#it's finally up 👀

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[sunderwight]

What if the plant body hadn't worked out, and the Holy Mausoleum solution had actually taken a long time to sort of "fix" Shen Qingqiu's body and fully call his soul back to it, so that hundreds of years passed and civilization in PIDW/SV world progressed to the point of something like the "modern era"?

Imagine Luo Binghe trying to delicately introduce his shizun to such strange concepts as smart phones and credit cards, while Shen Qingqiu is just desperately trying to figure out how dumb he should play this. Would it be believable for him to get everything on the first try? There have to be some differences between what he knows and this world's versions, right, because of the demons and cultivators and things? Right?? But it's not like any of this actually IS difficult for him to grasp!

Luo Binghe: Shizun already discerned how to type using a keyboard...?

Shen Qingqiu, sweating bullets: what, like it's hard?

[vuelode-irbis]

Day 28 - Favourite

And that's a wrap! This is a redraw of a photo I really like of my favourite wildcat.

[ID: digital painting of a cheetah sitting on top of a small hill with golden and yellow short-grasses, she's bowing her head down to smell a tall, white flower. The background is a blue sky that darkens with the height, and a big, pinkish cloud that frames the cheetah. End ID]

Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged and specially to @mammoth-clangen for creating the prompt list I followed this month, it was very fun! Also for resharing my entries :D

I want to add I based this cheetah's markings off of Kike's! A female cheetah of whom I read a little on Big Cat Diary: Cheetahs, she appears on the cover of the book and was very loved by the authors

I couldn't for the life of mine find the original source of the reference image, I'm very sorry because the only photos I found with reverse search were reposts, my deepest apologies to the original photographer, here's the link to the pin I had saved.

[larrylimericks]

17Mar25

The formula’s never finessed: Insta moots, dodgy pics, trashy press. The Sun shouts “Exclusive!” Which means it’s conclusive: Strictly business and strictly BS.

[lucien-aventine]

Light Party

Ep 10 | A Realm Reborn

Dalamud has fallen.

A cinematic intro as we kick off the beginning of our heroes' journey.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Index || 10 || Next

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Carrd | Patreon | Ko-fi | Webtoon | Tapas

[theoneinmultiplefandoms]

introducing my Gravity Falls AU i've been working on since August of this year: "Codename: Caged Canary"! 🐤⚠️

(or at least, still working on - i've been busy everywhere else though GDJDB)

AU Synopsis:

"During one of the sea trips, Stanley Pines got a vision / message from The Axolotl about Bill - that he'll be stuck in Stan's Mindscape watching through Stan's eyes and ears for the time being (thankfully powerless) as part of his "Exposure Therapy". As a fair trade, They also decided to transfer Bill's powers onto him for extra protection - although Stan didn't get them until later, which was quite a surprise for everyone involved.

Does Stan know why he's being the test dummy for this whole Exposure Therapy™️ shtick? Does Bill know why The Axolotl suddenly decided to torture him more? Even so, does Ford know why would all of this happen to the three of them now?

The answer to all three: Nope. No direct answer can ever be given by the pink-frilled god, sadly... at least, not yet."

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 8

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Ikeda tells you that two of the pictures—only two!—you took of Bakugou are viable and that one of the videos is passable. It’s a little harsh, in your opinion, especially considering who your subject was. 

She also asks you for the name of the organization you used to foster the kittens. You tell her the organization name, and, a little sheepishly, that the adoption and foster program’s called Save the Meow Meows. It makes her laugh. 

“Next time, try to get Dynamight to smile, okay?” she says after her laughter dissolves into a grin, audible even over the phone. “He looks like he’s being held hostage in 90% of these.”

“I know. I tried, but you know how he is.” It takes a half-second for the entirety of her words to process. You blink. “Wait, next time?”

“Well, yeah!” she says, sounding amused. “This first post we just put up on Dynamight’s socials is already doing well, and your pictures with him at the pet store are in the rearview mirror. Who knew that people would like them so much? No accounting for taste, I suppose.” 

Well. You knew, the moment you saw Bakugou pick up Mikan. There’s one photo in particular that didn't make it to Dynamight’s social media because Mikan’s mid-motion in it, but something about Bakugou’s expression… You’ll never tell him, but the two of them together make such a pretty picture that you favorited it on your phone. 

You try to pay attention as Ikeda continues, “A couple more posts should suffice, so we need more photos with him in different clothes, maybe in a different spot in your apartment, individual shots with each kitten… and definitely better expressions. Only makes sense, right?”

