#filed under: prompts

[fracturedfables]

tag dump. ignore.

[hoshinasblade]

hoshina brainrot moment with a soulmate trope that says when you are near your soulmate, your senses are heightened to its limit. i mean, just imagine being put in the same squad as hoshina and performing so well because the both of you are suddenly so in sync with yourselves and with the surroundings. imagine being partnered with hoshina during field duties despite obvious repercussions, because it is just undeniable that hoshina makes you better and you make the vice-captain sharper.

with the heightened senses, also just imagine how good the sex is.

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday:

"Responsible Adults", the sequel: Jak tries to do a regular Jak Stunt and is shocked that it doesn't go over well

(Roughly a week after this one ends. Long post warning, as most of these are lol)

Night terrors were not an uncommon experience for Jak. They may not have been his nightly companions anymore, but when he did have them, they were intense. He woke up in a corner of his room, wedged beneath the sink. There was a vague sense that he was taking cover from something, or someone.

Blessedly, he remembered no details of the nightmare. But the terror still sent his guts quivering the way they had in the prison. Huddled under the cot both for warmth and silently praying the boots wouldn't stop at his door. That he wouldn't end up Tyber's new punching bag when he got bored of the old man in the cell above Jak's.

Tyber is dead. Errol is dead. Praxis is dead. I watched them die.

Jak repeated the words like a mantra until he could move his limbs again. He crawled out from beneath the sink, but the lingering fear made his room feel claustrophobic. Smaller than it really was.

At least he hadn't woken Daxter this time.

Jak put on his boots, but didn't bother getting fully dressed. He didn't even know what time it was. Why bother if the doctor and the king guy were just going to nag him about being sleep-deprived anyway?

It must have been early morning, before dawn; the moon had vanished and people were outside doing repair work on houses and fog-catchers.

Early morning was the best time to get any outdoor work done in Spargus. A small girl led a flock of caprids out of the stables and towards one of the other districts to graze on the cactus there, and a gang of trainees only a little older than Jak were taking advantage of the temperature to do an endurance run around the city.

Personally, Jak didn't see the good of such things. You learned to be fast enough or smart enough to escape your enemies, or you didn't. He'd learned through life and death experience, not a footrace with no winners.

"Easy with the straps there!" A stocky man backed into Jak, calling up to a team of three people.

"Ope-! Scuse me there, pipsqueak." The Wastelander stepped to the side as if Jak was barely worth noticing.

"Howland, that thing ain't cinched tight enough!"

They seemed to be trying to remove a corroded beam from the supports of one of the multi dwelling houses. It was already leaning at a precarious angle, as big around as a grown man. If that beam came down the wrong way, it would take a lot of the adobe structure -- and probably a lot of people -- with it.

"It's fine, Daru!" Howland complained, "I just cinched it!"

"Well cinch it again! That sucker’s leanin'!"

Jak frowned, but let his curiosity wash away the dregs of the night terrors.

"What's wrong with it?"

The unofficial foreman tugged at a bushy red mustache and shook his head. "Don't rightly know yet. Could just be age. Sand storms and salt air will do a number on this kind of metal after a while."

Jak wondered if that had anything to do with Sandover using wood and stone almost exclusively. He was about to ask why it had been anchored to a mud wall when there was a loud metallic clang. The last bracket holding the beam snapped under the weight, and the straps weren't enough to hold it.

Jak didn't remember moving. But then he was there, with the beam on his shoulders and the foreman on the ground, having narrowly avoided being crushed to death. Cold metal dug into his hands, pressed down against his head, and Jak knew that by rights he should've been dead.

There was a thrill of revulsion in his chest when he reluctantly acknowledged that the only reason he was standing right now was that the dark eco experiments had lengthened his muscle strands to twice the size of a normal hu'men's. It wasn't just in his dark form. That element of...unnatural...was just with him. Every moment.

"Frith! Oh my- HOWLAND! GET DOWN HERE!" Daru roared, "YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEBODY!"

