#this was v good thank u

[brownfrogs]

honestly adore how well you can articulate these things, like u get it u dooo!!!!

and the pokémon iv breeding reminds me of an irl of mine and like you are so correct he absolutely would have!!

I could imagine Hana and Hanzo doing a nuzlock soulink together which ensues immediate chaos because whilst they would both have all the gamer knowledge they would of course become victims to RNG. I’d like to think they would do it on random evolves too! So Hanzo is like super proud of the team he has and then they evolve into truly abysmal choices and Hana is just laughing at him the whole time.

They would hold little funerals on her stream, playing dramatically sad music whilst whoever killed it hangs their head in shame. Despite them having gamer knowledge I think they would make some mistakes (definitely didn’t do this myself nooooo) but one of them forgets the move memento and just uses it in a battle and is like oh. oh no. The whole chat is like :00 and it’s a great stream highlight at the end of the day.

also ur so so right about the interaction, apologises i’m rambling about Hana but she deserves all the talk in the world I have to say

Like with her and Lúcio having that celebrity status I always think about the possibilities of it all.

Them posting behind the scenes of Overwatch stuff and at first a lot of the higher ups are against it, Winston is like guys this definitely feels like a security breach if anything. However, they both argue saying how Overwatch really needs a better public image and this might just be the way to do it, to make them seem more human.

Hana, who has always been shown in the media as unbreakable even when she does suffers is a little hesitant about the whole thing at first but everyone makes an agreement that any severe injuries probably shouldn’t be put publicly.

After all the important things at out of the way we just get a bunch of selfies of random game nights, midday naps, late night snack runs. Hana has been trying to collect photos of everyone with her signature face paint but it’s proved a difficult challenge for some, though it does not deter her!

As well as this, I could see her being a prime choice for whenever Overwatch has to attend fancy galas because she is so well loved. Hanzo would obviously be a great option because he would have a great sense of decorum but at the same time I think he would sneer at the idea of spending time around a lot of people who pretend to care about those they consider less than them. Hana couldn’t agree with him more.

But aside from the company you just know they would look so so good, like the outfits, the hair and makeup they would look immaculate. Maybe Hanzo would treat us with his hair down for once and just looking immaculate. *chefs kiss* they would look intimidating but in that way when you could still stare at them in aw. and come on who doesn’t love a masquerade scene !!

- sabs

Heehee thank you, I just love overanalyzing things :)

BUT THEM DOING A SOULINK NUZLOCKE TOGETHER IS SO BIG BRAINED!!!!! (I can totally see Hanzo as Jan from PokemonChallenges and would absolutely do the extremely difficult nuzlockes) Hanzo with his bad luck and always gets pokemon with the worse abilities/ivs and Hana keeps getting legendaries. But they def both make hilarious mistakes and there is a montage of them once they’re all done. Hanzo absolutely got her Xerneas killed and she still hasn’t forgive him for it. A chaotic but super fun time.

And no apologies, Hana deserves to be rambled about!!

I absolutely agree, Hana along with Lúcio incredibly improves Overwatch’s public image. She captures all the best moments ranging from embarrassingly funny (Cole in Lucio’s skates) to heartwarmingly sweet (Mei’s birthday party). Ooo, I could see her doing little interviews with all the members, charity subathons with crazy goals, MAYBE EVEN A VARIETY GAMESHOW??? She finally gets everyone in the facepaint for that one haha. The potential is limitless!!!!

IT’S TRUE I LOVE A MASQUERADE SCENE!!! Hana and Hanzo serving looks, attitude, just everything. Hanzo has his hair down while Hana has her up in some really cute buns. Hanzo absolutely hated attending these types of events growing up, but Hana livens it up so much he doesn’t mind it anymore. While Hanzo is technically her bodyguard, she def carries her pistol in her purse. The only time he ever needs to step in is to intimidate some overzealous fans that won’t leave her alone. Which she v much appreciates so she can enjoy the night with her fellow creatives. Afterwards though, once she’s socially exhausted, make-up wiped off, heels traded in for flats, she and Hanzo get some boba tea and watch cute dog videos on the community lounge couch together.

[inkykeiji]

Seeing the other anons post I wanted to ask

What would adam call you? In bed/just plain nicknames 👀

ooooh okay, well first of all (and the first thing that instantly came to my mind), i think adam would 100% call you sugar tits, based on the fact that he calls lute danger tits. most of the pet names he uses for you are a little silly and make you giggle—because your laugh is, without a doubt, his all-time favourite piece of music to listen to—sticking to terms like honey bunny, honey bunches, angel eyes, sweets, sweet cheeks, my dream doll, and his personal favourite, what’s cookin’ good lookin’.

he’ll also use the typical condescending nicknames he uses within the show, like babe and sweetheart, but usually when he’s scolding you or mansplaining something. and during those late-night moments when his voice has gone all soft and melty and it’s barely more than a wisp of breath between the two of you, he’ll use endearments like gorgeous and beautiful, often pairing them with something possessive; my gorgeous baby, my beautiful angel, etc.

i also think adam has a thing for degradation + dumbification in bed, resorting to classics like whore, slut, bitch, cum dump, stupid little thing, my plaything/toy, etc.

[sweetsuo]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬

Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader

Cw. afab!reader. Cheating. Infidelity. Dacryphilia. Temperature play. Burning. Fingering. Smoking.

 Genre. [ fic. Smut. See tags for notes.] You're Megumi's girlfriend and his father is not someone you thought you'd catch the eye of in the kitchen.

Wc. 3.6k

This was fucked up. It was fucked up and you knew it was. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but it’s the only way your heart squeezed in that sickeningly pleasant way – the only reason you wanted to sleep over any more.

You looked up at him, eyes dancing over the serenity in his features. Handsome. Somehow boyish in the length of his lashes and the way his lips parted in a slight laugh. He made you feel like an endangered animal – preciously encaged for safety and sanctuary yet never letting you see home again.

Your breath fluttered and you were completely certain he could hear the way your heart swirled in your eardrums. It was evident in the way his head tilted slightly as his deep gray-blue eyes went from your chest, to your lips, to yours eyes. You held your breath, rolled your lip between your teeth, and averted your eyes.

