#one piece community event

[solarpunkani]

Psst, hey.

Hey you.

Come closer.

Listen to what I'm about to say good and well, alright?

[sky-daddy-hates-me]

Why the actual fuck are y'all so obsessed with comparing reality to the hunger games?

Why are you all acting like rich people and celebrities carrying on with their life while brutal massacres are ongoing is a new fucking concept?

Do you honestly think that every Oscars, every sports tournament, every met gala, every fucking pr celebration before October 2023 happened during 'World peace'?

Do you think there weren't people in the 90s or 80s or 70s or 60s or 40s that were unable to afford food or water or heating ?

Do you think there weren't genocidal acts and atrocities happening globally before 2023?

Do you think rich people in the 1910s were all doing everything in their power to stop the global conflicts and disgusting crimes?

Do you honestly think there weren't people in the 1800s who would go around flaunting their wealth while the lower classes died and starved?

Did you forget that the French revolution took place in the late 1700s? That while the peasants were starving to death the french elite were bathing in crushed strawberries and washed with perfumed milk?

Did you forget that during the 1600s King charles the 2nd revived the act of public dining? Allowing the lower classes to watch from behind a railing as he was served 26 dishes, with each one being presented to him by a different servant before being tasted by them and placed on his plate?

Did you forget that in the 1500s in England any poor person found capable of doing a day's work but refusing to do so could be sentenced to death?

Did you forget that in the 1400-1500s, while the richest of European society went on with their lavish lifestyles, there were multiple genocides as European countries colonised the American continents and expanded into the East?

WE ARE NOT EXPERIENCING ANYTHING NEW OR DYSTOPIAN

WE ARE JUST RELIVING THE PAST WITH MODERN ADVANCEMENTS, WE ARE JUST MORE AWARE OF THE INJUSTICES THE WESTERN SOCIETY IS BUILT ON

[gralixe]

One Piece has so much gall giving so much screen time to characters I truly do not give a fuck about

[h3lian]

Joined a superbat week event so art for that will hopefully have art pumped out soon as Sept 9 rolls around. 🫡

[myfriendtheghost]

goodnight my beautiful lil dork

[ghostiboos]

Is there some kind of community or volunteer program I could join to learn how to make designs and modifications for prosthetics? I’m more of an artist than an engineer, but I’ve always been kinda obsessed with the sculptural properties of prosthetics. Obviously when designing one, though, function and comfort come first, so if I ever got into it, I would want to make sure I’m making things people can actually use (not to mention afford).

[lgbtqstuff-va4]

When pride events will literally have flag merch for allies instead of anything for aromantics 😐

[originalcontent]

Night in the Woods and Pathologic 2 are literally the same game, beyond a few superficial contrasts in presentation there isn’t a single difference.

[orcelito]

tfw u have so much shit in stardew valley due to dumb luck alone. but the thing you dont have. is a single Fucking red cabbage.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic Idea: Lights and Camera

"There he is," Tim whispered, looking out from behind the library bookshelves. Besides him, Bart, Kon, and Cassie lean over him, stacking each head on top of each other so they can adequately see who Tim is pointing out.

Across the libary, Babs shales her head with a sigh but doesn't call them out. For one, it would be unnecessary loud and another....well, she enjoys having blackmail on her vigilante coworkers and the Young Jutice team climbing on top of each other to stare at a random civilian was the good kind. She turns back to her list of books to stamp and scan back into the system.

Tim had mentioned seeing someone he wanted to recruit for his and his teammates' fake online clothes store. It was the cover the teens had come up with, for an explanation on how they all had such different backgrounds but had still become friends.

The other bats thought it was a mere cover, but Babs knew how seriously Tim took his fake store. It was mostly due to Tim's team making very realistic cosplay outfits that are commissioned to their site. Since they catered to such a nitch community Tim wanted each job to be perfect. (Also he's a nerd like that)

Or maybe it had everything to do with Tim's not-so-secret adoration of photography.

Bart made the clothes, Cassie and Conner modeled and Tim took all the photos. It helped that the speedster was used to making clothes in the post-apocalyptic future, but no one could deny his master of the needle. Cassie and Conner were both rather good looking, and they seemed perfectly fine with showing off this fact.

The thing is, their store is starting to gain traction. If it weren't for the fact, Bart could move as fast as he could, Just Us fashion would be behind orders for months.

Tim was worried someone would catch on and figured they should attempt to hire a co-tailor. They attempted to reach out to fellow heros but no one their age was interested and they seemed rather put off by the idea of asking a adult.

Everyone was still tense from the last time Young Justice asked the Justice League for help.

Tim then decided to attempt to find a civilian who would help them with smaller pieces. Or maybe someone he could throw in front of a camera and pretend Conner or Cassie had taken a step back from modeling to help out with the orders.

His team allowed him to search for someone since they had no idea where to start. Tim scouted through all of Gotham, and ended up landing on Danny Fenton.

Babs had looked into Fenton's background as a favor to Tim and to satisfy her own curiosity. There wasn't much to the boy. Born and raised in a small town in Illinois, Fenton dropped out of high school to get his GED around his junior year. The notes on his file by his English teacher, principal, and school counselor indicated he was bullied out of school.

He passed the exam on the first try and, within a year, moved four states away to join Gotham School of Arts with a major in fashion. His parents were certified geniuses with a family company working in security and "ecto-entities." His sister was going to Gotham University for a physiology major.

The Fentons are a comfortable upper middle class family with no criminal history; the only blemish on their record is Jack Fenton's speeding tickets.

Fenton lived in the better parts of the city, paying his way through college and his own expenses by working as a remote tech support for various companies. It seemed he had inherited a knack for computers from his parents.

Barbara wasn't sure what about Fenton stuck out to Tim. The boy barely participated in public events when it came to his fashion. He only turned in assignments, and unless Tim made a habit of walking through the school of arts, he would have never seen his work.

"Wait, is he wearing-?" Conner whispered, squinting at Fenton, who was tapping away on his laptop. "He is! That's Flame-Flame battle pants!"

"No way." Bart gasps, standing on his toes to lean closer. "They look so good! Where did he get them?"

"He made them," Tim says with a certain lift to his voice that Babs recognizes easily. Aw, her little computer partner has a crush. "He makes all kind of fandom merch that can be worn out in public."

