#school investment option

[revelations-persona]

finally put together my p1/2 ita bag~ i love these goobers

[beeapocalypse]

was about to start a post with 'do you remember the desperate housewives videogame. the husband shouldve been stoned to death. the cop and the mobster as well' and then realized no. nobody remembers the fuckin desperate housewives game are you kidding me

[in-sufficientdata]

I reblogged this earlier with a few tags but reading through the replies is stirring up a lot of feelings about being labeled 'gifted' as a child and how this has impacted my life as an adult and I want to talk about it more in-depth here.

In my part of Ohio the program was labeled TAG (Talented and Gifted) and started in 4th grade (ages 9-10). I was already a shy, introverted, awkward child who was incessantly bullied by the other kids for having poor social skills - as an adult I now know I was certainly extremely easy to spot as being autistic, and was raised by two shy, introverted, autistic parents who had poor social skills themselves. On top of this, it was easy to find other targets to bully me for as I was the only Latino kid in my classes and had an embarrassingly outspoken mother who dressed me in any mismatched clothing that we could afford from the thrift store and whose English wasn't all that great.

At the beginning of the 4th grade year, I was assessed over several sessions by the TAG coordinator. I liked her; she made me feel special and was kind and encouraging. After a week or more (I don't remember exactly) of this, she administered a test, which she told me was to see whether I would be placed in her class. I already had extremely classic ADHD symptoms of executive dysfunction, poor organizational skills, and pretty much no sense of time (I was amazed once by my friend who could simply call out that it had been about 5, 10, 15 minutes and was always accurate to within a couple of minutes; to me 15 minutes might as well have been 3 hours). I had spent all of 2nd and 3rd grade missing almost every recess to do my homework from the night before in the principal's office, which was agonizing, and I almost never actually finished it. My grades when I moved to the school I attended in 4th grade were averaging C to D at all times.

So my immediate assumption at being given this special test was that I was being assessed for exactly how very stupid I was. So I threw the test. By a lot. A Lot a lot.

They saw right through that, of course. Any kid who gets a 25% on a test is throwing the test. So although it took them a couple of weeks to place me in the class after the beginning of the session, I joined a group of about a dozen other kids who left class every day for reading, science, and history for 2 hours every day (I wasn't included in the math session; I do believe I have mild dyscalculia, because it always takes me a lot of effort to learn new math concepts). We learned about a lot of things in depth that the other kids were learning at a gloss level - I read a high school-level biography of Martin Luther King in 4th grade, for example.

Gladly, I might add! I loved TAG. Finally, we got to read interesting topics in detail for credit! I had always constantly gotten in trouble for reading novels under my desk during class, but it was always while everyone else was struggling to read a grade level-appropriate book that had been easy for me years before.

You might think I'm bragging when I speak of my hyperlexia, but the thing is it's now known that hypelexic kids actually end up with lower reading comprehension and social skills because of these very TAG programs. The adults in our lives assumed that because we devoured the dictionary and encyclopedia for fun in elementary school, we were very smart and could be let loose to write essays and do presentations for the rest of the TAG kids. This wasn't true.

What did I need as a TAG kid in 4th grade? I remember very well the first paper we were assigned to write. I kept excitedly going to the TAG coordinator to show her what I was learning, pointing out interesting facts in the paragraph I had just read. She finally snapped at me that she couldn't help me in-depth with my paper because she had the entire class to work with. I was crushed. I had been trying to share with her, not get help. The kind woman who had positively encouraged me one-on-one during the assessment process was gone. I needed to do it on my own.

It's kind of funny. I have no idea what her name was now.

In middle school, the TAG program was conducted the same way in the new school district we moved to at the beginning of my 6th grade year (ages 11-12). Now I was included in math as well, because the new school district was somehow 3 semesters behind what I'd learned at the previous school and I finally caught up in math for the first time ever. In middle school, kids begin to rotate classes - going from classroom to classroom for different subjects instead of teachers switching topics. I started to notice something interesting - there were 2 units in my grade, each with 3 homerooms that rotated between the history, science, and math classrooms, and all the college prep kids were in my unit. Not only this, but all the tag kids were in my homeroom. There were about 20 of us and we were all in the same homeroom.

I have no idea what the other 8-10 kids did when we were in TAG, but now we spent 4 hours every week separated from the rest of the class. TAG was now more of a special presentation where we would spend 2-4 weeks learning one focused topic. Once, we spent 2 weeks learning about how to build an electric car; another unit had us cramming in a 4-week unit of German; yet another had us gluing together a toothpick bridge to test with weights to see which team made the best design.

In high school (age 14-18) TAG was over, but now we had advanced classes, and AP classes during junior and senior years (information link is to wikipedia). Those of us who had been put on the college prep track, which we'd been asked to choose in 7th grade, had sessions with guidance counselors (9th & 10th grades) about what major we'd want to study in university, and then (11th grade) which universities we would want to apply to. We had to do a lot more work than kids in the regular courses - compared to my friends that weren't in the advanced courses I was being asked to read novels and textbooks almost twice as fast, and write more papers, do more homework. There began to be a lot more pressure to get all As, to keep one's grade average up - colleges want to see a perfect 4.0 average out of you, and even higher if you go to a school (as I did) with a weighted grade point average.

The more advanced & AP classes you took, the more it counted toward a higher grade point average. (Most references I found online to weighted scales talk about a 5.0 scale, but my school had a 6.0 weighted scale.) My junior year (11th grade, ages 16-17), I took as many advanced classes as I could, but when I scheduled my senior year I had started to check out. I found more and more I was running as fast as I could on a treadmill that was running backwards. Classes were harder but not any more interesting, and my work was still as scattered an ineffectual as it had been in 4th grade.

When my guidance counselor asked me what i wanted to major in when I was in 10th grade, I said I wanted an English degree, but not in literature, but rather the words themselves. This woman had apparently never heard of linguistics and told me I would have to coordinate with the English program at whatever school I got into to create a special program for me.

Well, what had I learned in TAG? That it was best not to stick out or be strange, because teachers don't like that. They want you to put your head down and do what you're assigned. So I decided to be a music ed. major instead, take AP music theory my 11th grade year to prepare for hitting the ground running when I got to university after high school, and settle for my second choice in a career.

By the end of my senior year I was actually completely over it. I was first chair flute in a section of 27 other girls. They treated me like a pariah. There was actual physical property damage of my instruments, more than once. There was bluster about an organized campaign to get the 2nd chair to challenge me out of my chair (she never actually tried). There was talk about how the band director had a bias and that was the only reason I was first chair.

When I graduated high school, I married my boyfriend and joined an evangelical cult with him. We moved over an hour away to attend the church involved and I never went to college. I had kids instead.

I deliberately gave up a full-ride talent scholarship to a prestigious university to do so. I had decided I had seen enough of that.

None of my kids were pressured to get all As, nor to join the TAG class. In fact one of my children had her teacher call me in for a conference where I was practically given an elevator pitch as though joining the class were her best chance at a good career one day (she was nine). I flat out told that teacher no, my child would not be participating.

ohhhhh I get it now. the "gifted kid" discourse exists because people see it fundamentally as a sign of Privilege and not as a largely meaningless category that puffs up weird children before setting them up for the same unremarkable lives as everyone else; thus they interpret people going "the educational system gave me false expectations before ultimately abandoning me to the same heartless world as everyone else" as "why am I, The Main Character, not getting everything I ever wanted."

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[burgojo]

KILLER? I BARELY KNOW HER! FUSHIGURO TOJI / M!READER

summary. shadows of your past catch up to you – but you're the strongest, and there's nothing you can't handle.

wc. 5.5k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom toji. mentions of underage drinking. sorcerer + teacher reader, enemies-to-lovers (with extra steps), sorta sugar baby toji/rich reader, doggystyle + missionary, mentions of exhibitionism + filming, unprotected sex, brief degradation (r. receiving), brief breeding kink, implied shower sex

notes. every dark-haired male jjk character deserves a silly and illogically powerful best friend with whom they have romantic tension :3 you're him. literally.

The pleasant chime of the doorbell echoes throughout your home. You're not expecting anyone.

You know you should be careful. In fact, you shouldn't be staring at the back of the front door at all. Opening it would ruin the carefully put-together façade of the closed-curtain windows and dark rooms.

Maybe you're tired, and you forget, moving on instinct. Maybe you're bored.

Maybe you're hopeful.

The door inches open, and a man looks up from where he'd been staring listlessly at the flower-spotted bushes lining the patch of green between the entrance and the driveway. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and his eyes are dark, flickering with an emotion you can't quite catch before it flutters away.

"Toji?" you say, the surprise in your voice teetering on warmth. "Hey..."

"Hey," he replies – exhales, really, something like a hum. He reaches up by his shoulder, the action too familiar for you not to stiffen, but he just rubs the back of his neck, stretching out the cricks of his body. "So. New place, huh?"

Your hand rests behind the door. He knows better than to expect it to be empty. "Old, technically. It was my first property purchase."

He tilts his head. "Yeah? When did you get it?"

"Fifteen. A birthday present for myself – a gift for surviving another year of high school. And curses, I guess. Surviving them was way worse because getting their blood in my mouth made me want to die."

He scoffs, and the raised scar over the corner of his lips shifts with his amusement. "Fifteen... And what does a teenager do with a house?"

You shrug. "Drink. Party. Pirate movies. The usual."

"Hah. Sounds like you were a fun kid." Toji scuffs the toe of his sandals against the ground absently. Then he rolls his neck and sighs. "Look, I didn't come all the way here to talk history. Long-ass way out, too, so just let me in."

Lifting an eyebrow, you give him a once-over that feels keener than it should be. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What, you think I'm here for that bounty? Who do you think I am?"

"Don't blame me. You seem very well aware of it."

"Isn't worth the effort for the price. 'Sides, you've given me more than that over the years, haven't you? I like to keep my options open, and it seems to me like it's a better investment to keep you alive."

"You talk as if you could kill me at all," you mutter, a little disdainfully, but it dissipates swiftly when Toji cracks a smirk, so familiar and entwined deeply with your favourite memories. The breeze stirs lightly, and Toji's hair ruffles, almost blue in the sunlight.

"Couldn't I? You're the one who runs away."

"Yeah, after immobilising you. Not a lot of fun to be had if you're dead as a doornail. Say – how deep are you in the jujutsu world? You must be rusty. I'd be willing to help you train."

"You'd help me kill your fellow sorcerers?" He chuckles and arches a brow. "I'll have you know I'm looking at a contract worth thirty million from a bunch of religious crazies."

"Peanuts." You wave a dismissive hand. "Now that I mention it, I'm getting complacent, too... I could use the challenge. Keep in contact with me and I'll pay you double."

"You're paying me to use my body?"

"Your words, not mine."

He holds your gaze steadily for a while, and despite his airy voice, his eyes are thoughtful. "Let's not talk business on your doorstep. Lost your manners, have you?"

Finally, your shoulders loosen, and the tension in your body vanishes. With a soft chuckle, you pull the door open further and step aside. "Don't make me regret this."

"Please," he says, slipping out of his sandals and into your home. "You never do."

Zenin. Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. All of his names, all of his history, and yet, to you, he is just your baby – your Toji. It'd be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed, he thinks as you draw him into a rib-shattering hug. Instead, he feels smug.

Before that Gojo kid, there was you. It wasn't a position you were born for – like the kid was – but you trained your way up and eventually found yourself most suited for the role, all but waltzing into it – because what youth wouldn't want to be number one? It was almost gross, your selflessness and single-minded ambition, and Toji knew how that sort of mindset made the people in power feel. They commissioned him for your death at one point, after all.

It was fun. You were both so young: dancing around each other's weapons as if it was all a stage, chasing each other's clues like a couple of dogs running after a bone. Still – you were society's best, the cream of the crop, and for you to be his, of all people, was a selfish triumph he indulged in too many times to count.

His hands creep up beneath your baggy shirt as he leans up to kiss you, tongue slipping between your lips to share in the taste of some expensive whisky he can't name. He hums – a low, rumbling sound, like a tiger chuffing – as his fingers bump over thick, warm muscle.

Blood and bone. That's what you all are, when it comes down to it.

"You should wear tighter clothes," he murmurs against your lips. "Less to grab in a fight."

The backs of his thighs press into the edge of the kitchen bench, where a forgotten glass of water sits – the remnant of your half-hearted attempt at being a good host while his lips found your neck.

You huff. "A 'fight', huh? I wasn't expecting one."

"You should always expect a fight. While you're at it, always expect to lose. Stops you from being disappointed."

"Sounds pessimistic."

"That's the price we pay for being good at what we do."

"As if you pay for anything, Toji."

He chuckles. He drops the hem of your shirt before sliding his palms up your chest – what a tease – and cupping your face. His hands are warm, callused, thrumming with lifeblood. He sweeps his thumb absently over your cheek, committing every pore of your face to memory. You have the urge to pull away, look down, like a schoolboy with a crush – but Toji's hands are firm.

"C'mon, at least look me in the eye before we kick this off. You that ashamed of me?"

Startled, your gaze flicks up to his. Instead of the half-wry look you expect, he smirks and pulls you in to meet his lips. His fingers interlace loosely at the nape of your neck, caging you in place, and you have no choice but to bend to his whim.

"Stupid," you mutter against his lips, mostly to yourself. "Stop playing with my feelings, Toji – that's manipulative. You're breaking my heart here."

Rather than pulling away himself, he pushes you away, a palm flat on your chest but without any real power. It remains there as he leans back against the stone countertop. "My bad, baby. It's just funny."

"Funnier than you calling this," you gesture between your chests, "something to 'kick off' after... how many years? If you weren't all over me seconds ago, I'd think you came over for a beer and a game."

He lifts his hands in teasing surrender at your accusatory tone. "All right. We'll fuck, then. Maybe include some heavy petting for the B-roll, if you're up for it. Sound good?"

You cross your arms over your chest and muster up a suitable amount of annoyance for a glare. Toji finds it hard to take you seriously – what with your dumb jokes and ridiculous inclination towards flashy fighting – so to him, it's more of a pout. "So, you got lonely without me, huh? Yeah, nah. We're not filming ourselves."

"Hm." It's not a yes, but it's not a disagreement, either. "Why not? It'd be hot."

"I'm a teacher, Toji," you remind him, clicking your tongue when he shrugs, one hand on his hip. "I don't want that kind of thing to exist. If it got out..."

"So you are ashamed of me," he mutters. He steps forward to grab your hands when you start to protest, visibly distressed. He snickers. "Kidding, kidding. Fuck, it's fun to play with you. You don't care about the other one, then? The one from the abandoned restaurant?"

"Well—" Your breath stutters when Toji absently compares hand sizes and laces your fingers together. You watch as he aligns four of his fingers against your ring finger specifically, one at a time as if comparing again, but this time...

"Well?" he prompts, his grin broadening. His shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Well, I don't look like I did ten years ago, and as far as I know, my face isn't in it..." All logic scatters like leaves in the wind when he looks up at you through his lashes, that playful, pretty smirk of his tugging at your heartstrings just right. It's like the years never passed. You swallow. "I-It was different," you finish lamely.

Toji's eyes flicker down to your lips. With a flick of his wrist, he twists a hand in your collar and tugs you down so that your faces are inches apart. Your chests collide roughly. He doesn't seem to care, his gaze trained on you with a heavy, smoky intensity. "Fine. If you won't let me film it, you better make it memorable. I'll decide later if it was worth coming here for."

—

Toji should have known you were serious when you pulled the bedframe about six inches out from the wall. He'd laughed at first, insulting you for such uptight behaviour regarding something as boring as walls, but you'd just dragged him to the bed with a roll of your eyes.

With how loud he was moaning, you could only be glad that he didn't find you at your apartment property.

"Toji," you breathe, your gaze trapped on the tight, firm ass ricocheting off your hips. Your grip tightens. "Toji."

"Fuuuck," he drawls as his cock throbs, prying his eyes open to narrow them at you over his shoulder. Lust has turned the usual green of them nearly black. "What?" he bites out.

"I missed you. Missed this. Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight."

He lets out a throaty chuckle, turning back around to rest his head on his forearms. With a shift of your hips, your cock punches his prostate, over and over, and his eyes roll back briefly, a pleased groan rumbling from the depths of his stomach. His dick pulses and swings uselessly between his muscular thighs.

"M-Men are all the same," he grumbles. You click your tongue, though you don't miss the way an involuntary moan makes him stutter.

"Awful way to greet an old friend, you know. I thought you were smarter than that. Try being nicer," you slam your hips forward, making his eyes fly open with a gasp, "and you'll get what you want."