The tile of the kitchen floor was cold against your bare feet and Megumi’s shirt was big enough to graze your knees. The chill of the counter against the side of your hand reminded you of everything outside of the one in front of you.

“W-what?”

“Can I have the milk?”

Toji leaned his hip on the black marble countertop, hand laying over yours on the cardboard milk carton as he took it from you. It was a slight graze of a touch, but you felt the calluses of his fingers trickle across the delicate skin of the back of your hand. You repressed a shudder. Your chin dipped down. Your hand let go of the carton.

“Thanks. What’re you doing up so late, Princess? Gumi kick you off the bed again?”

You felt the warmth of his body as he shifted, bicep grazing onto your upper arm as he poured the milk into the coffee. The nickname always peeved Megumi in a way he couldn’t fully explain. You would reassure him it was fine, it’s just because his dad was a dick. Toji said it was because Megumi spoiled you.

“No,“ you watched as black espresso turned to a pretty caramel. Suddenly your tea wasn’t as appetizing anymore. For a moment your brows furrowed and you were aware that it was 3:15am, “why are you drinking coffee?”

Toji laughed. It’s deep and gruff and sounds like tires over a gravel driveway. This time you can’t suppress the shudder. It’s been this way since Toji came back from his business trip. You never met him up until the last semester. At least not in person. He was usually away. Megumi never knew what he did or how he afforded the house. 

Either way, whenever classes let up or between semesters, you’d come to his suburban home and basically live with him. You loved Megumi very much and you have for the year and a half you’ve been dating. You’d kiss him goodbye whenever you left to see your parents, but there was something about his dad that kept you coming back.

Maybe it was the first night you woke up in the middle of the night. Megumi had kicked you off the bed by accident. There was only so much room for two 20-years-olds and a large dog. It was bound to happen one day or another. It was simply unfortunate that you scraped your arm on a bent piece of metal from his bed frame, leaving a long scratch that pebbled red. You traversed down the steps and having forgotten your glasses on the nightstand, had to rummage through the drawers to find a band aid.

Toji was there, leaning on a counter by the sink, gazing out the window. The sweet scent of cherry tobacco lingered despite the open air. At first, your throat cinched around your thumping heart. You thought he was an intruder. You couldn’t see his features, but the way the moon abstractly bounced off them, you immediately knew who he was just by shape. Megumi got his good looks from someone and that someone was right in front of you.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated blandly, only taking a second to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I am?” You knew you were. That’s why you had your arm up like an injured paw and a hand in a drawer full of homeless kitchen appliances, “I am.”

“So you are,” he chuckled. Toji stood at full height and you swore you nearly gasped. The corner of his scarred mouth curled then flattened as he turned to you. He grabbed a paper towel, fingers grasping onto the tips of yours. His palm was warm, soft, tender on the flesh of your arm. The paper towel pressed to provide a temporary fix as he guided you along to the bathroom to pull out a bandage.

You remember every moment of that night; how the sink felt pressing against the small of your back and how his thigh leaned almost too heavily onto yours as he meticulously took care of the minor cut. In his defense, the bathroom was small – one of the ones that fit awkwardly under a staircase and only had a toilet and a sink. It didn’t excuse the way his hand brushed your hair back when everything was settled. You still felt guilty that you tilted your chin to better feel the backs of his fingers against your neck.

For as often as you felt guilty, soon to follow was an echo of his parting words.

“Mr. Fushiguro takes care of his guests – especially Gumi’s Princess.” His smile was strangely sweet when he exited the bathroom, leaving you to collect your staggered breath.

It was that night, and plenty of nights after, that you woke Megumi up by putting his hand on your cunt and asking if daddy could take care of you. The kisses he’d press to your forehead lingered warmly, lovingly. Bitterly.

Brought back by the metallic thwip of a bic lighter, Toji cupped his hand to the flame, lighting the cherry cigarette you would smell when you were lonely in your dorm. It overpowered the familiar scent of eucalyptus you’d once loved.

“For the same reason everyone drinks coffee,” He laughed once through his nose, expression slackening as his gaze lingered on yours. He dragged on the cigarette and exhaled for longer than usual. The swirl of smoke passing over the curve of his lips was beautiful. He quirked a brow, curiously entertained, “Withdrawal?”

You dry swallowed. He offered you the cigarette with an offhand comment you couldn’t quite hear. The end of the cig faced you and you leaned, wrapping your lips around it. The subtle graze of his fingers on your lips tickled. You never smoked before. Through thick lashes, your gazes met and you swore something passed over his. You sucked. You coughed. You secretly loved the taste of burnt cherry.

“That’s not how you do it,” his voice was dark navy and for a moment, as small tears welled from the remaining spasm of your lungs, you thought he would scold you for lying. Hushed, he pressed the cigarette back to your lips, “Try again.”

Obediently, your lips found their way around the stick. You had Toji’s attention on you in the same way a starling bird had a peregrine falcon’s. You felt wanted by something hungry.

You waited patiently for his order, looking up to him with those pretty, expectant eyes. You barely noticed his hand slowly pulling the cigarette. Your lips stayed connected. He felt your breath fan the backs of his fingers.

“Are you going to suck it, or what?” There was a bite to his voice and you took a long, nervous drag. The crackling burning paper filled the space between you. You tried to inhale it all and the burn made your eyes water. Toji’s head tilted by a minuscule as your lips detached, leaving a small string of saliva attached to the end. Bleary eyes matched his, desiring his approval. His free hand cupped your cheek, giving a slight tap, “I’m not going to spoil you like Megumi does, Princess.”

Strong hands grabbed under the thickest part of your thighs, hoisting you up and onto the cold marble counter. Megumi’s shirt was disregarded and hiked up to the crease of your hip. The hiss of hot ash sprinkled on your thighs matched the heady hiss your tongue made against teeth. Toji smirked. The burn was replaced by his rough hands smoothing over the supple flesh. He gripped your ass, hauling you to the edge of the counter.

This was wrong.

Your heart throbbed in your chest and even more between your legs. Your Thighs squeezed together as Toji leaned into your neck, biting hard. His thumbs dug into the junction of your thigh and hip, keeping you sat firmly on the counter top.

Megumi was upstairs.