“Right…”

“You can go ahead and let him know about the additional shoots; you did a great job of coordinating things between you. And good job wrangling him so far! Keep up the good work! ”

“Thanks,” you say, after a pause, to the dial tone. You wonder if Bakugou knows how much Ikeda dislikes him. 

Grimacing, you type out a message and send Bakugou the bad news. 

You: Hey. Just finished talking to Ikeda. She says we need to take more pictures 🙏

Not a minute passes before your phone begins vibrating in your hand. You eye it like it’s a snake and answer hesitantly. 

“…Hello?”

“What’dya mean, more pictures?” Bakugou snaps. 

“Literally, there are no other meanings for that statement.”

“Call her back and tell her to fuck off.”

“Bakugou,” you sigh in exasperation. “I’m not gonna tell her to fuck off. Also, she’s your PR person. If you have complaints, shouldn’t you tell her directly?”

“The fifty pictures you took weren’t enough?” he demands.

“She says we need to take pictures of you wearing different clothes, in different spots in my apartment, so it’s clear they happened on different days. She also says you need solos with each of the kittens. And that you need to smile.” 

Quietly, you mutter away from the receiver, “Like I told you to.”

Bakugou must have the ears of a bat because his tone lowers, dangerous. “What’d you say, brat? Come and say that to my face.”

“Make me,” you say immediately, then close your eyes, feeling embarrassed. He really does bring out an unfortunately childish side of you. 

The line goes silent.

You wait, wondering if you pissed him off. 

“Text me when you’re free this week,” he says abruptly. “I’ll come by for the damn pictures.”

He hangs up before you can reply. 

Bakugou: I’m outside. 

Standing from your couch, you walk over to your front door and pull it open.

“Hey,” you tell him, but you stop in confusion when you notice he has a duffle bag in one hand and a reusable bag, the kind you’d put groceries in, in the other. His expression is pinched when your eyes meet.

“Here,” Bakugou says, and shoves the reusable bag at you. You automatically grab at the handles and make a sound when he lets go; it’s heavy. 

“Gotta reschedule the dumb photos. I was called in for work,” he says. 

Bakugou steps back, clearly moving to leave, and you grab his wrist.  

“Hold on,” you say. You let your hand fall from him and raise the reusable bag. “What is this?”

“Nutrients instead of the garbage you usually have. Be grateful,” he tells you, baring his teeth in a mean smile. You make a face at him, instinctively, and the mean fades from his smile, shifting to an amused twist of his lips. He looks at you as if he’s going to say something more. He doesn’t. 

Bakugou turns and makes his way down the hallway. 

You stare at his back, then duck your head to look at the contents of the bag. 

There are several bentos in there, stacked neatly, easily a week’s worth of lunches. The ones at the top have sticky notes on them, labeled with a number and what looks like a list of ingredients. 

When it finally clicks what you’re holding, your eyes widen. 

You shove your feet into some slides, grabbing another shoe to hold your door open, and chase Bakugou down the hallway, lugging the bag with you.

“Bakugou, wait,” you call, catching up to him where he’s waiting at the elevator, duffle bag on the ground. 

He turns to look at you, eyes narrowed. You come to an abrupt halt in front of him and try to give him the bag back. 

Bakugou crosses his arms, a refusal. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I can’t accept this,” you say. “It’s so much food! And was probably a lot of work to make!”

“S’why you should shut up and keep it,” he growls. “Go back.”

You scrabble about for a more convincing argument. “You should keep it. You’re going to work, right? You need lunch!”

“Already got lunch. This shit’s just because I made extra meal prepping this week,” Bakugou says.

Your mouth opens, and you furrow your brow, looking down at the bag. Uncertain, now.

“If you don’t want it, toss it,” he tells you, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” you gasp, just as the elevator arrives and opens. 

One of your neighbors, coming back from walking her dog, blinks at the both of you from inside the elevator. 

You quickly step closer to where Bakugou’s standing so she can pass. Bakugou picks up his duffle bag so it isn’t in the way, and you exchange greeting smiles with your neighbor as she slips by. Her big dog stops to sniff at the bag you’re holding, no doubt detecting the food, but your neighbor tugs at the leash and away.

Feeling self-conscious now that you have an audience, even if she is getting further down the hall, you turn back to Bakugou. He’s looking at you already, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Stop being stubborn,” he says, mouth a downward slash. “Gotta go. Eat that shit or don’t. I don’t care.”

He steps into the elevator and jabs the button for the ground floor. He’s gone before you can come up with a response.

You stack the bentos in your fridge, taking care not to jostle them more than you had during your jog down the hallway. As you place the last one inside, you trace the edge of its lid thoughtfully.  

