#Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

[griffonatrix]

they're fantasizing about the life portrayed in a car commercial from 1962 it was never real. they want to retvrn to an absolute fantasy and not even one with magic or whatever just one where everyone drives a Chevrolet

Do women drunk on the trad wife fantasy know that women have been working in factories since the 1800s?

Like, why do you always assume you’re going to be middle to upper class living in the suburbs being a full time homemaker?

You’re more likely to be living in a multigenerational household while also doing some work on the side while raising your kids. Your money will go straight to your husband and he gets to decide what happens to it.

[yandere-sins]

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

[astrolook]

Degree Theory: Astrology’s Version of Skill Levels (Noobs to Final Bosses) 🎮🌟

You already know your Sun sign, but did you know the degree number it’s at can unlock even more secrets about you? 🤯

Every planet in your birth chart sits at a specific degree (0°-29°), and these numbers add an extra layer of meaning to your personality, strengths, and even life lessons.

Let’s break it down planet by planet—with a fun, no-BS take.

0° – The Cosmic Newborn 👶

"I’m here to start something big."

Planets at 0° act like fresh energy—pure, unfiltered, and ready to shake things up. People with 0° placements feel like pioneers, as if the universe dropped them off and said, "Figure it out!"

🔹 Sun at 0°: You radiate raw, unfiltered main character energy. You’re not here to follow—you're here to lead (or at least dramatically exist).

🔹 Moon at 0°: Your emotions are pure instinct—you don’t just feel things, you ARE the feeling. Mood swings? Nah, mood rollercoasters.

🔹 Mercury at 0°: Words just spill out, whether they make sense or not. Genius or chaotic chatterbox—depends on the day.

🔹 Venus at 0°: You love like a Disney princess—pure, big, dramatic. Also, zero poker face when you’re into someone.

🔹 Mars at 0°: Immediate action. No waiting, no thinking, just punching the gas (and sometimes people).

🔹 Jupiter at 0°: The lucky golden retriever of astrology. You say yes to everything, and somehow life rewards you for it.

🔹 Saturn at 0°: Born responsible. You came out of the womb stressed about taxes.

🔹 Uranus at 0°: You’re the definition of unpredictable. Even you don’t know what you’ll do next.

🔹 Neptune at 0°: You live in your own fantasy world, and reality is just a suggestion.

🔹 Pluto at 0°: Intensity level? Maximum. You were born with a “destroy and rebuild” button.

1°-9° – The Rising Star 🌟

"I’m developing my power."

Planets at early degrees feel like fresh talent in training—raw, ambitious, and figuring things out.

🔹 Sun at 5°: You’re the rising star in your social circle. Humble beginnings, but just wait—you're gonna shine.

🔹 Moon at 3°: Emotional development in progress. You’re learning what feels right and what just feels…ick.

🔹 Mercury at 7°: Brain-to-mouth filter? Still buffering. But your ideas? Gold.

🔹 Venus at 2°: Love is cute, fun, flirty—until you catch feelings, then it’s panic mode.

🔹 Mars at 8°: Your drive is explosive, but figuring out when to stop is the real challenge.

🔹 Jupiter at 6°: Luck works in your favor when you’re brave enough to take risks.

🔹 Saturn at 9°: Learning responsibility early in life, but still finding that work-hard-play-hard balance.

🔹 Uranus at 4°: Experimenting with your rebellious streak, but not fully committing (yet).

🔹 Neptune at 1°: A dreamer who’s just waking up to their spiritual and creative potential.

🔹 Pluto at 5°: Transformation is happening, but it’s not at full power (yet).

10°-19° – The Master of the Craft 🎓

"I know exactly what I’m doing."

Middle-degree planets are strong, balanced, and naturally expressed—not too raw, not too extreme.

🔹 Sun at 15°: Peak confidence. You own your personality like it’s patented.

🔹 Moon at 12°: Emotionally balanced—until someone messes with your peace. Then it’s war.

🔹 Mercury at 18°: Quick wit, great communicator, could talk their way out of a crime.

🔹 Venus at 14°: Aesthetic queen/king. Your love life and your fashion sense? Both on point.

🔹 Mars at 17°: Strategic AF. You know when to strike and when to chill—warrior with a plan.

🔹 Jupiter at 11°: Wise and lucky. Life is a game and you’ve got the cheat codes.

🔹 Saturn at 19°: The mature friend who somehow also enjoys chaos. You handle responsibility like a pro.

🔹 Uranus at 16°: Balanced rebel. Knows when to push boundaries and when to play along.

🔹 Neptune at 10°: Dreams are just clear enough to bring to reality. Manifesting pro.

🔹 Pluto at 13°: Power? Controlled but always present. You scare people (in a good way).

20°-28° – The Old Soul 🦉

"I’ve seen it all, and I’m here to finish the job."

Late-degree planets are intense, wise, and powerful—but also impatient because they’ve been through it all.

🔹 Sun at 25°: You’re a boss, period. No time for games, just legacy-building.

🔹 Moon at 22°: Emotionally deep AF. You KNOW things before people even open their mouths.

🔹 Mercury at 28°: Talks like a professor and a stand-up comedian at the same time.

🔹 Venus at 26°: Love is serious business. No casual dating, just intense connections.

🔹 Mars at 21°: Unstoppable force. You’ve already mastered action—now you’re here to win.

🔹 Jupiter at 23°: Wise beyond your years. You’ve learned all the lessons and now you’re the teacher.

🔹 Saturn at 27°: Life has tested you more than most, but you wear your scars like armor.

🔹 Uranus at 28°: Fully awakened rebel. You break all the rules, but somehow succeed anyway.

🔹 Neptune at 24°: Master manifestor. You make the impossible seem normal.

🔹 Pluto at 27°: Your power is legendary. You were born to make generational changes.

29° – The Fated Degree 🔥 (Final Boss Level of Astrology)

"This energy is my final test."

29° is called the "Anaretic Degree," aka the boss battle of astrology. It’s like cramming for a final exam—the universe is making sure you’ve truly mastered this planetary energy. If you have a planet here, there’s often urgency, intensity, and a feeling of fate around that area of life.

🔹 Sun at 29°: Walking powerhouse. You’ve learned all there is about your identity, and now it’s your final test to own it. Spotlight finds you whether you want it or not.

🔹 Moon at 29°: Emotional sage. You’ve felt it all, been through emotional hell and back, and now your intuition is on god-tier mode. But emotions can feel overwhelming, like you're carrying generations of feelings.

🔹 Mercury at 29°: Brilliant but exhausted mind. Your thoughts race at 5G speed, but decision-making is HARD because you see all the options. Overthinking is your enemy.

🔹 Venus at 29°: Love and beauty master. You’ve seen every possible romantic situation—loyalty, betrayal, passion, heartbreak. Now, love feels fated and no casual flings will do.

🔹 Mars at 29°: The warrior with no off switch. You’ve been in SO many battles (literal or metaphorical) that your go-to reaction is "fight first, think later." But the lesson? Not every war is worth it.

🔹 Jupiter at 29°: Lucky but reckless. You know how to take risks and make big moves, but sometimes it’s too much, too fast. Learning when to pull back is key.

🔹 Saturn at 29°: The old soul who’s been through the wringer. You’ve mastered responsibility, but you might feel like you’ve been an adult since age 5. Final test? Balancing hard work with actual joy.

🔹 Uranus at 29°: Rebel genius. You’ve already mastered breaking rules, revolutionizing ideas, and making history. Now? You need to use that power responsibly.

🔹 Neptune at 29°: Spiritual visionary. You’ve seen through the illusion, lived in your dreams, and touched the mystical. Now, the challenge is staying grounded in reality while keeping the magic alive.

🔹 Pluto at 29°: Transformation overload. You were born into powerful, life-changing experiences. Intensity follows you like a shadow, but your final test is learning to control the fire instead of letting it consume you.