Toji’s mouth trailed down your neck as the tips of his fingers traced up along bare skin. You could feel him smirk against your neck. Surely the warmth of his lips could feel how fast the blood pumped through you. You felt light headed, impatient for the touch of his chilled fingers. The man before you nudged his cheek onto yours and you felt the subtle graze of his spudding 5 o’clock shadow.

He said nothing, but you heard the change his breathing. Hiis middle finger slipped between your glossy lips - the touch was so cold, you gasped and your cunt clenched on nothing at all. The pad of his middle finger moved slowly in a circle, then traced down. It was so slow that your body writhed for more. To try and coax the digit in, your entrance throbbed. He headed to call to its beck. Rather than satiate your starving sex, Toji brushed up to your clit. Totally in control of you, his fingers dance in cruel repetition.

His spare hand trailed up your torso, pulling his son’s shirt up to expose you bit by bit. The shirt never came off, no. It’s not like he needed it to when you wore nothing underneath it. He’d be lying if he didn’t notice how your nipples perked and your stance shifted when he entered the kitchen. He felt your eyes on his back when he opened the fridge. Deliberately (and with the goodness in his heart), he allowed your longing gaze to linger on him. It was laughable that you were pressing your bare chest into the palm of his hand, The tissue malleable and molten under his touch. It was euphoric. You gave into his touch so desperately.

Toji’s grin widened, Cheshire-like against you. His breath was hot against your ear and the baritone of his voice was enough to make you swallow a whine, “Maybe Gumi doesn’t spoil his Princess like I thought. You’re really this cock hungry? I barely touched you,” his finger tapped on your swollen clit and you jerked in response, curling forward and trembling digit gripping onto his impossibly tight shirt. Practically on the brink of tears from the way he teased you, you wondered how hands so cold could feel like they burned like the ash on your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.  

The hands gripping his shirt slapped the cold counter when you pulled your torso away to back on your forearms. Your brows knit and your chin tilted back. Megumi’s shirt draped over your tits like fine silk. What a fucking delicious sight. Desperate. That’s exactly how you looked with your nose scrunched and lips drawn in a tight line. Your fists were balled and legs spread wide, separated by his body. He admired that the first thing spilled on the freshly installed black marble was the drool of your cunt.

Toji persisted despite the painful ache of his cock. He wanted you to grovel for him, prove his suspicion that his son lacked the same skill to make you a drooling mess. Why? The answer was simple instinct to him. The aftermath of his divorce left him in shambles. But then again, papers were filed the second he fucked his sister-in-law on wifey’s new BMW (and doubled down on when she found the recording of him with the couple’s therapist). Validation, maybe. He had nothing to prove or no need for it. He just wanted to know that he could fuck anyone he wanted anywhere he wanted, no matter who they were.

You opened your mouth to scream in frustration. Your legs shook, every part of your body wanted something to fill you. Empty. Empty fucking. Empty satisfaction. The slap was followed by the sound of skittering upstairs.

You paled and your heart threatened to burst with anxiety. Complete silence took over the kitchen and your mind emptied, listening for the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s footsteps. Eyes looked over your shoulder and suddenly you were very aware of the fact that every entrance leading to the kitchen was an open walkway.

The man between your legs had paused then, lips slack as he listened. He had good hearing. Good senses. His fingertips sprawled on top of your mound, palm pressing against your fluttering entrance absent-mindedly. It was merely the dog. He trained it to only bark or alert of certain triggers. This was certainly not one of them. Your reaction though- he could work with that.

His fingers circled your clit and you feared he would continue his cruel tease. Toji could see through your expression like the Bermuda seas. He leaned forward, hand slowly tipping over your entrance as his words filled your mind, “What happens if you’re caught?”

Your breathing stopped completely. Dread, excitement, and two long digits filled you. Just as you had expected, every second of teasing coated your walls. Every nerve ending had been meticulously prepared for something to touch them, trigger them to ignite. Your walls spasmed readily and your knees gripped the sides of Toji’s hips. He experimented with you for a while, salivating when tears pinched past your lashes. In the back of his mind, he needed you to break before you got his cock. He was getting slightly impatient. His hands were cold and you could feel every single motion of his fingers in you. Your mind could paint a picture of every ridge his digits had to offer simply from his temperature.

He leaned over. His tongue was hot. With a single broad, strong, and long open-mouthed lap along your clit, you unwound. A free hand slapped over your mouth, muffling the near animalistic yowl you let out. He smirked.

Bet Megumi never heard that sound.

As soon as your walls slowed and your voice died out, Toji shoved the band of his sweats under his cock. He could tell by your blissed out glaze that you weren’t entirely processing what was to come. He could fix that.

Hands pulled you half-way off the counter. You yelped, shivering at the slick on the surface beneath you. Toji held you under your knees, practically forcing you to prop yourself up on your elbows. He cooed, “Good girl.” The way you stared at his cock like it were god itself had a dribble of precum roll down his length. A bare minimum of 8-9 inches stood at attention, positioned right under you. Your arousal drizzled over him and if your mind worked, you would’ve offered to lick it off like one would a warm sugar glaze.

He adjusted his arms so that the underneath of your thighs were supported by his hands and your knees hooked over his arms. Your own arms wobbled and shook. The muscle ache was blunted by his thick tip pressing onto your entrance. You had no option but to give him the reins. His focus was entirely on the junction between his tanned cock pressing into you. It was almost endearing, how this look of fascination came over his harsh features, enrapturing your gaze like a renaissance painting.

He guided your hips in a circle, bending his knees slightly to swirl against you. The scar at the corner of his lip twitched in gratification when you throatily let out a long high note. He lowered you onto him in bit by bit. Slight thrust in. Draw back. Slight thrust in. Draw back.

Every. Single. Time. He drew out, you wanted to cry out. You could take it. Toji continued to carefully make his way into you. He was large and he learned from mistakes of drilling in too soon. Sure, he slipped in easy enough, but he still met resistance to the stretch. He didn’t want to hurt you. Or at least that was until you opened your pretty mouth.

“Stop fucking around. I can take Gumi’s dick, I can take yours.”

Your lips formed into a pout and the words backhanded his ego. So this is what Megumi dealt with. Oh no, he couldn’t have that. You were obviously trying to get a rise out of him like the brat you were. Toji darkly chuckled, “So this is what’s got him around your finger, huh? You want me to ‘stop fucking around’?”