His skin prickles when you glide a warm hand up his side and come to rest it upon his shoulder, holding him down with just enough strength to make his muscles flex to fight it. Your thumb rubs little circles into the back of his neck, tracing the dips of his shoulders until you find what you're looking for. You dig into the taut muscle, making him wince.

"Stressed?" you hum, and your voice is gentle. Gentler than he deserves. "Is it money problems again?"

Something like guilt stirs in his belly, but a well-angled thrust has his thoughts unravelling. "No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats. You hum in response and don't push the matter further.

Your hand lifts from his shoulder, and already he can feel the stiffness returning. Damn those God-hands of yours. He finds himself arching back, bracing against the bed, in an effort to return your hands to their rightful place.

You hush him sweetly, pressing your chest to his back and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The angle has the shaft of your heavy cock pressed right up against his prostate and his body jolts with the fiery burn of pleasure, his knuckles turning white as he fists the sheets. "No need to chase me anymore. Not going anywhere. 'M right here, baby."

Toji manages to scoff, and his voice is steadier than he expects. "Not chasin' you, asshole."

"Yeah? Then what do you call showing up at my door as you did, unannounced?"

"Welfare check."

You roll your eyes. "I hate you."

You punctuate your sentence by yanking his hips back on your cock, the wet squelch of lube and precome making him shudder. Despite the rough treatment, a moan tumbles from his lips, and he laughs, loose and breathy.

"Fuck me like it, then," he dares, knocking his temple gently against yours.

One hand lifts to card through his hair. He groans softly as your nails scrape his scalp, but his eyes fly wide open as you grab a fistful and tug, wrenching him up to kneel. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as you wrap your hand around his leaking cock, jerking him off at the same pace as you fuck into him – he swears he sees stars as your thumb and index finger twist roughly around his swollen tip. His cock squelches in your fist, bubbles of precome sliding down his tip and smearing across your palm.

"Fucker," he snarls, ceasing his split second of flailing to grip your hip and thigh. You'd consider it painful if you hadn't also had the pleasure of being stabbed, slashed, shot, and bitten. "Nngh – so fuckin' big—"

"Going back on our word, are we, honey?" you say slyly, twisting your fist up and down his wet cock. "Tsk, tsk, Toji... so forgetful. I'd say you're getting old."

You glide a fingernail up the line of his vein, making his hips stutter and forcing another curse to slip from his lips, and you dig the tip of your finger roughly into his leaking slit. He moans and his back arches against your hold as your throbbing cock easily slides deep into him, the harsh, rapid smack of your balls against his ass almost disorienting.

He shudders. The heat of his body pulls his skin too tight, makes his tongue heavy and clumsy. Your hands are not quite soft – years of weapons training and hand-to-hand combat would do that to someone – but they're sweet on him. Loving, nearly. Your warmth softens the rub of calluses and tough scar tissue, and Toji learns them anew.

"C'mon, baby... want you to talk to me. Love your pretty little sounds." You end the sentence in a whisper, patting his stomach with the absent sort of friendliness you had as a youth. You never shied away from touching him, rewarding him with your weight draped over his shoulders or entwining your fingers when he did something that pleased you.

That familiar feeling jolts him back to reality. He glances your way – perhaps to say something, but he doesn't remember what about – and you capture his lips with yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip.

He keeps them sealed, airtight.

You groan into the kiss and nip at him pleadingly, because you'd have to break Toji's jaw to get him to open up – and you couldn't do that to your favourite killer. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer is too sweet to pass up on.

Eventually, with enough petting and kisses, Toji relents, if only to see you perk up like a puppy tossed a bone. He groans softly as you explore his mouth, tongue curling around his and gliding over his teeth.

Your breath is hot and sweet against his, your lips shockingly gentle despite the quick and steady pace of your hips bouncing off his ass. He jolts every time your cockhead kisses his prostate, swollen and sensitive from your unrelenting pace. His dick bobs, dark red and pulsing hotly in your palm, and he groans like an injured animal. It's almost desperate.

Your shaft drags against his slick walls, which clench with a rippling squeeze as if he's trying to milk you dry. With each hungry snap of your hips, your tip punches the breath out of his lungs. His vision blots out, and he swears he can feel your cock in his damn throat.

Without warning, and without a word, he comes, his expression going lax with pleasure as he releases thick ropes onto his stomach. It's four hard spurts and two weaker pulses, the slow, measured tugs of your wrist twisting in a way that has his thick thighs trembling.

You coo softly, and Toji's face is uncharacteristically warm. Little kisses drift their way up his shoulder and neck and he sighs softly, eyes shut and head tilted back against your shoulder. You press your palm against his chest to feel the heart thudding beneath his ribs, the rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You cup his chest and squeeze.

He cracks an eye open, disapproval furrowing his brows. In response, you grin cheekily and nip at his earlobe as you smooth your fingers through his hair – a silent apology for being so rough.

To his credit, he lets it go. Doesn't even smack you for being an ass. He does, however, clamp down punishingly around your cock when he pulls off, making you hiss at the scrape. It bobs and you shiver at the cold air.

Thoughtfully, Toji glances down at it, still hard as rock and curving upwards towards your stomach. He reaches for it.

Your eyes widen when he slips a nail under the edge of the condom. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Don't sound so scared. I know we're both safe. Said ya missed me, right?" He grins, dark and sharp, with eyes half-lidded – almost coy. "I'll let you finish inside me. For old times' sake."

"Contract-sanctioned stalking? I thought better of you, Toji." Despite your flippant words, your breath hitches, and Toji's grin widens. He tugs the slick condom off and tosses it aside – without even tying it up, the bastard – and before you can grumble about it, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and presses his lips to yours.

You groan softly as he parts his lips and allows you in. He shifts closer, his knee between yours, and grabs your hand. He brings it down between your bodies.

"Baby..." you whisper as he wraps your hand around your lengths, pressed together. He is hot and velvety in your palm.

"Mm." The sound is deep and content, and he blinks up at you slowly like a cat. "I know. I want it."

Then, slinging his arm loosely around your shoulders, he pulls you down with him.

You barely manage to catch yourself before crushing him, your instincts and reflexes dulled by familiarity and a dreamy languor. Not that you think he'd mind – not with that grin.

Toji spreads his knees and hooks his calves around your thighs. He guides your cock into him again, and he rumbles out a pleased moan as it buries itself hilt-deep into his slick warmth.

His head falls back against the pillows as you press your hips flush against his ass. "Ah, shit..."

"You good, baby?" you murmur, swallowing harshly as his gummy walls flutter tightly around you, as if he can lock you inside forever. Your dick twitches.

"Mmh, fuck, jus' sensitive. Move."

It's only natural that you obey.

Toji feels hotter now that you don't have the layer of plastic to contend with – hotter, wetter, hungrier. You thrust shallowly at first, but as his moans grow louder – less restrained – you allow yourself to move tip-to-base, deep and dirty the way he used to like it. Seems he still does. The rim of his puffy asshole catches on the ridge of your cockhead and his nails rake down your shoulders and back, leaving stinging raised lines in their wake.

Pride fills your chest, inflates your ego. An infamous assassin, the Sorcerer Killer, spread wide and inviting with his cheeks all flushed – he's certainly given you a thousand little deaths. You grip the meat of his ass and lift his hips off the mattress, fucking into his wet heat at a new angle that has him shouting your name.

Maybe it's because you can see his face – see all the pretty cock-drunk expressions that wash over his features – that you find yourself chasing the precipice of release embarrassingly fast. He locks his legs around your waist, thick and muscular, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Why would you ever want to leave?

"Toji," you grunt, panting softly. "'M gonna..." Your breath fans against his sweat-slick skin, making him shiver and arch into your touch. He cups the back of your neck as you nibble and suck dark bruises into his tanned skin, his lashes fluttering as you shift his thighs on your lap and leave far too many deep red hickeys printed on his skin. You even scatter a few across his collarbones and chest, and you're only pleased when he looks like he was mauled by a bear.

He pants softly, his bitten moans making your cock throb even harder. Fuck, you're so hard – the shape of your teeth printed into his skin for all to see makes you prouder than you'd ever admit. You trace the marks gently with your fingertips and Toji's chest stutters.

Gazing up at you with lidded, unfocussed eyes, he laughs, freer than he had since you met him earlier. Your heavy cock plunges into his stretched hole, again and again and again like you're trying to make him take, and your grip on one of his thighs is tight enough to leave red crescents. He grasps your face, turning it down towards him, and offers a sleazy, roguish grin, breathless. His eyes trace the cut of your cheeks, the curve of your lips.

"You look less stupid than usual. S'all you're good for, ain't it? Fucking me nice an' deep with that fat cock of yours – f-fuck. S'mine, yeah? All mine?"

You shudder and groan, bone-deep, and Toji can feel the heavy throbbing of your cock leaking inside him. The slick feeling of you against his walls builds a hot ball of arousal in his lower belly. Your chest heaves against his and your stomach tenses, familiar planes of muscle firm against his hand. Excitement roars through him like a wildfire – eager and keening.

He yanks you down for a devouring kiss as you come, catapulting off the precipice into white bliss. You gasp into it. His ass clenches around you with his own release as he moans, his soft walls stroking you and sucking you in.

He's so fucking warm, so fucking wet. His body is slick with sweat and he shoves his tongue into your mouth like a man starved. Maybe he is. You groan, low and pleased, and his thighs tighten around you like a cage, possessive in his hungry, unyielding embrace.

Spilling into him is heaven. You've died and ascended, you're certain of it. He drinks you deep, as if he was made for it, and lets his head fall back against the pillows with a less-than-steady sigh as your balls tighten and pulse hotly against his skin. Dragging it out, you grind your hips into his ass in lazy circles, huffing and puffing against his throat as if you've run a marathon. Your fingers graze his own, fluttering in a way that seems almost... uncertain.

Hah. As if you knew what that word meant. You were unshakeable, infallible. The strongest. You'd hold onto that title for as long as you could; the burden was heavy.

Rather disappointingly, you don't choose to hold his hands. They glide down his waist and hips, making him shiver, and you slowly pull out, the solid but gentle grip on his thighs never wavering. You set him down as if he was made of glass and his body twitches as thick come leaks from his stretched hole, dripping and pooling white below his ass.

He tosses a lazy arm over his eyes, bending one knee and bracing against the bed. Another hot gush of come. "Ah, f-fuck... shit. You still come like a truck..."

Your gaze, once so dark and sultry as if you were about to eat him alive, now snaps to him, wide and kind and so embarrassed that Toji can't help but crack a grin.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Other than the hickeys, no. Wouldn'ta minded it anyway," he adds slyly, peering out from within the shadow of his arm. "Pretty hot when you get creative."

Shuffling off of the bed with a soft chuckle, you pick up the discarded condom and toss it in the bin. You pull open the wardrobe with a flex of a wall of muscles that Toji watches keenly, spreading his knees to eye you through them. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"Y'know, I was thinking," you begin suddenly, rifling through clothes and drawers.

"You can do that?"

"Shut up. I was thinking about you – your situation."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into your bed. "When'd you have the time? Not while you were fucking me, I hope."

"Just listen, Toji." You turn around, washcloth in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. Dark, but loose and unremarkable – as he prefers it. You toss the clothes at the bottom of the bed and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, raising your voice as the faucet squeaks on. "I was wondering if you'd wanna... you know – catch up. Or at least let me help you."

You continue, "I could find you a place in a better school zone, get you set up legitimately. Honestly, actually, you wouldn't even need to work. You could just focus on your family and I'd take care of the rest."

Toji sits up, ignoring the pinch of pain and the mess between his legs. It'll ache later, so he'll deal with it later. "What?"

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. But why?" He lowers his voice as you return to him and begin to clean him up. He meets your eyes and his mouth takes on the beginning slant of a smirk. "My ass that good, huh? You want me to be your sugar baby?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "You're not that hot, Toji. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Wasn't talking about my face. Still – it's not like you to beg me to go on the straight and narrow. What's with that?"

"At the risk of sounding humiliatingly sappy after sex," you sigh, sitting back and dropping the cloth aside, "I still care about you. A whole fucking lot. I only want good things for you, Toji, and I have all this excess wealth that I can't donate fast enough, so if I can change just two more lives – I'd beg for the chance."

The desire to change lives without ending others'. He can understand the sentiment.

"What would you want from me?"

For a moment, you're taken aback by the tiredness in his voice. You blink. "Nothing? Like I said, the money would just vanish into a charity otherwise. Well – maybe I'd like to be invited over on the weekends, and maybe drop off-slash-pick up itty-bitty Megumi every so often. He's that age, right? Oh – and you gotta let me into the kitchen. I make a mean lasagne. Wonder if the boy would like it..."

He snorts. "That's a lot of conditions."

"Well, I am offering to let you live like a plump and happy housewife, so..."

He's quiet for a while, his hair falling over his eyes in a way that blocks your view of his face. You toss a rolled-up towel at his head, and he catches it without looking.

He lowers the towel. "You... don't seem to care that I left you."

"No, I didn't at all care that my friend dropped off the face of the earth without warning." You cross your arms and scoff, the smile slipping from your face. "I only heard about what happened months after you vanished, and by that time, there was nothing I could do to search for you. I had too many people looking at me to dig up old underground contacts and not enough time to comb through the country myself. You could have talked to me, you know," you say, your voice softening. "I would never turn you away."

He shrugs, noncommittal. "It's like you said – too many people looking at you. Would be alarming if I came strolling up to your door, wouldn't it?"

"You did today," you point out.

"Yeah, when there's a bounty on your head. I could be killing you right now."

You scoff, though the hint of a smile flickers across your lips. "You're impossible. But fair point. Just... think it over, okay? Come find me after all this bounty business is over and done with. You know where I live."

Toji chuckles softly, and he accepts your offered hand. You lead him to the large bathroom and he threads his towel over the rod next to what must be yours. He stares longer than he should, but the sight of the two towels beside each other – his green, yours blue – forms a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. His heartbeat quickens.

The sound of water hitting the tiles fills the bathroom. He raises his voice over it. "Hey."

Glancing over, your arm shimmering with water droplets from where it rests against the faucet handle, you tilt your head wordlessly.

"I should be picking up the kid in a couple of hours," he explains, "at six. As far as he and the childcare know, I work a normal nine-to-five like the rest of 'em. You could go."

Your eyes widen, and you let out an endeared laugh. "Toji, Megumi doesn't know who I am. The last time we met, he was a newborn. I'm not about to give everyone a heart attack by showing up on your behalf."

"It wouldn't be on my behalf, dumbass." His tone borders between disparaging and fond. "I'd go with you."

"Wh—?" Your throat bobs harshly. The shower seems forgotten, and Toji pushes you backwards into it with a palm on your chest because he's not about to waste the water. It pours onto your head, your hair beginning to stick to your face, and it still doesn't seem to register. A smile pulls at his lips as he reaches for your body wash, scanning the label while your brain putters out and short-circuits.

You didn't expect an answer that soon.

"You heard me," he says coolly, as if this is a normal Tuesday for him. He squirts a dab of body wash onto his palm. "Isn't this what you asked for? In my opinion, it's not that fun. I get a lot of women chattin' me up while we wait. Awkward as hell since I can't be rude or they might tell their kids, and then their kids won't like Megumi... ah, it's a big deal. You being there will help. You love to talk, so you can do it for me. Good game plan, right?"

"Toji, I..."

"The fact that I'm talking more than you worries me."

"You said pick-up's at six, right?" you say suddenly, the glint in your eyes intensifying.

He arches a brow, glancing up at you. "Yeah."

"That means we have an hour." You lean in, trapping him against the glass of the shower. There's a hint of mania in your gaze, starved with a vehement zeal. "I'm gonna fuck you, now."

His eyes widen. A feral grin spreads across his face. He laughs against your throat and moans when you press your thumb roughly into one of the many hickeys littering his neck and chest. "You're crazy. Fuckin' crazy – oi."

It's disturbingly easy for you to lift him by his thighs and press him against the cool glass. His skin prickles as he grips your shoulders and mutters, his breath mingling with yours: "If you drop me, I'll kill you."

"Promise?" you ask with a breathless grin.

He crushes his lips to yours. No one else gets the privilege of taking your little deaths.

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[solxamber]

Starstruck || Malleus Draconia

After debuting with a gothic, fantasy-inspired theme, you somehow managed to hit Malleus Draconia’s exact vibe. Now, the fae prince has single-handedly appointed himself your Number One Fan—and he's taking his job very, very seriously.

It’s finally happening. After years of grinding it out in practice rooms, singing until your voice was raw, and dancing until your legs felt like spaghetti, the moment of truth has arrived. The managers want you to decide on your debut concept.

In front of you are two choices: school theme and gothic fantasy. You glance over at the school uniform option and cringe a little inside. At your age? No, thank you.