"I got it," Jak said through gritted teeth. "Is there a place to put this thing down?"

"Not yet," Howland admitted as he shimmied down a ladder.

"We were going to cut it into pieces once it was secure, transport it that way to be recycled."

Jak craned his neck, but the motion jarred the beam. Hastily, he adjusted his grip.

"What's- What's around me?"

"Too much," said Daru grimly. "Just- Hold on, kid."

He winced at the boy's flat stare.

"Er...no pun intended. We're gonna, gonna get you out from under there, I promise!"

"Get it cut up first," Jak grunted, "And you won't have to worry about getting me out."

"And what if your hands get sweaty, huh?" Daru demanded, "Fat chance, little man! We're going to find something to hold this up!"

The other two men hurried down from the roof with saws in hand.

Oh gods. Handsaws. This was going to take a while.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Honestly, Damas should have been expecting trouble when he didn't start his day with a free heart attack after seeing eyeshine in the kitchen. The kid was diametrically opposed to the concept of sleep, so he wouldn't have been in bed. If he was off his routine -- and by now Damas had learned to dread something interrupting the kid's self-imposed routine -- then there was probably going to be trouble later.

When he refilled the fuel in the Beacon, fed the birds, and actually had a cup of coffee uninterrupted, he was suspicious.

When the sun rose and there were no echoes of truncated curses in the halls from guards running into Jak, he started to wonder if the kid had decided to work outside. Unusual, but as long as he didn't do anything that would make Dr. Petros yell at them both, more power to him.

But when the talking ottsel showed up in the throne room about an hour after dawn, frantically demanding to know where Jak was, Damas was concerned.

Those two were attached at the hip! Jak wouldn't have gone to look for work without Daxter.

There was a small crowd forming by the time Damas stepped outside. People were shouting encouragements, or conflicting advice about pulleys and snatchblocks. Had something fallen? Damas hadn't heard any impacts. As he began to pick his way through the crowd, the shouts took on new meaning.

"He's slipping! Somebody get under there!"

"How many more hands do you want? There's ten people holding the beam up!"

"Why won't he just let go?!"

"Standing this long, maybe his arms locked up-?"

A beam? People holding a beam-?

An accident. There'd been an accident and night watch hadn't caught it.

Thoughts of crushed citizens and mangled houses circled Damas’s imagination as he pushed through the rest of the crowd, close enough to hear the rasp of handsaws and the buzz of a lone angle grinder.

"Get the cart back in!" Someone yelled, "Next piece is almost off!"

From the looks of things, a crew of four had reduced a two-story high support beam by a third.

Ten Wastelanders were beneath the colossal pole, hands and shoulders braced against the metal as it shrieked and groaned. If even one of them slipped-!

Damas threw down his staff without thinking to join them, racing to catch the end beginning to slide.

"What happened?" he demanded, straining with the others to keep it from crushing the houses and themselves.

"Tie straps broke!" a man three people down called back, "If it weren't for the kid, it woulda come down right through the roofs of a couple houses!"

Kid?

Oh gods don't tell me...

Jak was standing in the very center of the line. His arms trembled, and sweat poured down his face. He didn't seem to hear anything happening around him, too focused on keeping his grip. He was beginning to pale.

"What's he doing here?!"

"Dunno!" A woman to the left answered. "He was already there when me and the girls showed up, but that was two hours ago."

"Hours?!"

Jak had been out here for hours, trapped, and Damas had been none the wiser?

"Why hasn't anyone gotten him out yet?!"

"We tried! The poor kid froze up!"

Damas gritted his teeth and pushed away images of the kid standing alone under that crushing weight for hours until help had woken up.

"Get a truck and winch out of the pit!" He ordered, "Forget damage to the streets, we'll fix it later! I want this thing taken care of now."