He pulled your right leg across his chest so that it rested along his left shoulder. The left leg was guided around his waist. “By your command, Princess.” He thrust in hard, shoving his cock through the tightness. The pace was relentless. Harsher, meaner, heavier than even Megumi’s was at his roughest. Your mind erased the fact that you were in the kitchen of a house. It erased the fact that your arms felt like they were going to tear. It erased the sweat under your palms as you white-knuckled the edge of the marble. It erased Megumi, peacefully asleep upstairs.

All you felt was the hot vibration of your clambering walls and the searing hot brand of his cock burning into your core. Everything fuzzed, scattered with every near full pull, then came crashing back with every push. The position itself allowed for the force of your own weight to freely bounce back on him without him needing to do much. He still gripped your limbs with such force there would be bruises.  He wrapped your other leg around his waist patting your thighs to grip him as he changed his thrusts to slow, deep. Toji peeled off the shirt, a glisten to his every muscle under the dim light as it reached over his head. Arms were up high as it was shimmied off, but his thrusts were controlled. Abs worked, tensed in a motion so beautiful that you were absolutely certain that this was and would be your only religious experience.

The shirt hit the floor. Toji licked his thumb. The palm of his hand rested along your pubic bone, tilted so that he could graze your clit in such a gentle, yet effective way that you reeled. You bucked with him, using your legs to draw him in more until you felt a sharp pleasure rake your cervix, claw down the up-side of your walls. He dragged out. He thrust in.

He was close and was grappling for why the hell it was taking you so long. He felt how you squeezed his cock over and over. Your breathing slowed whenever it happened and there was a certain flicker going off in your half-lidded gaze. Your walls got tighter each time, but never released. For once in his life, Toji Fushiguro thought he had met his match in stamina. There was a click of his tongue, “What the fuck are you waiting for? Are you a dog? Only can cum on command, bitch?” His words came from annoyance and impatience.

You nodded.

Trained her like a bitch, didn’t you?

“Cum.”

There was finally release. The hot iron brandish pressed hard into your walls, your abdomen, your throat. Your walls shuddered so violently, Toji nearly lost grip. A beat behind you, his cock thrusts jerked. You’re mouth opened with a silent moan, all muscles tensing in response. Hot. He was hot and fast and you felt each rope melt along your walls and drip off.

Pulling out his softened cock, Toji looked to the dark tile ground beneath you coated in a mix of a translucent glaze and thick white. He took mercy on you then, leaning and looping an arm under your back and pulling you to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and for a sprinkle of a second he could see what Megumi saw. One hand held you up under your ass while the other pulled his sweats up. The house was quiet once more as he grabbed paper towels to clean you up.

After all was said and done, Toji sat on the couch with you on his lap, nestled into the crook of his neck. His hand supported your back as you sniffled your way back to the present day. He wasn’t great at aftercare and if he were being honest, any quick fuck had ended when he came (which was usually last). He was indifferent to the sniffles and indifferent to the way you made little sounds of comfort to yourself. You were doing what you needed to to keep yourself together. If that included reliving each moment Megumi placed a loving hand to your cheek and cooed at how well you did, then so be it. Who you craved at the end of the night wasn’t him. 

Toji wasn’t one to be possessive - yet he rubbed small circles on your back, believing that he could be. 

[chick-it-out]

how many responses did you get to that send in an envelope thing? 👀

80+ and counting! enough that i had to set aside a space to organize them all :)

i have been working on them in batches of 12 cause it works good for the art math ✌🐥

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself

[hachiibun]

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

I'm honoured to have collaborated with the incredible @onetrickponi to celebrate a certain gravity-manipulating shorty's birthday! This has been in the works for a while now, and we're both really excited to finally share this with everyone!

Without further ado, we'd like to present Vigil.

— ♠ —

“I’ve always wanted to die in a church.”

Beside him, Chuuya snorts. “I thought you wanted to die in the Ooka.”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not since it became a tourist trap,” he replies. “That wouldn’t be a peaceful death at all.”

“The amount of thought you’ve put into this disturbs me,” says Chuuya, his own nose creasing. His, however, is due to a low seated, buzzing itch along the bridge of his sinuses that has been lingering since breakfast.

Chuuya won’t give it the satisfaction of culminating into a sneeze, however; instead choosing to quash the soft tingle into oblivion with the sheer force of his willpower alone. Anything else would be unacceptable.

(—as well as fucking candy to the idiot next to him, if Dazai ever gets wind of…whatever this is.)

Chuuya swallows against a spark of itch that ignites in his nose and grits his teeth. When he thinks he can speak steadily he points to the pews with a gloved hand. “Find the flash drive,” he orders. “We’ve got a window of thirty minutes at—the fuck are you looking at, shithead?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side, blinks, and answers with, “Just admiring your striking resemblance to a cherub in this light.” It’s smooth and practiced, like most of Dazai’s bullshittery.

“Why, you–” Chuuya cuts himself off and exhales slowly through his nose. He tries not to wince at the slight whistling sound it makes. With a sharp sniff he stalks off to the sanctuary and begins sifting through the drawers there. Dazai scurries off to the apse with an excited noise, muttering something about how angelic his corpse would look strung up along the mosaics.

Chuuya’s nose gives a foreboding quiver.

It isn’t like Dazai hasn’t ever heard him sneeze, or vice versa. They’ve been working together too long for that. They’ve seen each other express every bodily function possible to man (in addition to the ones that aren’t).

And Chuuya might have even been okay with his current predicament, had it not been for a quip Dazai made last week about Chuuya being a “weakling.” It had stung because Dazai, whose lack of self care is, frankly, appalling, can operate seemingly unbothered by even the most serious neglects of basic needs. Chuuya’s seen him run at peak wit on days of sleeping ninety minutes a night, seen his hair and skin glow on a diet of crab cakes and sake…while on the other hand Chuuya’s the one with the—

Don’t say it. As if ignoring the problem will make it go away. It hasn’t worked with Dazai, so Chuuya is a fool to think it will work with his increasingly sensitive airways.