So, What’s Your Degree Number? 🤔

Want to know what your planet’s degrees say about you? Message me for a personalized astrology reading and take a look at my pinned post as well! 🔮✨

[unpretty]

Kink woes (not really taxonomy hell) but I really want an rpg board game (could be similar to a ttrpg but I want a neutral mechanic like cards or spaces on a map directing the plot/flow rather than a GM telling us what to do). The game has to fit easily on a bed without too many pieces and be just involved enough to immerse yourself in the plot without distracting from the interaction between you and your partner(s). But I figured it would be set either in like a high fantasy quest through some kind of fae-like realm with strange rules or it would be a scifi with starship crewmates on an away mission to a planet with strange rules. The characters would have some sort of "soft no" reason why they won't ever be together but that obviously changed as they build "attraction points" throughout the game. There are features like "healing saliva" or "clothes as resources" that the players can choose to use or not but have to act them out in real life if they do. Locals/fae/q-like trickster beings may require various rituals and the higher the attraction points the more certain acts will benefit the characters. It's very specific but only because an rpg sex board game doesn't exist so I've thought a little about the mechanics.

I've looked everywhere for a board game more advanced than spin the wheel/roll the dice and perform the act. Someone on board game geek was asking people if they'd be interested in such a game but they were all like "i don't need a crutch" "id rather just role play" but something about there being choices with consequences, stakes, a little bit of danger, and a little immersive strategy with a partner(s) hits my kink dead on. But alas, I don't think it will ever exist and I doubt propper tagging will help.

this sounds like a handy theoretical solution to the problem where you invite some people over hoping for a gangbang but they just play complicated eurogames instead

[multific]

A Love Awakened

Modern!AU

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: In the modern world, he was an echo. But with you, he was a promise. Love awakened. Love eternal.

The night was still, heavy with the scent of autumn leaves and the faint hum of the city beyond your window. 

You sat curled on your couch, the only company a half-finished bottle of wine and the ache of solitude. The room was filled with shadows, lit only by the flicker of your laptop screen, and the work emails were long abandoned.

A sigh broke from your lips, a sound of longing and something deeper, an ache that no company had ever helped. 

The wine, warm and heady in your veins, loosened the lock on your heart.

"I just… I just want someone to love me," you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of loneliness. "Someone-anyone. Even if it’s… a monster."

The wind shifted outside and sent a whisper through the trees. 

You felt the chill of something unseen but said nothing more, your body sinking into sleep.

The dream was vivid, too vivid. 

A castle, ancient and covered in mist before you. 

From the shadows stepped a figure, tall, lean, and cloaked in the night itself. His eyes, pale and piercing, found yours. 

You felt the weight of ages in his gaze, and yet, beneath the terror, there was something familiar as though he had been waiting.

His voice was a rasp, deep and his breath terrified you at first. "You called for someone to love you." he spoke slow, it sent shivers down your spine.

You felt your heart stutter. “Who are you?”

“I am your Lord, Count Orlok,” he said simply, the name ancient, like him.

His fingers brushed your cheek, cold as marble, and you trembled. “You have stirred me from a long slumber, Little One. I have heard your heart’s weep."

You swallowed thickly, both terrified and entranced. “What… what do you want from me?”

His gaze burned into yours. “Come to me. Seek me, and you shall know love beyond the veil of time. But know this, if you do not come, you will never find me again.”

The dream shattered with your gasp as you woke with a start.

You dismissed the dream as wine-soaked fantasy, but the echo of his voice clung to your bones. 

You felt watched, shadows pooling where none should be.

Curiosity, or possibly madness, something unnamed drove you to your computer. 

You searched, digging deep into half-forgotten whispers and obscure forums. 

The world called him a myth, but the fragments you uncovered painted a map of impossibilities: sightings, a name whispered.

You found it, a place, hidden among mountains and woods. A private property which has been long untouched.

Your heart raced. “This is insane,” you muttered. Yet, the dream had felt more real than your life.

-

The journey was a blur. 

You remember buying the ticket, you remember getting on a plane and a train, you remember renting a car. You remember leaving said car in the nearby village.

You even remember an elderly lady warning you about the woods. 

But it all seemed to vanish when you saw the castle.

The castle stood ahead, a rough silhouette against the twilight.

The gates, rusted and heavy, groaned as they opened.

Inside, time had forgotten the walls, cobwebbed and cold stone. 

Your footsteps echoed as you wandered, drawn by something unseen. You didn't know how you knew which way to walk.

“You came."

Your breath hitched as Count Orlok emerged from the shadows. 

His form, monstrous and regal, seemed both part of the castle and apart from the world. Yet, his eyes softened as they met yours.

“You are real,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

A shadow of a smile, a movement so slight it seemed to flicker. “You crossed time to find me.”

His cold hand, hesitant, brushed yours. He was not used to the vulnerability of touch.

“I have watched centuries pass,” he murmured. “But never have I felt this pull.”

Your fingers, brave and trembling, entwined with his. “Then let me stay. Show me what love means to you.”

He stiffened a flicker of something old and wounded in his gaze. “You would give your heart to a creature the world has forgotten?”

You smiled, warmth against his cold. “You heard my heart when no one else did. You are not forgotten by me.”

The days became nights and the nights endless. 

Orlok, ancient and powerful, grew curious about your world, the flicker of your phone screen, the hum of music from your playlists. He watched the sky lit by the city glow and marvelled at the stars unchanged from his time.

He was a being of shadows, but with you, he learned light, not of the sun, but of laughter, of stories shared by candlelight. 

His touch, once cold and possessive, became tender, hesitant, and achingly careful.

And when you touched his face, tracing the lines of his features, you felt his tremble, the fear of breaking under something so fragile as your affection.

“I have lived without a heart,” he confessed one night beneath a sky with stars. “Now you have it.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his, his cold meeting your warmth, ancient meeting fleeting. 

But in that kiss, there was eternity.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[nohoperadio]

I've been thinking about that post about the fantasy where all your problems turn out to be because of lacking "The Vitamin", and I've been thinking like... what if that happened to me in real life, and I get prescribed The Vitamin, but every time I try to pick up the prescription some comical series of events happens to make it go wrong... like maybe the first time I pick it up a crow swoops down and snatches the bottle out of my hand and I'm like chasing it all over town, all yelling and shaking my fist and such... so the next week I try again, and then, well I can't think of a second one right now, but it would be something else equally as funny as the crow thing, that makes it go wrong again... and then this keeps happening every time for the rest of my life... I think it would be pretty interesting... idk, this is just something I've been thinking about... I hope these reflections can be useful to someone

[olderthannetfic]

I don't like the Disney LA's. Don't really need to go into it, everything has been said. But here's the thing I don't get. Why the fuck isn't Disney at least redoing their "worst" movies, I don't even mean for 100% accuracies sake either, but like Pocahontas. Either do a proper retelling, probably too dark, or do a revamp, give some Native American indigenous people the chance to make their own fantasy retelling of their own folk lore or a fusion between reality and fantasy. Like, sure some people love the movie. Right. But this is a case where the LA would give the people a chance to fucking break free of the colonialist and whitewashing of history, and the plight of the indigenous.

Or even redo the Frog Princess movie, because even though it had some good points, a lot of people had issues with how certain parts where handled, and how the story played out.

Nope, let's do movies where people preferred the original, and where it shows how little of a shit you give about actual diversity and giving people roles that are wholly their own. Where you're doing a less exciting and much more boring version of the original. (I know HTTYD isn't Disney, but that's also an example, why the fuck make a shot for shot remake with boring ass real life humans, when the original was good enough already? Just so people can abuse the poor actors? Thanks you fucksticks.)

(I'm not gonna go deeper into that either, because there was a submission last year that specifically pointed out that just because you reskin a European fairy tale, doesn't make it not European, or smth. And that there's nothing stopping Disney from actually adapting an actual cultural fairy tale from outside Europe, especially since there are culture specific variations of different fairy tales in other places, I think one example given was Cinderella, which also has a Vietnamese version and so on.)

--

Money.

The reason they do or don't do these things is money.