It took a full twenty minutes to get the Dozer through the narrow streets of the tower district. By that time, those who had been holding the beam first had cycled out for fresh arms to allow for water and eco. All except Jak. He'd accepted some water that someone poured into his mouth earlier, but still seemed to be unable to let go. He was at the fulcrum point, he insisted, and he wasn't going to let it tip. (Not that he thought he'd actually be able to move at this point.)

Fifteen people attached pulleys and cables to the beam from above, careful not to dislodge the hands of those below. When the cables had all been hooked to the Dozer's winch, the weight began, at last, to lessen.

There was a ragged cheer from the assembled Wastelanders as the end of the beam tipped up and the rescuers eased the other end to the ground. There would be extensive damage to infrastructure to deal with. But nobody had died, and there were no major injuries, and Damas would count that as a victory. Shaking out aching arms, he hurried to the center of the line, where someone was physically holding Jak upright. Damas took hold of the boy's stiff arms carefully.

"It's gone," he said, easing the limbs down, "It's gone, let go, Jak. Come on, you're done."

The kid made a sound, a soft rasping whine that might’ve been words. Then he collapsed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When the world drifted back into focus, Jak didn't know where he was. The smell of eco lingered around him, confusing the other scents that could have identified his location. He couldn't move his arms. Why couldn't he move his arms?!

It took a massive effort just to pry his eyelids up. Jak’s breath caught harshly between his teeth as he forced himself onto his side.

Well, that explained the lack of mobility in his arms. He ached like he'd been fighting beyond his limits again. The injection sites would be agitated again, he knew without looking. The pain radiated from his shoulders to his fingertips, skin, muscle, and bone.

The room was a blur. Brown and yellow slowly settled into more colors, ending in something either white or pale blue in front of his nose. The longer he stared at it, the more detail he could see. Pills of thread, clinging to loosely woven fabric. The texture and shape of the warp and weft shifted as he tried to move his hand.

He hissed in pain.

"Well that's what happens when you try to make a career as a load-bearing wall."

Jak tensed. Not alone. Not with Daxter.

Biting down on the pain, he dug his fingers into the pallet beneath him and forced himself upright.

This wasn't the hospital -- small blessings -- but it wasn't his room either. There was a low wooden bedframe on a wall a few feet away, on the other side of some kind of half partition full of plants.

"Where...?"

"Well you're about to think of it as prison," Damas answered from the opposite direction.

He was sitting at a table, hunched over a cup of coffee. The empty pot beside him was a story of its own.

"By the way, you're grounded."

"What?!" Jak sputtered. He started to get up, but fell back onto the pallet with a grunt of pain.

"Like rot!"

Damas glanced back over his shoulder. "Take it up with the doctor. He put you on bedrest, not me. Better yet, blame your own self! You could've let go at any time once the rest of the district turned up to help!"

"The whole...district?"

Jak blinked.

"I don't...remember that..."

Damas sighed and peered into into his mug.

"You've been sleeping most of the day, I'm not surprised. Even with the eco you'll probably be sore for a while."

"How -- ow! -- long was I out there?"

Jak cringed at the look in Damas’s eyes when the man turned around fully.

"Four. Hours. Four hours! Why didn't you let go when others arrived?!"

Was this a trick question? It had to be a trick question.

"Be...cause...I'm not supposed to let other people get hurt?" Jak answered with slow confusion.

Damas stared in complete silence for several seconds. Then,

"You're insane. My foster-son is insane. That's insane! In what world is "throw the youngest under the pillar" a rational solution?!"

"Uh. Haven?" Jak muttered peevishly. He tried to sit up again. "Look, just. Tell me which way my room is and I'll get out of your hair."

Damas pushed his chair back with a scraping sound.

"Mn. No. What part of "bed rest" didn't you hear?"

In brusque motions, he knelt and pulled the blanket back over Jak.

"You are not to do anything even mildly strenuous, or Petros will strangle me. And since I apparently can't trust you not to willingly walk into harm's way unsupervised, you get to camp out in here, and I get to work from home for the next few days to make sure you don't go try to lift a car or something!"

Jak was appalled. "You can't do that!"