Chuuya rifles through some bibles, sparing a glance or two at Dazai before deeming it okay to swallow a couple of sneezes and throat clears into his sleeve. He’s perfected the silent stifle over time, which is a feat in and of itself since Chuuya tends to sneeze harshly, loudly, and in multiples. Perhaps the intensity is Corruption at work, but regardless, Chuuya enjoys scaring the living daylights out of people. Usually.

The flash drive is proving to be elusive. The Port needs it, badly, if they have any chance of winning over the west side gangs of the Pier. Chuuya jams a gloved knuckle against the side of his nose as he hitches, squints, and glares at the church pews like they personally offend him.

“Oi, Chuuya,” Dazai whisper-calls from somewhere behind a cupboard. “I think someone’s coming. You find it?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps. The dust of old, flaky books is making his already irritated nose twitch. He shakes his head and the tickle abates. Cocking his head he realizes that Dazai is right; the sound of slow footfalls is getting closer to the vestibule. “Shit.”

Dazai scurries lightly over to where Chuuya is glowering at nothing in particular, and takes him by the arm. “There’s a little den area over there,” he nods to a veiled corner, “where we can stay hidden until whoever it is leaves,” he says.

“Or we can just come back in the morning,” replies Chuuya, snatching his arm away.

“Mori-sama will be disappoinnnteddd,” Dazai sing-songs. Dammit. He knows how to hit Chuuya where it hurts and they both know it.

Chuuya sighs. “Fine.” He stalks over to the den and crouches in the darkness with Dazai just as the cathedral doors swing open. The gibbous moon twinkles through the stained glass windows enough for the two of them to make out one of the western gang’s right hands.

Dazai crouches low and squints through the shadows. “Maybe he’ll show us where the drive is,” he whispers.

“Shut up, slug.”

Dazai holds up his bandaged hands in a familiar, placating gesture. They watch the guy glide down the stone nave, rummage around some boxes along the altar’s steps, sift through a stack of papers, and make himself comfortable on a nearby cushion.

Well, there goes Chuuya’s hopes of a night in. And now with Dazai sitting so close, he’s bound to find out Chuuya isn’t in as good of shape as he claims. Chuuya’s not going to waste all of his energy hiding it, but he’s also not ready to be discovered because he couldn’t keep his damn nose under control.

He’d never hear the end of it from Dazai.

So when he feels a trickle of damp at the edges of his nostrils he takes a slow breath in and times a much-needed sniffle with their visitor’s dropping of a folder. Dazai shoots him a curious, but unsurprised glance, which Chuuya pointedly ignores.

The sneeze teasing the swollen membranes of his sinuses, however, is much harder to ignore. Chuuya knows he can stifle it, but he also knows that doing so won’t exactly solve the problem. The irritation needs somewhere to go, or it’ll just build fruitlessly until he lets them out proper.

He breathes carefully, making sure to hitch silently as he bunches up a handful of fabric from his jacket. Chuuya ducks his head in preparation for the sneeze (or sneezes, if this is indeed a…cold).

Dazai raises an eyebrow as he watches Chuuya curl into himself and shiver with two inaudible stifles. When Chuuya uncurls Dazai can see the bleary, hazy look of someone who still has desperately to sneeze but is trying very hard not to.

“Can you stop, Chibi?” whispers Dazai. Chuuya shoots him a look that is equal parts furious and embarrassed. It’s adorable. But…

“Frankly, I’d rather not get caught because you couldn’t tame your little nose there,” Dazai continues. “Are you suuure you’re good?”

Chuuya gives a curt nod. Which should be reassuring, but Dazai’s smile falters because this is actually very bad. He recognizes the lack of quip, even while hiding like this, means that Chuuya does not trust himself enough to speak. He’s seen it before.

Dazai flicks an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and sighs. “Maybe we really will die in a church, if you keep this up.”

Chuuya’s returning grin is feral. “Y-you wish.” No way in hell will he allow Dazai the satisfaction. The carpets blanketing the enclosed den mean that they can whisper without much of an echo. It’s a small relief, since Chuuya can feel the congestion crawling and pattering away in a far back place of his nose, dormant but threatening.

He focuses on how intently Dazai is eyeing him, knowing well what Dazai isn’t saying. Engaging would be easy, but it would be messy and they’re supposed to be currying favor with the west side gangs, not killing them (or in Dazai’s case, very emphatically bonking them on the head).

Chuuya’s right eye waters with the sharpness of the tickle, as the itchiness swells and becomes decidedly less dormant. He bites his lip. If this keeps up his nose is going to turn into fucking Krakatoa.

Dazai watches Chuuya massage his flaring nostrils through the fabric of his gloves and grins with as many teeth as he can muster. Chuuya’s losing battle with his nose is even more hilarious than the fact that he’s currently sitting on a pile of Communion pamphlets.

It won’t be long now, what with the way Chuuya has gone stiff and rigid. Dazai counts backwards from five in his head. He gets to two before Chuuya’s lip trembles as the itch erupts and overwhelms him.

“Gnt!” Chuuya’s able to pinch that one into submission, though it makes his head throb and the pulsating trickle along his nose intensify with unsatisfied need. “Gnt! Nt! H’Gnt!”

He starts to lower his hand, before—“Gnt!” Jesus fuck, can’t he be done?

The answer is no, apparently, because Chuuya feels his eyes begin to flutter shut and his chest start to jump with silent, building hitches.

Before he can sneeze again, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder. It successfully distracts him from the budding sneeze as Chuuya whips his head around to stare at Dazai’s familiar, shit-eating grin.

Dazai uses the finger he’d tapped Chuuya with to beckon. “C’mere.”

Chuuya sniffs carefully and squints. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Dazai grabs him (gently, Chuuya notices, which okay, is a little odd) and smashes his face into his long overcoat (a little less gently).

“Mnflgl?�� Chuuya questions.

“Sneeze, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. Chuuya tries to shake his head because one, Dazai’s forgetting how harsh his sneezes are—sure to give them away, and two, Chuuya might hate the guy but he’s not going to sneeze on him.

Dazai seems to read his mind. “The fabric will muffle the sound,” he replies. “And you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.” Chuuya can hear his smirk. Asshole.

But he also wants very badly to sneeze. No; at this point he’s desperate to sneeze. His nose feels like one of his gravity bombs, pulsing, thrumming, and the itch is all consuming. It would feel so good to just let a few out. He really shouldn’t.