[risu-risa]

TL:DR Sex scenes can be just as resourceful a plot device as it is titillating and sexually arousing, but we also need to understand that sex is a sensitive topic, of which its presence can be discomforting, with that discomfort used AS in tandem with the plot.

I'm sure there's a deeper use for sex scenes in movies/tv, but I have yet to really see it that way, and not from lack of trying. I imagine it's just really hard to execute a good sex scene that either advances a plot or adds nuance to a character's behaviors, biases, subconscious contradictions, or taboos (we'll get back to this.)

I have maybe two different ways that a sex scene could prove useful for a film's plot/characters: uncomfortable, and comfortable. Assuming these sex scenes are uncensored and utterly self-indulgent-

The former could be a bit of a trigger, covering topics of taboo and either proving the taboo to be overly criticized, or emphasizing it, including the character(s) to be viscerally disgusting, and having crossed a line of humanity. This runs the risk of literally being illegal, but I would hope for dear fucking life that those illegal subjects aren't romanticized for the sake of a movie plot. (I don't and never will condone the creation or distribution of illegal materials, especially those that which depict real persons in compromising and exploitative situations or circumstances, I just want to make this clear.)

The latter option is more likely to be kept out of psychological horror environments, as this would be firmly placed in the safest-vanilla-missionary-monogamous-heteronormative kind of sex, but more or less deal with the personal preferences of its participants, showing how in their most feral and primal moments of lust, they would probably act different, and indicate different behaviors between the streets and the sheets, or at the very least hint to a deeper reasoning for their behavior.

Both however have the same core use of building character and subverting expectations, like any good narrative device. And just like any good narrative device it's also used to make for rewarding confirmation bias towards taboos (or lack thereof) in the topics of sexuality, the presentation of sexuality, or whether or not certain sexual fantasies are worth discussing in the first place.

Sex scenes are popular in a lot of adult media, but it's usually played safe out of respect of it being treated as a super duper touchy subject matter, that even depictions of death and mutilation aren't treated with. Maybe it's time to discuss why, before we start discussing how.

Remember, any provocation of emotion is a cinematic tool. Your arousal or dissuasion at a sex scene is deliberate.

yeah it sure is a good idea to keep media completely sexless and make porn the only room for overt sexuality. I'm sure that'll encourage a society with healthy ideas on sex.

[glorious-spoon]

i think fundamentally the appeal of steddie for me is that steve is the sort of person who just utterly resists being involved in the narrative. he doesn't want to be here. he has no interest in scientific discovery, or epic heroism, or fantasy games. he's a small-town jock who peaked in high school and he wants to flirt with girls and fix his hair and shoot hoops on the weekends and maybe get a job that sucks a little less than the job he currently has, and the existence of interdimensional monsters and brilliant brave little idiots he feels responsible for repeatedly trying to fight said monsters is really, like, throwing off his groove here.

and then there's eddie, who fucking loves a narrative. he wants a big bold fantastical story! he wants something larger than the life he has. he's going to get out of hawkins, he's going to get on a big stage, he's going to make something of himself! he's a storyteller, a dreamer, a provocateur. he wants reality to be more interesting than it is.

and then all of a sudden it is. in the worst way. and there's steve, this guy who really doesn't want to be here but who sighs and rolls his eyes and steps up to take the punches. and eddie is just - fascinated with him. and for steve, here's eddie, who is just a ridiculous person, who makes no goddamn sense at all, who gives him a flashlight and a jacket and pulls him aside while they're hiking through the underworld to eagerly and awkwardly try to bridge that gap between them and make a connection that's real.

idk! just compels me, that's all. they have nothing in common at all, but they're fascinated with each other. they want to know each other, and they should have gotten the chance to

[2222bad]

MIDNIGHT, THE STARS, AND YOU

a night of loving (with a view!) | 721 words

WARNINGS: sexual themes , fem!reader , riding , sweet talk

“it’s so pretty…so beautiful…” michael sighs out at the world. perfectly framed through the open balcony doors, billowing curtains, a fairytale fantasy made real just for the two of you. it wasn’t lost on you that he’s gotten to see this all his life, all the time. you finally understood why he could never get sick of it.

staring out at the calm blue night, the city lights, the hills and the paintings it could’ve made, your heart fluttered, taken over by all of its coolness, its beauty. and him, of course; tangled bare in each other, in the lushness of the hotel bedding. it felt like a most magical reverie.

you look out at the night, pressed cheek to cheek like in the old starlet movies, your eyes glinting with the night’s stars in them. he watches with soft eyes and presses his lips flat to your cheek, kissing there.

“everything with you is like a dream.” your eyes meet, his sharp brown tinted blue in the moonlight. when he laughs, you cross his shy giddiness with a giggle of your own, emphatically repeating yourself: “i mean it! everything.”

he smiles, his youth springing from him the way it did when he was a boy. “it all means so much more to me now that i can share it with you…”

the sweetness rolls out of his mouth and through your body like a field of flowers in the wind and his earthly hands run along the softness of your back, the comfort he nurtures silently goading you to kiss him. your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling your naked chests together. lips come together like they’d been made for the other’s, a gratitude escaping both your throats as it would in prayer. it’s beautiful like this, so right. the most perfect getaway. days of remarkable sights, local music, disguises to fool the public. nights of feasting; on the gorgeous food, on each other. you’d already gone a couple of delicious rounds this evening, you were practically bathed in the residual love.

your kiss deepened, and so did his need. that familiar heartbeat below, searched for reprieve. you look at each other, lips parted and glistening. silent permission meets a new look of want.

“can you…rub it on yourself?” he asks in a voice so low one might mistake it for timidness, but you know better. his desire, so ripe, awash over him. excitement heats your body instantly as you take him, hard and thick in your sweet hand, gently between your legs. oh… you moan low at the contact against your curls, rolling the slippery head taut against the bud of you. he lets out a long, savory sigh.

“do you like it?” you whisper shakily, eyes full with something caught between shame and surprise, arousal coloring your face all the same.

michael purrs in assent, teeth sunken into his lip, hips gyrating. “i love it. i love it, baby.”

you slide easy against him, warmer and warmer as he pulses harder, a delicate pang of need getting hotter against your body.

“that’s it, that’s it, baby, get it wet,” he utters under his breath, his guiding hand squeezing the flesh from your hip, the contact between your eyes never breaking…those darling brown eyes, round and wanting, laying all he needed on you with a mere twitch of an eyelash, long, pretty, and fluttering. you buck a little faster, totally blissed.

his breath quickens and his hand moves to cradle your lower back, almost stilling you completely. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice breathless and lustful—overcome with it. “c’mere…c’mere.”

you rock up onto his thighs and he slides his fingers between the two of you, his skin and knuckles growing sticky and wet. you raise your hips, chest meeting his chin, then lips as he kisses the bone along your sternum.

he rubs himself against the soft, slippery ache, beckoning you to take it again. with a whine you sink down wantonly, his eyes still trained on you diligently. love evident in the tenderness. your face contorts divinely, soon full to the brim with him, nestling perfectly along every pulsing vein. his name leaves you in a quivering moan and he kisses your jaw lightly.

“that’s it, darlin’.” he nods, bodies becoming one in the darkness. “want to see you come again.”

[tenderwatches]

summary: Jayce begins to reconcile with privilege and all the things he's never questioned

After a full week of working with Viktor, Jayce finally begins to accept that this is not a fantasy he’s conjured in his madness and grief. Against all odds, he and his partner are here, putting their heads together on a project once more.

It’s almost too much for him to bear; partly because the angry tension between them seems about to snap at any moment, but also because he’s now close enough to witness Viktor’s decline.

His health has always been a fragile thing. Even when they were much younger, Viktor’s breath came short too easily, pressure on his bad leg forced him to pause too often, and exhaustion shadowed his eyes on too many days. As they’d spent the years developing their work, it had worsened. They shared memories of steep decline; Viktor’s face growing thinner, paler, and there were times when pain ransacked his partner’s sense of autonomy.