"Tim, we got get him on the team. Look at that Flame-Flames sweatshirt! I need it" Cassie hisses, rocking in place. She nearly causes Conner- who was leaning on her- to tumble over. "Go talk to him."

"I can't"

At that, Babs glances up. She's never heard Tim be nervous to speak to anyone before. Yet that's what she finds as the Young Justice team disappear aroudn the coner surrounding a red face Tim.

"What do you mean you can't? Why not?" Conner asks

"Look, I already tried to recruit him but messed up my pitch." As he admits, Tim kicks his feet, not bothering to look anyone in the eye. When he locked eyes with me, I choked on my spit midsentence."

Cassie slaps a hand over her mouth, but she is not fast enough to hide the snicker that slips through. The glare she gets from the only regular human could have sent her to her uncle Hades. "I'm sorry, you choked on your spit? Mr. CEO of WE? Mr. Suave? Mr. New Lover, every other Tuesday?"

"Shut up you don't get it! He was dressed in a really cool outfit of the Ninjas of Konoha, okay!? I wasn't prepared."

Barbara glances at Fenton as the team attempts to tease Tim. Rather loudly. It's like they forget they are in a really old building, so the acoustics pick up their voices really easily.

Based on his blushing face and hunched-over form, Fenton can obviously hear them. He keeps sending short glances to the shelf the other teens hide in. Fenton glances at his computer screen before rapidly fixing up his hair and straightening his clothes.

He fixes his scattered papers just as Tim rounds the corner of the bookshelves, looking rather nervous as he scoots to Fenton's desk. Babs watches the remaining young juice team whisper and shout encouragement as Tim stands next to Fenton.

Fenton's face, if possible, go even redder, and much to Babs' shock, he even starts to twirl the end of his ponytail around his figure as Tim starts talking.

This is cute. She thinks, aiming her camera phone at the pair. Taking three different shots, each displaying Tim's fumbling mess and Fenton's obvious interest, she quickly sends it to the bats with an evil smirk. And sort of pathetic.

She gets answers instantly, almost everyone teasing Tim or making "They grow up so fast" comments. The messages make a warm feeling of the family burn in her chest, reminding her of all that they argue about; the Bats truly care for one another.

It's Bruce's thoughts that shatters the chat with a simple text.

Why is Tim flirting with the Ghost King?

Babrbara stares at the words for a long moment before she types

Babs: What do you mean? Who's the Ghost King?

Bruce: That's the Ghost King or his human form. He rules the ghosts and our flip dimension. The Justice League Dark has him marked as a level 15 threat.

Damian: I beg your finest pardon? There are only five other beings on that threat level.

Bruce: Exactly. Tim knows not to speak to him.

Steph: Ugh Bruce none of ous knew that.

Bruce: He was in the yearly safety warning PowerPoint. You all said you reviewed it.

Jason: That thing is nine hours long! Of course, not all of us would actually look through it.

Bruce: I worked very hard on it. :'(

Duke: Guys? Shouldn't we worry about Tim? I mean is the Ghost King going to hurt him

Bruce: No, he's known to be very benevolent. Just as long as you don't accidently insult him.

"I'm not a whore!" The voice cuts through the air like a bullet. Barbara glances up just in time to see Tim backing up with a panicked expression as Fenton sneers.

He quickly gathers his things with a flick of his wrist, having all left in a bright green glow, and pushes by the shuttering vigilante. He stomps his way out of the library with an inhuman growl.

Tim throws his face into his hands with a wail of dispair. "I should have never listen to Dick's flirting advice!"

Barbara slaps a head over her forehead before texting the rest. So Tim may have called the King a whore.

Bruce: This is why I ask you to read my safety PowerPoint.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

[sennamybeloved]

⛧ SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 ⛧

HELLO ALL! welcome to another year of selfshiptober. i've noticed this is pretty much the 'official' selfship tober event now, which honestly warms my heart! i love seeing what this wonderful community does with my prompts :)

this year, i'm doing things a little differently. EACH DAY HAS TWO PROMPTS ASSIGNED TO IT. the first set is SHIPPY, while the second set is SPOOKY. you may either COMBINE THE TWO PROMPTS TOGETHER or CHOOSE ONE OF THE PROMPTS. the spooky prompts are a bit on the grittier side and probably won't appeal to most, so if you'd like to only use the first set of prompts and completely ignore the second, be my guest! on the other hand, if you prefer the gritter prompts, you can only use the second set of prompts, you can do that too! if you want an extra challenge, you can create a piece that incorporates both of the day's prompts. you can also change your approach depending on how you feel that day!

there are no hard rules for this. YOU CAN START WORKING ON THIS CHALLENGE EARLY, but i encourage you to wait until october to post anything. YOU CAN ALSO CONTINUING WORKING ON IT AFTER OCTOBER ENDS! you can drag this shit out into december for all i care. just DON'T OVERWORK YOURSELF PLEASE.

without further ado, LET US PROCEED TO THE PROMPTS!

#1. confession  |  night.

#2. blanket  |  flame.

#3. embrace  |  blood.

#4. apple picking  |  fog.

#5. all dressed up  |  blade.

#6. carnival  |  haunted.

#7. rain  |  infection.

#8. swim  |  terror.

#9. music  |  masquerade.

#10. warmth  |  claws.

#11. comfort  |  recovery.

#12. married  |  ritual.

#13. party  |  magic.

#14. date night  |  vampire.

#15. games  |  hunt.

#16. candy  |  illusion.

#17. heart  |  feast.

#18. pining  |  violent.

#19. shared hobby  |  potion.

#20. trust  |  experiment.

#21. snuggle  |  nightmare.

#22. kiss  |  scars.

#23. movie night  |  slasher.

#24. baking  |  empty.

#25. rest  |  bandages.

#26. beautiful  |  grotesque.

#27. decorations  |  cemetery.

#28. brush  |  forest.

#29. pumpkin  |  lantern.

#30. flowers  |  snow.

#31. halloween  |  death.

TAG YOUR CREATIONS AS #SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 AND TAG ME IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO SEE! i cannot guarantee interaction as i struggle socially, but i promise i'll look at everything! HAPPY CREATING ♡

[lymtw]

The Morning After | The Night Before (Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji dreamt of you after the events that occurred between you and him the night before. The dream was vivid, testing his ability to differentiate between reality and a sleep induced scenery.