You’re not about to spend your precious debut years waving around pom-poms and trying to look sixteen. Gothic fantasy, on the other hand? Now that’s got some style. Dark cloaks, intense lighting, elaborate costumes—it’s exactly the drama you’ve been craving.

Your manager stands beside you, flipping through a spreadsheet with an expression that can only be described as financially preoccupied.

“Listen,” he says, in a tone that suggests he’s already decided, “school theme has a mass appeal. It’s relatable. Kids these days love a little campus vibe. And you know, uniform sales have great margins…”

“I’m doing gothic fantasy,” you reply, crossing your arms with a confidence that could stop a truck.

He blinks at you. “Okay, sure, I get the allure. But are you sure? Think of the numbers, the opportunities to connect with the youth. Imagine the adorable school scenes, the casual sports day outfits, the innocent love plots…”

“Imagine the smoke machines and black roses,” you counter, eyes gleaming.

He tries another angle. “Well, just consider the feedback from market research. School themes are—"

“Gothic. Fantasy.”

He sighs deeply, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “These artists and their egos,” but gives in, albeit with a look of absolute resignation. “Fine. Gothic fantasy it is. But you’re taking full responsibility if it flops.”

Release day arrives, and your first single—complete with a dramatic, shadow-filled video and costumes that look like something out of a Victorian vampire drama—hits the internet. The reactions are… intense.

Sure, maybe it’s not an overnight sensation, but it’s more than enough to get people talking. Your fans? They’re not your typical “bought it for the vibes” crowd. They are deeply invested.

You’re talking about people who can recite your lyrics like a spell. You even see fan forums cropping up where people dissect the symbolism of your music videos. There’s a post dedicated to the exact shade of black eyeliner you’re wearing, and someone actually counted how many flickers each candle has in the video.

One day, as you’re scrolling through the comments, a particularly poetic fan post catches your eye: “The ethereal aura this idol has given us with their gothic artistry is like a dark gift from another realm.”

Okay, maybe the fandom is a little… intense. But you can’t help but grin.

It all starts innocently enough.

One day, Lilia’s showing Malleus some music videos he calls "classics" (pretty sure some of them are just 20 minutes of bats screeching over synthesizers, but to each their own).

But, as fate would have it, Malleus stumbles across your latest release. His eyes widen as the screen fills with your dark aesthetic, the intense melodies, the dramatic lighting, the black roses swirling around you like a misty dreamscape. He’s hooked.

The video ends, and he turns to Lilia, awestruck. “Who is this human?” he asks, as if you’re some kind of ancient artifact discovered under a full moon.

“Oh, that’s a new artist. Apparently, they’re pretty talented.” Lilia raises an eyebrow, amused by Malleus’s reaction. “Why? Fancy yourself a fan, young master?”

“A fan?” Malleus looks scandalized. “Lilia, I am enchanted.”

Malleus’s enchantment quickly turns into an obsession. He spends the next few days discovering every song, music video, interview, and even those mildly embarrassing “What’s in My Bag?” videos where you show off your essentials (you had no idea one video about your favorite scented candles could attract such intense devotion).

He watches one interview where the host asks if you’re afraid of fae, and you reply with a casual, “Nah, I’d love to visit them one day.”

This is what seals the deal for Malleus. This human is not only a talented artist but also respectful, brave, and curious about the fae world. He has found his idol.

He decides it’s time to support you. And, because he’s the literal prince of the Briar Valley, he does what any fae royalty would: he orders some of your albums.

One hundred of them, to be exact.

In Malleus’s defense, he has absolutely zero concept of money. To him, it’s normal to go big. So he clicks “order” without even thinking, and in his mind, it’s done. Simple.

A few days later, when the delivery truck pulls up with boxes upon boxes upon boxes, Malleus’s reaction is… complicated.

He stares at the delivery man, then back at the wall of albums now stacked in front of him, and mutters, “I may have made a mistake.”

But Malleus Draconia is no quitter. So he devises a new plan: he’ll distribute these albums across the Briar Valley. Anyone who even mildly expresses an interest gets an album handed to them with an enthusiasm that’s both heartwarming and slightly terrifying.

It doesn’t take long before every fae in the valley knows your name, and soon enough, your music is echoing through the mystical woods. You, a mere human, are now an icon among the fae. The legend of the human idol with the beautiful music, who’s brave enough to express curiosity about fae life, spreads like wildfire.

Meanwhile, you’re in the middle of a heated argument with your manager. Despite your loyal fanbase, your concert venues are… sparsely filled, to put it kindly.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer,” your manager says, waving his phone around for emphasis. “We need more fans, more sold-out shows, or it’s not going to be viable to keep booking these venues!”

You’re about to respond when his phone dings. Then again. And again. Suddenly, it sounds like he’s strapped a vibrating blender to his hand. Ding, ding, ding, dingdingdingding.

“What the…?” He stares at the screen, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock. “I—it says you’ve sold out every single venue. Wait, wait—there’s a waiting list for tickets that haven’t even been put on sale yet?”

He looks at you, blinking in astonishment. “I never doubted you for a second!” he declares with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. You roll your eyes. “Sure, pal.”

Later that night, you decide to check the fan forum for yourself. And something strikes you as… odd. Suddenly, all these usernames sound like they belong to a fantasy RPG. You scroll through names like “Elder_Oak_Watcher,” “Pixie_Phenomenon,” and “Darkthorn_Dreamweaver” and can’t help but wonder if your fandom has fully committed to your fantasy vibe. You chalk it up to hardcore fans. Nothing suspicious, right?

The agency celebrates by booking more venues, announcing a new merch line, and—wait for it—a raffle event for a day with you. You’re thrilled but mostly relieved that things are finally looking up.

Cut to the Briar Valley, where Malleus gets wind of the fan meeting announcement. His eyes practically sparkle with delight.

“I have a chance to spend time with them?” he murmurs, clutching the announcement poster like it’s a sacred artifact.

“Of course, you do!” Lilia chimes in, grinning. “And if you’re really eager, I could help improve your odds.”

Silver, overhearing, asks. “Are we really doing this?”

“It’s for young master Malleus!” Sebek hisses, practically vibrating with devotion. “If he wishes to meet this human, we will ensure he wins that raffle! Even if I don’t understand why he’d—” He pauses, scowling. “—lower himself to that level for a human.”

Lilia waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, Sebek, let Malleus enjoy his hobby! It’s rare to see him so enchanted. Besides, a bit of human culture never hurt anyone!”

Silver shrugs, giving Malleus a supportive smile. “If this makes you happy, Malleus, we’ll all enter on your behalf.”

Sebek bristles. “Very well, if it is the young master’s wish, I, too, shall enter—though I don’t understand this human obsession.”

Lilia claps him on the shoulder. “Consider it a show of loyalty to the crown.”

Sebek mutters something about “weird human tastes” but agrees nonetheless. And with that, your raffle odds have just quadrupled, courtesy of the most enthusiastic and unhinged fae entourage you never knew you needed.

Malleus beams, and for once, the usual silence in Briar Valley is replaced with something very unexpected: the excited murmurs their prince getting ready for his ultimate fan meeting.

It’s your first “Unboxing Fan Mail!” livestream, and you’re bubbling with excitement as you tear through letters and packages. You’re halfway through reading a pile of cute fan letters when one catches your eye: an envelope with a hand-drawn gargoyle. This thing has personality.

“Whoa…,” you mutter as you carefully open it. Inside, you find a letter, written in such flowery, old-fashioned cursive you almost need a magnifying glass. Clearing your throat, you read a part of it aloud:

"Your craft has brought light and delight to the shadows of our realm. It is rare to encounter such reverence and elegance in a human. Know that your courage and respect have earned you an esteemed place in the hearts of those from lands beyond mortal reach. Enclosed is a token of my admiration—a rose from my homeland, blessed to be as timeless as the admiration I hold for you.

Sincerely,

M.D.”

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in. Your gaze drifts to the box sitting beside you, which you unwrap with careful fingers. Inside lies a single Briar rose—its petals dark and lush, radiating a faint magical shimmer that tells you this is no ordinary gift. The rose feels alive, pulsing softly with ancient magic. You gently lift it, brushing a fingertip along the petal’s edge, feeling the cool, unyielding softness.

And suddenly, you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Oh… wow,” you manage, voice wavering. You blink back tears but don’t quite succeed, pressing a hand to your mouth in a mix of joy and disbelief. “Thank you so much, M.D. This is… this is beautiful. I don’t even have words.”

Back in the Briar Valley, Malleus is watching the livestream playback with his usual calm demeanor… until he sees you crying. His face falls, and he looks at Lilia, horrified. “Did I… upset them? My letter was meant to honor them, not… bring tears.” He’s practically pale. Well, paler than usual.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Lilia chimes in with a laugh, patting Malleus on the shoulder. “They’re just happy! Look how much they loved it. You brought them pure joy!”

Malleus blinks. “So… I have not offended them?”

“Far from it! In fact,” Lilia says with a knowing smirk, “I think you’re officially their number one fan.”

Malleus’s eyes narrow with sudden, unshakeable determination. “Of course, I am,” he says, as if this is the most obvious truth in the world. “Who else could claim that title?”

You have no idea what you've gotten into.

It’s your first concert. The crowd is buzzing, their voices creating a low hum that vibrates through the walls, yet you’re backstage with a knot in your stomach that feels about the size of a boulder.

You shift from foot to foot, hands clammy as you grip the mic, wondering if this is actually a good idea or if you should just make a break for it now and head for the hills.

A voice echoes through the earpiece: “Three minutes, everyone!”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as the band gives you encouraging nods. All those years of training, of dreaming, of rehearsing until your feet felt like they’d fall off—this is what it was for.

Your fans are out there, waiting. You can already hear some of them chanting your name. And slowly, your nerves start to melt away, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

The lights dim. You step onto the stage, heart pounding, and the audience erupts. Thousands of people, waving lights and singing the opening notes of your debut song back to you.

The energy washes over you, filling every corner of your soul, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

The music pours out of you, and the crowd’s response is instant, electric. They're clapping, cheering, and singing along. You almost forget to breathe as you realize—they know every word.

It’s in the middle of your second song, during a moment where the lights are shining right on the front row, that you spot something peculiar.

Wait… Are those… fae?

Not just one, but three of them. And they’re not your typical, “blending in” kind of fans, either. One of them—the tall one with the horns—looks like he’s just stepped out of some mythical kingdom (which, granted, he kind of has). There’s an unmissable aura around him, and his eyes are fixed on you like you’re the most mesmerizing sight he’s ever seen.

The other two fae are close by, each one unique but unmistakably not human. And a very sleepy human is nodding off standing there.

You try to keep performing, but your heart’s pounding for a new reason now. The tall fae—he’s so intense. There’s something captivating, almost otherworldly, in the way he’s watching you, like he’s fully captured by your music. It’s a bit like he belongs here and also… really doesn’t. Yet somehow, he makes it work.

Finally, you reach the interaction part of the concert, the moment where you get to pick a “lucky fan” from the crowd for a backstage pass at your next show. Your mind goes blank for a second as you look over the crowd, but the sight of those fae at the front makes your decision easy. You raise a hand, pointing directly at the tall one, still staring at you with that intense look in his eyes.

You can feel the collective shock from the crowd as you exclaim, “You! Yes, at the front! You’re the lucky winner!”

The tall fae’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a look of pure delight crossing his face as his friends react with either shock or something bordering on exasperation. He steps forward a bit, visibly thrilled, and nods to you as if he’s just received the highest honor imaginable.

Lilia, standing beside Malleus, gives a knowing chuckle. “My, my, our prince has been blessed by fortune,” he teases.

Sebek, looking utterly scandalized, hisses, “The Young Master? At a human’s concert again? With a… backstage pass?” His voice drips with disbelief.

Silver, with a half-smile, murmurs, “Well, he does look happy. That’s what matters, right?”

And Malleus, basking in the moment, seems too happy to notice their reactions. He meets your gaze, nodding as if to say, Yes, it is I, your devoted fan.

And suddenly, you’re beaming, too, because in this moment, you realize—you’re not just performing for humans. You’ve captured the attention of beings beyond the mortal world, and something about that feels… magical.

It’s the day of your next concert, and you’re backstage, mentally preparing yourself. You’d think after the first show, the nerves would be easier to handle, but that flutter of excitement is still there. Just as you’re rehearsing a few last lines, your manager bursts in, a mix of terror and wild enthusiasm lighting up his face.

“You… you’ve got to see this,” he stammers, pulling you toward the edge of the curtain.

“Uh, okay?” You’re confused, but you follow him to peek out onto the crowd.

What you see is not what you expected.

The venue is packed. And not just with your usual audience—no, tonight, the crowd is full of fae. Like, really full of fae. A sprinkle of beastmen, a handful of humans (who look varying levels of petrified), but the overwhelming majority? Fae of every type.

You spot wings, horns, a few floating orbs of light that might just be small fae spirits, and an array of gleaming, wide eyes that are laser-focused on the stage.

In the front row, you catch sight of a familiar face. The tall fae with horns who won your backstage pass last time—he’s here, and still utterly entranced. On impulse, you give a little wave, feeling a bit silly, but somehow unable to resist.

To your surprise, he just stands there, looking stunned, until the black-haired fae next to him nudges him with an elbow. Then, almost shyly, he lifts his hand and waves back.

From Malleus’s perspective, everything is perfect. His people have fallen under your spell just as he has. Watching you emerge to greet the crowd, he’s already enraptured.

You look out into the audience, and then—to his amazement—you look right at him and wave. He freezes, utterly smitten, until Lilia nudges him. After a second, he waves back, his heart doing something he’s quite sure it’s never done before.

The concert begins, and it’s an experience beyond anything you’ve known. The fae audience is surprisingly intense—they’re quiet during the softer moments, like they’re absorbing every note, and then wildly enthusiastic during the high-energy parts.

For a second, you wonder if your music has some kind of magic in it, too. Their reaction fuels your own performance, until the final note echoes out and the crowd erupts in applause.

Then comes the moment of truth: the backstage pass winner’s meet and greet.

You’re resting in the designated room, savoring a post-concert cookie when you hear… raised voices?

“Only the winner is allowed in!” your security guard insists, sounding exasperated.

“And I’m telling you,” someone snaps back, “I won’t allow my master to go in alone to meet a human!”

Curious, you step out to find the same quartet from the front row having a tense standoff with security. The tall one—the same one who keeps catching your eye—looks as serene as ever, while his silver-haired friend seems half-asleep despite the commotion. You raise a hand. “It’s okay! Let them all in.”

The guard reluctantly steps aside, and the four file into the room. There’s an awkward pause as they stare at you, clearly debating who should introduce themselves first. The tall one steps forward, and you offer a small smile.

“So… we finally meet. What’s your name?”

“Malleus,” he says, his voice deep and slightly reverent. “Malleus Draconia.”

You’re about to respond when he holds out a hand—a hesitant, almost formal gesture. Before you can shake it, the green-haired fae scowls, clearly offended. “That’s His Highness to you, Don't causally touch him human!”

You freeze mid-motion. Highness? Fae Royalty?

“Yes,” Malleus says mildly, “though I’d rather you not call me that right now, Sebek. This is a personal occasion.”

“Oh, you’re… royalty.” You take a very controlled breath, willing yourself not to faint.

Malleus nods, completely unfazed, though Lilia snickers under his breath and gives you a little wave. “I apologize if that was not clear before. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You regain your composure. You're a professional. “Right, royalty. Got it. No big deal.” (It’s a huge deal, but you can scream into your pillow later.)

That's when it clicks. M.D, Malleus Draconia, Fae Prince.

In an attempt to break the tension(and to not spiral), you say, “By the way, I loved the little gargoyle you drew on the letter you sent me. It was cute.”

Malleus blinks, visibly taken aback. “You… liked the gargoyle?”

You nod, smiling. “They’re nice to look at.”

For a second, Malleus just stares, and it feels like his entire face is starting to glow. “You appreciate gargoyles?” he says, in a tone that sounds like you’ve just admitted you’re secretly royalty, too.

“Uh, yeah. They’re kinda cool.” You laugh, and Malleus looks like he’s been blessed by every possible deity.

Meanwhile, Sebek mutters something vaguely exasperated, and you catch a snippet: “This human has actually caught the his interest…”

Lilia laughs, giving Malleus a playful nudge. “Well, isn’t that something? I guess you truly are their number one fan, Malleus.”

Malleus nods seriously. “Of course. I am honored to be recognized as such.” His eyes gleam with utter sincerity.

You chat a bit more, exchanging small talk, until you mention offhandedly that your company has been discussing hosting a concert near Briar Valley due to the recent increase in fae fans. Malleus immediately perks up.

“Oh, well, you should simply perform in Briar Valley,” he says, as if offering his personal venue is as easy as lending a pen.