It had been hard, infinitely harder for Viktor surely, but Viktor was his closest friend. He had saved Jayce’s life. Being helpless to make his days easier had been torment. Jayce helped how he knew at the time, building him a replacement cane for the one that was shattered the night they cracked Hextech, then developing it into a crutch once that no longer served to support him. Afterwards, there were the doctors, specialists, surgery—countless combustions of arguments, healing, bedridden days, hope, and everything in between.

Viktor’s slow decline, watching time steal pieces of him away—is a new class of staggering pain. Jayce has only ever known the kind of death he’d faced with his father—a sudden heart attack in the forge—nothing to be done. Sudden, finite. For a long time, that was the only kind of death Jayce could bring himself to accept.

With Viktor returned to him, however, his decline is on full display. It’s like the Undercity took him and returned nothing but a wraith. Viktor is thinner than he’s ever seen, colourless but for the transfixing gleam of his amber gaze. He can hardly move from station to station in their lab without obvious discomfort and can’t stand beyond the measure of a few minutes without a gentle tremble starting in the muscles of his crutch arm.

Jayce’s hands long to soothe. He needs to reach out and settle a gentle palm at the centre of his partner’s back, just below the edge of his brace, where he might catch the warmth of his body again. The desire strikes like he needs to prove to himself that Viktor is still here with the living.

An urgency roils in his chest and makes him want to abandon the stabilisation blueprints down into the chaos of his workstation. Makes him want to rip open the drawer where his secret project is locked away and dive back into it, building on the foundations of the work Viktor had been doing before… everything. He has to make this right.

Viktor calls it a ‘Hexcore.’

The thing his partner had built was an adaptive rune matrix, a device that could evolve according to the user’s needs.

It was revolutionary; and he’d gotten it destroyed.

Ever since, Jayce has been striving for penance; he took a leaf from Viktor’s book and saved the research that had been deemed too dangerous to continue. He’s found something here, a gap, a missing piece, a revelation just waiting to be laid open. He only has to put the pieces together—but this project, born alone in Viktor’s most desperate hours, yearns for the touch of their collaboration as much as Jayce does.

If Jayce allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, sharing this progress with Viktor, he sees Viktor pleased, smiling. But if the explosion of their first real conversation last week is any indication, this is a fallacy. Broaching the topic again should be done with caution. Though their way has always been a bit reckless—if you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission—he fears the revelation wouldn’t survive Viktor’s outrage if it’s seen as a bargaining chip for their previous warmth and affection.

Those better times now lie in a grave too deep to be exhumed, and Jayce knows this chance is the one thing he can’t bear to risk. He can’t get it wrong.

Jayce replays the frantic press of Viktor in his arms in the midst of their terrible argument, reliving the sensation of the bones of his body, heat of his skin. It drives him to distraction and disgrace; he’s standing here now, just a scant distance from the man himself, and this is what is going through his mind.

Viktor is up and moving, his gait is a slow thing, leaning so heavily on his crutch that his slender shoulders tremble with the effort. His back curves to the side to allow him to take pressure off his leg, and he rests just the metal toe cap of his brace on the ground to minimise the pressure on his knee.

Even in such obvious decline, he’s beautiful.

It feels voyeuristic; Jayce can’t help but see the lines of his body as lovely, notice the way his tailored vest accentuates the mesmerising dip of his waist. Jayce longs to step forward and place hands there, let Viktor lean back into his chest, and feel the weight of him lingering like he had days ago.

What would it be like if Viktor would let him?

Would he tip his head back to rest on Jayce’s collar bone? Would he run fingers up Jayce’s forearms as if to telegraph that this is where Jayce’s hands belong?

His imaginings blur with the memories of what it was like to hold him, even so briefly and in conflict, before Viktor had ordered him away. He is just recalling the scent of Viktor’s hair (machine oil, chalk dust, and the clean notes of his shampoo) when a voice shatters his peace. Thomas has come up beside him. The young man has spent the last several days adapting to the new presence in the lab. He’d skittered around them in a cocktail of mild fascination and nerves, but seems to have finally acclimated.

“He really is something.” Thomas’s eyes settle on Viktor, who moves across the room towards his workstation, settling down to peer at a synthetic hex crystal and take agitated notes. Jayce blinks, feeling oddly caught out to realise he had, in fact, been staring like a starving man at his partner’s back while imagining his body pressed close like a lover’s. He clears his throat and hopes to every god he isn’t flushing like a teenager.

“Hard to believe he’s from the Undercity,” the boy continues as Viktor purses his lips and scratches his pen through what Jayce assumes is an equation that isn’t cooperating. He’s about to hum his agreement to the boy and continue trying and failing to do his own work when Thomas’s comment hits him.

Jayce knows the context of Viktor’s initial rise to Piltover. He understands that he came from the sunless Entresol levels of the Undercity, knows that he had no formal education and everything he has worked for came through years of self-determination and discipline. When he considers Viktor’s success in becoming, frankly, one of the greatest scientists Jayce has ever had the pleasure to know, it’s this formidable journey he thinks of.

But Thomas doesn’t know all that; he doesn’t understand the specific context of Viktor’s personal story. Like others in Piltover, when he says ‘from the Undercity’, the comment means something different. Jayce thinks back to their heated exchange from Viktor’s first night back.

“I have never—cared—where you’re from!”

“Exactly. You never look at it. How could I expect you to care? … . You’d never choose to look at it.”

At the time, he thought the blazing accusation was unfair. Viktor’s background has never been a concern for him—it’s never made him feel that Viktor might be less capable. He’s always thought of that as a good thing, but suddenly, he’s curious.

“What do you mean by that?” The question is genuine, but Thomas is eager to please and easy to fluster. A simple, middle-class Piltover scholar, much like Jayce himself had been a few years back. He’s a slight thing, sandy-haired, unassuming, and dappled with an abundance of freckles. He’s smart, dedicated, and has earned his position on the staff here, but folds into a tangle of his own perceived shortcomings when pressed.

“Oh, nothing really. He’s just… really smart,” the boy ventures, biting his lip a bit as he worries through the choice of his next words. “And… it must be nice, I guess… that he has this opportunity to work with you.”

The comment detonates in Jayce’s chest like a destabilised hex crystal. The way that statement is a slight against Viktor’s place as his partner begins to seep through. What’s more shocking, however, is that it’s the kind of casually, maybe even kindly meant statement that has been made to him dozens of times before. He wonders now, with swelling contrition, how many times have people said these things to him. Hell, how many times have they been said directly to Viktor?

“Viktor is a fine scientist, Thomas, and my partner at Hextech.” He spins his chair to the side, pinning Thomas with a look so serious that the young scientist blinks back at him in mild alarm. “This isn’t about him having the ‘opportunity��� to work with me—yes, he’s from the Undercity, but that only means we were lucky to find him.” The boy swallows thickly, and Jayce thinks he may be close to scaring the poor kid to death. “You’re part of Hextech now, too, so I hope you are giving one of the visionaries that brought it to life your full respect.” He works on setting his expression in what he hopes is an encouraging smile, though the boy still looks like he’s being told Jayce would like to light him on fire. Jayce can’t make himself offer more comfort than that, though, and he turns back to his station as his assistant scuffles away with a quiet ‘Yes, sir.’

His pulse is thudding in his temples, and he leans forward to press his thumbs there, thinking hard. How many remarks like that have come and gone? How many times has Jayce himself heard and never questioned these things? And Viktor, gods, Viktor has been there the whole time, watching him stroll past the every patronising remark without a word in return.

He feels foolish and short-sighted. It didn’t just start with Viktor, did it? There was something deeper than that here, but he’d spent so long asserting that Viktor was his partner, his equal—he’d forgotten that simply saying it didn’t make it so.

Jayce just hadn’t seen it. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he hadn’t looked for it.

It is a humiliating thing to reflect on. In truth, he’s avoided looking at these things because these people liked him, were kind, well-meaning, and sympathetic. It was easy to take them at face value while they shook his hand, invited him to their parties, and lauded his success.

Now, he wants to reach inside himself, pinpoint where this pathology of indifference begins, and mend it. But how do you heal a wound that doesn’t hurt?