Dry as dust, Damas retorted, "First of all, I'm king. Secondly, I'm your legal guardian. Yes I can."

Jak groaned in frustration.

"Where's Daxter?"

"Not grounded."

"Oh come on!"

[tallbluelady]

Thavnair was far and away Rowan's favorite part of Ilsabard.

[bloodiedvocals]

I had a very short but wild (nsfw) dream about Vessel jsbdjsj like what??? I never had one of those before. 18+ under the cut !

Idk if it was a restaurant or what, but we were situated at a booth, and I was under the table giving him head 🫠 He had his hand in my hair & kinda forced me down on him. I remember moaning/whining around him 👁️👄👁️ *insert a “sir this is a wendy's” joke here*

[petitsdieu]

@kylo-wrecked, music!ben ... sent erotica.

Hours after they reach their destination, Ben buys lilies for the funeral they never held. He forgets to put them in water- there's a lily to tend right here, under his palm. Nectar to drink. Curling over her: “You have to be quiet if you want to cum.”

The ever-soft of spathe — a thigh — as it peeks the delicate folds of her ... skirt. It's a lily mimic and a mimic of what's to come. There on the rise of her dressing — or second-skin — offers direct lines of where and where the sun hasn't touched. A lover's palm can outshine it — boundaries — if he'd want to.

He suggests a different kind of limit. The first-thought says its impossible. Her face shows it in the way it folds and expels a sound already. Airy, lite ... but still sound. A signature pout to tie it all together. ❛ Only if there's something in my mouth. ❜

[cant-icle]

sliding a humble little prompt bundle your way

both akira and ryuji get girl-ed at the same time ryuji and akechi get bodyswapped (horror upon horrors) ryuji finds a cat of his own and starts carrying it around akira and ryuji have to watch a movie you hate (or love)

and finally get one free with a purchase of four.... barnacles (iykyk)

yeah ok (staring at you)

ryuji finds a cat of his own and starts carrying it around

He doesn't know where the cat came from, but it won't leave him the fuck alone.

It's hard enough navigating around everywhere on his crutches. His leg still hurts like a bitch, and he hates the painkillers his mom still offers him. They don't do shit for the deep shooting pain that radiates up his leg to his hip and through his spine anytime he even thinks about moving his leg wrong.

These days, every movement is wrong. The crutches are awkward in his grasp, and the rubber feet have barely any traction, and his shoulders and underarms and wrists hurt from the constant pressure.

At least nobody's trying to push him over in the hallways, because he wouldn't be able to fight them off if he tried. They just weave around him, give him a meter-wide berth like he's contagious, like if they brush up against him they'll catch whatever he's got.

He wouldn't be surprised if it's contagious. What else could it be? He caught it from his old man, who caught it from wherever the fuck he used to go every night. If only he could've passed it on to Kamoshida when he got his fucking leg broken.

But whatever. The fucking cat.

The fucking cat has no sense of self-preservation. It keeps finding him after school and following him down the street. He's sure he's accidentally hit it with his crutches more than once. He knows he's stepped on its tail. The dumb fucking thing gets underfoot and won't leave, he's only got one working leg, it's not his goddamn fault.

The fucking cat follows him home every day. It literally gets on the subway with him, either standing between his legs so it doesn't get crushed or jumping up onto his lap on the rare occasions that he gets a seat. People shoot him dirty looks whenever it does that, though. It's not even his fucking cat, he doesn't know what they want from him. Doesn't know what the fucking cat wants either.

The fucking cat tries to get inside his house, and it's not like he can stop it, with his hands full of keys and crutches it's all he can do to get himself inside. He's dropped his bag on it more than once, but it never seems to care. It just follows him down the hall to his room, where it jumps up onto his bed and looks at him with big stupid eyes.

The fucking cat is big, and black, and fluffy, with two little white forepaws and a weird white stripe across its face. Almost looks like a mask. It doesn't have a collar, and it's coat is always just a little frizzy, like it doesn't know how to groom itself, or like nobody brushes it wherever it lives. That's not his problem. If the fucking cat is too stupid to know how to lick itself, it's not his issue.