“Wait… seriously?” You look at him, not sure if he’s joking.

“Of course,” Malleus replies earnestly. “I would be delighted to arrange it. As the prince… and your number one fan.” His eyes are so bright and genuine, you can’t help but laugh.

“All right, I’d love that,” you say, heartily amused and impossibly charmed.

As they start to leave, an idea pops into your head. “Hey, Malleus, do you want a picture together?”

He blinks, clearly surprised. “A picture? I… would be honored.”

You take out your phone, getting into position, and then, on a whim, you lean over and kiss him on the cheek right as you snap the photo.

From the doorway, Sebek lets out a scandalized squawk, and your manager looks like he’s about to pass out. But Malleus? He’s wide-eyed, staring at you like you’ve granted him the greatest gift in existence.

With a wink, you murmur, “Consider it a special gift for my biggest fan.”

For a second, Malleus just stands there, wide-eyed, and then, slowly, a delighted, utterly smitten smile spreads across his face.

The concert in Briar Valley turns out to be way more fun than you could’ve ever imagined. You were nervous at first—after all, you’re literally performing in a hidden fae realm with the kind of audience that probably doesn’t even need speakers to hear you.

But once you get started, the vibe is incredible. The fae are enthusiastic, cheering and applauding in that slightly mystical way they have. Their clapping sounds like wind chimes, and every so often, you think you see little trails of magic light in the crowd.

And right in the front row, like always, is Malleus Draconia. He’s the picture of regal elegance, standing out in his official Briar Valley attire, looking like he’s attending some kind of royal ceremony. You’d almost laugh at the contrast—Malleus, dignified and regal, surrounded by a crowd absolutely hyped for a pop concert. And, because you can’t resist, you give him a cheeky wink mid-song.

Malleus doesn’t miss a beat; he looks like he’s been struck by some sort of enchantment himself. His cheeks faintly color, but he doesn’t look away, a faint, dazed smile on his face. He’s living his best fanboy life, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of his reaction.

After the concert ends, Malleus insists on personally escorting you around Briar Valley. You’re beyond thrilled—after all, it’s not every day that a fae prince offers to give you a tour of his homeland. Sebek and Silver, ever loyal, trail behind, with Sebek grumbling under his breath every five seconds about “proper decorum” and “human interactions.”

Meanwhile, Lilia is there for the pure entertainment of it all, throwing you little mischievous grins whenever you glance back at him.

As you’re strolling down a cobblestone path lined with Briar roses, you feel the first drop of rain on your cheek. “Oh no, I didn’t bring an umbrella…”

But the second you say it, there’s a flurry of movement. Malleus, Sebek, Silver, and Lilia all open umbrellas in perfect unison, like some kind of magical boy band choreography. Sebek even has an extra umbrella on standby, which he’s holding out to you with a solemn look.

But before you can notice it, Malleus shoots him a look that could probably summon a thunderstorm, and Sebek reluctantly withdraws, muttering darkly under his breath about “Etiquette.”

Meanwhile, Lilia, never one to miss an opportunity, flings the extra umbrella into a bush with a casual flick of his wrist before you can even notice.

He turns to Silver and Sebek with a bright grin, “Come now, let’s give the two some space! Isn’t it so romantic?” Sebek looks horrified, about to argue, but Lilia’s already dragging him and Silver away, leaving you alone with Malleus.

So now it’s just the two of you, standing in the rain, with Malleus holding his large, intricately decorated umbrella over both of you. The umbrella’s big enough that it shields you from the rain easily, but that doesn’t stop Malleus from stepping a little closer, just to be sure.

There’s an awkward, giddy silence as you continue to walk side by side. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and your hands brush against each other occasionally. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Did you enjoy the concert? Briar Valley’s… first, of this sort.”

“Oh, definitely!” you say, grinning. “It was amazing to see so many fae enjoying the music. And you were right up front! You didn’t have to—”

“It was… my pleasure,” Malleus replies, his deep voice a little softer than usual. “I wanted to see everything as closely as possible.” There’s an endearing awkwardness to him that only makes him more captivating.

From the moment you met him, you thought Malleus was just a really dedicated fan—sweet, if a bit intense, but ultimately adorable. Sure, he’s got that tall, dark, and slightly terrifying vibe with the horns and the whole royal aura, but he’s also so polite and gentle that you can’t help but find it cute.

But now, as you walk under the same umbrella, his warmth just inches away, it hits you with sudden clarity. Oh, I am so, so screwed.

Because you might like him a little bit. Scratch that—a lot a bit.

Malleus glances at you, noticing the sudden shift in your expression. “Is something amiss?” His voice is gentle, genuinely concerned.

“Oh! No, I’m fine. Just, uh, a little tired from the show,” you say quickly, brushing it off.

Malleus doesn’t look entirely convinced but accepts your answer with a soft nod. Then, almost shyly, he extends his hand. “Here. It’s quite cold… if you’d like…”

You stare down at his offered hand, feeling your pulse jump. It’s such a small, polite gesture, but it sends your heart racing. You slip your hand into his, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, and a small smile tugs at your lips.

As you walk together under the umbrella, Lilia, peeking from behind a corner with a very exasperated Sebek in tow, smirks to himself. "Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically, as if he were watching a play unfold.

Back under the umbrella, Malleus is telling you about the history of Briar Valley, his voice gentle and filled with pride. You don’t catch half of it because you’re too focused on the way he looks down at you, his eyes soft and completely captivated. Every so often, he leans in a little closer, as if he can’t help himself.

Eventually, you reach the end of the walk, the rain easing off, and Malleus turns to you, looking slightly hesitant. “I hope this evening has been enjoyable for you… I wished for you to see the beauty of Briar Valley, but I… I fear I may have monopolized your time.”

You laugh softly. “Oh, trust me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing me around. Plus,” you add, “it’s not so bad sharing an umbrella with my biggest fan.”

Malleus’s expression lights up, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his face. “Yes,” he agrees softly, almost to himself. “Your… biggest fan.”

Before they leave, you impulsively pull out your phone. “Hey, Malleus, would you like to take another picture together? You know, as a memory of Briar Valley?”

Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods. “I would… like that very much.”

You pose, holding up your phone, and just as you snap the picture, he looks at you with a strange spark in his eyes, he leans over, just barely hesitating, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Now you’re the one who freezes, absolutely flustered but trying very hard to play it off. You clear your throat, laugh a little too brightly, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as if it’s no big deal. “W-Well, um, I guess we’re even now!” you stammer, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your face.

Malleus gives you a small, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction, while Sebek is beside himself, practically vibrating at a frequency that could power one of your concerts, as he splutters, “YOUNG MASTER, THIS IS—YOU CAN’T JUST—A HUMAN—”

But Lilia just laughs, giving Sebek a playful whack on the back. “Come now, Sebek, it’s all in good fun!"

Sebek looks torn between yelling and fainting, muttering to himself about propriety and why, oh why, would the young master be so entranced by a human?!

You just barely manage to keep it together until they leave, but the second you’re alone, you collapse onto the nearest couch, burying your face in a pillow with a ridiculous grin plastered across your face. Because Malleus Draconia, fae prince and possibly the most loyal fan you’ve ever met, just kissed you on the cheek.

Somehow, you know this is just the beginning.

The fan forum has always been your little comfort zone. You’ve got your dedicated fans, who post lovingly questionable fan art, some surprisingly deep theories about your lyrics, and even the occasional meme thread.

Today, though, you’ve decided to go on a bit of a lurking spree. You want to see what people really think—especially the critics. And you do find critics, of course, all happily airing out their grievances. But what you didn’t expect is the replies.

Each negative comment has an oddly formal, razor-sharp response that’s practically dripping with eloquent disdain, all signed "M.D." You read on, completely baffled until it dawns on you: this is Malleus.

This prince has taken it upon himself to haunt your comment section, like a very sophisticated, slightly unhinged ghost. You try to keep from snickering too loudly as you scroll through his hilarious, painfully dignified rebuttals.

I-like-snails: “I don’t understand the hype. This idol is all looks, no talent.”

M.D.: “Your failure to comprehend excellence in its truest form is unfortunate. To imply that this individual relies solely on appearance demonstrates an astonishing lack of insight. Consider expanding your understanding of ‘talent.’ Signed, M.D.”

real-idol-fan: “I’ve seen cooler concepts than this ‘gothic fantasy’ nonsense. So pretentious.”

M.D.: “Ah, but what is more pretentious, dear critic? To appreciate grandeur or to boast of one’s ‘cool’ concepts with all the subtlety of a loud footstep in the night? Gothic fantasy, as you call it, possesses a depth your mind has yet to comprehend. Signed, M.D.”

aura-aura: “This idol’s lyrics don’t even make sense. They’re just trying to sound deep.”

M.D.: “An intellect as shallow as a millpond would indeed struggle to navigate profound lyrical waters. I urge you to revisit the lyrics in question after reading a book or two on metaphor. Signed, M.D.”

You have to clutch your sides as you scroll through the thread. The idea of Malleus, a literal prince, defending you with words like “millpond intellect” and signing every single comment with his initials—it’s ridiculous.

Ridiculous and, at the same time, ridiculously touching. You’d never asked him to do this, never even thought he’d care about what random people thought of you, but here he is, waging a dignified, solo war in the fan forum trenches.

After several minutes, you take a deep breath and manage to calm down, even though you know you’re never going to look at your fan forum the same way again.

It's interview time and things are going smoothly. You’re answering questions about your latest song, about the creative process behind the music videos. All very normal stuff—until the interviewer grins, pulls out a picture, and holds it up for you to see.

You squint and realize, with dawning horror, that it’s the photo. The one of you and Malleus standing close under the same umbrella, him looking at you like you hung the stars and you, very clearly, smiling back at him. Whoever took it managed to capture a moment that looks... well, almost romantic.

"So," the interviewer says, leaning in with a gleam in their eye, "is this someone special?"

You’re ready to laugh it off, to dismiss it casually with a polite “no,” but... you freeze. Looking at that photo, at the way Malleus is watching you, something catches in your throat. “No, of course not” dies on your lips.

Your mind rewinds to all the times he’s shown up, how he’s silently supported you, those comments on the forum—and suddenly, you can’t deny it, not even to yourself.

“No comment,” you manage to say, but it sounds weak, even to you.

The interviewer’s brow arches, and they chuckle knowingly. Meanwhile, you’re scrambling internally. Oh no. Oh no, you’re in trouble. You’re in deep trouble.

The raffle winner is announced, and your mouth drops open when you hear the name. “Malleus Draconia!” Your eyes scan the crowd and—yep, there he is, beaming in a way that could light up an entire stadium, looking like he’s won the lottery.

Well, technically, he has, but there’s something about his expression that suggests this is the best moment of his life. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the universe smirking, because it knows exactly what it’s doing by sending you this unattainable, royally handsome fae prince.

You’d had some time to think since that interview. The photo, the “no comment,” the dawning horror in your gut as you realized that yes, you’re down bad. Horrifically so. In the week since the interview, you’d come to accept it. The only issue? He's so out of your league, it’s practically laughable.

Meanwhile, Malleus is practically vibrating with excitement. As soon as his name was drawn, half of his kingdom exploded in celebratory fanfare. (To be fair, most of the Briar Valley population had entered the raffle in his name. “Statistical advantage,” Lilia had called it.)

By the time he gets home, he’s already lining up outfits, preparing what he calls “appropriate tokens of affection.”

“Perhaps... a small gargoyle?” he muses, clutching a miniature stone sculpture that weighs about as much as a small human child.

Silver clears his throat. “Maybe... consider something less... heavy?”

Undeterred, Malleus sighs but places the gargoyle back, moving on to his backup plan: a solid gold gargoyle instead.

Lilia, in the background, chimes in with, “Just give them a rock and say it’s a Briar Valley special!” Malleus ignores him.

The day arrives, and you’re waiting at a cafe for Malleus. The producers are buzzing around, setting up lights and cameras for some wholesome footage to share with your fans. You’re running through the usual script in your mind, but then Malleus walks in, looking... well, looking like Malleus. Tall, regal, glowing with excitement, and completely out of place in the modern cafe.

You’re trying to keep your cool, reminding yourself that he’s just a fan here to meet his favorite idol, but when he brushes his hand against yours as he takes his seat, you’re thrown into chaos. Wide-eyed, flustered chaos. In fact, you’re so visibly affected that one of the producers has to muffle a squeal.

You glance at Malleus, and for a second, it’s like the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to the cameras. You’re laughing, he’s smiling in that polite but endlessly fascinated way, and it feels like the meet-cute scene in every cheesy K-drama ever made.

After the cafe, the producers decide to set up at a bowling alley. It’s cute, casual, and definitely low-stakes—or so you think. You explain the game rules to Malleus, who nods in solemn understanding. Then, you hand him a bowling ball and stand back, figuring he’ll get the hang of it soon enough.

Except... Malleus does not get the hang of it.

He lifts the ball with such enthusiasm and raw power that when he bowls, it lands with a thunderous bang. The ball rockets down the lane like it’s been launched out of a medieval trebuchet, shattering the pins with explosive force and completely obliterating the machinery behind them.

The bowling alley is plunged into silence. Even the producers are speechless.

You, however, are not. You burst out laughing so hard, tears actually stream down your cheeks, and you double over, clutching your stomach. Malleus, meanwhile, looks at the wreckage he’s caused with a sheepish expression and asks, “Did I... do it wrong?”

You’re still laughing too hard to answer. His expression is priceless—equal parts apologetic and baffled. For all the confusion on his face, he’s smiling too, in that warm, captivated way, like every sound of your laughter is worth all the destroyed bowling alleys in the world.

One of the crew members has to remind you both to stop standing in the wreckage.

After the... eventful bowling alley scene, you suggest something calmer, like feeding ducks at the park. You arrive with a bag of crumbs, ready for a relaxed, picturesque afternoon.

Malleus seems thrilled at the prospect of feeding these “quaint little birds.” He declares “I will bestow upon them many crumbs.”

But, as it turns out, ducks seem to be as unnaturally drawn to Malleus as your fanbase is to you.

The ducks start waddling toward you, sure, but when Malleus bends down to offer a handful of crumbs, they completely mob him. You watch in bewildered amusement as the ducks clamber onto him, flapping and honking, climbing his shoulders, even perching on his head like he’s the world’s fanciest scarecrow.

“I... seem to be... a duck magnet,” he murmurs, looking helplessly at you, as if apologizing for attracting every duck within a ten-mile radius. He’s totally overwhelmed, but also somehow completely fine with it. If you find this amusing, then it’s a noble cause in his mind.

They hop onto his lap, perch on his shoulders, and one brave little duck even nestles itself on his head, honking proudly as it looks down at him.

You’re giggling again, snapping photos with your phone as he stands there, a bemused fae prince turned accidental duck king. Malleus, standing there covered in feathery chaos, looks up at you, his expression softening at the sight of your laughter. You think you see the smile on his lips, and you’re certain this day can’t get any better.

Dinner with Malleus feels like the culmination of every daydream you’ve ever had and every moment you tried to ignore the thrill he gives you. The restaurant is all soft lighting and quiet music, and you’re seated across from him, barely able to touch your food because you’re too busy trying not to stare. Or at least, not to make it obvious you’re staring.

But it’s impossible not to. Malleus, in the soft glow of the candles, looks ethereal in a way that’s borderline unfair. He’s taken off his usual high-collared cloak, and he’s looking at you with an openness that feels both heart-wrenching and unbelievably warm. His eyes hold that steady, unwavering gaze that has you feeling more exposed than any stage spotlight.

You’re talking about something light—music, maybe, or the utterly ridiculous game of bowling earlier. But the words are just filler, a flimsy attempt to distract yourself from the absolute burning feeling in your chest, a feeling you’re starting to realize is a little too big to be brushed aside.

It’s love.

It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. You’re looking at him, and it’s all you can do to not reach across the table, grab his hand, and say something incredibly unhinged like, “Hi, you don’t know it yet, but we’re soulmates.”

He leans in, head tilted as he listens to you with that pure, undivided attention. And then, his lips quirk into a faint smile, and you’re done for. Absolutely, completely done for.

Dinner wraps up, and he offers you his arm as you both leave the restaurant and step into the cool night. You take it, fingers curling around his elbow, and feel the warmth of him through the fabric.

The street is quiet, and the moon is hanging low, casting an almost dreamlike glow over everything. And you—well, you’re looking at him like he’s the moon itself, like he’s the only thing worth looking at in the whole universe.

You’re walking slowly, so slowly it feels like the moment is stretching forever, but somehow that’s not enough. You can’t stand it; you can’t stand just holding his arm and pretending this feeling isn’t eating you alive. So, finally, you stop, turn to him, and without even a thought to what this might mean for your career or the scandal it could stir, you say, “Malleus?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft, waiting.