You weren’t sure, at first, why these bentos bothered you, why your first reaction was to try to give them back. But the longer you sit on it, the more clarity you have. 

You feel a little guilty, that Bakugou keeps doing things for you, giving you things. The feeling has been building, especially over the past couple weeks since you’ve been messaging him, talking to him. You talk to him nearly every day. You’ve learned he prefers phone calls to texts—not surprising, considering how brief his messages usually are. He’s become part of your routine, and you find yourself feeling like something’s missing when a day passes without a snarky message from him or a phone call where you update him on the kittens, despite his claims of disinterest. 

You don’t want him to think that you only want him around because he gives you things and does stuff for you. You hope nothing about you gives that impression. 

You’re not sure how to tell him this. It makes your stomach swoop, just thinking about bringing it up. Because you know you’ll have to tell him what you just realized: that you like him for who he is. That you like him in your life. That he doesn’t have to earn your time or attention or—or forgiveness with things or by doing things. 

At work the next day, you sit and eat in the break room for the first time in several weeks, nearly crying over your first bite of a bento. It’s so good.

You figured out the numbers on the sticky notes indicate the order in which you should eat the bentos. Even though the ingredients are listed on the notes, you’d been tempted to crack open each bento to see what you’ll be eating later in the week. But so far, you’ve been able to control yourself. It’s kind of nice. Like a little surprise to look forward to each day. 

You finger today’s sticky note, taking in the words crossing it. For some reason, you’d assumed Bakugou would have messy, wild handwriting. But the kanji are precise, neat. You wonder what he’s doing right now.

The break room door opens, and you look up to see a colleague from a different department.

“Hey!” he greets you, crossing the room to fill his water bottle at the fill station. He turns to face you as he waits, and you panic internally, struggling to remember his name. Sato? Suzuki? 

“Surprised to see you in here,” he remarks. “Usually you eat in your office.”

“Yeah!” you say. You had no idea he took so much notice of where you ate. When were you first introduced? A couple months back? You feel worse about not remembering his name. 

You give him a smile, hoping the guilt isn’t on your face. “Just felt like a change of pace today.”

“That bento looks good! Do you like to cook?” he asks.

“Oh! No, a friend made it for me.” Your smile shifts into something more genuine. “He said I’ve been eating garbage, so. His attempt at trying to make sure I don’t die prematurely, I guess.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Sato or Suzuki or something else entirely says, tone shifting, and he picks up his now-full water bottle and twists the cap back on. 

“Well, enjoy your lunch!” he says, waving goodbye as he leaves the break room. 

You stare at the closing door for a brief moment before shaking your head. You need to find out that guy’s name before you see him again. He totally clocked you for not recognizing him, because what was that weird look on his face as he left? You decide to ask your team—discreetly!—what his name is after your lunch break.

When you’re finished eating, you snap a picture of the empty bento and send it to Bakugou.

You: Thank you for the food! 🙏

You: You know, if you ever change your mind about the hero thing, I think you’d get a job as a chef, easy

After a moment, you decide to send another message. You want to bring up the thoughts you’d had the other day, about how you don’t want him to feel compelled to keep doing things for you, but you feel like it’s a conversation better had in-person. Or on the phone, at least. 

It takes you several minutes of deleting and drafting before you settle on something inadequate. 

You: Sorry I was so weird about it yesterday 

Standing abruptly, too chicken to wait to see if he replies, you clean up your area and get back to work. 

It’s at the end of the work day, on the train, when you check your messages again. A text from Bakugou is waiting for you in your inbox, and you’re definitely not nervous when you tap on it to read it.

Bakugou: Better be sorry. Next time, don’t be a brat about it

You exhale, huffing a laugh, relieved. You type out a response.

You: Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight sir 

He doesn’t reply. One thing about Bakugou is that he leaves his read receipts on—intentionally, you suspect, because it’s just like him to make sure you know he’s ignoring you, even through texts. It makes you grin.

The week passes, and you find yourself staring at a pile of empty bento boxes, hands on your hips.

You: Hey, when can I return the bento boxes? Washed them and everything!!

Bakugou: I’d fuckin’ hope so 

You: 😒

You: Should I drop them off at your agency? 

Bakugou: No, bring ‘em to my place

He sends you an address.

A part of you is a little relieved he’d suggested you not bring them to his agency. Thinking about it, going there to drop off a bag of empty bento boxes feels a little too… revealing. That people might see that you have the kind of relationship where he makes you lunch. You don’t want to cause trouble, especially since the pet store fiasco is just starting to fade from people’s memories. 

You: 👍

“Hi.” You feel a little out of place, standing in the hallway outside Bakugou’s apartment. You hold up the bag of bento boxes. “I brought the goods.”