“I know you need to,” whispers Dazai.

So, against all logic, Chuuya does.

“Hep-MPPH! MPPHT! H’MPPH!” Somehow, the fabric dampens the sound better than Chuuya thought it would. So he decides he can sneeze a little more.

“Hh…hh…MPPHT! PHT! MPPHT! Hp!…H-Hep-MPPHH!”

He’s beginning to feel dizzy. It’s worth it, though, as the stuffy, spider-crawling prickle along his nose subsides for the time being. God, he’s never had to sneeze so badly in his life. Makes sense it’s now, when he needs to be quiet.

And Dazai—the utter prick—is patting his head, like Chuuya’s some sort of mutt. “You’re a mess, you know that?” he’s saying, fondly, as Chuuya shakes with sneeze after sneeze. It’s a wonder the gang’s right hand hasn’t discovered them yet.

Slowly, Chuuya comes up for air. He thanks some leviathan god that it’s dark, so he doesn’t have to look at what he’s done to Dazai’s coat. He’s not even going to look at Dazai, because this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to him in…well, not as long as Chuuya’d like to admit. This is Dazai, after all.

“Bless you,” Dazai says quietly. Chuuya’s head snaps to him because Dazai sounds wrong. Odd. Genuine. Ah, that’s why it took so long to place. Dazai rarely does sincere, and the few times he expresses genuine emotions tend to signify nothing good at all.

“Thank you,” Chuuya mutters between a clenched jaw because he may have made a mess of himself but he still has manners, goddammit. He blinks the remaining wetness from his eyes as he peers at Dazai for a suspended moment.

“Oh, and if you’re curious, the guy left five minutes ago.”

And the moment is over.

Chuuya jumps up. “You utter assho-ho–” He’s cut off by the familiar needling sensation at the back of his nose. Oh no you don’t. Jamming a fist under his septum hard enough to bruise, he points a finger at Dazai.

“I despise you,” he hisses. “All thihh…th…hih…”

Dazai holds a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

Chuuya shakes his head with a tickly sniff in hopes that his nose will make up its mind and move from where it’s currently settled—in the burning, stinging place between sneeze and not sneeze that’s driving him even more up the wall than Dazai is.

Dazai cocks his head at just the right angle that a piece of hair falls into his eyes. “That sneeze looks troublesome,” he observes. “Is it stuck? Like Chuuya’s growth spurt?”

Chuuya growls and kicks a nearby chair leg for good measure, now that they don’t have to concern themselves with being quiet. The sound is hollow and echoes across the large cathedral chamber.

There’s a wrinkled, damp spot on one side of Dazai’s overcoat that Chuuya pointedly avoids looking at. The crazy bastard had let him do that, all for, what? Funsies? To torture him? Chuuya will unpack that for later. It never bodes well to try to make sense of Dazai’s brain. Besides, the much-needed sneeze is still eluding him. If he could just–just…

“Hih…Hept! Hh…Fuck! Shit!”

Dazai sighs. “Okay, I can’t watch this,” he says, striding over to Chuuya. “Stay still, Chibi.”

Chuuya glares at him, irritation evident in his eyes and in his raw, wide-blown nostrils. “If you’re doi’g anythi’g other thad helpi’g, Dazai, I will obliterate you,” he says darkly, throat crackling and sore.

Dazai grins wide. “Relax,” he says. He wiggles a finger. “I know Chuuya’s sneeze spot.”

“What the fuck even is a—” Dazai presses a finger to the bridge of Chuuya’s nose, in the center, and gives it a circular rub back and forth. Chuuya stumbles back and manages a wavering, shaky curse in French before he snaps forward with a fusillade of unrestrained sneezes.

“Hih-ASHHHu! Hep’ASHHU! AHSSHU! AHSSH! AHSSHH! AHSSHU! Merde!…Heh-heh…hih’ASHHU!”

Chuuya sneezes and sneezes, for once uncaring about decorum. It’s a miracle his hat doesn’t fly off. He’s so overcome with finally scratching the itch in his nose that he almost doesn’t feel the tap at his shoulder. Dazai’s extending a packet of tissues that look like they were newly purchased.

“Goodness! I don’t know whether to bless Chuuya or call an exorcist,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters around a tissue. With that annoyance out of the way, it’s seeping in just how awful he feels. He sighs, heavy, and rubs at a temple. “Nom de dieu…”

“I really don’t know how someone so little can sneeze with such ferocity,” continues Dazai, ignoring Chuuya. It’s easy to say the man was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making Chuuya’s life miserable. “Hih…ASHHU!” Chuuya’s head gives a throb and things slide out of focus for a minute. He coughs, rough, and pushes some sweaty hair away from his face. How unsightly.

“Oh, and Chuuya?” Dazai makes a burlesque of leaning in and peering at him. “The next time you’re sick, call in, okay?” And then he reaches one lanky arm over and pats Chuuya’s head.

“I never said I was sick,” Chuuya snaps, jerking out of reach. Dazai makes to poke his nose again, but Chuuya evades him with a hoarse snarl. “Stop.”

In response, Dazai gives him a condescending look that Chuuya knows well. It’s the one where he purses his lips and crinkles up his large, dark eyes. The one he knows infuriates Chuuya the most. “Please,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew before we even got here. Just wanted to see how long you could keep it up.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to utter some expletive, he doesn’t know which one yet, but the sneezy feeling decides to return—bristling like a thousand tiny whiskers along the rims of his inner nose. Stifling it to refute Dazai’s point will only make his head pound harder, so Chuuya wrenches to the side with a sneeze. Which, naturally, makes him cough.

“Hmmm, you really don’t sound good, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai makes a face. “Ew, no thanks. But since you’re already paying for my dry cleaning, why don’t I treat you to a nice bowl of leek soup and tea?”

Dazai is so confusing at times Chuuya could strangle him. Or at least blame him for the acute emotional whiplash.

“Hh’ASSHu! AHSSH! J'en peux plus…” Chuuya twitches his nose to the side and straightens his hat. “Whatever—let’s just find that drive and get the hell out of here so I can go to bed,” he grumbles. It’s not exactly a refusal (because tea does in fact sound nice), but Chuuya is more than done with this place.