You were right there in front of him, beautiful as always, in a dress he's never seen you wear before, but for whatever reason, you couldn't hear him as he called for you. You sat at a table in a cafe, looking around as you waited for, what he pieced together to be him, with his jacket being draped on the empty chair in front of you and all. You wore a weary expression. One that didn't suit your usually soft features. The sight pulled at Toji's heartstrings, especially when he saw you turn around in your seat as if you were expecting him to return any second now.

It was torture watching how your foot tapped away and the way your arms were crossed enough to make it seem like you were hugging yourself. He was right there, only a few feet away from being able to hold you, but his biggest dilemma was being unable to move from where he was. He was left to helplessly watch as you continued your self soothing methods. It was agony in its purest form.

After a few more minutes of waiting, you stood up from your seat, looking more defeated than he's ever seen you before. You grabbed his jacket off the empty chair and headed towards the exit. Toji never stopped calling for you, even as your hand reached for the door handle.

Toji woke up the second you opened the door in his dream and immediately searched for you on the bed, wanting to have you as close to him as possible. Was this the universe's way of communicating your remaining insecurity to him? He's done so much to show you he loves you. You got him to comfortably say those three heavy words. He's patient with you, he comforts you, he takes care of you mentally and physically. How is it that he still deserves to be played like that in his head, when he's so sure he could spend the rest of his life making sure you're okay? He felt utterly traitorous for putting an imaginary version of you through that.

You were far on your side of his bed, your back turned to him as you slept. This wasn't the position you fell asleep in. He was holding you the whole night, so he wonders how you even broke out of his arms.

Toji scoots towards the center of the bed, just enough so that he's able to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him. You hum, slightly disturbed by the abrupt movement and the pressure of being scooped back into his hold. He kisses the nape of your neck, the feeling of your warm skin against his lips bringing him some comfort after the tricks his brain played on him. You presumably went back to sleep, the sound of your light breathing beckoning him to follow suit. Luckily, he didn't dream of anything this time. He would rather have that than dream of something as horrendous as the last one.

Once again, he woke up before you. It was nine o'clock and you still showed signs of slumber, despite him not actually being able to see your face. His arm remained wrapped around your waist, his hand steadily rising and falling as it rested on your stomach. Toji knew you were tired, and he also knew that if it were up to you, you'd sleep until midday, but he wanted you to be awake with him already. He missed you, as his arms kept your body pinned to his. He just wanted to hear you talk and start on his daily privilege of making you nervous with the dumb things he says.

You stir and he takes this as an opportunity to slowly start waking you up.

"Ma," he says, lowly, before you settle. He rubs his hand over your stomach, moving his palm back and forth as he calls for you again with the same volume. "Wake up, mama."

Toji's voice and touch gently pulls you out of sleep. Your eyes flutter open but your vision remains bleary until you blink a couple times. He feels your body tremble when you reach your arms in front of you and stretch to your capability in his hold. The tiniest groan leaves you, as the tension in your muscles is released and your arms return to their previous position—curled into your chest.

"Biiig stretch," he says, under his breath, not expecting to hear your giggle on the other side. "Oh? You're awake?" He asks, innocently, like he didn't lure you into consciousness. "Well, let me get a look at that pretty face, doll."

You sigh and sluggishly roll over to face Toji. Your hair is a mess and you have eye boogers crusted in the inner corners of your eyes, but he couldn't give a single-

"Why are you up so early?" you ask, quietly. You smile, lazily, and squint with unadjusted eyes at the sunlight that shines through the curtains in Toji's room.

He's crazy about you. He thinks—no, he knows he would raise absolute hell if anything or anyone ever tried to come between you and him. You're just one person, and yet you're the equivalent of the entire world in the palm of his hand.

"Promise you won't laugh?" He offers a soft smile, slowly reaching towards your eyes to remove the small clusters that litter the corners of them.

You let out a small laugh at the gesture—a habit you developed because of how nervous he constantly makes you. His focus on you broke your composed bearing for a couple seconds. You blinked with clearer eyes once he retracted his hand. "Sorry. I promise I won't laugh," you utter, sincerity in your expression and tone.

He lets out a small breath through his nose. His hand travels from your sleep worn features to the hairs that stick up all over the place on your head. He smooths them down as much as he can before setting his gaze back on your face.

"I don't even know if it'll make sense. At least not in the way I explain it to you. Barely made sense to me and I dreamt it."

"I'll do my best to understand," you assure. "Dreams are weird. I already have a head start knowing this."

He grins at your optimism. "Yeah. You're so right about that, baby."

He went on to explain the dream to the best of his ability. He described your expressions, your nervous mannerisms, the way he was watching you and calling for you to no avail.

Toji observed your face, noticing that your expression was treading towards the same one you held in his dream. It's a dream for a reason. It's not real. But, if it's not real, why is your serene expression wilting?

"That's not me, baby." He swiftly pulls one of your hands into both of his, as if catching you before you could spiral into one of your overthinking bouts. He wouldn't just let you free fall like that. "I want you here, remember? I need you with me."

The sight of you nodding accompanied by that lighthearted smile on your face, allowed him to breathe again. He kisses your knuckles, and smiles as he realizes it's the first gesture of the day that brings color to your cheeks. He thinks about how it was never hard for him to figure out that he loved you. As time went by, his love for you grew into a wholehearted, irreversible force. He has long accepted that his attachment to you can't be undone.

You on the other hand weren't sad because this dream of his seemed like some sort of foreshadowing of the future. You were sad because Toji seemed borderline distraught as he recounted the first time he felt entirely useless to you. You've never doubted the amount of love he holds for you. You simply can't when all this time he's been so gentle with your heart.

"Well, that's enough to make me never wanna sleep again," he jokes.

"That's insane." Your brows furrow, slightly. "Maybe it's because i'm here."

"Now, that's insane." He sighs. "It's just a coincidence, doll. It had nothing to do with you sleeping next to me." He sets a hand down on your hip, suppressing the urge to push up the material of the shirt he lent you, to feel your bare skin. You can feel his fingers playing with the hem, lifting it and wrapping it around his fingers. His knuckles graze your skin, a light sensation that makes your blood run cold and your heart thump a little faster. Toji can visibly see the tension surface.