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

Summertime, 968 AN

On the first Progress Day that Jayce could truly recall, it was raining. He was maybe nine or ten in his memories of it, though perhaps he was younger. The summer air had been humid that morning, heavy with the warm moisture of a summer squall that had rolled in from the sea beyond the Sun Gates, across the glittering towers of the City of Progress in a lazy series of small showers.

The weather hardly deterred celebrations; the streets remained a hive of activity. Vendors still hawked their wares, and frantic apprentices to the academy scrambled quickly towards whatever merchant clan auditions they were hoping to distinguish themselves in. The rain was a minor inconvenience to the hum of potential in the air. Shopkeepers unrolled awnings to keep off the worst of it. Jayce watched in fascination as the drops of rain pattered against the spider web of glittering copper and waxed linen that created an arch of shelter for them.

He had a hand in his father’s broad palm. Calloused fingers held tight around his own. Ezra Talis was a craftsman through and through, from his broad shoulders to his kind, leonine face. His eyes were the same shade of honeyed gold as Jayce’s, though his complexion tended a bit lighter than either Jayce’s or his mother’s warm tawny skin, a nod to his Freljordan heritage.

His father was always kind but assertive, clear-eyed, and stubborn; he never seemed to run out of lessons for his son, and Jayce loved nothing so much as learning. Jayce thought he might be the best man in the world.

He turned his face towards his father as he heard the clink of coins exchanging. He watched Ezra’s polite chatter with the vendor as he lifted his free hand up to receive the warm pastry his father had purchased for him. It was wrapped in crinkling paper printed with red and gold cogs that reminded him of House Talis colours, the same as his father wore on his belt buckle, the gold buttons of his jacket, and the pin in his tie.

He took a bite of the pastry, enjoying the way the flaky crust gave way to a rich filling with the caramel sweetness of dates and honey. His eyes darted back up to the awning over them as his father tugged him to the side, careful to keep his son close to him as he and the shopkeeper continued their idle talk.

Jayce began to consider the construction that must be used to make the copper skeleton of the awning and how its pulley system must connect to allow it to extend. He loved to pass time this way, constructing and deconstructing the workings of the world.

He was just beginning to get the picture of how the joints had to be arranged when a flurry of motion across the square drew his eye. A gaggle of dirty children wove through the crowd with a practiced sort of ease. It reminded him of watching gulls on the docks dive into the eddies to scoop up fish.

They prowled with subtle purpose, scanning the crowd, and Jayce understood enough of the world to imagine they must be looking for people caught unaware, for a loose purse or a watch chain not secure enough to draw notice when they plucked at it.

He tucked into the side of his father’s leg a bit more, surveying them and bringing his pastry close to his chin as if the children might suddenly lunge across the square for it. He had seen them before, of course, the poor children who trickled up from the Undercity, but mostly they kept their actions contained to the Bridge of Progress or the lower quarters of the city. Up this high, you rarely caught more than a single dirty face or two.

No one in Piltover appreciated begging or loitering. He had heard the men in his father’s workshop say, ‘A living is earned by the sweat of your brow or the sharpness of your mind.’

‘Charity is a gift one earns from society by making oneself useful,’ his mother intoned to the ladies she chatted with while she haggled for supplies for the forge.

If these children weren’t here to beg, then they were most certainly here to steal. He knew there was a name for these children, one he had heard from the others in his primary lessons.

Sump snipes. Urchins from the Undercity. He had only ever used the word once and was met with the derision of his mother, who called it an unkind term. The workers in his family’s forge used it often enough, though, he had noticed—along with various more colourful terms. Almost all of them lived much closer to the cliffs than his own family, their houses hugging the edge of the fissures that led down to the lower promenade where the true Undercity began. He assumed they must see folks from there more often than he did, and seemed very quick to use those unkind terms for them.

His father and mother would counsel him to have empathy and gratitude, that these children were innocents who had so much less than him. The workers at his family forge would shed disappointed words, all whilst insinuating that the children’s parents must have scorned opportunities to work good, honest jobs. The conflicting talk painted a strange mental image of the children, something between a cautionary tale and the crime serials that ran in the papers, full of careless, dastardly rogues. But the bleak reality underwhelmed him; the children were thin and ragged around the edges in a way that set them apart. But there was nothing else that seemed remarkable about them.

He noticed the tall, bony boy who appeared to be leading them was missing three fingers on his left hand. The smallest, almost his own height, maybe a peer to him in age, listed a bit to the side when he walked, and when he turned, there was an empty socket where his right eye should have been. He didn’t wear anything to cover it.

The yawning absence made Jayce’s chest tighten uncomfortably, like his body was telling him to turn away, but he held fast, fascinated. He stared, even though he knew his mother would call him rude for it. He had never seen people who looked like they did up close before. Like the awning from before, he found himself considering how a finger was built out. He’d studied the inner workings of his own mother’s prosthetics, two fingers made of the finest silver his father could commission. Jayce had even been allowed to watch part of the construction. It was delicate work, like a jeweller would do, using elegant tools that seemed too fragile to be useful, but created the most beautiful patterns.

He wondered what a set might look like for three fingers, how flesh and metal might work best to open and close, to give the boy his grip back. He only realised he had been caught staring when the oldest boy let out a sharp whistle to call the others along with him. Jayce blinked, embarrassed at his own lack of tact. He wished, absurdly, that he could explain to the boy he wasn’t trying to be rude, but dreaming of ways he could help him, how he could then do more things than pinch purses. Maybe he could hold a hammer and learn to metalwork, like Jayce was.

What if they might wear the apprenta uniforms of the Academy, like he hoped to one day? Rather than urchins on the fringes of the day’s celebrations, they might be his classmates instead, with a brighter future than whatever their present must be. In his imaginings, they were all friends, brought together by how he’d helped them, like his father did for others; the oldest boy would throw an arm around his shoulders (they’re the same height now) and grin in camaraderie.

But then, another figure appeared in his memories, radiating with promise and power.

He remembered the glow of blue light, the slender, hooded figure emerging from a wall of blinding snow as he begged for help, the swirl of glowing runes in the air, the beautiful expanse of stars that he and his mother had hung in, away from cold, pain, and fear.

This delivery was what he wanted to give the boys—the kind of impossible hope that only magic could bring. He wanted to be able to reach out and save them. Save everyone.

Jayce took a final bite of his pastry, closed his eyes, and dreamed. Not of praise or achievement, but of countless small miracles and blue lights dancing in his hands, giving breath and life to all who needed it. In his dreams, magic wasn’t just power wielded by the few—it was a bridge between everything that was, and everything that could be.

𓊈 first chapter | previous chapter 𓊉 𓊈 next chapter on AO3 𓊉

AN: i missed two tumblr updates bc i got bit by a stranger cat and my life was thrown into turmoil sorry lol (we are all ok) also i realised that i said the chapter name of the last one wrong, it's 'Defiance', not 'Design', that one is still coming up!! this one is Ch. 6, 'Dreams of Progress', and this post is STILL late (should have been yesterday) but we have updated on AO3 today!!!

[melk-maid]

warnings: everyone is aged up 21+, fluff, a little angst in the backstory, stsg mentioning (canon flirting honestly), first kisses. synopsis: you isolate yourself to the music room of Jujutsu Technical College on a rainy day, planning to wallow in your lost dreams of fame.

note: this is a reupload! this was a secret santa for the amazingly talented @lydybyrd!! enjoy~♡ minors & ageless blogs dni - you will be blocked

You dream of a sold out stadium, hundreds of thousands of fans cheering and singing along to lyrics you have written, all eyes on you as you perform your latest songs. The rush would be incredible, a feeling of euphoria that's impossible to be replicated. Knowing— seeing how many lives you've touched and changed in unimaginable ways, connected to all these people with the power of music.

Instead, you're sat in front of a grand piano watching raindrops beat against the window, trying desperately to avoid your real life responsibilities as a sorcerer.