Mentally, you’re kicking yourself. You’re always saying such dumb shit in front of him. 

Bakugou’s gives you a deadpan look, an I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that look. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says, and moves back to give you some room.

You step past the threshold, and he closes the door behind you. He grabs the bag from you and heads deeper into his apartment. Hurriedly, you toe off your shoes and follow him.

He’s gone into his kitchen, you realize, and he has a cabinet open, where he’s placing the bento boxes inside, one by one. He meets your gaze as he’s putting one away, and while maintaining eye contact with you, he opens one of them and makes a show of inspecting it for cleanliness.

“Very funny,” you say dryly. 

Bakugou barks out a laugh and you smile, despite yourself.

As he continues to put away the boxes, you take a moment to glance around his kitchen while he’s busy.

It’s big. It has some fancy-looking appliances you wouldn’t typically find in a home kitchen. The stove looks top-of-the-line, and you see an impressive-looking knife set displayed on the counter. There’s even a stand mixer in one corner. You wonder if Bakugou bakes. 

“Y’want water, tea?” he asks, closing the cabinet and turning to you.

“Oh, water’s fine, thanks,” you say. You’re chagrined; even Bakugou’s a better host than you are.

You lean your side against one of the counters, watching as he grabs a pair of glasses and fills them up. 

He’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen him, in a faded shirt and worn pants that he easily could’ve slept in. His hair is nearly flat, falling in relaxed strands, softening him. All his edges are blunted, here, in his apartment.

You murmur a thank you as he gives you your water, and you subtly study his face as he drains his glass. He leans a hip against the counter. 

He looks a little tired, slight bags under his eyes. The way he’s holding himself is relaxed, but his shoulders slant, droop in a way you haven’t seen before. When he leans over to place his cup in the sink, his shirt lifts a little, exposing a glimpse of skin and the lip of his boxers rising above the waistband of his pants. His lights are gentle swirls around him, bathing him in a soft glow. 

He’s handsome, it dawns on you. The thought flusters you, and heat begins to rise to your cheeks. 

What the hell? You’ve seen him in casual clothes; you’ve seen him in his hero suit. Objectively, people are more attractive when put together, right? Presentable. There’s nothing about him, now, that you should find attractive. He’s just some guy, standing in his kitchen.

But Bakugou in his off mode, at home, does something to you. It’s like wires rearrange in your head, and you can’t stop looking at him. 

“Hey,” you say—anything to leave this train of thought behind, because nope. “Thanks again for the food. This week was the best I’ve eaten, like ever.”

“You’re damn right it was,” he says, and you roll your eyes, smiling. 

“Alright, alright, Mr. Ego. I did want to talk about something else, too, while I’m here. If you have a minute.” By the time you’re finished talking, a serious note you’re unable to help has crept into your voice. 

An expression you’re unable to decipher flickers across his face. Bakugou crosses his arms. “Spit it out.”

You put your glass down on the counter, fiddling with it. Stalling, you realize. 

“I want you to know… you don’t have to do all this for me, okay?” you say, glancing up at him. 

His eyes narrow. 

You continue, hurriedly, to clarify. “I mean, like buying me the couch protectors, or making me lunches. I appreciate it all, I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bakugou says, a little growl on the end of his sentence. 

“I just don’t want you thinking you need to do these things for me,” you say, voice faltering, quieting. “Even if you don’t cook me another meal, or buy me a single thing, ever, that’s fine with me.” 

Please understand, you will to him, watching him. Your thoughts feel clumsy, your words clumsier, like it’s a monumental effort just to string two sentences together. You can’t find the words to tell him what you mean: that you think he’s funny when he quips at you and that you know he’s observant, thoughtful. That you like talking to him, spending time with him. It’s enough.

Maybe you have found the words, but you can’t say them aloud just yet. Not yet.

“I know I don’t need to do shit. I only do shit I wanna do,” Bakugou says gruffly.

You open your mouth to argue, to try again to make sure he understands you, but he interrupts, puts a hand on your head. He’s a little rough, but his hand is warm. Reassuring. There’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You could fall into them, like this. 

“You think too much,” he tells you, but peering into his face—you think he’s heard you, loud and clear. 

You do think too much, you acknowledge on the train ride home. 

You’d left his apartment soon after your conversation; he’d needed to get ready for work. But your thoughts still buzz with him. 

You think about how the shape of your life has changed with him in it, within just a couple weeks. You think about the fact that he’s your soulmate but you’re not his, how this is something that can’t be changed, no matter how well you get to know Bakugou and how well he gets to know you. It’s been a long time since this—that you can see his lights but he can’t see yours—bothered you. You thought you’d accepted it, moved on from it. 