"How are you feeling after last night?" He pushes, knowing this conversation will probably make you a little jumpy.

"Um..." you start but fail to progress with the response. A nervous laugh leaves you when you look at Toji. He was right. You're blushing, all flustered over the memory of him making you his that way for the first time.

"Alright, alright." He chuckles, knowing you won't be able to put it into words on your own. "Let me rephrase that for you. Does anything hurt?"

You respond through a fit of giggles. "Just some soreness in my legs and..." you trail off.

"And?" He digs, both with his words and his thumbs as he massages your clothed hip.

"And, um..." you look at him in silence for a few seconds, fighting off a nervous smile when you become all too aware of his intense eye contact. "Mm-mm, never mind." You shake your head, not wanting to elaborate due to the fresh feeling of embarrassment provided in your chest.

"Doll, where else?" Toji prompts. He doesn't want to be left hanging on this, especially if it means the beginnings of you suffering in silence for his sake.

"I don't wanna say it. It's embarrassing, Toji."

"Does it hurt between your legs?" He asks, and he instantly assumes he's correct because you immediately shrink under his gaze and attempt to hide under the blanket. Toji pulls down your defense and continues to observe your flustered face. You're bright red. Warm, too, as he runs his cool knuckles over your cheeks. "There's no need to feel embarrassed about it, baby. I would've figured that out all on my own."

"That's so... ugh, stop it," you whine, the sound foreign to Toji's ears. You have a hurricane of butterflies in your stomach. You bring up your other hand and cover your eyes, no longer able to withstand the look on Toji's face. He's wearing this confident smirk as he tries not to chuckle at your youth-like bashfulness.

"Stop that." He wraps his hand around the back of yours and pulls it down, not letting it go as he drags it into his personal bubble, like he's confiscating it from you. "Don't cover your face, doll. I'm trying to look at you."

"I look a mess, Toji," you say, voice strained as you try to tug your hands out of his grip. You can see he's not even using that much strength to keep your hands secured, but the second you manage to slip one of your fingers out of his grasp, he collects it again and tightens his grip just a little more.

"You've got a twisted definition for messy. It's much different from mine." He grins when you huff and give up on trying to get your hands back from him. "You just look like a sleepy princess to me." Your frustration seems to quickly subside, a giggle chiming out of you, which in turn makes Toji smile more. "There you go, mama." He scoots closer, eliminating any space between you and him so that he can kiss you all over your face. "That's what I wanna see," he murmurs into your cheek at the sight of your smile and the sound of your warm laughter. "Know what else I want?"

"Hmm?" The remainder of your giggles spill as he murmurs his next sentence.

"Your taste... on my tongue." He mixes his kisses with the words, as if they're a chaser for the strong sound of the vulgarity his words hold.

"What?" You laugh at the way he presses his nose into your cheek, but your heart races at the possibility of having heard him correctly.

"You heard me, pretty girl. That little blush confirms it." He smirks, noticing your shift from steadiness to light squirming under his attention. "I'm craving you," he says, as if intentionally pouring gasoline onto a fire.

"Craving... me?" You ask. The neediness between your legs was increasing with every second that he watched you. It was his tone and the volume in which he spoke and just everything about him that had you folding, willingly bending to his will.

"Mhm. Wanna eat you up, baby. Make you cum a couple times before we go out for breakfast." His hand releases one of yours and goes to your waist. You're too flustered to realize that your hand is free, anyway. "What are you thinking?"

"Please," you utter. Your shaky fingertips graze his chest and your heart challenges itself to see if it can keep you alive with how fast it beats.

"Please, what, doll?" His own fingers trace little lines on your waist through his shirt. The languid strokes make goosebumps rise on your arms and legs.

"Please... um..." you start, immediately feeling that wave of embarrassment that keeps you from verbalizing what you want. You want him, and you're frustrated by your inability to get that confirmation out. "Um..."

"Please... buy me breakfast?" He jokes, in an attempt to help you relax. "Please...?" he repeats, slowly luring out what's repeatedly being killed and revived on your lips.

You giggle, a quick blurt of, "Okay, you can do it. I'll let you taste... me. Just... just, please" following.

"Fuck yeah. That was good, baby," he praises, rewarding you with another kiss, this time to your lips. "Gonna take really good care of you, okay?" He says, to which you silently nod.

He takes the time to really make you want him. His lips don't take any part of you for granted, with the way he spends so much time appreciating your neck and chest. If he didn't leave enough marks on you the night before, he made up for it then. He enjoyed the way you grabbed onto his arms when he sucked on your delicate skin, squeezing when his wet lips brushed on the column of your neck.

"What's under the shirt?" He asks, his voice raspy with contained lust for you. He wants to paw at the little peaks that protrude through your shirt.

"You already know," you respond, a small laugh flowing past your lips. "You've already seen all of me. Just last night," you mumble.

"And you were stunning. Absolutely perfect. Can I see your pretty body again, sweetheart?"

You don't hesitate any longer, despite the rush of nerves that courses through you. You trust him. He said he's going to take care of you. "Okay, you can look."

"You're too good to me." He swipes a thumb over your rosy cheek before his hands go down to the hem of your shirt.

It's inevitable. The sight of the wet patch on the front of your panties, is inevitable. It was like his eyes were magnetized to it the second he started rolling up your shirt. He couldn't mention it yet. For your sake, but for his own, as well. The sight gave his dick a heartbeat, and he knew damn well that if he said a word about it, he would cave and start devouring you, immediately.

He felt like he was being graced with the presence of a goddess as he continued to roll your shirt up. It was miles of delicate, palpable, and kissable skin being revealed by the second. "Holy fuck, doll," he says, ogling every inch of the breathtaking sight before him. "Baby, look at you." His palms grazed over your nipples as he rolled the shirt just above your chest, and you had to use every ounce of your composure to keep your breathing at a normal rate.

He grins at the sight of your stomach rising and falling out of rhythm, due to his unwavering attention. It was like you forgot how to breathe steadily or like you were manually trying to create the steady rhythm instead of naturally letting it happen.

"Do I really deserve that reaction?" You ask, cowering behind the small barrier of your bundled shirt.