Fingers press down on the keys lazily, holding the note to drown out the doom and gloom of your situation. Whenever life gets tough you always fall back into the fantasy, a world you'll never see. It was like a second home in your mind when you were a kid, bouncing around the foster system until you were picked up by Jujutsu Tech, no one ever understood you nor did they care enough to try. All you wanted was to be normal, to live the same life as anyone else your age, reach for the stars in the hopes to make your lifelong dreams of being a musician come true. Hell, you'd take being a music teacher or some kind of background job if you couldn't be in the limelight. Anything that would allow you to fill your life with music and instruments. Sadly, you're forced to work and use your unique abilities as a jujutsu sorcerer to rid the world of dangerous curses and hope you don't die in the process.

As selfish as it is, you don't care to fight curses. Those are the cards you've been dealt and no one wanted you because of your unique ability; even when you begun to hide it, there was still something about you that families didn't care for. As grateful you are to be in a safe and stable environment at the school, it hinders your dreams.

You blink and reality begins to set in again; the grey shadows against the walls from the miserable weather, a small chill of the cold winds breaking into the building, the guilt over hiding from your responsibilities.

Your hands move on their own accord, playing something off of the top of your head. Whatever feels right at the time, a way to express your emotions through the notes, something you've never been good at doing the old fashioned way. Talking is hard but communicating everything you feel through an instrument is much easier. You wish to fly but you're tied down by the chains at your feet, they keep you grounded and obedient, watching as your dream slowly begins to vanish in the distance.

Suguru hears the piano as soon as he enters the building. Assigned to look for you by Yaga, he had a funny feeling he knew where you'd be after your dorm room turned up empty. The music room is only ever used by you — it was built for you after all the begging and noise that disrupted other students in the dorms. He'll never forget the bright smile or the shine in your eyes when the designated room was finished, or how you spent every waking moment playing the piano. It's clear your passion lies in music and it was the moment Suguru realised just how much he wants to see that look on your face everyday.

The tune makes a home in his chest, notes surrounding his heart and tugging on the strings. He feels the emotions being conveyed through such a delicate tune, the somber tone that echoes through the hall. Suguru creeps towards the music room, remaining quiet so as not to spook you. The door is open ever so slightly, giving him an easy view of your back at the piano. He slots himself between the sliding door and frame, leaning with his hands in his pockets, watching as you play entirely unaware of his presence.

Your hands seem to move with ease, not a single key out of place or hesitancy. It's as though you knew this piece by heart, that you're an expert and you've played these notes thousands of times before. The song speaks to him, though he can't be sure why — the beauty of music is that it can resonate with everyone differently, still connecting them through a mutual enjoyment.

When the keys begin to fade off, Suguru says, "Can I join you?"

The once quiet and peaceful room is suddenly shrouded with the sound of A0 bouncing menacingly off the walls. You panicked hearing Suguru behind you, your heart and body jumping, grabbing onto the piano for leverage.

Turning around you try to relax your racing heart. "How long have you been there?" Playing something like that is so incredibly vulnerable to you. It feels as though you were exposing your soul through the music — you didn't anticipate an audience to see you bare all.

For a moment there's a flash of surprise on Suguru's face, worried about your reaction but it quickly melts into a sweet and innocent smile. "Not long," He steps into the room towards you, "That song was beautiful, did you write it?"

You try and soften your features as you shake your head. "Not exactly."

You've performed for the other students and alumni at the school over the years but those are controlled, you know people are watching and listening to you, you don't have to show them parts of you that you don't want them to see. It's almost embarrassing knowing Suguru heard any of that — as though he could see right through you now.

"I was just playing whatever came to mind." You explain briefly, turning back to the piano and trying not to let the anxiety consume your already weary heart.

Suguru hums but he doesn't poke the wound, instead he says, "Can you teach me?"

For a moment you look surprised, making him wonder if he'd said something wrong — until you nod quickly and shuffle on the stool to give him room. While the stool is quite long, Suguru still sits almost on the edge with your hips and thighs pressed flush to one another. It sends sparks throughout your body, missing the way he smiles softly and the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

"What do you know already about playing the piano?"

"Not much," He traces his fingers over the keys, "My family didn't care much for music."

You smile pitifully towards your lap and try to remember when you first learned how to play as a kid. It's difficult trying to think of the basics that are instinctual to you, but are integral steps to learn in playing for someone with zero experience. Fingers spread over the keys, you play a couple of simple notes in a short melody, something slow that should be easy to keep up with. "Now you try."

He's unsure and it shows in the way he tries to place his hands like yours once were. You return to the keys you'd played, hovering your hands over the white teeth and watching as violet eyes check your placement before comparing and adjusting his own. Being on a different part of the keyboard, Suguru's tune was bound to sound different to yours, but it wasn't correct for his first try.

"Spread your fingers out a little more." You instruct and spread your fingers further for emphasis. Pressing the keys even slower this time, you count aloud with each press. "One, two, three…"

This time is a little better, though he is a little heavy handed in the way he presses the keys — almost like he's trying to break the piano in the process. You giggle and Suguru feels his heart begin to soar at the sound, unable to stop the goofy smile that spreads across his face as he looks over at you. "Was that not good?"

"You're slamming the keys; relax a little, like this—"

You're in his space, moreso than before, with your hands gently laid on top of his. So much smaller in comparison, your palm rests over his knuckles just to reach the tips of his fingers with your own. It was so casual the way you moved over him and Suguru was hoping you don't feel the slight shake of his hands in excitement.

"One, two, three…" You count, pressing his fingers down with your own as guidance. Much more gentle, melodic and natural.

Your intention was to teach him, completely unaware of how intimate this position was. When you came to, you pulled away as quickly yet naturally as you could, hoping he didn't notice how quickly your palms had begun to sweat. Clearing your throat of the lump that had formed there, you take a breath and praise him quietly before quickly moving on to another tune.

It wasn't much more complicated than the last, but Suguru puposely messes it up. The first few times you try and help guide him without touching him, though you couldn't decide if he was playing with you or not — especially not when he was smiling and laughing as you playfully scolded him.

Eventually, you give in and lay your hands over his again, counting as you press his fingers; Suguru wasn't paying attention to the piano, rather, his head was turned to look at you. It takes a second for you to realise, looking up at him when he doesn't respond to something you'd said. Your cheeks instantly heat up in embarrassment from both the proximity of your faces and your cluelessness.

The small smirk that tugs on his lips makes your heart stop beating.

It feels like time has stopped, his face moving in so slowly towards you that you can't be sure if it's you or him that's moving. Suguru's hot breath fans over your lips and you find yourself eager to steal it.

"Can I kiss you?"

A stupid question, you think — even stupider is the way you have to supress yourself from screaming 'yes!' You're trying to be subtle and cool about it, but you hands are sweating and likely shaking from adrenaline and they're still laid atop of his, completely blowing your non-chalant cover. Because your voice will fail you, you hum in response.

Suguru's lips are sweet and soft. As though they were meant just for you, you slot together like puzzle pieces. Nothing could even begin to match the overwhelming and delicate sensation of his lips on yours. Sparks of excitement tear through you and suddenly everything is okay. Your past is to be forgotten, your pesent isn't ideal but this moment makes up for it tenfold — you feel like you can conquor anything in the future as long as Suguru can kiss you like this.

The kiss doesn't last as long as you'd have liked (forever) and you force yourself to remain cool and casual about the kiss, despite the childlike grin that's spread across your face, and the fact you can hardly look him in the eye. You hope your flushed cheeks arent as noticable as they feel. Such a special and sweet moment that will be cherished by you both, if only it weren't ruined moments later.

There's a gagging noise that tears the pair of you from the dream-like state you resided in, Gojo calls attention to himself from the doorway of the music room. Leaning between the doorframe and half open door, he leans his upper body through the door and wears a scowl of annoyance. Glasses hanging down his tilted head, those playful blue eyes give away his act.

"Break it up love birds! Suguru is my partner in crime, only." Gojo barks, "And I'm not willing to share with anyone."

Your flushed face grows hotter in embarrassment of being caught sharing your first kiss with Suguru. While there are worse people to catch you both — Utahime comes to mind — Gojo is the king of making a big deal from nothing.