“You mean this?” Dazai wiggles a little USB between two bandaged fingers. Chuuya sputters. “Yup. Found it ages ago and switched it with a fake.”

“AAH?!”

— Fin —

[despairforme]

Eat you alive like a carnivore.

[kuroosdarling]

hello friendz !! i am packing my bags and moving to @tetzoro !!! please come join me if ya want ^_^

back to navi.

[prince-liest]

do you have ships other than staticradio that you also like?

All I can say is thank fucking god that monogamy seems to be an alien concept to these people.

If you're new here thanks to Hazbin, welcome to the land of "I'm a consummate multishipper to a degree that borders on delusion"!

[boxwinebaddie]

hi nina!! can we plz see some of the char sheet youre doing?

AWWWW!!!! this is so sweet, omg. ;-; <3

i fucking LOVE character sheets sm; it is a relic from when i first broke into writing online and used to tumblr rpg ( cringe ). i just feel like they really help you see and understand your characters and figure out what they look like, how they act, what their motivations are, etc.

but yes!!!! i spend a lot of time on them and i haven't had a lot of time...recently, so i haven't been able to work on the ones i have for The Nasty Nina Boys From ( Fine As ) Hell, but you can have this little section i started on appearance in the ravenstan one ( he has been on my mind a lot lately, i srsly love him so much, he's my baby )

i'll drop it under the cut for you <3

-uncle nina, tumblr rpg survivor, char sheet queena

[narwhalandchill]

OH????? actual massive W what the hell

[inkykeiji]

are reader and touya nii each other’s best best friends?

ooooh this is an interesting question!!! i think it depends on where they are in their relationship of course, but like 2+ years in i’d say he is her best best friend and she is his best friend, but natsuo is his best best friend.

this is purely because there’s so much touya can talk about with natsuo that he can’t (or won’t) talk about with reader, especially relating to work things (there are a few different reasons for this, mainly safety and comfort; he’d rather not tell her the gory and gruesome details of his most recent torture victim). they also have that shared trauma; natsuo knows everything that happened to touya because he was there—meaning touya doesn’t have to repeat it, touya can talk about it in fragments and natsuo will completely understand. reader, on the other hand, only has a few sharp shards of the past, and never the full picture.

[day6source]

DAY6 Open Up About Their Long-Awaited Comeback and What Fourever Means to Them: 'It's Our Time' (Exclusive)

"I think the last three years was a period of self-care and self-love," SUNGJIN says of the 4-piece band's hiatus by Jenna Wang

After a long break, returning to the stage again might feel a little intimidating. Just like with any activity, time spent away might make anyone feel hesitant — like trying to re-learn how to bike, or going through the motions of swimming again.  However, when the K-pop boy band DAY6 pulls back the curtain with a flourish, it’s clear that their three-year-long hiatus hasn’t stopped them in their tracks. For the boys — SUNGJIN, 31, Young K, 30, WONPIL, 29, and DOWOON, 28 — the stage is their natural element.  From the way they passionately sing as the spotlights fall on their faces, they couldn’t be happier to be together again. And as the chorus of their latest album’s first track builds up, they have one message for those who have anticipated their comeback: “Welcome to the Show.” 

Their eighth mini-album name, Fourever, hits the nail on the head with its overall theme, composed of seven tracks about love, nostalgia and what happiness really is. As the boys gather one late evening to talk about the comeback, they can’t help but reflect on their pop rock journey together since their debut back in 2015. While dressed warmly in long sleeves and quarter zips, the energy they exude together is just as heartwarmingly bright.  “It’s our time,” Young K says to PEOPLE. “Being able to put out this album would be our biggest joy, really coming back altogether and being able to present ourselves in front of My Days because they have been waiting for this moment as much as us, hopefully.”  Indeed, being together in front of their fans, dubbed “My Days,” has been a long time coming. Through all the trials and tribulations, their unity is what stands out as they speak, and especially in their lyrics.  “I’m so moved by the stage / That I won’t be alone any longer,” Young K sings in the first track, surrounded by his fellow bandmates. 

However, with any comeback from a break, a bundle of mixed emotions is to be expected.  “If you listen to our song, ‘I Smile,’ there’s a lyric that says ‘half-nervous and half-excited,’” DOWOON says of the track, released in 2017. “That’s exactly how I feel.”  For the past three years, the DAY6 members completed their required military enlistment in South Korea. While they underwent basic training, they also could reflect on what meant most to them.  “I think the last three years was a period of self-care and self-love,” SUNGJIN says. “I have come to realize that in order for this band to exist, I have to exist first, so I really try to teach myself how to take care of myself well.” 

For SUNGJIN, self-care might be as simple as buying a small gift for himself, or meeting with loved ones. And even though all the boys were completing their service, that didn’t mean they were restricted from seeing one another. In fact, DOWOON recalls a humorous moment when he was in a TV program, and WONPIL and Young K joined him to perform.  “They insisted that they come into my room and share my bed while we were training, while we were practicing together — so that’s one memory that I have,” DOWOON shares.  “That’s how glad we were to see him,” Young K adds with a laugh.  When asked how large the bed was, WONPIL doesn’t beat around the bush with his response: “Yeah, it was very small.”  The boys also had ample free time outside of training to engage in hobbies, and DOWOON’s was especially productive. The drummer, and the band’s youngest member, says he taught himself how to play the bass drums and pushed himself to continually “relearn.” Mastering the instrument became the challenge he set out to accomplish for the album. DOWOON is far from the only member who plays an instrument. In fact, what makes the boy band especially unique is how every member excels at their own instrument. While SUNGJIN rocks it as the rhythm guitarist, WONPIL effortlessly works the keyboard and synthesizer. Young K has always been the bassist of the group, but surprisingly, has never played a bass instrument before becoming a trainee. However, you wouldn’t be able to tell because of how much he practices for upcoming albums. “That becomes the best way of practice for me,” he says of his practicing regimen. “Of course, doing the chromatics, slowing down and then going at the right pace — that would be a great practice session.” “That’s why I don’t call myself the best bassist, but that’s what I do,” he simply adds.