Doesn't seem to have any problem grooming him, though, when he's flat on his bed in the only position that can take the edge off the agony in his thigh. Stupid little cat tongue grooming his stupid hairline. Stupid fluffy coat that he picks at listlessly as it sits on his chest and purrs.

It's absorbent, he'll give it that. And the fucking cat doesn't seem to care when he cries into its stupid, soft little head, so maybe it has one thing going for it.

[blackjackkent]

Hah, well, my usual two pairings plus the standard wildcard! Whichever strikes your fancy.

Hector/Karlach - "Oh, shut up." "You shut up." "Make me." "Okay, but you might moan a little."

Jaheira/Rasaad - "Shh... just a little bit more."

Shadowheart/Lae'zel - "Let me ruin you."

(Spicy Romance Prompts)

Jaheira/Rasaad - "Shh… just a little bit more."

Y'know, for some reason I was originally not going to try to mess with Jaheira/Rasaad smut until I got further along in Open Your Eyes, but I've been working on the next chapter outline and rotating them in my head a lot and got to feeling inspired. XD So here we go.

NSFW warning. XD

------

Rasaad’s eyes grow very dark when he makes love to her.

Even by the light of day, his eyes are the most striking thing about him, deep and black, glittering like gemstones. Onyx, Jaheira often thinks, recalling crystals she has plucked from caves deep in Faerun’s heart, crystals forged by time and pressure, steady and slow. 

But when they are alone, when he is bared to her in both body and spirit, then the chaos and heat within him slips the bounds of his iron self-control. Then the onyx becomes obsidian, volcanic glass, gleaming with the light of a contained inferno.

And it thrills her in a way she cannot describe. Love, desire, yes - but also perhaps there is a part of her that thrives on taming a hurricane.

“Jaheira…” He groans out her name, a soft catch on the last syllable. He's stretched beneath her on the bed, looking up at her with those obsidian eyes. His hips arch up into her hungrily, and she meets and rolls with the motion, keeping his wrists pinned tight next to his head.

“So eager, monk,” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing teasingly. “Where is your patience?”

He strains his hands upward against her weight. “You drive me to distraction… to madness…” he growls throatily. “I feel how you want me as well…”

He is right, of course. Her pulse is thundering in her throat and between her legs as she straddles him and feels him stiff against the inside of her thigh. Yes, she wants him. He is safety and home and fierce heat, found at last after so much loss and loneliness. Though she teases him, he knows full well that he could have her for the taking if he wished. He lets her hold him back for the same reason she holds him - because to draw the moment to its breaking point makes it all the more satisfying when it… snaps…

“Shh…” she whispers. “Calm… just a little bit more…” She dips her head and kisses him and feels his teeth score along her lower lip, so eagerly does he tip his head up to meet hers. The soft whimper he makes into her mouth sends a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

“You torment me…” He rolls his head back, his eyes half-closed. His breath quickens as she moves her lips under his jaw, sucking at the pulse point there.

“Yes,” she agrees, and a wicked smile tugs at her lips. She releases one of his hands, slides her own between them, down, gripping him with a sudden swift stroke. 

His eyes snap open, black pits now with the pupils blown wide. “Gods…” he breathes. “Jaheira… please…” His hips buck up sharply into her hand, thrusting along her palm, hungry, searching. 

She lets the moment hang just a little longer, to listen to the way his breath drags in his throat with a low whine. Then she guides him - up, in, fitting their bodies together, the heat of him flowing into her.

“Take me, then,” she commands, and lets go of his wrist.

Suddenly all of him is moving at once, like a dog strained at the leash suddenly released. He growls, deep in his throat, and rolls sharply to push her beneath him, arching as he does so into a jolting thrust that jerks her a few inches up the bed. She cries out and wraps her arms around him, digging her fingertips into his back.