"Stop being so jealous," Suguru teases, sliding his hands from beneath yours and you realise you'd remained intertwined the whole time.

"I'm not jealous." Gojo huffs as he storms into the room, practically dragging Suguru out of the stool beside you. "I was worried the strongest duo would be split up when we have a mission."

Suguru furrows his brows in confusion, not bothering to pull away from his best friends hand around his arm. "We don't have a mission today — unless it's an emergency."

"It is an emergency." Gojo grins. "I need to go eat ice cream, and you," He points a slender finger towards Suguru, "Need to come with me."

You release the breath you'd been holding, worried that an emergency mission would somehow include you too. It's not often you're sent on missions with them, but Yaga has been known to do so as punishment.

Suguru playfully pushes Gojo's shoulder. "Get ice cream by yourself, or do you need me to hold your hand?"

"Would you kindly?" Gojo responds, holding his hand out and you feel like the third wheel of this relationship.

"Have you guys finished flirting? I have practise." You lie, but you aren't interested in watching the man who just kissed you proceed to play around with his friend in front of you.

Gojo takes the hint easily, running out of the room after Suguru confirmed he would go help him get some ice cream despite the rainy weather. He remains for a moment beside the stool, almost bashful as he says, "Would you be willing to teach me more tomorrow?"

It's obvious he isn't suggesting the brief piano lessons.

"Yeah," You bite your lip and giggle, "I can teach you."

When Suguru finally leaves the music room, closing the door behind him, you wait for a few seconds to ensure he'd made his way down the hall to catch up with Gojo. Then, you practically slam your hands onto various keys of the piano and squeal with elation.

[mintyys-blog]

Ooh!!! Steve x reader Shes finishing her training with the team and steve found out what smut fanfics are via his laptop. Accidently finding y/ns Tumblr steve is inbetween eyes wide shock till he binges on the smut that was written about him and y/n getting ideas (cause smutt is a womans fun read hehehe)

TUMBLR SMUT— steve rogers x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sexual fantasies, implied sex.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her forehead as she finished her last set of push-ups, Natasha giving her a nod of approval.

“You’re getting stronger,” Nat said, tossing Y/N a water bottle. “Almost ready for full-time missions.”

“Almost?” Y/N groaned, collapsing onto the mat. “I swear, at this point, I could bench-press Thor.”

“Sure, sure,” Nat smirked before standing up. “Go shower. Debrief’s in an hour.”

Y/N saluted lazily and dragged herself toward her room, already fantasizing about a hot shower and possibly sneaking in a nap before the meeting. What she didn’t expect was Steve standing in the hallway, looking… tense. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Uh, hey, Cap,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Everything okay?”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it. His gaze flickered over her, but not in the usual, assessing way. No, there was something else in his expression—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I just… needed to talk to you about something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sure. What’s up?”

Steve hesitated. Then he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and turned the screen toward her.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

On display, clear as day, was her Tumblr. More specifically, her smut Tumblr. And worse? The fic pulled up was a detailed, explicit, absolutely filthy story about her and Steve.

“Oh my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her soul leave her body.

Steve cleared his throat, still blushing but now looking way too amused. “So, I, uh, I was trying to figure out what ‘smut’ meant after Bucky mentioned it. Thought it was just old-timey slang for dirt.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

“Turns out,” Steve continued, his voice dangerously casual, “it’s not about dirt at all. And then I somehow ended up here. On this.” He wiggled the phone slightly for emphasis. “And Y/N… I gotta ask… is this you?”

Y/N scrambled for a lie. “Nope! Nope, definitely not! Anyone could write that! Lots of people fantasize about you!”

Steve hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Because this one has details about a mission we were on two weeks ago.”

She was so dead.

“I mean,” she tried again, “it could be—”

“Y/N,” Steve said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You wrote this. About me.”

Her breath hitched. His blue eyes were locked onto hers, and there was something… new in his gaze. Heat. Amusement. And something darker.

“…Are you mad?” she finally squeaked.

Steve smirked. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You’ve got a vivid imagination,” he said, voice deep and teasing. “And I think we should see if any of these ideas of yours hold up in real life.”

Her brain short-circuited. “Wait, what?”

Steve chuckled, brushing past her with a low whisper. “Debrief’s in an hour, but after that?” His lips curved into a smirk. “I think we need to have a private training session.”

Y/N stood frozen in the hallway long after he left, face burning, heart racing, and mind filled with very real possibilities.

She was so screwed. And she couldn’t wait.

Later That Night

Y/N spent the entire debrief avoiding eye contact with Steve. Every time she accidentally glanced his way, she caught him already looking at her, that same damn smirk playing at his lips. It was unfair—he was supposed to be the bashful one! Not the one making her feel like she was about to combust from sheer embarrassment and, worse, anticipation.

By the time the meeting ended, she had all but planned an escape route back to her room.

Unfortunately, Steve had other ideas.

The second she stepped into the hallway, a firm hand curled around her wrist.

“Not so fast,” Steve murmured, his voice low and teasing as he guided her in the opposite direction.

“Steve,” she hissed, glancing around. “Someone’s gonna see—”

“Then don’t make a scene,” he said simply.

Her brain short-circuited again.

They turned a corner, and before she could question him, he pulled her into an empty training room. The door clicked shut behind them, the dim lights flickering to life.

Y/N crossed her arms, desperately trying to appear unaffected. “Alright, Captain,” she said, sarcasm barely masking her nerves. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”

Steve just smiled. Not his usual, polite grin. No—this was slow. Confident. Like a man who had spent hours reading her most explicit thoughts and now knew exactly how to use them against her.

Her knees wobbled.

“I told you,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N swallowed. “You—you actually read them?”

“Every single one,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerous. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Oh. Oh no.

She thought back to the things she had written—the very detailed, very filthy things. If he had read them all, then—

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Her Tumblr was still pulled up.

Her mortification skyrocketed.

“This one,” he continued, tilting the screen toward her. “You said I’d have you begging in less than five minutes.”

Her soul left her body.

“Steve—”

“You also said I’d be too much for you to handle,” he mused, scrolling down. “That I’d ruin you, make you forget your own name—”

“Steve!”

He grinned. “That what I do with my hands alone would be enough to—”

“OH MY GOD.”

He laughed, catching her wrist when she tried to snatch the phone away. “C’mon, sweetheart, no need to be embarrassed. I loved it. Hell, I might need you to write more.”

“More?!”

“Sure,” he said smoothly, finally setting his phone down. “But first, I need to check your accuracy.”

She blinked. “My… what?”

He stepped closer, until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Your accuracy,” he repeated, his voice a slow, deliberate tease. “I need to know if what you wrote is actually true. If I really could have you begging in less than five minutes. If I can make you forget your own name.”

Her breath hitched.

He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her wrist. “So,” he said softly, his lips just inches from hers, “wanna help me test your theories?”

Y/N made a very undignified squeaking noise.

And then she made the best decision of her life.

She nodded.

Steve smirked. “Good girl.”

And then he really put her writing to the test.

The moment his lips met hers, Y/N lost all sense of reality.

Steve kissed her like he had memorized every filthy word she had ever written. Like he knew exactly how to dismantle her, piece by piece, and put her back together with nothing but his hands and his mouth.

His fingers slid up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before cupping her jaw. His grip was firm—controlling—but not forceful. It was a silent promise: I’ve got you. Let me lead.

And God help her, she let him.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his other hand skimming down her waist, pressing her flush against him. He was solid, every inch of him muscle and warmth, and the heat rolling off him made her dizzy.

Steve chuckled against her lips, breaking away just enough to murmur, “Not even two minutes, and you’re already breathless.”

Y/N’s brain refused to function.

She tried to form a comeback—something witty, something not humiliating—but all that came out was a shaky, “Shut up.”

Steve grinned. “That’s not what you wrote.”

Her entire body ignited in flames.

“Steve,” she started, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

Oh, he was enjoying this. The smug satisfaction in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips—he was toying with her.