"Yes. If anything, that was an under reaction because what the fuck, doll?" His hands are drawn to your skin, the rough warmth of them cups your waist. He bows his head and starts many trails of kisses up your stomach, starting right above the elastic of your panties. His hold on you prevents you from squirming too much beneath his touch. He can visibly see the quiver of your stomach as he inches closer to the bottoms of your breasts. "So soft, and delicate." He blows on the bottom of your right one, and watches as your nipples harden, before uttering a sultry, "Sensitive."

"God..." you desperately whimper. "Please. Please, touch me," you say, light, shuddered breaths brushing past your lips.

He kisses the bottom of your left breast, the kiss becoming heated as the amount of his saliva grew on your skin. "Sensitive, sensitive girl," he purrs, anticipating your reaction to his wandering hand. Your panties are soaked as his thumb just barely grazes your slit, thin transparent lines connecting him to you before they snap way too quickly. Toji himself cannot escape the mess of desire, with his boxer briefs feeling damper with pre-cum by the second. His touch is barely there, but you think you'll cum if his fingers ghost around for too long.

He stops. He knows the limit of teasing you before you give him the big reaction he works you up for. You're already shaking with just his tongue swirling around your nipples. Those crumbs of added stimulation down there would lure out your orgasm onto his fingertips, not his mouth, like he's been patiently waiting for.

"T-Toji," you gasp, the air quickly vanishing from your lungs again with a needy ring to it. "I-I'll cum, i'll-" you let out a broken moan, one that makes Toji's dick twitch, a low, muffled groan leaving him as he continues to mouth at your chest. "Please."

"Baby, save it," he hums into your stiffened nipple, kissing it once more before letting up. "Be good and save it for my mouth." The arousal slowly settles, a bittersweet moment for you as all the pleasure slowly dies, leaving you with a dull throb between your legs. You make the sweetest noises as he follows those same trails he made on your stomach earlier, kissing and occasionally biting, just to see the way your body jolts at the sudden sting. A low chuckle rumbles through him, but he's kissing the area like he's mending you, imbuing extra warmth into it.

Then he reaches the elastic band of your underwear, and his heart begins to resist his methods of calming down. "Oh fuck," he utters, like the sight is unreasonable. "Your panties are ruined, mama. For me?"

You nod, silently, glossy eyes meeting feral, moss-colored ones. You feel a pang of embarrassment course through you as he just inspects the aftermath of his very effective touch. Even the lightest touches from him can turn you into putty.

"All mine," he murmurs as he kisses up your thighs. His hands knead your hips as he creates more paths on your skin. His kisses begin to leave color behind, real physical trails that lead him to his own private heaven. "All of this? Mine. Fucking mine." He sounds fazed—delirious over you.

He had one taste. One taste. He licked a single stripe through your clothed folds, and all hell broke loose within him. He was visibly desperate in the way he pulled down your underwear and tossed them aside so fast. He immediately buried his face into your cunt, groans leaving so carelessly as he proceeded to devour you like this was the deciding factor of whether he was worthy of you or not. He's shamelessly rutting into the mattress, heavy breaths released through his nose as he drowns himself in you.

"Toji! T-Toji," you moan, rapid breaths fleeing your lungs as he continues to enjoy you, undisturbed. He revokes your chance to even wonder if you taste any good. Despite him being rendered completely speechless by you, he's confident that you know he's been driven insane. "Oh- gonna cum... gonna-" you whimper, your chest heaving as he lures your pleasure out. Unbeknownst to you, so is he.

You cry out his name, the sound so sinful yet serene to his ears. Your melodies enticed him into looking at you, and even though he knew it was game over the second he got a glimpse of your pretty face, he took the risk and inevitably unraveled. It was those blush-y cheeks, and your glossy lips, and the small pinch between your brows, that had his hips stuttering and his load being blown, violently, into his boxers. The rush of pleasure only made him more fervent in his need for you, his wet lips gliding through your folds in a sloppy, desperate attempt to get even more of your taste in his mouth. Your sounds of pleasure have him rocking his hips into the mattress, despite how sensitive his cock is. You're oblivious to what just happened, but those deeper, more frequent groans from him make your orgasm that much more intense.

Toji slows down when your thighs begin to tremble in his hold. He relishes in the languid licks that connect his tongue to you by weak strings of your cum. After a few more seconds, you can't handle even the slowest pace of his tongue, as it continues to gently lap at your clit despite all your juices having gushed out, already. Your thighs shut around Toji's head and he recognizes that as you tapping out, so he stops.

The sound of heavy breathing fills the room, both of you allowing your levels of adrenaline to simmer down. Toji places a couple wet kisses on your thigh and rests his cheek on it after. His hand squeezes your other thigh as an act of comfort.

"You alright, mama? Kinda quiet up there." He drops his hand lower and draws a line from your knee and down your shin with his index finger.

"Good... I'm good," you mumble. The lazy grin on your face shines through your tone, which immediately captures Toji's attention because of its rarity. He tilts his head up and catches you in the middle of sighing with satisfaction, before deciding not to waste another second just lying there when he could be watching you up close. He goes up your body until he's face to face with you again. Immediately, his gaze is received with a giggle from you.

"What's that little giggle about? Hm?" He grins, and leans down to peck your lips, which seems to lure more laughter from you.

"I missed your face," you confess, your eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips, like you're anticipating another gentle, barely there kiss from him.

"You wanna look at my mug?" His eyes soften, despite his self deprecating way of wording the question. You respond with the sweetest smile, your dulcet voice uttering all the reassurance needed in the span of three words:

"Yeah, I do."

He fell that much harder, even after all the time you've spent together. When Toji looks at you, he sees light, comfort, and despite your nervous habit of fumbling the words you want to say to him, your voice is still one of the most hauntingly beautiful things about you. He could be having the most terrible day—one that seems like he's being tested to see how much misery he can handle— and all he has to do is call you. The sound of your voice stills the shakiness of his hands, calms his breathing, and overall envelops him in a blanket of security that unwinds the bad energy that is coiled around him like a suffocating serpent.

"Good, because I wanna watch you, baby. I'll give you all my attention." He missed your face just as much. "Think you can handle me going inside? I'll be so careful. Promise."