He does not stop, and she doesn’t want him to. The rhythm he sets is hungry and rough and she glories in it, a hawk riding the updrafts of his storm. Closing her eyes, she clings to him and surrenders to sensation blotting out everything else.

“Take me…” she whispers again, disjointedly, breathless. “Take-- Rasaad-- ahhh--”

“Jaheira… my sun…” His voice is muffled, his face buried in her shoulder. One of his arms cradles her hips; the other hand is buried in her hair, his fingertips tight on the back of her neck. “I love you… do not let me go…”

He’s moving faster now, pressing her down into the bed with weight and passion. There is no sense left of any restraint; they are both free and wild and for a moment she can think about nothing at all except the feeling of his skin and the pleasure boiling in her core. And when it breaks, it does so suddenly, rocking her from head to foot as she rides from one jolt to the next, crying out against his ear and riding up against him as if to somehow take him deeper, feel him more.

He moans, a soft ragged sound of desire, and then his movement shudders to an abrupt halt with one last, jolting thrust, and she feels his whole body twitch with the release. He is never loud, but she can feel the way he curls into her, the way his breath hitches and his hips rock, and then the slow relaxation, the muscles of his back unclenching under her fingers.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. His gaze is settled again, calm onyx, glowing rather than blazing. “Jaheira…” he whispers. Rolling his weight onto one elbow, he cups her cheek with his other palm.

“I’m here…” She moves one hand to stroke gently against the back of his head. “Howling hells… you complain that I tease you, and yet you make it so worth the waiting for…”

His face drops back into her shoulder and he laughs, low and warm. “I did not say you should stop…”

[shivunin]

Ooh maybe 12 or 16 for Wen from the codex prompts? c:

Oooh thank you!! This was delightful c:

(Codex Prompts)

12. propaganda written in support of your OC

(149 Words | No warnings)

A handbill stuffed under a bedroom door in the palace at Denerim. Its corners are torn, suggesting it was ripped from its original placement. There is a note scrawled along the bottom: They always leave out your finer charms. A shame, no? I will see you there tonight, mi vida.  The handbill itself reads:

[leclercsbf]

Hey there! 🫶🏻 I have a question for you regarding charlos (hehe) and possible angsty scenarios (because angst is what fuels me). If one of them were to ever believe that they’re not enough for the other person and that the other is completely out of their league, who would it be and why in your opinion? Let’s go angsty together ❤️‍🩹

hello, hello! ♥️ i’m a sucker for angst as well, so thank you for sending this my way—but to answer your question, i honestly feel like it could go both ways. hear me out.

carlos looks at charles (beautiful, talented, the predestined) and tells himself that devotion is not always enough. it doesn’t matter that he would bleed for charles, that he loves charles more than he has loved anything or anyone, because beautiful talented predestined deserves so much more than just his father’s son.

when charles thinks of carlos, he thinks of laughter, warmth, a home away from home. you can’t excel in this sport without being broken in some way, but carlos loves as if he’s never been broken, uncaring that the heart on his sleeve is a target bleeding red. it’s terrifying—how much love carlos has to give, how easily he gives it. charles can’t bring himself to love someone that fiercely, to lay his heart on the line and to give himself up completely. carlos deserves someone who loves the way he does (fearless selfless all-consuming), someone who bares his love for all the world to see. charles keeps his heart under lock and key.

like i said—it could go both ways, but the reasoning differs. carlos thinks he will never be enough no matter how hard he tries; charles, on the other hand, could never allow himself to be enough. carlos is fearlessly devoted, but he believes charles deserves more than just fearless devotion. on the same thread, charles believes that carlos deserves fearless devotion, but he’s aware that he could never deal with the vulnerability that comes with it. they have a knack for complicating things.

and hey—if you like the concept of Charles Not Allowing Himself To Be Enough, feel free to give this a read if you haven’t already.

[fawnworked]

in the spirit of valentine's day... is your muse oliver's type? cross off what applies and send it in the askbox! take the blank to make one for your muse(s), too.