And worse? She loved it.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and her breath hitched.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured, blue eyes dark with amusement. “Did you ever imagine this happening for real?”

Y/N swallowed. Hard.

Yes. A million times, yes.

But she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Not exactly like this,” she muttered.

Steve hummed, tilting his head. “No?”

His fingers trailed down her throat, barely skimming over her collarbone before tracing along her waist.

“How about now?” he asked, voice nothing but velvet and sin.

Y/N hated how easily she melted.

“I—” Her breath caught as his hands tightened on her waist, holding her in place.

She was screwed.

Steve leaned in, his lips grazing her ear.

“Three minutes,” he whispered. “And you’re already falling apart.”

Her knees buckled.

Steve caught her, chuckling darkly as he tut-tutted under his breath. “Guess I don’t need five minutes after all.”

Y/N could have died from the humiliation.

But God, she never wanted him to stop.

And judging by the way Steve was looking at her, he wasn’t planning to.

Not for a long, long time.

Y/N barely had time to process the absolute disaster she had gotten herself into before Steve was moving again.

His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him, and oh—oh. Her stomach flipped at just how easily he handled her, how effortlessly he backed her against the training room wall without breaking eye contact.

She felt small against him, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Steve,” she breathed.

He smirked.

“Yeah?” he murmured, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to her neck.

Y/N gasped. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight, her fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

Steve made a satisfied sound, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered, his voice deep, rough.

Y/N’s brain stopped working.

She should have known he’d be like this. He wasn’t just a gentleman—he was a soldier. A strategist. He read people, learned their weaknesses. And right now? He was using every bit of that knowledge to ruin her.

It was working.

Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, her body burning from the way his hands traced over her waist, how he pinned her there like he had every intention of keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Steve pulled back slightly, his blue eyes darker than she had ever seen them.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured. “In those stories of yours… how does this part usually go?”

Y/N swallowed, her entire body trembling.

Steve grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice nothing but wicked promise. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

And with that, he bent down, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out of the training room like he was on a mission.

The look he gave her before the door shut behind them made one thing very clear.

Tonight? They wouldn’t be getting any sleep.

[orleans-jester]

“Oh, we will definitely be thanking Elsa later,” Maddy asid, already thinking of trying to message Koda, or Ellie, or even Valerie to find out what sort of things that Elsa liked so Maddy can give them in abundance. Maybe a little overboard but - she had an integral part to play in her dream coming true.

And it really did come true. She did everything that she had always wanted to do, living out the fantasy tht she had in her mind since she was younger.

She still remembered the first Christmas that she had with snow, over in New York. Real snow, not just a light fluttering that was gone by the next morning. Crouching on the balcony of the prestige hotel and watching it fall down while her family was all inside. Before they realized that she was gone and came to look for her. Her hands were extended over the railing, catching as many of the snowflakes as she could in her hand until her fingers had started to go numb. The air was so cold, and the snow blanketed the city so it became quiet, like the whole world was holding its breath for a moment.

It felt like Feral was holding its breath.

She was like a puppy, almost, experiencing her first snow fall. She was out there and running once Bastien was holding Frankie safely. Wading through the snow, kicking it up, twirling in it like something out of a Hallmark movie montage. Snowflakes clung to her hair, to the dress that she was wearing - the snowpants for later. She felt the cold against her legs, but it was tolerable. And it was oh so soft.

That night, they were in the ice cottage, with a roaring fire that somehow didn’t make it melt on that first night. They made love in front of that fire, their heat enough to rival it together. Their breaths came out in a fog, and it felt so beautiful, so personal.

There was no one else in the world that she would rather experience this with. It was perfect. It was something that she was going to remember for the rest of her life, she was going to make sure of that. She’d write down every detail once they were back in their comfortable dungeon home, how it felt, all that happened, her thoughts, her feelings, how cute her husband looked with a pink nose. It was the closest thing she could do to making sure they would never forget.

That was true. From the kiwi crew to the land of Feral. From Funkytown to the Nevers. Love was abound and the crew tight knit. If the world was a high school the bond that kept them all strung together from couple to couple to the bonds of friends to the bitter end this was crowd of completely bound by one big red string. Just don't tell Bastien. He's never been a fan of strings, though he's with the cool kids now.

How he got all this done? Delta, Frank, Elsa, the whole shebang? He suddenly felt cocky. Okay, maybe Bastien did realize he was a cool kid now. Was he magic despite no powers?

"You know it, babe. I can do anything I put my mind to especially when you're my motivation. You're my muse, baby."

His sexy reaper. Shivers. He didn't exactly see himself as an artist of the common capitalistic definition. It wasn't about commerce. But, life itself, how he lived it, allowing himself to be himself when he noticed so much of the world was asleep. So many felt like they had no choices. When you had nothing left to lose you were finally free. Extreme poverty had given him a gift. Bastien hadn't known the world of attachment. Until now.

"You and Frankie."

That was his art. Life's expression. He believed a true person living it free judgement was an artist. Judgement was the only thing a person in extreme poverty didn't have the time or money to care about. They were too busy surviving. So, it wasn't a fashion statement nor a label, clique, trending fad, or even popular sentiment. It wasn't to evoke reaction or attention. It was just to be true to his own. His own extended to all he cared for. It wasn't a brand. It was his family. Call him sentimental. Call old school. Call him tunnel visioned. The commerce was joy exchanged, the only tender worth pursuing when legal tender was scarce. People could call him what they liked, but he looked at his wife and his daughter in the snow and all he could think was they were beautiful. He did it. He created his wife's dream. He did something right in a world where things often don't turn out that way. This did. He felt so good right now. He'd come a long way from where he began.

She didn't know how he got it done. "If I tell you, will it ruin the magic?" He asked.

Then they'd carry on and get together whatever details Maddy believed Bastien may have missed since he wasn't quite as proficient in organizing. Then they'd move along to all the tobogganing on a beach, snow man building, snowball fighting, or exploring the palace cabin that Elsa had created. It was about then it didn't matter whether Maddy answered yes or no to his question that there would be no doubt Elsa must have had a hand in this. There was no weather spell any witch could have cast that could have created architecture like this.

Bastien hadn't realized it was obvious to Maddy in the first place it had to be Elsa. So, it was when they were exploring the depths of the ice palace cabin of Maddy's dreams he said, "We can thank Elsa later."

If she thought 2024 was good Bastien was certain 2025 was going to be even better. Hello. Paris. Crypt. Partay. His walking shoes had big plans.

[vladdyissues]

I'm... god I don't even wanna count... like 8 days behind on the Kiss Challenge, but I will go on

[kindred-spirit-93]

miserable old wench kindred hours ahem.

this is me being really mean for no reason but it really bothers me somwtimes when people participate in class. its very irritating to me to have anyone mumble something that needs to be repeated, if it gets ignored its worse i feel awful about it, yet if they speak out too loud it disrupts what semblance of a coherent train of thought i salvaged for the 7th time already since we started. yes this is a me problem but its my bitching post and i want to complain. yes i feel awful and guilty about it but such is (my) life what can u do.

also this isnt abt answering or asking its more conversational interaction in a class of several hundred. girl he cant hear you answering his rhetorical question i beg u shush. smaller class sizes can take it i think, and i believe subject matter plays a role too (some topics are discussion and 2 way based, others i think really arent. not as much at least idk. our labs for example are much smaller in size and commentary and answering out loud is more productive in a sense, jokes and quips are made, its fun its fine). the irony and pain of writing this as it happens in real time hurts me.

also imma be brutally honest rn some of yalls questions arent even questions u just want to show off ur pre lecture prep or whatever. yaint slick and it bothers me to no end. guys do i need help or is this within my allowed dose of being a hater?

anyway this post was brought to u by the girl i know by voice sitting right behind me in class today and answering in my ear. im sure shes a sweet person and im genuinely happy for her activity in class (good for her) but also could u not. like ever again. pls

omg she asked a question as i wrote this lmao take me now lord. i want to cry and crawl under my seat.

*explodes pathetically with stupid rage*