And you just… go for it. You lean up, heart pounding so hard it’s a miracle he can’t hear it, and kiss him.

The world stands still. For a second, you wonder if you’ve overstepped, if maybe he’s going to pull away or question you or—

But then he’s kissing you back. Immediately. Thoroughly. His hand rises to cup your cheek, and he leans in with a gentleness that completely undoes you. You feel the warmth of him, the tenderness in his touch, and it’s enough to make your knees weak.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look up to find him watching you with an expression that’s somewhere between wonder and the same sort of ache you’re feeling.

And right now, the only thing that makes sense is to kiss him again.

So you do.

This time, it’s softer, slower, like you’re both savoring it, letting the world fall away until it’s just you and him in the middle of the quiet, moonlit street.

When you finally pull back again, there’s a lingering silence. You don’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone that you’re completely undone by them? That you’re staring at him and barely restraining yourself from saying things like, “Let’s make matching T-shirts,” and “You’re my favorite human being, even if you’re technically not human.”

He’s still gazing at you, lips curved in that barely-there smile, looking utterly unphased yet somehow entirely aware of the fact that you’re melting. He’s looking at you like you’re something delicate, something precious, and it’s honestly making you want to pull him down and kiss him senseless all over again.

But instead, you just laugh, quiet and breathless. He raises a brow, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks, in a tone that’s half curious, half amused.

“No,” you say, “I’m just… realizing something.”

“And what’s that?”

You look at him, eyes shining, and feel that burning again, that truth too big to ignore. “I’m completely in love with you.”

He doesn’t look shocked; instead, he just leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you feel it again—the absolute certainty that you’re screwed. Because here’s a man who looks at you like you’re his whole world, and now that you’ve had a taste of this—of him—there’s no going back.

Masterlist

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[megxplryxb]

I Don’t Want You Like A Best Friend

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Best friends to lovers <3

Warnings: Angsty fluff, Tommy being an ass, Billy being a perv but nothing heavy

Tag list: @edb954 @vintage-karma

Authors Note: To everyone who voted for this on the poll, I’m sorry it took so long. As usual, I’m not happy with the ending but please enjoy x

It was a little after eight thirty on Friday evening when Steve Harrington's maroon BMW pulled up in front of your house, looking freshly washed and polished. The headlights of his prized possession illuminating your bedroom walls, letting you know your best friend was patiently waiting outside until you were ready to go. Smiling, you give him a little wave through your window, signalling that you’d be right down, still feeling slightly giddy every time you see his new car parked in your driveway.

Mr Harrington had made the promise of purchasing a car for his son on the condition that Steve would improve his steadily declining grades. His parent’s had grown rather concerned that he wasn’t focused enough on his studies, too invested in girls, friends and partying to care about getting into college and so they figured a bargaining chip was the only option they had left, knowing their son wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this.

Steve had come to you immediately after his Father had presented him with the proposal, climbing through your window, begging you to tutor him after school hours, even vowing to be your personal chauffeur until graduation. You knew how much he had always wanted a car and seeing as it was the first decent thing his parents had ever done for him, who were you to say no? Eventually, after many evenings and late nights, sharing cold pizza and hot chocolate over many books and study notes, Steve’s grades had finally started to go in the right direction and a few months later, he was presented with the shiny new vehicle, having you to thank.

You had been best friends since elementary school when Steve had accidentally hit you with a soccer ball, covering you and your new dress in mud in the process. You’d called him a buttface when he tried to apologise, grinning with a boyish charm as he muttered that you still looked super pretty and because you were already dirty, you should just come play with him and his friends. Of course, it didn’t take him long to persuade you and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Steve had always had a way with words, could say the right thing to get himself out of almost any situation and as he got older, moving into his later teenage years, it worked even more so to his advantage. Steve could get any girl he wanted, could get away with doing anything he wanted, because he was just that damn charming. That’s how you wound up agreeing to go to this stupid party in the first place, using the Harrington charm on you, all puppy dog eyes and pouting pink lips, sweet talking you until you eventually caved. Even after all these years, you still couldn’t say no to Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington and you kind of hated that he still had that effect on you.

Looking around the room once more, you turned off your cassette player that had been blaring Madonna for the past thirty minutes, quickly glossing your lips, placing the tube back onto your vanity before giving yourself one final glance in the mirror. You’d opted for a flowy dress, hot pink and short, along with your trademark white converse and a new cardigan that your Father insisted you wear all evening even though he knew you were going to leave it in Steve’s car.

Steve’s head turned at the sudden sound of the front door closing behind you, watching in awe as you walked towards him, wearing a dress he’d never seen before but already deciding it was his new favourite. The colour of your outfit instantly reminded him of your first interaction all those years ago when you were just little kids in the school yard. The memory sending a warm feeling straight to his chest as he got out of the car to open the passenger door for you, trying to stay calm and collected as he did so.

God, his best friend was really pretty.

“Hey Stevie.”

“Hi honey, you uh, you look amazing.” He swallows, pulling you in for a hug, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You reply giving him a cheesy grin, settling in to the passenger seat, already rummaging through his tape collection as he gets into the drivers side again.

“Ready to go?” He asks, brows raised as you let out an irritated huff, pushing Michael Jackson's Thriller into the cassette player.

“As I’ll ever be. Still don’t know why I’m even going to this party. Tammy totally hates me.” You state with wide eyes.

“She does not hate you.” Steve chuckles lightly knowing that was a lie.

Tammy did in fact, totally hate you.

She had done so ever since trying out for the cheer squad at the beginning of the year. Her audition ending up being much worse than her singing and because you were the captain, it had been up to you to let her down gently. She seemed to take the rejection well at first, that was until she “accidentally” spilled a soda all over you at lunch later that day to exact her revenge and you'd been enemies ever since.

“Oh come on, we both know she’s only inviting me to get into your good books. That girl has it baaaad for you.” You tease as a frown begins to form on Steve's face.

“Yeah well, I’m not interested in Tammy Thompson.” He sighs, keeping his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Oh? But you are interested in somebody?” You question, your own interest peaked as he shuffles uncomfortably beside you. It had been a while since Steve had a crush, his relationship with Nancy Wheeler having ended a couple of months ago, leaving him with some metaphorical battle wounds that he was still seemingly recovering from because he hadn't been on a date since. He hadn't even really talked about the break up at all which was weird for Steve because he would always come to you when his love life wasn't going so well.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your pretty little face.” You poke at his cheek, seeing a hint of pink flare up.

“Steve Harrington, are you blushing right now?” A giggle escapes your lips as you watch his eyes widen, panic apparent on his beautiful features.

“I am not blushing. I’m just hot, it's really hot in here.” He sighs, rolling down his window as he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Jeez, she must be really special.” You taunt as Steve finally glances at you.

“Will you stop it? There’s no one, alright?.” He laughs trying to brush off your teasing but you sense a nervousness in his tone.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right?”

“Look, can we just talk about something else please?" He begs and you decide it’s best not to discuss it further. If Steve wanted to tell you who it was, he’d do it in his own time. He never had an issue telling you before.

“God, I really hope Billy isn’t going to be here.” You groan, throwing your head back in an attempt to change the subject.

“It’s not like Hargrove to miss a party.” Steve grunts at the mention of his new found enemy while you play with the charm bracelet on your wrist.

“He asked me out today.” You reveal casually as the car suddenly comes to a halt in the middle of the road, sending your body forward in the process.

“Hargrove asked you out?” He quizzes with a stressed look on his face. “Jesus Steven, warn a girl next time, my boobs could’ve fallen out.” You joke, looking behind you to make sure there were no cars coming before locking eyes with your friend who looks less than amused.

“Seriously, did he really ask you out?” Steve asks again in a tone that leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Is that so hard to believe or something?” You challenge, crossing your arms as his hand rests on your thigh.

Of course it’s not hard to believe, you’re a fucking knock out, he wouldn’t blame any guy for asking you out. But Steve didn’t even want to imagine you and Billy together. The thought of that asshole going anywhere near you made him sick.

“Honey, no. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that, god you're so great and I just…you know I think that guy is a piece of shit and you— well, you deserve someone…better than him.” He explains, clearing his throat, as you nod in agreement.

“I know Steve. It’s not like I said yes or anything.” You roll your eyes, failing to notice the relief on your friend’s face as he starts to take off down the road again.

“Sorry for almost making your boobs fall out.” He teases, playfully nudging you as your lips begin to curve into a smile.

“You can buy me a burger and a milkshake later to make it up to me.”

“You got yourself a deal.” He pinky promises, even though he was going to bring you there anyway. It was your usual after party ritual after all.

When Steve pulls up outside Tammy’s house, the party is already in full swing. There’s numerous cars in the driveway and abandoned all over the street but it’s a familiar blue Camaro that immediately catches your eye, making your stomach churn.

“Oh great.” You whine as Steve takes notice of Billy’s car, clenching his jaw. “Told you he wouldn’t miss a party.” He says, throwing an arm around your shoulder protectively.

As you enter the Thompson residence, the hallway was already crowded with people, the smell of weed lingering in the air, as the wood flooring underneath your feet vibrated from the music coming from the back. It's then that you feel Steve's warm hand in yours as he guides you towards the kitchen, making sure you both get there in one piece and you instantly feel a sense of comfort knowing he’s with you.

You’re both greeted by fellow Hawkins High students as you and Steve squeeze through the crowds. People stop their conversations to high five your best friend as he walks by, while Chrissy runs to you, immediately enveloping you in a hug as if she hadn’t seen you mere hours ago at cheer practice.

"I'm so glad you came! I really didn't think you were going to show up." She squeals excitedly knowing how hesitant you had been about attending the party earlier. She had been a witness to many of your heated interactions with Tammy over the past couple of months and she wouldn’t blame you if you had decided to stay at home.

"I didn't actually want to come, but somehow, I just can't say no to 'King Steve' here." You playfully nudge Steve as he pulls you closer into his side.

“Who could say no to this face, seriously?” He points at himself as you and Chrissy roll your eyes, giggling at him.

“You haven’t even had a drink and you’re already insufferable, Harrington.” You smile as he holds a hand over his heart.

"Come on honey, don’t pretend like you don’t love me.” He smirks, thankfully failing to notice the colour your cheeks have gone when he’s greeted by another member of the basketball team. Unfortunately for you, Chrissy is already raising her brows suspiciously and you know she won’t let this go easily.

“I’ll go get you ladies a drink, I’ll be right back.” He says, squeezing your hand before disappearing into the crowd. Your eyes follow him for a moment before landing back on Chrissy again who's staring smugly at you with her arms folded.

“Wow, you guys really need to just have sex and get it over with already.” She grins playfully as you cover her mouth, trying to shush her.

“Chrissy stop. For the millionth time, it’s not like that with me and Steve. We’re just friends. Best friends” You assert but she scoffs dramatically.

“Babe, friends don’t look at each other they way you two do. You’re both so in love it’s insane that you can’t see it.” She reiterates, but you still believe she’s seeing things that weren't really there.

Admittedly, Chrissy wasn't the first person to question your relationship with Steve. Your parents had often wondered what was really going on between you both. Questioning what the true status of your relationship was. Your father was especially hesitant to allow Steve in to your bedroom as you two got older but he eased up when it was clear that you were both dating other people and not each other. Your mom on the other hand, always thought you and Steve were destined to be together from a young age. When you complained to her about Steve's parent's, she'd tease you about the fact that they would eventually be your in laws, that you yourself would eventually become a Harrington. You'd always scoff and roll your eyes but you'd be lying if you said a little part of you didn't secretly wonder what it would actually be like.

It was a line that had never been crossed between you. Not even a little bit. Steve had never shown an interest in you like that and you refused to get your hopes up for anything more, so you pushed your feelings aside, refusing to let anything get in the way of your friendship. You loved Steve more than anything and if having him as a friend was as far as it would ever go, you'd happily accept that. It's not like you were waiting for him to make a move or have some sort of epiphany and realise you were the one. You'd had multiple boyfriends, some Steve liked, some he didn't but either way, they just never seemed to work out and you never seemed to be that upset.

An hour later after dancing with Heather and Chrissy in the living room, you decided to get some much needed air. The music was getting too loud, the smell of weed was making you dizzy and Billy Hargrove had been eye fucking you from across the room for far too long. As you leaned against the wall, taking in a large breath, you notice Nancy Wheeler sitting with Jonathan Byers on a lounge chair, both of whom were looking right at you. You'd heard rumours that they had been hooking up recently but didn't dare ask Steve in case it upset him and now you were wondering if that had been the reason why they had broken up. You shook off the thought almost immediately, not believing that Nancy was the type of girl to cheat but she had been avoiding you ever since the break up and you weren't sure why. Nancy looked suddenly panicked as Jonathan whispered that he'd be right back, kissing her cheek as he got up, nodding as he passed by you. She seemed awkward now, her shoulders tense as she looked away, focusing on a couple yelling at each other on the other side of the yard.

“Hey.” You greet, giving her a small, friendly wave, making your way towards her.

“Oh, hi.” Nancy smiles nervously as she takes a sip of her drink.

“I like your hair, I've never seen it that curly before." You compliment.

"Thanks." She says, pulling her lips to one side and you sense a tension between you that had never been there before.

“I think I’ve seen them argue with each other at pretty much every party I’ve been to. I don’t even know why they’re together. It looks like they can’t stand each other most of the time.” You joke, pointing to the bickering couple but Nancy just nods her head.

"Nancy, is everything ok? Have I done something to upset you?"

“Oh god no. I just, I'm sorry… I guess I'm just surprised you’re even talking to me after the whole break up thing with Steve.” She admits and you frown, cocking your head to the side.

“What? Why wouldn’t I? You were honestly the first girlfriend of his I actually liked. I was super bummed when he told me you guys broke up.”

“You were?” She questions, looking slightly confused.

“Totally! You were really good together." You say as she lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah I thought so too for a while.”

“So then why did you break up with him? I mean, I thought you guys were happy.”

“He still never told you, did he?" Nancy questions, staring at you in disbelief.

“No? He hasn't really talked about it at all." You shrug.

"Unbelievable." Nancy mutters into her cup.

"Am I missing something here? Is there something I should know?" You ask, suddenly feeling like you had skipped several chapters of a story.

“I think you should talk to Steve.” She states as you raise your brows.

"Nancy, what's going on? Why can't you tell me?" You quiz as she shakes her head, sighing heavily.

"Because I promised him I wouldn’t. Because it's better coming from him." She asserts, nodding at you as Jonathan makes his way back over with two new drinks in hand, taking a seat beside her again. You decide it's best to leave it at that, not wanting to discuss Steve in front of Jonathan and make either of them more uncomfortable than they already were.

You walk back into Tammy's house feeling worse than you were before. Your brain is heavy with questions and your stomach suddenly sick with worry. You needed to find Steve to ask him what the hell was going on. What had he done to make Nancy break up with him? What was so bad that he decided he couldn't even tell you? Had you played some part in her decision to end things with Steve without even knowing?

“Well if it isn’t the Princess of Hawkins High.” You hear Tommy Hagan drunkenly snicker as he chugs back the rest of his beer. His girlfriend Carol throws you a dirty look as she clings to him possessively, the duo still clearly pissed off that Steve no longer wanted anything to do with them. You roll your eyes at the couple, hoping to just ignore them but Tommy was never going to let that happen. This was the last thing you fucking needed right now.

"That dress is a little bit slutty for you princess. Giving off the wrong impression.” He slurs as Carol giggles beside him.

"Wow Tommy, I almost didn’t recognise you. Did you get a tan? Or is that just what you look like when you're out of Steve's shadow?" You fire back as he moves to get into your face.

“What did you just say to me bit—”

"Get the fuck away from her, Hagan.” Steve warns, pulling you behind him before shoving his former friend as Tommy’s back hits the wall. You didn't even know where Steve had come from but you were thankful for his sudden arrival.

“Steve don’t, he’s not worth it.” You shake your head, placing a hand on your friend’s chest to keep him from moving forward as a crowd suddenly began to form around the boys.

“Yeah Harrington, listen to your girlfriend. Oh wait, sorry man, I forgot, she's the only bitch you haven't managed to fuck y–" Tommy spat before Steve's fist connected with his jaw as his former friend fell to the floor. Steve's eyes were almost black as he lunged forward again, grabbing Tommy by the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the wall.

"STEVE!" You yell, trying to pull him away as the crowd cheered on.

"Talk about her like that again and see what fucking happens Hagan. You so much as look her way and I swear it'll be the last thing you ever do." Steve whispers before finally letting Tommy go as Carol follows him out of the house.

Steve quickly pulls you away from the party, finding a quieter area as he cups your face. "Are you ok?" He asks, inspecting your body as if Tommy had dared to put his hands on you.