[hoshinasblade]

not a request but i’m sharing ideass. hosihiro is canon comes from a SUPER RICH FAMILY LINE (cough generational wealth cough) and being his poor gf who he wants to treat and pamper. you look at the window of a store? BOUGHT. Think about going on a vacation somewhere? BOOKED. hungry? oh they have that meal served at AN EXCLUSIVE 5 STAR RESTAURANT THAT DOESN’T TAKE RESERVATIONS BUT THEY DO FOR THE HOSHINA FAMILY (something about saving the owner during a kaiju attack so they owe them)

tldr. poor gf gets whisked off her feet by rich man trope. 🫠

this is so timely cause i have a rich motherfucker!hoshina fluff lined up! attaching the art that made me think of writing it lol just imagine hoshina in a suit and tie??? imagine hoshina being an executive??? it'd definitely fit his character. call me kaiju no. 10 because i be wanting his body too.

anyway, him being loaded is pretty implied - coming from a long line of kaiju slayers whose reputation in the field is pretty established has got to say something. i also think they gotta pay a handsome sum if your job is to risk your life and slice monsters.

and im going to sound like a broken record but hoshina soshiro is a perceptive man - if he gets wind that you want something, you would get that specific something. i dont think he sees it as spoiling you, it's just in his brain, if he has the ability to get you something you want, then why the hell not? that's just common sense, no? you get flustered by this habit of his sometimes, especially when you learn how much his gifts cost but in time you get used to it.

"poor gf gets whisked off her feet by rich man trope" hoshina being prince charming? thank you for yet another writing prompt.

"poor gf gets whisked off her feet by rich man trope" hoshina being a sugar daddy? thank you for yet another writing prompt.

"poor gf gets whisked off her feet by rich man trope" hoshina being a secret admirer who does not know how to catch your attention so he thought impressing you with expensive gifts would make you like him? thank you for yet another writing prompt.

[parkduris]

hello everyone!! basically, really, nothing has changed with duri's revamp, besides of course, him becoming a soloist instead! (a few things are gone, like him having been an mc, but that was just to make room for things i needed for him), his primary being singer & songwriter-producer + secondary being television personality & model, and a few add-ons (different osts, he's also been the main cast of idol diction contest and youn's stay, and the obvious of his solo discography). all plots should be good to stay, but if you'd like to replot or plot, just let me know! all my replies that i have drafted (and written) before duri's revamp will be posted this weekend! if interested, you can find his updated intro here!

[petitsdieu]

𝑺𝑬𝑮𝑮𝑺𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵! — [sleeves] - Sender sees receiver roll up their sleeves.

Eye contact breaks.

It's the drip of her drink on her naked decolletage that causes attention lapse. The edge of her thumb collects the sticky residue. Her lips ring as she suckles it off her finger.

The same finger that scoops up her fallen dress sleeve. Only noticing it now that it's in view — Hara's clothes have a natural way of falling. She blames it on the down slope of her shoulder beds. Or how it's too hot to care, sometimes. Or...

She was born bare.

Still, her clothes had nearly melted right off her chest. The nipple of her left breast almost an unearthed sight.

❛ Sorry, Mar. Almost flashed you there. ❜

𝒇𝒕. @vitalphenomena

[cant-icle]

my moment has come.

pegoryu dragon age au

ask meme

"Dude, no," Ryuji says behind him, exasperatedly hefting his zweihander. "Do not put your hand in the rift, I don't care, if you put your hand in the rift again and Morgana finds out he's going to kill both of us--"

"But," Akira says so innocently that Ryuji takes three automatic steps closer, ready to grab him, "what if I do anyway?"

[gentlyepigrams]

"There are two hundred and six bones in the adult human skeleton and I can break every one of them. At once."

You're the healer of the group. The rest of the party has always treated you like you're made of glass. You were content to stay out of their way and let them do their thing. Until they all got downed leaving you the only one standing. That's when you show them how deadly healing magic can be.