You reach your hands out towards his face, beckoning him closer to you. Without hesitation, he comes closer, grinning when his nose almost bumps into yours. Your warm hands cup his face and you pull him in even closer, until your lips meet the vertical cicatrix that runs through the corner of his lips. You're planting multiple kisses on it, through the blend of fear and love and devotion swirling through you. He holds your shaky hands still on his cheeks and allows you to take everything you want out of this. By the time you're done, he feels like he has sugar dusted on the corner of his lips. "You're okay," you murmur, before separating your lips from the tattered skin. It's for him, and nothing or no one else has anything to do with it. "Let's do it."

"You're gonna kill me with all that sweetness, doll," he responds, his heart racing in his chest. Evidently, he was completely enamored by you. He loved the concentration that etched into your features as you kissed the line that marred his face, like it was something you couldn't mess up, in fear of him never letting you do it again. He would, though. A million times more, if it means that he's allowed to be that close to you every time. He could never push you away when you attempt to be openly affectionate with him. He takes every crumb he can get and holds his palm out for more, every time.

His lips center on yours, your taste still somewhat lingering on his tongue. You can feel his tent brushing against your cunt, the fabric of his underwear providing a teasing amount of friction. Your quiet hums and breaths prove that he's getting to you. To Toji's surprise, your hips were subtly chasing more friction.

"You want it?" He asks, dragging his lips down to your chin. "It's yours, mama, but you have to tell me what you want."

"Please," you blurt, instinctively.

"Yeah, good girl," he coos. "You know how much I love it when you say that, but I'm gonna need you to give me more. Please, what?"

You were doing so well with managing the blush on your face, until then. "P-Please," you try again.

"Uh-huh. You have the politeness down, but, what else? Your begging shouldn't be free. What do you want, my sweet girl?"

You want to shrink beneath the gaze that accompanies his patient silence, but instead you keep trying for him. "Can you- Will you- um... I-I want you inside, please?" You feel uncomfortably warm after getting the words out.

Toji chuckles at your attempt to minimize the vulgarity of your words. "Good. That was perfect, doll."

Embarrassment seeps into every sinew of your being, but there's nothing like the feeling of your heart plummeting into your stomach when you see him looking at you with that much sugarcoated lust. He's sitting back, working his boxers off, yet his eyes never leave your face. The smile he wears communicates 'I got you' in the most loving way, but those greens...

You prop yourself up on your elbows to curiously look at the area he just revealed, only to see the smallest, white glob on his length. Did he...? No. If so, when?

"Shit," he says, when he spots what's got you in a trance. "Thought I cleaned it all up." He laughs off the small wave of embarrassment as he grabs the dirtied garment he wore seconds ago to wipe it off.

You let yourself fall back onto the mattress, flustered at the image of it all. You snap out of it when you feel warm hands begin to ride up your thighs.

"You...?" you say, emptily, though your inquiry was obvious.

"Was hard not to," he admits, hands still kneading your pillowy thighs. "You did that to me." His hands reach for your breasts now, thick fingers maneuvering over your nipples before taking you whole into his palms. "You just taste so sweet." He squeezes. "You were dripping like honey on my tongue."

"Toji..." you say, so low it could be a hum. You wished the small barrier of your rolled up shirt had remained standing, but you knew it would be brought down by him at some point anyway. You decided to pull the shirt off completely. You felt more free, afterwards.

"Aw, look at you. You're ready for me, huh?" He gives you a smug smirk. "Ooh, look at that little smile," he says, loving how it evolves into a bigger smile. "Yeah, i'm ready for you, too."

He releases your chest, and positions himself comfortably between your legs. Even with this only being the second time he's making love to you, he's certain he'll never get tired of that bright sparkle in your eyes when he's running his tip through your folds. He's making a mess on you, smearing all the dribbling pre-cum onto your slit. You're trying—really trying to hold his gaze as he teases you, but it's so hard when you know how vulnerable you are. You feel like your heart is gonna explode just by glancing at him, but when he's looking at you and grinning like he's truly enjoying you, you fear you might end up just coughing up the organ due to the irritation it causes in your chest.

"Tell me to stop and i'll stop," he utters, breathily, as he slowly sinks some of his length into you. He leans forward to be closer to you, and to be able to watch you for signs of discomfort. Your face looks so pretty. You blink and slightly tilt your head in wonder of how he got inside you so quickly.

He groans, a chuckle of blatant disbelief following as he carefully submerges more of himself inside your velvety walls. He often wonders what good deed it took for him to get you. Things are so simple with you. At times, he feels like maybe there's more peace in your company than he deserves. He knows he could never hate you. Never. Not when your eyes twinkle like you stole and kept stars from the night before and are using them as a visual offering to him. He won't accept the thought of him putting them there, this time.

"God- No, I don't mean to. I'm sorry." You sniffle, the back of your hands coming up to wipe your tears. "I'm happy and- and i'm comfortable, I promise."

"It's okay, mama. Am I hurting you? Does it not feel right?"

You shake your head 'no' to all of it. "I'm just... so happy," you mumble. Your breath comes out in a small shudder. You feel so safe and loved around him. It's hard to contain the emotions, even during a time that's supposed to be sensual and arousing.

Toji's heart was pounding. He was so scared. The thought of hurting you... He can't. The dream he had was enough hurt to last him a really long time, even if it wasn't real.

He sighs, a smile curling onto his lips as he reaches for your wrists and gently pulls them away. He looks into your eyes and relocates those stars again before he leans down and peppers your red, dampened cheeks with kisses.

"Ready?" He murmurs into your cheek, to which you respond with a small "mhm".

With that, you're both back on track. Toji pushes the rest of himself in, both of you releasing your share of breaths as you relish in the feeling of being as close as can be. He picks up a rhythm that's perfect. It started out slow but worked up to a pace that wasn't too fast or too sluggish. It was comfortable for both of you.

"Fuck..." he pants. "You're so pretty, doll." He wants to hold you so tight, maybe crush you a little bit in his arms. "Put your hands on me. Don't be afraid to touch me, baby," he says, noticing the way your nails dig into your palms again, like the night before. He would gladly take a look at your scuffed up hands again, afterwards, but that would be dismissive of his desire to be caressed by you. To want to feel your hands over his arms, his shoulders, and just have another source of proof that he is in your arms just as much as you are in his.