"I'm fine. I just didn't think you'd to punch his lights out."

"I know. Shit, I'm sorry, I just lost it when I heard him say those things. He's just such a fucking asshole!" Steve exclaims as you take his hand and squeeze it.

"Steve it's ok–"

"No it's not! Jesus, I should never have been friends with those idiots. You always told me they were shitty people. What the hell was I even thinking?” He curses himself, putting a hand through his hair as a silence falls between you.

“Thank you by the way, for saving me back there.” You mutter as he gives you a half smile. “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner. I was trying to find you but I didn't know where you were."

“I went outside for a little bit. I um, I actually spoke to Nancy." You reveal as Steve's eyes widen in shock.

"Nancy Wheeler? Nancy? My Nancy? Well, not my Nancy but—"

"Mhm." You say, crossing your arms, sensing an immediate change in Steve's demeanour when he notes the serious look on your face.

"I uh, I didn't even know she was gonna be here." He says, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "What did...did she say anything?"

"Not much. It was kind of awkward, honestly. I told her I was sorry that you guys had broken up and she seemed kind of surprised by that. Like as if she thought I didn't like her or something?" You answer, still puzzled by the conversation you had had with Steve's ex only moments ago.

"What? That's crazy. I'm sure she didn't mean it like that. Anyway, do you wanna-"

"That's not all she said." You mutter as Steve gulps.

"Oh."

“Yeah.”

“Wh— what else did she say?” He quizzes, his voice barely above a whisper as you notice how tense he’s become.

“She said I should talk to you about why you guys broke up. That I needed to talk to you.” You reveal while Steve nods his head, clearing his throat.

"Steve, can I ask you something?" You question, biting your lip as your friend’s face turns white.

"Ye- yeah, um, sure?" He answers, licking his lips as he takes a step back, taking a deep breath as if he's been waiting for this exact moment for some time.

"Am I the reason you and Nancy broke up?"

Steve stays silent for a moment, almost trying to register your question, as you stare at him anxiously waiting for a response. He looks panicked, as if he's just been caught cheating on a test with no excuse ready to save himself. Like the walls are closing in and there's no escape in sight.

You weren’t used to seeing Steve like this.

You can tell he's trying to find the words, to find his god damn tongue and christ, you were starting to feel so guilty at the thought of being the reason Nancy had broken your best friend's heart all those months ago. Had you been hanging around them too much? Were you not giving them enough time to be alone together? It’s not like you were third wheeling their date nights or anything. You had dates of your own. Other friends that you hung out with. It’s not like Steve and you were attached at the hip. But maybe Nancy hadn’t seen it that way. Maybe she had made him choose between you and her?

Then suddenly before you could get any answers, Tammy struts over to Steve, grabbing his hand, completely ignoring you. "Come on Steve, a bunch of us are playing spin the bottle and we need more guys!" She grins at you like the cat who got the cream as Steve allows himself to be dragged away.

You try to call for him but he seems to be in a total daze as you follow them back into the living room again. She plonks Steve down, taking a seat next to him in the circle where several more Hawkin's High students were waiting excitedly for the game to begin.

Chrissy calls out to you, keeping a space free beside her as you huff, not really wanting to play this stupid game after the night you had already endured. The last thing you needed tonight was for the bottle to land on Billy Hargrove who was already winking at you from across the circle. You try one last time to grab Steve’s attention but he was hell bent on avoiding your gaze as he sat in silence between your classmates. Giving up, you finally take a seat on the ground next to Chrissy as the game finally gets underway.

Several minutes later, you’re still in the clear from having to kiss anyone but the same couldn’t be said for Chrissy who already had to kiss her ex Jason and some curly haired guy you’d seen around school but never talked to. You think his name was Eddie from what you could remember. He was cute though, fingers styled with silver rings and arms covered in tattoos and Chrissy seemed a little bit more than pleased when the bottle had landed on him.

Once Eddie had crawled back to his side of the circle again and recovered from a rather intense make-out session with your friend, he spun the bottle enthusiastically before it eventually stopped and pointed right at you.

"Two babes in one night. I really hit the jackpot." The metalhead grins, winking at you.

You looked straight to Steve, who was gazing anywhere but at you before moving to Chrissy for permission, sensing there may be more going on between herself and Eddie than you've been led to believe. Chrissy smiles at you, nodding her head as the curly haired rocker began his trail over to you.

"Don't worry, forget what you just witnessed a moment ago between Miss Cunningham and myself, I assure you, I'm a total gentleman." He teases, making you feel a little more at ease as you both lean in for the kiss.

Thankfully, Eddie keeps his word, keeping the kiss short and tongue free but not before playfully biting on your bottom lip. You giggle, pushing him backwards as you grabbed the bottle with your other hand, spinning it quickly in the middle of the circle, praying that it would land on anyone other than Billy.

The brown beer bottle seemed to spin for an eternity with no sign of stopping due to the laminate flooring underneath. The rest of the circle was anxiously waiting to see where it would land when it finally came to a halt, slapping their knees excitedly as you tried to hide your nerves. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the arrogant smirk on Billy’s face begin to fall when it becomes clear that the long necked bottle had bypassed him and was slowing down too much to make its way back around to him again. But when it does eventually stop, you feel as if your heart stops too when you lock eyes with the person the bottle is pointing to. The person sitting directly across from you in the circle.

Your best friend.

Steve.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Well this is interesting." You hear Chrissy mutter beside you, trying to nudge you forward as everyone begins to cat call and cheer.

You don't move. You're frozen to the ground unsure of what to do next. You've never kissed Steve before. Not on the lips. Not any way intimately and you were terrified that if you did, you’d give away every feeling you’ve always told yourself and everyone else you didn’t have for him.

Steve hasn’t moved either but at least he’s looking at you now. He hasn’t stopped looking at you since the bottle pointed at him. Tammy is also staring at you. The jealousy is written all over her face and there’s a little part of you that’s enjoying seeing her so mad.

“What are you guys waiting for?” Someone in the circle questions.

“Yeah, it’s not like you haven’t done this before.” Another expresses.

“We haven’t.” You mutter. Unsure of why you even answered.

Suddenly the back door opens as Nancy and Jonathan make their way back inside. Both of them stop when they see the situation unfolding in front of them.

“Come on, seriously? Everyone knows you’re both completely in love with each other. It’s like totally inevitable.” Sara from your cheer squad drunkenly slurs pointing between you and Steve.

Steve looks away from you then, finally seeing Nancy watching on. Her arms are folded now as she waits to see the outcome. Your heart is racing, your face bright red from embarrassment. The last thing you wanted to do was make this harder for Steve. Or Nancy.

“No, no you’re wrong. Steve and I are just friends. We’ve always been just friends.” You nod assuringly as you catch Steve looking at you again, an almost hurt look an his face.

"Well, friends or not, rules are rules so get to it.” Heather squeals as everyone starts chanting “kiss! kiss! kiss!”

It’s Steve who eventually makes a move but not the one you were expecting. He begins to back out of the circle, shaking his head. “I— I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He apologises, as he stands up grabbing his keys from his pocket indicating his desire to leave.

You catch Nancy shaking her head at him, rolling her eyes before she takes Jonathan’s hand and walks away from the scene. You hate that your heart stings the way it does right now. The slight sense of embarrassment you feel having been rejected by your friend. Your best friend. Tammy is giggling, highly entertained at seeing you looking so uncomfortable and it takes everything in you not to reach over and slap her.

“Babe, Eddie can drive you home later if you don’t want to leave yet.” Chrissy says clinging to you.

"Oh yeah, absolutely. It's no problem." Eddie smiles, sympathy written all over his face.

“No, I’m ready to go. I need to figure out what’s going on with him. Thanks though.” You whisper, hugging Chrissy once more before you stand up to follow Steve into the hallway and out the front door.

He walks ahead of you, opening the passenger side door for you, closing it once you slide in and belt up. He sits next to you, neither of you looking at the other as he turns the key in the ignition and drives off. The car ride home is awkward and it feels odd. It's usually filled with chatter and laughter, some random song playing in the background as you sing at the top of your lungs while Steve cringes when you struggle to reach the high notes but now, there's no laughter. No music. Just silence.

Steve coughs, trying to break the tension between you. "You uh, you still wanna go to Benny's for a burger?" He asks, taking a quick glance in your direction.

"M'not hungry." You mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"Come on, we always get burgers after a party. It's our thing." He replies, giving you a small smile. You look at him then, finally getting the courage to face him for the first time since he started the car. Was he really just going to pretend like everything was ok right now?

"What are you doing Steve?"

"I'm not doing anything. I just thought you might be hungry that's all. You're usually deciding whether to get onions on your cheese burger at this point and we both know you will." He jokes but then sees the irritated look on your face.

"Can you stop the car?" You ask, ignoring his attempts to break the ice.

"Yeah, sure. You feeling ok?" He quizzes, looking for any signs that you might be unwell.

"Just stop the car, Steve." You demand, before he pulls over on the side of the road.

Once the car comes to a halt, you remove yourself immediately, grabbing your cardigan from the backseat, slamming the BMW door as you take off down the road.

"Hey, woah! Where are you going?" Steve panics, jumping out of the car.

"Home. Somewhere. Anywhere but here." You reply as he begins to catch up.

"You must be crazy if you think I'm letting you walk off by yourself." He half laughs, taking your arm.

"I’m not sitting in that car pretending everything is fucking peachy when it’s clearly not.” You fire back, pulling your arm away.

“Can we please not do this right now?” He sighs, pinching his nose.

“Not do what, exactly? Cause I don’t even know what’s happening Steve!” You exclaim. “I mean everything was fine earlier wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was. I just—”

“You just what? What’s going on with you?” You quiz as Steve stares at the ground, kicking his foot back and forth.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He mutters, shaking his head.

“Stop lying to me, Steve. You’ve obviously been doing that since Nancy broke up with you.” You state as he glares at you.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He spits angrily.

“Well then tell me! Jesus Christ, I’m your best friend!”

“Exactly! You’re my best fucking friend!” He shouts in frustration.

“I don’t under—”

“Look, please just get in the car, let me take you home ok?” He begs trying to calm down.

“No Steve. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” You refuse, crossing your arms.

“Honey, can you please just drop this for right now?” He pleads once more, moving closer to cup your face.

“Please Steve, I need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” He asks, confused.

“That I’m the reason you and Nancy broke up. It’s all my fault isn’t it?”

“No. No it’s not.” He shakes his head furiously.

“It is. I know it is. Nancy could barely look at me earlier and when I tried to ask her about it, she said I needed to talk to you. Then when I did try to talk to you, you got all weird but it was written all over your face. I could see it in your eyes.I know it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” He reassures, trying to shush you.

I’m sorry if I was around too much.”

“Honey please sto—”

“I’m so sorry Stevie. I know how much you love her. I know that’s why you haven’t been dating other girls. You’re still in love with her.” You ramble on, not even realising tears had begun to fall from your eyes.

“I’m not in love with Nancy.” He admits but you keep talking.

“That’s why you ran away when that stupid bottle landed on you. Because Nancy was there when everyone said that we were in love with each other.”

“That’s not why I ran away.” He refutes but again you talk over him.

“It’s not like it would’ve meant anything anyway, if we did kiss. I mean, we’re just fri—”

You’re suddenly cut off when Steve’s lips find yours, pulling you closer to him as his palm caresses your cheek lightly. Your eyes close shut as you feel yourself melting into his body, your chest pressed against his, deepening the kiss when his hand moves to the back of your neck, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your hands slide up his front, gripping his shirt before finding a home in his Farrah Fawcett sprayed hair. But before you can comprehend what just occurred between you, Steve pulls his lips back, giving you both time to breathe as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe to you it wouldn’t have meant anything. But not to me. You mean everything to me.” He whispers, stealing another kiss as he smiles at you. “I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss you since I was thirteen years old. I’ve thought about how I would do it, when it would happen, where it would happen but playing a stupid fucking game of spin the bottle in front of Billy Hargrove and Tammy Thompson, was not exactly what I had in mind.”

You’re still in shock as your fingers intertwine with his, neither of you moving, both afraid that this wasn’t really happening.

“But what about Nancy?” You ask, twisting your lips as he sighs. “Nancy knew it was always you. Even when I tried to tell her it wasn’t. Fuck, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t you y’know? Cause it was just easier than admitting the truth. But she saw right through me the whole time. Just like everyone else did and I felt awful that I had put her through that. I just thought that my feelings for you would eventually fade away but they didn’t. So Nancy ended things with me, told me I should tell you how I felt but I was too scared, so instead I made her promise not to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Cause if you didn’t feel the same way, I wasn’t sure that we could go back to how we were and I didn’t want to lose you. I can’t ever lose you.” He admits before you place your lips on his again, letting him know that you felt the same way.

“You could never lose me, Steve. I’ve always been yours. Whether either of us knew it or not, it’s always been you. It’ll always be you.” You promise as Steve wraps his arms around you.

“Can I take you home now?”

“I’ve just confessed my love for you and you want to send me home?” You tease, pushing him away.

“What I was trying to say was, I want you to come home with me.” He flirts suggestively, pulling loose strands of hair out of your face before his lips move to your neck.

“Oh, you want to take me home huh?” You grin, embarrassed at how easily he could make your knees weak.

“Only if you want to. We don’t have to do anything, I just wanna be with you. But if you want to go home I’ll bring—”

“Buy me a cheeseburger and I’m all yours, Harrington.” You smirk, attempting to drag him back to his car before he playfully tosses you over his shoulder.

“I knew you were fucking hungry!”

[myrleius]

the pageant (snippets!) — bakugo k.

bakugo k. x calm fem!reader│word count: 2.9k

synopsis: For their last school festival, Class B challenges Class A to join them in the pageant. With yn as their chosen representative, Bakugo was more than ready to make sure she wins.

cw/tags: fluff, established relationship

“Me?” yn asked, blinking slowly.

What was meant to be a relaxed evening of festival planning between Class A and Class B quickly turned competitive. 

Kendo had started telling stories about pageant preparations when Monoma, ever the instigator, had cut in with that infuriating smirk. “Funny how Class A’s never even tried the pageant. What’s the matter? No one pretty enough?”

And just like that, the gauntlet was thrown.

Mina, never one to back down from a challenge, had been the first to rise to the bait. Now she pointed excitedly at yn, who sat next to Bakugo, nursing a cup of tea, blissfully detached from the brewing storm.

“You’d be perfect,” Mina gushed. “You’re gorgeous, super chill, and you’ve got that ‘mysterious but approachable’ energy that pageant judges would totally eat up.”

“Are you all serious?” Bakugo spoke up. He had been quiet this whole time, clearly uninterested in whatever dumb rivalry Monoma was trying to stir up. “You’re really going to let this extra provoke—”

“Sure,” yn said simply, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “Could be fun.”

Bakugo turned to her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s our last year.”

Monoma’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?” He let out a theatrical laugh. “Well, if that’s your choice, I suppose there’s no harm.”

Bakugo stiffened.

“What’d you say?” he asked, his tone dangerously low.

But Monoma didn’t back down. “Just being realistic. You can’t expect someone like her to keep up with someone like Kendo.”

"MONOMA, YOU IDIOT—!" Kendo launched herself at her classmate, delivering a swift karate chop to his shoulder

But the damage was done. 

Something in Bakugo’s expression changed, a familiar fire igniting in his crimson eyes. He stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles.

“You’re on,” he said, voice firm. “We’re entering, babe. You’re winning that damn crown.”

Yn merely picked her tea back up, hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup. “Guess we’re doing this then.”

The next morning, Bakugo personally took charge, dragging everyone to the common room and barking orders.

“Alright, extras. Listen up! This ain’t a damn pageant. This is war, and we are not losing to those Class B losers!”

“Ooooh, Bakugo’s invested,” Mina beamed.

Bakugo ignored her comment and started pointing at everyone. “Racoon Eyes, Invisibitch—you’re on make-up! Shitty Hair, Flat Face—props! Ponytail, you’re with me on wardrobe! Dunce Face—you stay far away from anything important!”

“Rude!” Kaminari yelped, clearly offended.

Yn bumped her shoulder lightly against Bakugo’s. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Bakugo shoved her back with equal lightness. “Shut up. And get your ass moving too!”

Bakugo slammed three different fabric swatches onto the common room table, making the coffee cups rattle. “Charmeuse is the only option. Anything else is garbage.”

Momo frowned, holding up a shimmering sequin. “But this would catch the light beautifully—”

“IT LOOKS LIKE A DAMN DISCO BALL. NEXT.”

Yn yawned, resting her head on her arms. “I liked the disco ball idea.”

Bakugo flicked her forehead. “You’re not helping. And go to bed.”

