I'll turn this car around."

"We're on a bridge," Lily pointed out, laughing.

"Off the bridge then, I'm not fucking picky."

"Oooh, maybe we'll end up like that kid they fished out of the river earlier," Sirius said, stretching out on his back.

"Nah, he wouldn't kill us," drawled Remus, "right Petey?"

"Debatable."

"He wasn't dead," James muttered, shooting a dark look at his friends.

Sirius scoffed. "Yeah, okay. It was freezing this morning, no fucking way he survived."

No, he did," Lily agreed.

"How do you know?"

"Because James and I found him."

The questions came rapid-fire after that: when and why and what happened and yeah I guess you did have a long day, holy shit — you okay?

He didn't know, truth be told.

But he and Lily took turns telling the story, and James described the boy’s face, the way that, for a moment, he’d thought he’d dragged Sirius out of the river. And Sirius sat up straight at that, something fierce and hungry in his face that James didn’t recognize.

“Three moles along his cheekbone, like this,” he clarified, tracing a small triangle in the exact spot. “You’re sure?”

[lemongogo]

life of regret

[leosabi]

@almostangrything

i’m reblogging instead of commenting so i can say more!

what you’re saying is basically what i meant. maybe he had these ideas independently of the tbi, but ultimately, his tbi is what made him go through with them. so without the tbi, he would not be a villain, so the tbi is what made him evil in the end.

it’s similar to the villain of the detective pikachu movie to me, in that a disability is at the core of the villain’s motives and is inseparable from them. in detective pikachu, the main villain has a degenerative disease and is in a wheelchair. his core motives for his world-ending plan come from his frustration at his disability and his want for a cure.

so if he wasn’t disabled, he would not want to do that. even if he was an asshole before he was disabled and the “being evil” part didn’t necessarily come from the disability, his disability is inseparable from his status as a villain, which is similar to obake: without obake’s tbi he likely would not have done what he did.

in a vacuum, i think these are well-written villains. they have clear motives, crazy plans to get there, complex personalities, etc….but these characters (and every other villain who falls into the trope of the disabled villain) do NOT exist in a vacuum.

they exist in the context of the real world, where real people have the same disabilities as them. and the vast majority of the time these real people are not evil, nor criminals, or even assholes. they’re regular people.

representation in fiction can highly impact how groups of people are seen in real life—this is why the hays code existed, to manipulate an audience’s view on real life, namely in regards to sexuality, violence, and race. it was an attempt to satanize and censor life through media, and helped promote a culture where sex was shameful and homophobia was rampant.

the disabled villain trope can very easily skew an abled person’s view of the disabled; or lower the self esteem of a disabled person watching. (hi. disabled person here. i don’t have a tbi, but i am in a wheelchair. i am not going to destroy the world like the detective pikachu guy i promise). if it happens occasionally, whatever, probably not. but this is a repeated trope in fiction, especially superhero fiction, and audiences seeing something like that repeatedly may unknowingly internalize unsavory views of disability.

this is also true of race, gender, sexuality, etc….you know how for a long time, and even a lot of the time still, if there’s a single arab character in a piece of media they’re probably a terrorist? this shit crosses over into real life.

i do not hate obake. i think he is, in general, and in a vacuum, a very well written villain. but without his tbi, he probably would not be a villain, at least not in the way that he currently is. and that plays into a harmful and dangerous trope.

sorry that i just dumped a whole fucking essay about representation on you, lol. most of this isn’t even directly replying to you, your reply just inspired me to write it

obake would’ve been a better villain if he was just Like That (evil by choice, because he wanted to be) instead of evil because of a traumatic brain injury (ableist as fuck trope)

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday ✍️

Tagged by @diazsdimples @giddyupbuck and @wikiangela. Thank you lovelies mwah 😘

Have a little something from LA Lonely -> this is after the fun and orgasms of Buck and Eddie’s hook up. Still don’t know if I’m going to go full spice 🌶️ or just do a quick little run down of things.

Prev snippet & mood board here

Buck expects him to start pulling his clothes on and to give him the whole “this was fun, but I gotta bounce” speel, but Eddie surprises him by climbing back into bed and nudging Buck to roll onto his side so Eddie can scoot up behind him and hold him.

Buck freezes for a moment because no one does this. They have their fun and then they leave. They don’t stay and they definitely don’t cuddle.

Eddie must feel him go tense because his hold loosens and he moves as if he’s about to pull away. “Is this okay?”

Buck grabs at the arms that are wrapped around him, stopping Eddie’s descent. “Y-yeah. It’s-it’s okay.” He pulls at Eddie’s arms and the man settles back behind him, burrowing his face into the juncture where Buck’s neck meets his shoulder as he shuffles closer.

Soft kisses are pressed into his skin and Buck is helpless but to relax back into Eddie, letting the comfort and warmth of whatever is happening wrap around him.

“Stay?” He whispers, not sure if Eddie can hear him but not being brave enough to say it any louder. He feels like he’s asking too much.

A kiss behind his ear. “Okay.”

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @puppyboybuckley @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @devirnis @wikiangela @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @mellaithwen @nmcggg @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @bekkachaos @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @rewritetheending @rainbow-nerdss @captain-hen @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @glorious-spoon @fortheloveofbuddie @fiona-fififi @disasterbuckdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings @tizniz @athenagranted @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @spagheddiediaz @sunshinediaz and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your tag ☺️

[1singulargrape]

Idk where the story of the frog turning into a prince after getting a kiss comes from but yk... This with Yuuji and Blobkuna

[fidgetspringer]

Put together a new plein air kit for myself. Been meaning to do so for a while now, but since my resolution for the new year is to spend more time camping and actually taking in the scenery on my hikes, I finally found the motivation to put it all together!

[pynkhues]

How long is the cruising fic now I'm very excited 👀

It’s honestly almost 50k words, anon, I’m a mess, haha.

[lyriumsings]

baldurs gate is so funny it’s just

laezel &shadowheart: let’s break you outta this religious cult!

wyll & gale: let’s break you outta this unhealthy relationship!

astarion & karlach: let’s break the people who broke you!

that’s it that’s the game