You continue to prove your angelic status to him by giving him the perfect amount of your comforting touch. Your knuckles ride up the warm expanse of his arms until they reach his biceps. Your hands unbend from their halfway fist positions, and wrap around the muscly forms. His skin is soft, despite the appearance communicating the contrary. He's nicked and grazed with scars on some areas and on other areas the scars are larger and more frequent. You love him, so you aren't squeamish at the sight or frightened by these scars, but it doesn't tap at your heart when you realize that it's difficult to find a blank space.

"T-Toji..." you call, meekly. He's abusing your neck all over again. His lips are sucking and biting on the scraps of unsavored skin that he didn't get to last night, as well as polishing over your already marked up skin. All you get is a low hum and the sound of him breathing rapidly through his nose, as a response from him. He's repeatedly prodding into that sensitive spot within you. You feel hot, like you'll orgasm if things keep going this way. You're a little nervous because you're not sure if he's there yet.

"Fuck," he groans. "Feeling good?" He can't believe the stinging sensation he feels of your nails on his shoulder blades. You can't respond with anything other than bitten back moans that come off as whimpers, and the smallest hitches of your breath. "Aw, are you gonna cum, mama?"

"Mm-mm. No," you shake your head and dig your heels into the mattress.

"You sure?" He says beneath your ear. He can feel you the way you're frequently clenching around him. "If I look at your pretty face, right now, you won't cum within seconds?" You give yourself away when you almost tear his skin at the sound of those words. "Yeah, I know, doll," he grunts at the feeling of you clenching so tightly around him. He pulls away from your neck and grins when he sees how you're falling apart. "I know you like being watched by me." You feel like your heart is in your ears, rather than your ribcage, with how loud it echoes on your head.

His dick throbs mercilessly at the sight before him. Your reddened cheeks, the tears that brim your lower lash line, the quick rise and fall of your chest—he could practically see your heart trying to leap out. "Let me see it, princess," he rasps, his own resolve rapidly crumbling, like an unstable sandcastle. He puts both of his hands to use. One goes above your pelvis, his thumb outstretched to rub your clit, and the other glides up your waist and splays across your breast.

It's overwhelming. His touch is making you burn up. You can feel it coming closer as your eyes rake over the handsome features of his face, saving the best for last. The second you look at his seemingly calm eyes, you snap. Your entire body trembles as you gasp for air like you've been punched in the chest. Your toes curl and your back arches in a way that makes your stomach tense so hard that you can already anticipate the soreness that will come.

You're crying out Toji's name and trembling beneath him, while he tries his best to composedly watch you bear everything he offers you. You really are fragile. Even your voice is fragile when you're vocalizing your pleasure, the cutest little whimpers and hiccups freed from your chest for him.

He can't hold off any longer. He can't even find it in himself to be ashamed for how strongly his pleasure is linked to yours. It all comes down to you and the way you love him. The way you sometimes hide your mouth behind your fingers when you giggle, the way you glance at him on and off when you crave his attention, the kind smile on your face when he swoops in and steals the perfect bite of food you set up for yourself, the blush on your face when he makes you nervous-

He groans, loudly. Loud enough to make you jolt. Partly from the volume, the other part from the surprise of the warmth that shot into you so abruptly. It was the fact that he didn't have to imagine that last part, that brought on his release. The image was right in front of him. Your rosy cheeks, your bashfulness, the contradicting feelings of being nervous when he watches you, yet wanting him to watch you. It's all there for his eyes to consume.

Your back is against the mattress again, and you're writhing, now. He picks up on your sensitivity, noticing the way your thighs try to squeeze his hips and jerk away from the overflow of stimulation.

"That's it," he pants. "That's all, mama." He stills his movements at the sound of your quiet little grunts. "Good girl," he praises, a sigh of satisfaction following.

The room goes quiet as both of you try to regulate your breathing again. Toji won't separate his hands from your body, even after pulling out. He has one hand massaging your hip while the other one is set on your stomach. He likes rubbing and gently squishing your stomach, a lot. You have no complaints about his need to keep his hands on you, when it's like you're receiving more praise from him, or like he's trying to soothe you.

You giggle. It's the first sound made since you both finally caught your breaths. Toji pauses the movement of his hands and looks at you. You lure out a grin of his own with the way you're beaming.

"What's that?" He asks, focused on you.

"It's so quiet," your voice is unstable as you try to keep in your laughter. "You could probably hear my stomach growling."

He wants to keep you forever. When that happens, he'll use up a sliver of all that time to continuously wonder how someone like you ever crawled into his arms and found refuge in them.

"Well, that's not good. Can't have you running on fumes, can I, doll?" You laugh as you sit up and pull his shirt over your head, again, to cover up. He follows your lead and pulls the bed sheets around his lower body. "We'll go out to eat after we freshen up, alright?" You smile and nod in response, before sitting next to him on the edge of the bed in search of your underwear.

"Have you seen my-"

"These?" He holds your panties by the edges of the waistband.

"Yeah..." Your eyes widen, slightly. "...those."

"They're adorable, doll," he says, dropping them into his lap and feeling up the texture. "Can I have them?" He asks, as if he wasn't going to stash them away, had you not asked about them.

"Um..." You feel that familiar warmth resurfacing on your face.

Toji grins at the way you look at your underwear intently, like you're embarrassed by him casually holding them. "How about we trade? You keep my shirt and I keep this cute little piece of you."

"Want me to wash them, first?" You ask, thinking of what the garment went through a little while ago.

"Nah, that's okay," he says, before he swiftly pulls you into his side. You felt like a stuffed animal, the way he just moved you towards him like you were weightless. His chin rests on your head and he closes his eyes, like what he's about to say is the most honest and wholehearted thing he could ever say to you.

"I'm happy, too, you know?"

[soular-sisters]

Your Rising Sign & Your Gift From The Universe 🤍

Through my studying of astrology, I have learned that with each individual’s rising sign comes a natural ability gifted by the universe that is second nature to that individual. Here is a little description of each rising sign’s gift that the universe has given you in this lifetime.

🤍 Aries Rising: Since aries is ruled by mars (the planet of masculine energy & drive), an aries rising is naturally goal-oriented. The universe has gifted aries rising with the ability to follow through with goals & continuous energy to reach their success.