It really, really bothers you.

[skullsandcorals]

get your husband stolen idiot

fanart for @doevademe, inspired by A Marriage a Little Bit Crowded on Ao3 :)

[kagooleo]

here's a finished belated bday comm for @wyvernity of their soulsilvershipping :D!!! I was honestly really happy with the turnout for the piece so I did go a lil ham on their faves (～￣▽￣)～

i've still got 2 commission slots open on my kofi for both chibi and sketch pieces if anyone is interested :V

[aliencatart]

we set out on this journey together, right? so maybe we should finish it together, too. so... come on! let's go home! back to littleroot town!

happy 10 year anniversary to pokemon omega ruby and alpha sapphire!

[luvuomi]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓.

゛star-crossed lovers. they, who shall defy the stars ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

“love can be just as fickle as fate itself my child. but some day, you may very well come across a wrinkle amongst this finely woven tapestry that is your fate. it won’t be something you notice at first, and you will simply carry on with your days as usual — perhaps they’ll feel a little brighter. the moon always does appear more luminous when it’s accompanied by the stars after all. but when you do take notice of that wrinkle, that loose thread, i wonder … will you sever it as though it were nothing but a flaw in the fate’s design? or will you unthread your tapestry and weave a new one from that single thread?”

ah … i think i finally understand what you meant by those words now, master. to be honest.. i was scared. fate has never been a kind friend to me and so out of fear, i wanted to sever it—sever this. but now that i’m standing here in his arms, melting from this kiss and how it deepens ever so slightly, not with urgency but reverence, each soft press of his lips a whispered oath … i won’t just weave us a new tapestry, i’ll weave our entire future together.

i can no longer imagine a world in which this precious star of mine burns out. i love him — unbearably and so very, very tenderly.

🎨 →⠀﹐⠀╱⠀that wonderful illustration you see above there was created by the lovely artist Pengu1nHero on vgen!! aaaa honestly they equally surprised me with informing me these piece was finished🥹staring at it has me kicking and giggling my feet along with making my heart flutter ?? TYSM ONCE AGAIN TO THE ARTIST GO CHECK THEM OUT AND SUPPORT <3

[fairymun]

idk i just wanna be tiny and have a creative giant friend make miniature furniture and knit tiny sweaters for me. i’ll cuddle in your hand and live in your custom mini dollhouse you artistic fiend I’ll appreciate every little detail. come kidnap me from my window in the middle of the night NOW

[harbingersecho]

she should've been problematic at the club

[this-cult-of-dionysus]

tim stoker, the man that you are...

[video also up on youtube]

[spiderin-space]

Desperate times call for desperate measures 😩

[syluses]

Forced by her family to spend the summer away from the city in order to focus on her thesis, MC finds herself a guest at a lakeside villa steeped in mystery and faded grandeur. she’s expecting a dull summer of silence and boredom. What she doesn’t expect is to be sharing the space with her distant uncle!Rafayel: a devastatingly charming bachelor, tormented artist, Rich, sharp-tongued, dangerously magnetic— with a reputation that could make even the walls blush.

he’s the man she has quietly watched from afar for years. Too handsome, too confident, too dangerously out of reach. He lives off sleepless nights, red wine, and canvases soaked in pain. She writes her thesis surrounded by disturbing paintings, lingering glances, and questions that never seem entirely innocent. He watches her write a little too closely, touches her a little too often “by accident,” and always speaks just low enough to make her stomach twist.

And yet… nothing happens.
Not yet.
Because he plays the long game. he plays dirty.
But there’s something in her that keeps slipping through his fingers — a hunger he’s never managed to paint.

As the summer stretches on, the line between mentor and temptation begins to blur.filled with provocations, late-night confessions, and silence heavy with unspoken desire, The walls bleed art and sin.

Sorry I just had to rant about this idea to someone 😩

Loved your last chapter of Sylus story

“with a reputation that could make even the walls blush” NONNIE UR MAKING ME BLUSH WITH THIS IMMACULATE RENDITION OF OLDER! RAFAYEL 😮‍💨 i admit i’m not the biggest on the hard cest kink, but distant unc rafayel (or just uncle as in ur dad’s close friend) has me looking 👀 after another wonderful nonnie sent in an older! rafayel idea, i really really reallyyyy wanna make a fic for him and incorporate the classic mentor/young grasshopper trope. ahem eventually

it’s innocent— he’s helpful, maybe a little clingy, yes, but he only has the best of intentions for you and your career, so you can overlook his big, handsy personality— until it’s not. 👀