Regardless of how they practice, their instrumental mastery shines through in each of the tracks. They serve to highlight the deep meanings associated with each song, like SUNGJIN’s favorite — “HAPPY.” The second track revolves around one question: “Why am I gradually sinking when I want to be happy?” For SUNGJIN, the melancholic song is one that he can especially relate to. “I empathize with it the most because it talks about the question that I had for myself for a long time, which is how I had this obscure thought that happiness will come along one day,” he says. As the boys begin to contemplate about what the songs mean, it’s apparent that they draw on a lot of memories and feelings from the past. Indeed, nostalgia ( a feeling “relatable to everyone,” says SUNGJIN) is a core tenant in tracks such as “Get the Hell Out,” which address lingering, and often tormenting memories. 

Embarrassing memories might often fall under the same vein, and Young K can recall an especially funny memory. When he was still a trainee, he appeared on a TV show and said he was “from Toronto.” However, he chose not to say the Canadian city’s name in a Korean accent, and that’s what people will “still make fun” of him for to the present day.  “I don’t even have to think back on it — people make me think back on it,” he says of the inescapable memory. “People bring it up, and I’m still that guy from Toronto.”  As the boys begin to contemplate about what the songs mean, it’s apparent that they draw on a lot of memories and feelings from the past. Indeed, nostalgia ( a feeling “relatable to everyone,” says SUNGJIN) is a core tenant in tracks such as “Get the Hell Out,” which address lingering, and often tormenting memories.  Embarrassing memories might often fall under the same vein, and Young K can recall an especially funny memory. When he was still a trainee, he appeared on a TV show and said he was “from Toronto.” However, he chose not to say the Canadian city’s name in a Korean accent, and that’s what people will “still make fun” of him for to the present day.  “I don’t even have to think back on it — people make me think back on it,” he says of the inescapable memory. “People bring it up, and I’m still that guy from Toronto.” 

Perhaps just as recurring in all the boys’ lives is the motif of love, which many of their tracks explore. Yet, even with tracks like “The Power of Love” and “Let Me Love You,” the boys still agree that much is still unknown about the power of the emotion.  “I’m not 100% certain if I know what love is, but I think for now, sacrifice takes a big part of it,” WONPIL says.  “And consideration,” SUNGJIN chimes in, before diving deeper. 

“The definition of love is still unclear to me, but I feel it,” he continues. “I really feel from my parents what real love is, and it’s something that I didn’t realize before. Now, I really realize what my parents gave me was real love.”  DOWOON says he can feel a special kind of love between him and the fans.  “When I look into the eyes of My Days, I can feel their love for us,” he says. “I learned a lot about love from My Days, and I constantly think about how we can return that love and I think I’m still in the learning process of the definition of love. But for now, I can say that the love that My Days gives us — we feel that a lot.”  Young K, too, also has much to contemplate about when thinking about love. For him, the idea of love is “very interesting” in many ways. 

“Love has been existing ever since human beings existed, or ever since language existed, and people are still asking what the definition of love is,” he explains. “It still hasn’t been defined. I can say whatever we say is not the definition for everyone, but I feel like I can certainly say love exists everywhere.”  Later on, the group also demonstrates how love isn’t only between them or their fans, but even for their past selves. That’s something they don’t forget to mention as they grow into their late twenties and early thirties, as DOWOON proves with a message to his younger self.  “Just be there and stay there, and it will brighten up one day,” he says after a thoughtful moment. “Learn to love yourself as soon as possible in order to help others.”  Despite their more mature outlook on things, it’s clear that the DAY6 members haven’t lost their charismatic and youthful energy. Since they’ve united together again, the band has shared countless memories, full of ab-forming laughs.  “When we were practicing, I asked WONPIL: ‘How much longer are you going to practice?’”DOWOON recalls. “He said, ‘I can practice as long as I want, what’s wrong with it?’” As the members begin to smile, DOWOON adds: “And he shouted, ‘Just leave me alone, let me practice in peace!’” WONPIL also adds his two cents as well about what, or in this case, who, makes him laugh the most.

“I always get a laugh from Young K,” he says. “He always makes me laugh. I can’t exactly point out what it was recently, but I remember laughing really, really hard because of Young K.” In response, Young K shrugs humorously in confusion, just as DOWOON brings up his Toronto motif again. Now, with their comeback, the DAY6 members are ready for what’s ahead, no matter how rocky, smooth or unpredictable the waves may be. In fact, unpredictability is already something that they��re used to, Young K says.  “When we first came out, there were no numbers, or very small numbers compared to now,” he reflects. “For example, ‘You Were Beautiful’ went in the charts years later after it was released. So, you never know what’s going to happen in the future. All we got to do is just make good music and work hard.”  As for any upcoming plans? Besides a concert in mid-April, they can’t make any guarantees about anything else. However, they have their hopes set in stone.  “I don’t know if anything is set yet, but we’re hoping to go around the world,” Young K teases. “I promise you, and this is a promise — nothing is set yet.” 

[recallback-art]

I got inspired on a walk recently and decided to make a piece based on a picture I took, and my guy? It took so much effort. But I am so happy with how it turned out. I become more powerful with each day.

Anyway, yeah, just a little scenic piece with Ji-Yeong!

[biitchcakes]

And it looks awesome.

src // ( personals DNI. )

[mail-me-a-snail]

✨✨wwwwiiippp wednesday !!!!

thank you to @glitchinginthegarden for tagging me :3

havent had the time to draw anything conkreet so lots n lots of thumbnails this time around ....

some eurovance wips for an upcoming fic + working on hound's design!! not entirely sold on it yet but i do want it to look like his flesh is hanging off his mechanical skeleton

+ fic wip below!

[text reads:

He guesses he can chalk it up to when V had worked for Arasaka. The merc hasn’t told him much about it...only that he had netrun for them. Kerry had never asked, either; it’s not his business.

But he can’t help but wonder sometimes. 

How is it that V could’ve gone to hell and back; netrun for the top brass; traversed the alley-long gutter that is Night City--and come out the other side only to end up curled around Kerry fucking Eurodyne like he’s still protecting him, even in his sleep?

end text]

ill probably finish the fic 'round january, bc i rlly rlly want to write something for the silverv weekend in feb..anyhoo!!

tagging @netripper @necro-hamster @civilization-illstayrighthere and anyone else who'd like to join !!