Jiro strummed the final chord on her guitar, nodding as yn sang the chorus flawlessly. “Damn, you’ve got pipes.”

Yn huffed a laugh, reaching for her water bottle. “Only because you’re playing along. I’ve got nothing compared to you.”

Jiro set her guitar aside, uncrossing her legs. “Seriously, why don’t you sing for the live performances?”

A shrug. “I honestly didn’t know I could. Katsuki’s the one who mentioned it.”

Jiro’s eyes widened. “Wait. Bakugo pointed it out?” Then a slow grin spread across her face. “How’d that even come up?”

Yn blinked. “I, uh, hum sometimes. When we’re… napping.”

Jiro’s smirk turned lethal. “Oh my god. You lullaby him.”

“And… I regret telling you,” yn said with a sigh.

Jiro cackled, kicking her legs like an excited kid. “That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard.” She flipped over and grabbed her phone. “Mina’s gonna lose her mind!”

Yn lunged at her. “Hey, Jiro! No!”

Bakugo watched as yn took one more wobbly step in the strappy heels Momo had made before immediately grabbing him for support.

“Yeah… I don’t think I can do this,” she declared, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“But they’re perfect!” Mina said. “Look at your legs!”

“Look at my ankles,” yn shot back, gripping Bakugo’s shoulders for dear life. “They’re about to snap.”

Bakugo slowly knelt down, his fingers gently undoing the straps. “Told you. Ditch the death traps.”

“But she looks so pretty in—” Uraraka protested.

“She’s wearing shorter heels. Just make ‘em pointed so she’d look taller,” he announced, tossing the heels aside.

“Hey!” Momo yelped as she caught them.

Monoma, disguised in a terrible wig, peeked into the stage where yn was practicing.

Kaminari spotted him instantly. “Uh, guys? We’ve got a spy.”

Bakugo didn’t even look up. “Flat Face.”

Sero grinned, happily taping Monoma up, while Shoji picked him up, ready to dump him in Class B’s dorm.

Yn waved as they passed her. “Tell Kendo I said good luck!”

Yn pushed open the common room door, blinking at the unexpected sight of Bakugo hunched over the sofa, papers in hand.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, sitting in the space beside him.

Bakugo shifted slightly to make room without looking up. “Still rehearsing for the live show.”

“And… you’re not playing the drums?” yn asked, leaning back onto the couch.

“Tch. Already nailed my part,” he muttered, finally tossing the papers onto the coffee table and slumping back. “They’re just screwing around now.”

Yn hummed, letting the silence settle between them. The easy kind that only existed when it was just the two of them.

She inched closer, letting her head drop onto his shoulder. 

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He leaned into the contact, his cheek brushing against her hair.

“Missed you,” he grumbled.

Yn laughed. “Katsuki, we share classes, a dorm, and now this pageant thing. I see you more than my own reflection.”

“With the extras,” he emphasized, nose wrinkling.

“Aww,” she cooed, playfully poking his side. “You wanted me all to yourself.”

Bakugo huffed, a flush creeping up his neck. “Shut up.”

Grinning, yn removed her slippers and curled up on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she looped an arm around his. “Well…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, heart thudding in her chest. “You’ve got me now.”

Bakugo turned, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips. “Yeah?”

Yn nodded, her smile soft. “I missed you too.”

Bakugo’s expression softened. His hand rose to cup her cheek, rough fingers gentle against her skin. When she leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering close for a second, Bakugo looked at her like she was the only thing in his world.

He tilted her chin up, slowly closing the space between them. Their eyes slipped shut, breaths mingling as their lips finally—

“Hey, Bakugo! We’re back!” Kirishima’s voice rang out, the door slamming open.

Bakugo groaned, jerking away. He slumped back against the couch, scowling at the ceiling in silent, dramatic defeat.

The notification buzzed against yn's palm as she lay curled in bed, the glow of her phone painting soft light across her face. She didn't need to look at the sender to know who it was.

Stop scrolling through your damn phone and sleep.

A quiet laugh escaped her as she typed back, How do you know I'm scrolling?

The reply came instantly. Because you replied immediately.

Yn smiled, adjusting against her pillows. Maybe I'm meditating.

Bullshit. You're looking at memes.

She glanced at the image still open on her screen—a cat wearing a tiny, lopsided crown—and sent it without hesitation. Okay, but this one's good.

Her phone lit up with his response, the letters practically vibrating with indignation even through text. THAT'S LITERALLY JUST A CAT.

A royal cat, she corrected.

Go. To. Bed.

Can't. Too busy manifesting my victory.

The next message contained a single image: an alarm clock set for 5 AM with the caption ‘WAKE YN UP.’

Meanie, she sent, already dreading the early hour.

You'll thank me when you're not yawning on stage tomorrow.

Yn sighed, knowing he was right but unwilling to admit it. Fine. But only because you're cute when you're bossy.

The bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared. Finally—

You'll kill it tomorrow. If anyone says anything bad about you, I’ll blow ‘em up.

Her breath caught, thumb hovering over the screen. She smiled and sent her response.

I know I will. But thanks, Katsuki. Love you.

GO TO SLEEP.

Yn chuckled, about to turn her phone face down on the nightstand when Bakugo sent another message.

Love you too.

Yn stepped onto the stage, quiet and composed, mic in hand. Her presence alone was enough to hush the crowd. She paused at the center, took a breath, and closed her eyes.

From the back of the crowd, Bakugo stood with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on her. Her face glowed on the giant screen behind her, casting her features in a soft, angelic glow. 

Then the music began.

She began to sway to the melody, and when the moment came, she opened her eyes. Her voice followed, gentle and warm, filling the space like sunlight. 

The crowd didn’t dare move. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like polite silence. But Bakugo knew better. They were captivated. Hooked.

He smirked, pride swelling in his chest. Atta girl.

The song swelled with sentiment, a delicate ballad that mirrored her soft delivery. But then, without warning, it began to rain.

Gasps echoed. A few umbrellas popped open in the audience. Bakugo’s entire body went tense, instinctively stepping forward, already half-ready to shield her.

But yn didn’t flinch.

Instead, she stepped into it, letting the droplets catch in her hair, cling to her skin, trailing down her cheek like tears.

She turned slightly, just enough to angle her body toward the light, the water shimmering like it was part of the act. Her voice never wavered, staying smooth and steady.

Bakugo blinked. Then, he saw it.

That small tilt of her head. That calculated pause in her breath. The barely-there smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

She was guiding the moment, twisting the sudden downpour to make her performance more dramatic. She pulled their hearts with gentle precision, painting herself as this fragile, ethereal heroine.

And they were eating it up.

Bakugo scoffed, grinning to himself.

He knew better though.

Underneath that calm exterior, yn was competitive as hell.

She just hid it better than most.

Like how she always walked just a little faster whenever Sato brought out fresh cookies, slipping through their rowdy classmates like it was nothing, but always managing to snag the first one.

Or how she’d lean back and smile during game nights, cool as ever, until someone beats her in Mario Kart. Then suddenly, she’d be sitting forward, knees tucked up, focus lazer-sharp.

He’d seen it in training too. She’d nod absently when given instructions, like she was barely paying attention. But the second someone started getting ahead of her, her punches got sharper, her footwork quicker.

And she never backed down.

Not even when Bakugo dared her to eat the spicy noodles he made just to mess with her. She’d just stare at him, eyes watering, and eat the whole damn bowl out of spite.

She just hated to lose.

And that was one of the first things he ever loved about her.

The crowd probably saw an angel.

But all he saw was her.

Then, mid-verse, she looked up.

Right at him.

The connection hit fast. Strong. Like she'd reached straight through the crowd and found him exactly where he stood.

The mic hovered close to her lips.

The next line was supposed to be a tender, heartfelt I love you. A perfect romantic finish, made to be sung.

But she didn’t sing it.

Instead, she spoke. Changing the words, uttering it so softly. Like a secret passed only to him.

“Thank you.”

The word whispered through the speakers, yet somehow it was louder than everything else.

The crowd melted.

But Bakugo didn’t move. He couldn’t.

His heart was pounding, loud and erratic in his ears, drowning out the cheers.

He never believed in soulmates or any of that mushy crap. That wasn’t them.

He and yn weren’t some fairytale couple. They were two stubborn, messy people who’d somehow figured out how to make it work. No sparks or fate—just time, effort, and a whole lot of understanding.

Their relationship wasn’t built on sweet words or perfect moments. It was built on them showing up. On backing each other up. On knowing when to push and when to just be there.

And right now, standing there soaked in rain, watching her express her gratitude so beautifully—Bakugo felt it. All of it.

Up there wasn’t just his girlfriend doing some cutesy stage performance.

That was his person. His partner.

The one person who called him out, kept him in check, pushed him to be better—but never once asked him to be someone he wasn’t.

And he didn’t know what the future looked like after graduation, or what kind of shit they’d face out in the world.

But he knew one thing for sure:

He wasn’t letting her go.

Yn barely had time to adjust her crooked crown before the Bakusquad descended like vultures, hungry for drama.

“OHHHH, LOOK WHO'S EATING HIS WORDS NOW—” Kaminari howled, slinging an arm around Monoma's stiff shoulders.

“Funny,” Sero mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I could've sworn someone said we ‘lacked elegance’—”

Monoma's eye twitched. “I believe I said refinement—”

“YET HERE WE ARE!” Mina spun in front of him with a dramatic flourish, gesturing toward yn’s glittering crown. “This queen just wiped the floor with you. In the rain, no less!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Yn stepped forward with a sigh, trying—and failing—to hide the amused sparkle in her eyes. “We shouldn’t rub it in…”

She paused.

Then pulled out her phone, the screen already glowing. “...without proper documentation!”

The Bakusquad erupted.

“OHHHHHH!!!”

“SHE’S ARCHIVING THE SHAME!!!”

“SEND THAT TO THE CLASS CHAT!!!”

Bakugo, trailing just behind her, let out a bark of laughter. He leaned over her shoulder, fingers zooming in on Monoma’s scowl. ���Hold still, Knockoff.”

Monoma looked ready to combust. “This is harassment!”

Kirishima, barely containing his own laughter, grinned widely. “Yn use the clown filter. For accuracy.”

Kendo, watching the chaos with amused resignation, shook her head. “You're all terrible.”

“We learned from the best,” yn replied sweetly, passing her phone to Kirishima and patting Monoma on the shoulder with mock sympathy. “Thanks for the inspiration. You’ve been great for morale.”

Kendo chuckled and stepped in, offering a hand. “Seriously, though. You were incredible.”

Yn’s smirk softened. She took Kendo’s hand, squeezing it. “Thanks. You were amazing too. Had me sweating for a second. You made the competition tough.”

Kendo grinned and pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “Coming from you? That means a lot.”

They parted with a shared look of respect before Kendo dragged a sputtering Monoma off by the collar, still mid-rant.

Then, finally, yn let the tension drain from her shoulders. She turned and collapsed into Bakugo’s side, face buried in his chest.

“Carry me,” she mumbled into his shirt, her voice muffled and sleepy.

Bakugo let out a low chuckle, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, yeah. I got you, princess.”

The stars were out. Quiet, for once.

Yn climbed the stairs slowly, her sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. She found him exactly where she expected—leaning against the railing, arms folded, gaze turned skyward.

“You avoiding the party?” she asked, voice light.

Bakugo didn’t look at her. “Tch. Too loud.”

She joined him at the railing, shoulder brushing his.

“I can’t celebrate my win without my coach, y’know,” she teased, glancing up at him.

That earned a small scoff. “You didn’t win ‘cause of me.”

“I didn’t win without you either,” she said softly.

He didn’t respond at first, just stared ahead, jaw tight. Then—

“You were amazing,” he said, almost grudgingly. “Stupidly amazing.”

Yn smiled. “You’re getting better at compliments.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but his ears were definitely pink.

Silence followed, settling comfortably between them, soft and familiar.

“But I was a bit scared, you know,” yn admitted after a moment.

Bakugo snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Could’ve fooled me.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious, jerk.” Then, more quietly, her expression softened. “I kept looking for you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. The distance between them diminished.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

This time, when they leaned in, there was no hesitation. Her fingers curled into his hoodie, his fingers hovered near her jaw, and the rooftop felt quieter than it had all night.

Their noses brushed, lips just about to meet—

“Yo! There you guys are!”

Bakugo’s forehead fell to yn’s shoulder with a low, agonized groan.

“Shitty Hair,” he growled, not even turning around. “I swear to god—”

“I just came to tell you there’s cake!” Kirishima grinned from the door, completely unbothered. “But hey, don’t stop on my account—”

“Kirishima.”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving!”

He disappeared back down the stairs, laughing.

Yn pressed a hand to her mouth, giggling into her palm. “Next time then,” she whispered, eyes sparkling.

“Yeah… fuck that,” Bakugo muttered, before tugging her in by the waist. “C’mere.”

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ bsf!rafe finds something he definitely shouldn't have, and teeters crossing the boundaries of your friendship.

warnings — use of vibrators, best friends, praise & degradation, fingering & boob play

cherie's note — this is so gooner!bsf!rafe coded yuuup mind constantly filled with disgusting ideas of the things he wanted to do to you … omg i’m weak in the KNEES of course he'd jump on the first opportunity he could to play into his best fantasies. queue pornstar by nessa barrett thank u dj

it was almost humorous how flustered you had gotten over the discovery — cheeks dusted with a rosy red blush, biting your lip embarrassingly. even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t grab the object out of his firm grasp. you were so short in comparison to your best friend, rafe cameron, you had no other option than to accept defeat from your stolen item when he held it over his head.

“rafe, come on…” you groan, a pout staining your face. “s’not funny, give me it.”

he rolls his pretty blue eyes, how pathetic of you. of course this was funny, to him at least. lucky for him, you had so stupidly forgotten your favourite vibrator under your silk pillow. it was like you wanted him to find it, he thought. despite being your best friend since middle school, he had always fantasized about this exact moment — the power dynamic, and how you were wrapped around his finger.

“m’jus curious, s’all.” he speaks, shit-eating grin smothered on his face. he was evil — evil in the way that this entire interaction was only fuelling his own arousal, the bulge within his pants growing at the sight of how embarrassingly flustered you had gotten over his finding.

your pretty plump lips part, a huff of annoyance slipping out — if rafe was anything, it was stubborn. “you saw it, now give it back.”

the whine itself was almost enough for him to give in — to cave at the request. that pitiful little pout of your lips always seemed to do the trick for him, willing to do anything for you just to see it fade. but he had something different in mind, something more wicked. he had dreamed of this very moment, your total vulnerability ready to be played with like putty within his palms. “nah, lemme try it on you.”

your eyes widened at the demand, a rush of disbelief flooding your senses. the words hung heavy in the air, heavy and impossible to fathom. you stood frozen, heart racing, your mind trying to process what he had just said. was this some kind of joke?

“gross, no. you’re my best friend, rafe.”

“so?” he began, his gaze darkening with desire. he had pumped his cock raw at the idea alone, having you submissive and obeying every word for him. “s’not like i like you or anything… jus’wanna see if its like in porn.”

grimacing at his remark, you roll your eyes. porn was so icky, but then again so was his filthy request. that didn’t stop the ache of need and irritation, clenching your thighs at the thought alone.

“c’mon,” rafe cooed, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. he looked so cocky, so smug. he knew he had you thinking about it, and it wouldn’t be too hard to convince you after that. “only two minutes.”

it was only a matter of time until you were naked in your own bed, best friend perched greedily near your hips so he could get the best view. this felt so wrong — face flushing hot blushes across your cheeks every time you looked over at him. he looked so invested, head of the vibrator pressed firmly against your poor sensitive clit.

“jesus,” he chuckles, “sweet cunt’s dripping, all i did was ask a question.”

“shut up, rafe…” you whine, feeling so vulnerable against the cold air of your bedroom. your thighs had become numb from the way he had you positioned, muscular arm under your leg to hold them open.

the feeling of the head vibrating against your sensitive nerves had your eyes rolling, back arching off of the bed. and even though he’d only told you ‘two minutes’, the pornographic whine you had let out at the feeling of the rough vibrations against your core had only egged him on further, hands creeping up your chest to toy with your tits greedily, handfuls of your fat moulding around the shape of his large hand.

“rafe..” you moan, back arching off of the bed at the overwhelming feeling. “feels so good.”

“i bet, baby.” he hums, lips finding the side of your jaw as he presses soft messy kisses against your skin. his cock twitches against the fly of his pants at the sound of your moans fill the room.