**ways to best use their ability: leading a group to success, motivating a team, & helping push themselves and others through tough times.

🤍 Taurus Rising: Being a taurus rising, the venus sign that’s of earth element, means they are naturally grounded. The universe has gifted taurus rising with a natural sense of mindfulness & peace within their being.

**ways to best use their ability: meditating in nature, being a healthy mediator in situations of conflict, & creating peaceful practices for yourself and others to follow.

🤍 Gemini Rising: With gemini being one of the two signs ruled by mercury (the planet of thoughts & communication), a gemini rising has the gift of gab. The universe has gifted gemini rising with the ability to expand their mind & connect with others from all walks of life through communication.

**ways to best use their ability: forming friendships with diverse people, networking with others to develop their career, & creating social groups by interconnecting their various friendships.

🤍 Cancer Rising: As a cancer rising being ruled by the moon (the planet of the mother & feminine intuition), they are naturally caring and empathetic individuals. The universe has gifted cancer rising with a natural intuition into their own emotions as well as the emotions of others.

**ways to best use their ability: being the mom friend of a friend group, intuitively sensing how to help those in need, & caregiving for animals and people who need healing.

🤍 Leo Rising: The solar sign of leo being ruled by the sun (the planet of warmth & radiance) is a natural star. The universe has gifted leo rising with a natural stage presence & ability to perform on cue.

**ways to best use their ability: giving an unforgettable speech, performing a piece of art that they’re passionate about, & using their charm to present on a topic for positive change.

🤍 Virgo Rising: Virgo being the earthy sign ruled by mercury (the planet of our analytical mind & communication), they naturally sees the finer details the average person doesn’t. The universe has gifted virgo rising with natural observational skills to see situations from a clear & logical view.

**ways to best use their ability: giving solid objective advice to others, finding truth in complex situations, & standing up for what’s right even if others don’t initially see it.

🤍 Libra Rising: Libra being the second of the two venus signs carries an undeniable beauty that can be seen from anyone they meet. The universe has gifted libra rising with natural physical beauty & grace.

**ways to best use their ability: styling themselves and loved ones for an event, spotting the trends before they start, & finding the beauty in life where others don’t see it.

🤍 Scorpio Rising: Scorpio is a unique sign that is ruled by two planets (mars & pluto) giving them an energy to intuitively connect with the physical & the unseen. The universe has gifted scorpio rising with an ability to intuitively see through the vail of any facade & naturally see pure truth.

**ways to best use their ability: reading situations for what they are, being the one to say what’s being unsaid, & connecting the truth between the spiritual and the physical world.

🤍 Sagittarius Rising: The happy-go-lucky sign of sagittarius being ruled by jupiter (the planet of luck & adventure), is blessed with a natural sense of positivity. The universe has gifted sagittarius rising with a lucky streak, it seems as though the universe finds good luck for these natives through life’s sticky situations.

**ways to best use their ability: helping themselves and others find luck in a bad situation, using their good sense of humor to lighten the mood, & seeing the positive side of life.

🤍 Capricorn Rising: It is no wonder that the sign of capricorn being ruled by saturn (the planet of karma & knowledge), is known as the old soul of the zodiac. The universe has gifted capricorn rising with innate wisdom.

**ways to best use their ability: answering pop quiz questions that come to people’s minds, studying various topics to gain deep universe knowledge, & giving sound advice to others through higher wisdom.

🤍 Aquarius Rising: The unique & innovative sign of aquarius is another sign with dual rulership by both the planets of uranus & saturn. The universe has gifted aquarius rising with a natural connection to humanity.

**ways to best use their ability: making personal connections with various people they meet in life, understanding the depths of humanity, & using their humanitarianism to heal rifts in human connections.

🤍 Pisces Rising: The spiritual sign of pisces is our final sign of double rulership with two ruling planets of neptune & jupiter. The universe has gifted pisces rising with a strong intuition through their connection to the spiritual realms.

**ways to best use their ability: meditating to connect to their higher self, making spiritual connections to the people they meet in their life, & helping others to connect to the unseen spiritual realm.

-A.A.

instagram: @dredivinecreates 🩶

[drdemonprince]

I have heard from many trans and/or Autistic queer people that they like the idea of casual, anonymous sex of the sort that happens in the gay bathhouse, or the park marked on the Sniffies map, but they fear they will never be able to access it themselves. 

They assume that a trans person won’t ever be welcome, or that because they do not read neurotypical social cues with ease, the cruising ecosystem will forever remain inscrutable to them. Many harbor concerns about safety, having only ever been taught by movies and Law & Order episodes to associate cruising with seediness, criminality, and “threatening” male sexuality. 

I’m here to tell you that none of those impressions are accurate. Trans people are in the cruising spaces. We have always been there, we helped to shape these hidden corners and dusty backrooms into what they are, and for the vast majority of cruising patrons, our presence is not only welcome, but totally blasé. There are even trans-specific cruising nights in many areas! (See the bottom of this article for a list of Chicago-based ones!)

And though getting acclimated to the social norms of the sauna (or dungeon, or cruising bar) might seem confusing at first, it’s quite easy to study and mimic, even if you’re disabled. In many ways, it’s refreshingly more direct than most other forms of socializing. The cruising spot can be an arena for vanquishing shame, if you let it. 

Finally, it is important to note that it’s the seediness and secrecy of a cruising space that makes it so safe — it’s a self-policing community of queer people who respect the location, rely upon it, and who look after one another without the intruding eye of the straight public or the cops. 

If you’re queer and neuroweird and horny and you’re contemplating cruising, there is a place for you. You just have to overcome your understandable anxieties, study up on common cruising practices, and then venture forth to give it a try (maybe with a buddy the first time). 

In this piece, I will lay out some basic principles for cruising as a trans or Autistic person (though I think this advice applies broadly to anyone who feels a little out of place in cruising spots, which is everyone at first), explain the finer points of visiting backrooms, saunas, and parks specifically, and then I’ll wrap up with a list of resources for readers looking to find a cruising spot in their area. I’ll also close out with a list of cruising-related events in Chicago that are specifically T4T or sapphic in nature, because frankly, us gay dudes are wildly overrepresented in the scene. 

The full essay is free to read (or have narrated to you in the Substack app!) at drdevonprice.substack.com