“rafe.. we can’t-“ you start, breathy moan escaping.

his lips find the corner of your mouth, effectively shutting you up. the kiss he delivers against your whiny mouth is messy and quick, burst of lust rather than passion. you groan into his mouth, feeling his thick fingers caressing against the curves of your clothed tits, kneading the fat within his palms.

his hands eagerly slip under your shirt, calloused fingers working to pinch and squeeze the sensitive pearl of your nipples. within seconds, he has you panting desperately for air, pleasure consuming too fast over your body while your best friend fervently gropes you. the noises that flood out of your pretty plump lips is a jumbled mess of nothing but noise — muttering curse words under your breath, whimpering against the feeling of his skin on yours where it definitely shouldn't be. still, you find it impossible to pry his hands away from your whining body, cord within your stomach ready to snap any seconds.

"doing so good, sitting and taking it for me." he murmurs, the smirk within his voice obvious. his lips connect with the sensitive skin of your tits, tongue lapping at your hardened nipples — eliciting a pathetic sharp little cry from your throat.

pulling the vibrator away from your sore cunt, his fingers slipped inside of you so easily, arousal pooling within your puffy folds. he desperately attempted to coax your orgasm to light, thick digits curling inside of you what felt like the hundredth time where you needed it the most. his dark blue eyes bored into the sight of you — angelic against the situation, you looked so damn beautiful, and so vulnerable for him.

your legs shake, orgasm suddenly washing over your body fast and hard. he's panting into your ear, watching as his actions make you completely fall apart. he had yearned for this moment, seeing the way your face scrunched and your eyes rolled back as you came.

“yeah, that’s it. cum on my fingers, bitch.”

your body pulses, his fingers slowing to a halt inside of you as the room fills quickly with the sound of both of your exhaustion, panting practically in sync with one another. he couldn't seem to rip his gaze away from you, watching the mess you had made of yourself, all because of him.

a wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you look over at him, smugness spread across his face. "what're you looking at?"

"nothing." he replies with a shrug. he looks so proud of himself, "m'just saying, the way you came on my fingers? just like a fucking pornstar."

shoving him in the chest, you playfully roll your eyes, "you're disgusting, rafe cameron."

you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about his fingers inside of you, too.

[pansylair]

How did you get started with ceramics? I always thought it was going to be what I did for a living but out of high school everything has remained prohibitively expensive. Surely there are avenues for people who are serious about it but don't have the money to drop on pottery guild memberships and kilns, right? Would it just be knowing the right people at that point?

After I graduated from my high school and its art program (I’ve never had post-secondary education) I went to my communal studio and paid roughly $6-800cad a year for a higher level of membership (storage space and full studio/glaze kitchen access 24/7), give or take. It’s been ages so I can’t remember the exacts, and fees on everything in general has been slowly creeping up. You are correct in that there is a lack of financial accessibility regarding artisanal crafts and global inflation isn’t helping in the slightest, my rental fees are a bit over $1k now and clay prices have tripled ($71cad after tax for a sleeve of the cheapest clay body ((tack on supply shortages and mine closures to the list of problems)) :(

I’ve seen some communal studios with absolutely ridiculous expensive membership fees to ones with various membership options like my studio starting at lower price points, and studios with paid or unpaid internships.

Many ceramicists are very understanding and give their insight and tips, or hooking someone up with their old equipment. I’ve been offered using/sharing a kiln or space in people’s private studios if ever needed. So continuing to try and reach out to servers/pages of online and in person communities and can be worth it.

Government art grants can allow for some studios themselves to be more accessible in multiple ways, including financially, and applying for and receiving individual grants has been a giant aid to the careers of friends and coworkers. It varies on a country to country basis but. god, would sure love to have art funding globally valued and well sustained.

One small mercy and neat thing however is microwave kilns. basically exactly what’s written, it’s a vestibule you put into a microwave, turn it on, and you get small, low fire ceramic (or glass) work which I’ve seen many people use for small sculptures.

I’ve also seen people make gorgeous work via pit firings, raku in a charcoal grill for example, or build a simple wood fire outdoor kiln. Kick wheels are also a possible cheaper investment for wheel throwing.

I’ve dug up and processed some lovely and pretty wild clay around where I live and hope to do some pit firings with it as tests have gone well.

I’ve seen small secondhand kilns starting at $250cad for a manual and seen programmable ones at $600cad. Understanding prices for rewiring, repairs, installation and ventilation etc. also needs to be taken into account, lots of research needs to be done before investing in one.

I hate that I have no clear and helpful answer for you, but if you’re still searching, I sincerely hope much sooner than later you can do ceramic work without having to worry about affording it

[tea-cuz-why-not]

Angel of Death strikes again(Villain Kore)

*the main cast fighting Romeo* *cars fly or something* *his bots manage to knock them away and out* *his phone/communicator rings* <<Hey there Rom-com>> ”Kore?”

<<in the flesh, or I guess not since we’re not face to face, you know, one really shouldn’t leave their home unattended>>

*his face falls* *he does some clicking**shocked face as he realises the system is down*

“Youre in my base? what are you doing there?”

*scenery change, Romeo’s base, The Angel of Death stands there*

“Well I came to visit but you weren’t home, the awful host that you are”

<<what did you do!?>>

“Oh nothing much, just dismantled your security system, broke in, made your bots break each other and now… I’m downloading all your data!”

<<WHAT!?>>

*there’s a moment of silence as Romeo considers his options, he is distracted*

<<why are you even telling me this?>> ”To distract you from the fight” :D

*a series of crashes is heard from the comms, scenery changes, fight scene* *owlette managed to get the rubble off of herself and attacked him*

Sorry for the wait everyone, got a little too invested in this random ass au(and also school)

anyways, here’s prompt 13: As a villain/gone rogue

I’ve been thinking, what could possibly have happened that Kore “I can’t leave cause my family would be in danger and everyone at GT would have to endure more pain” Faulkner went rogue, and I think it’s a mix of things

first, her family. Dunno if they would die or just get out of GT’s area of influence but they would need to be at least safe(or, well, dead)

secondly, something would have to force her out. Probably a big stunt that would push into motion the “you don’t leave GT in anything other than a coffin” rule. Also As I am currently obsessed w/ the Apothecary diaries maybe she faked her death( I will keep the way they’d do it secret cause spoilers) but then made it very known that she’s alive? I don’t know

anyways, now known as The Angel of Death(courtesy of my Philza Minecraft fixation) she puts her brain 100% into use, mostly acting as a hacker menace for GT and Romeo and stuff, working on Elodie Protocol- a programme meant to destroy all GT data at once, every experiment, every report, everything that makes it possible to run GT, and sometimes making appearances in person. Her implant is cracked because of whatever happened that made her leave, but I don’t know what that does to them.

anyways, thanks for your patience, if you made it this far, here is a potato 🥔

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: how to glow up

hi, friends! remember when we had the tick tock goes the clock game? it was all part of my evil plan!! i wanted to know what everyone wants to accomplish in 2025 and a lot of you want to level up - physically, work, school, etc. so let me present a glow up hypothesis series!!! venus persona and venus return charts are where you want to focus!

why venus?

please recall the mythology of venus/aphrodite! in mythology, venus/aphrodite entered the world fully grown and radiant, skipping the awkward transitions most mortals experience. her effortless grace and beauty symbolize the ultimate glow-up. in astrology, venus returns and persona charts reveal the keys to our own seamless transformation - guiding us on how to embrace our venusian energy and manifest our most radiant self.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

1h: physical appearance, identity, and self-confidence.

reinventing your look and attitude. updating your style. focusing on fitness. build self-confidence. embody a strong sense of identity and show up authentically.

explanation post

2h: self-worth, personal values, and material realm.

how to build a strong sense of self-worth. focusing on financial independence. how to improve your finances, refine your values. surrounding yourself with quality (anything from clothes to relationships) that aligns with your newfound sense of worth.

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3h: communication style, mindset, and social interactions.

transforming how you think and speak. being more articulate and confident in expressing yourself. building meaningful connections with others. learning new skills / enhancing intellectual abilities.

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4h: inner world, family, and emotional security.

internal; focusing on creating a peaceful, nurturing home environment. strengthening your emotional foundations. healing family relationships, setting boundaries, and/or redecorating your space to reflect your ideal haven.

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5h: creativity, romance, and pleasure.

embracing joy, fun, and creativity. reconnecting with hobbies. dating more openly or bringing playfulness into your life. the goal is to feel more vibrant, expressive, and magnetic.

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6h: daily habits, health, and self-discipline.

glow-up centers on creating a healthy, balanced lifestyle. a workout routine, focused on nutrition, or improve productivity habits. creating a solid structure that supports wellness and efficiency in daily life.

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7h: relationships, self-image in partnerships, and balance.

transforming how you relate to others, often by building healthy boundaries, improving communication, and attracting balanced partnerships. becoming confident in relationships. identifying what you deserve.

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8h: deep transformation, healing, and shared resources.

facing fears / healing past trauma. stepping into a more empowered/fearless version of yourself. financial management and investments may also be part of this process.

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9h: personal growth, spirituality, and worldview.

expanding your mind through travel, study, or spiritual practices. exploring different cultures, religions, or philosophies to gain new perspectives. glow-up of your belief system and how you connect with the world on a broader level.

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10h: career, reputation, and life goals.

centering on your professional life and ambitions. building a strong career, gaining public recognition, or refining your life goals. present yourself with confidence and integrity in your public or professional image.

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11h: social connections, friendships, and future goals.

aligning with a supportive community and nurturing friendships that inspire you. getting involved in causes you care about. expanding your social network. setting future-oriented goals that align with your dreams.

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12h: spiritual growth, subconscious mind, and solitude.

introspective and focused on inner peace. healing from past wounds, working on mental health, practicing meditation, and connecting with your spiritual side. letting go of old baggage and finding serenity within yourself.

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[thethronezone]

Primarchs and their child's education

Explanation: So I was thinking, like, would the Primarchs kids be homeschooled (personal tutors and such)? Or would they go to regular school for regular (noble) kids? Would the Primarchs help with their homework? Are they relaxed or tiger parents?

Honestly, Mortarion almost forgot that his kid had to get an education until one day someone asked him what school he was going to send them to. However, he quickly decided that it was probably for the best for his kid to be taught by personal tutors, teachers that could adapt their way of teaching to better suit his kid. Pretty strict about their education, wants them to do well, but he's not overbearing and does offer them some gruff praise when they perform to expectation.

Fulgrim saw the options and went "Why not both?" Both regular school and homeschooling. This way, his precious child gets to both dazzle the other kids and the teacher AND get the advanced education they deserve! Fulgrim thinks this is the perfect solution. Doesn't realize that this rarely leaves his child the time to explore their own interests. Also a helicopter parent. He wants to know what his kid is doing and how well they are doing at all times.

Angron didn't get to go to school, he wasn't given that opportunity, so he wants his child to have it. Won't admit that it makes him anxious to send them out there, to a place where he can't keep an eye on them, but doesn't want to limit his kid just because he won't stop worrying. Appears disinterested in their education, barely asks about it and just grunts when he gets an answer but he actually does care. It makes him feel better when his kid tells them about an interesting lesson they had or a new friend they made.

When Magnus' kid is young, they are homeschooled. He recognizes that as the child of a Primarch, they have other needs. Find the perfect tutors for them that can keep them both stimulated and engaged. But when his child gets a bit older, he sends them to school. He knows that the best way to develop your mind is to engage in conversations with other people on your same level. Through all of this, Magnus is very invested in his child's education and helps teach them when he's got the time.

Perturabo is a straight up tiger parent. He demands success from his kid in all areas, including education. They are taught by the best, strictest tutors the Imperium has to offer. Poor kid, most of their day is spent inside, studying. And when the tutors are finished, that's when Perturabo or one of his captains step in for further education, this time focused on warfare and siege tactics. If Perturabo is in a good mood, he might teach them about architecture, but it rarely happens as he thinks they will never get the chance to utilize this knowledge.

Alpharius and Omegon sends their kid to school, explicitly telling them to observe the other children and the teachers, to learn how they behave and to infiltrate their inner circles. Then, when you get back home, tell them what you've observed and analyze what this means. Yeah, they are treating all of this as a training exercise. And while they don't necessarily encourage their kid, they don't discourage it either. As long as they get away with it, then it's all ok. Meanwhile, they are pretty confident that their kid will do well in school. They are intelligent, after all.

Say after me: Lorgar's kid is homeschooled. Personally interviews each tutor to make sure they are the right teacher for his little miracle. Will listen in on the lessons and then act surprised when his kid tells him how they went. There's a lot of philosophical discussions about WHAT they learned. Lorgar does recognize that his kid needs to meet other children and lets some of the serf's children join in on the lessons.

Horus spends a long time thinking about it, considering the pros and cons to both regular school and homeschooling, before he eventually ends up choosing homeschooling. He just thinks it's better for his kid to have tutors focused solely on them. Keeps walking in on lessons and ask both the tutor and his kid how they're doing. Sometimes ends up taking over the lesson if he thinks he can explain something better than the teacher.

Konrad is torn. On one hand he doesn't want to send his kid out into the big world (it's dangerous out there!) but he also doesn't want to invite a stranger into his home and let them get close to his child. Eventually settles for a tutor. ONE tutor. That he keeps a close eye on. Doesn't really care if his kid is doing well and keeping up to the curriculum. He doesn't care if they are a lil stupid, as long as they are happy and safe. Does, however, feel really proud if they show him their good work.

Like Magnus, Sanguinius initially has his child taught by personal tutors and then, when they are older, sends them to school so they can interact with other children. Very interested in their school-life. Are they making friends? Are they having fun? How are the teachers? And their classmates, are they getting along with them? Are they keeping up with the lessons? Makes sure that his kid knows they can always come to him if they have any material from school they want help with or want him to explain.

Corvus feels a bit guilty for not sending his kid to regular school because he doesn't want to isolate them. At the same time, he can't help but feel like it's better for them to have personal tutors and be homeschooled instead. Of course, if his kid at any point makes it clear that they WANT to go to regular school then Corvus will allow it. He really only wants his kid to be happy. Not very demanding when it comes to how well they do in school but he does want them to do their best. That's all he expects.

You think Ferrus would settle for any school in the Imperium? Nah. Dude takes one look at the curriculum and goes "Arts and crafts? Useless. My child is going to actually learn something of value" and then contact the Mechanicus and ask to borrow a few magos to tutor his kid. But it's not going to be all theoretical. No, Ferrus is going to put all those lesson to the test and push his kid through exercises where they gotta use that knowledge to get out of mazes and shit. Here, solve this mathematical equation, the room explodes in five minutes (it won't, he's just want to encourage them to do their best).

Rogal takes the education of his child very seriously. Knows the curriculum inside out, probably helped make it because, yeah, his kid is getting homeschooled. Asks his kid how they are doing even though he already knows because he's keeping such a close eye on their lesson plans and the notes the tutors leave. Does expect his kid to study diligently but his expectations are realistic. He also makes it clear to them how important it is to rest and exercise. Wants his child to have a balanced life.

Vulkan's kid would definitely go to school. He'd want them to experience a somewhat normal childhood and for them to socialize with children their own age. And yeah, he wants them to do well in school but if they need extra help then he can get them that, he mainly wants them to make friends. The kind of parent that keeps asking their kid when he's going to meet their school friends and attends all the events (if he's not busy with war or something). It's actually a tad overbearing. He's a bit too involved. It PTA still existed then he'd be there every week.

Lion decides to have his child taught by personal tutors, a couple of scholars that he did extensive background research on and is pretty confident can be trusted with his child's education. Tries to not be too involved, doesn't want his child to become too dependent on him, but he does keep an eye on their curriculum and how they are doing in their lessons. Also very high expectations on them but doesn't say this outright, since he expects his child to understand that he expects them to focus on their lessons.

Leman sends his kid to school. Go on, get out there and rub elbows with the other kids! Now, Leman actually it's important that his kid gets a good education and demands that they do their best in class. But he also tells them to have fun. Get in trouble! Make your voice heard and show them who you are! Mostly sees school as a way for his kid to gain some independence, to become more of their own person. Will loudly and proudly celebrate if they come back from school with good grades. Yah, his pup is so smart!

As for Jaghatai, I believe he would also send his child to school. Like Russ, it would be for them to grow as an individual and to meet new people who can expand their worldview. Does expect them to do well in school and to be diligent in their studies but also instills in them the value of free thought and critical thinking. School can only teach you so much, you need to know how to put that knowledge to good use and to understand it on a deeper level. Is however more interested in hearing what his kid got up to while in school.

Roboute kinda mixes the two options. His kid has a tutor, yeah, but they are taught alongside a smaller group of other kids their age. It's not really a regular school but it's not homeschooling either. Very, very involved in their education and tells them that while he knows they can only do their best, that he knows they can do great things if they just put their mind to it. The kind of parent to talk very proudly of his kid's academic achievements, even if they are still very small.

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{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Retirement and How to Retire

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