#but considering they're supposed to be laying low

[slasherscream]

She Likes a Boy (And I’m Not Just a Boy)

pairing:  jordan li x fem!reader

summary: You and Jordan are friends with benefits, and Jordan is trying so hard to be okay with that. Somehow, they still fell in love with you despite their best efforts to not fucking do that. But you've only ever fucked them when they're a guy, so they assume you're only interested in them one way. Just like everyone else. You've never said anything to make them think any different so it's obvious, right? So they take what they can get. Which is only half. And they keep you at a distance, because anything else will kill them.

A/N: flashbacks are in all Italics. some smut.

gif credit: artemidosgifs and stannyramirez

“Oh shit, Jordie, wait-” You can’t catch your breath, legs shaking where they’re thrown over Jordan’s shoulders. 

“Stop fucking squirming.” Jordan huffs, licking some of your wetness off your thigh.

Your vision is swimming a little. How long have you been in this position? Or in Jordan’s room? It’s hard to keep track of anything, when you’re with them. His tongue finds your clit again. Insistent, rough swipes. You’re too overworked now for anything gentle to even register. How many times have you cum now? 

“You always taste so fucking good.” Jordan moans, voice hoarse and low.

He puts a hand under your back to press you further into his mouth. With only your shoulders pushed into the mattress you can’t move. Jordan’s eyes are always glued to your face when you fuck. As if he’s daring you to shy away from whatever he’ll do to you next. 

Considering that his favorite thing to do is overstimulate you, you’re not sure the irritation is fair. What are you supposed to do when he’s made you cum four times and is still going? According to Jordan, the answer is simple: lie there and take it. 

Lifting you up. Pinning you down. These are the solutions he’s arrived at. Jordan hates having to chase you just to give you the orgasm you begged him for in the first place. 

“You ready for my fingers again?” Jordan asks, but it’s not a real question, because you don’t get to so much as gasp before he’s plunging three fingers into you again. 

He’s rough as he rocks his fingers into that soft spot inside of you that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. He knows the angle you like him to use by heart. 

“Fucking shit, Jordan!” Your hands fall into his hair, grip like a vice, and Jordan half moans and half laughs against you.

It’s the vibrations that send you over the edge again. The breath leaving your lungs in one rush as that coil inside releases and makes the world go white and your ears ring. 

You come back to yourself slowly. Jordan hovering over you, pressing kisses into the side of your neck. You grasp at his shoulders, pulling him down so that he's laying on top of you. The weight is comforting after the overwhelming head rush. You still feel shaky. He goes down easily, wrapping one arm underneath you.

“I can feel you smirking, jerk.” You laugh weakly, hitting his arm.

“You soaked my fucking fingers. Think I'm allowed a smirk.” Jordan says. 

He lifts his head from your neck and there's that smug look you love to see him wear. It's enough to make you ready to have him all over again. You settle on gently massaging his scalp. 

“I'll tell you what you're allowed.” You tease, grinning at him. 

“Hah! Always have enough energy to be a fucking brat, huh?” Jordan rolls his eyes. 

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. “I've got enough energy to make out too! Gimme a kiss.”

“Fucking insatiable.” Jordan scoffs, but gives in. Because he always does. 

It's hard to think when Jordan kisses you. He kisses like he doesn't need to breathe. Or be anywhere else but with you. One of his hands finds yours, locking your fingers together. You squeeze tight. Try not to imagine holding his hand like this outside each other's dorms. Because that only ever makes you feel empty afterwards when all the hormones from the orgasms should leave you floating.

You get a third wind when Jordan rocks his hips against yours and you feel he's hard again. You reach a hand between the two of you, grasping his dick to angle him back inside. Thank God for Supe refractory periods. You sigh when his tip pushes into you. 

“Yeah princess? You want me again?” He tries to sound teasing, nonchalant, but he only sounds like he wants you just as bad.

You rock your hips so that he slides inside fully. Watch him tilt his head back and moan for you as you move. Hungrily taking in the way every sound shapes his mouth. You lean up to kiss at the underside of his jaw. You can't leave any hickies on him but you always kiss him like you want to. God you fucking wish you could. Maybe if you could leave marks people wouldn't chase after them so much. If everyone knew Jordan was yours. But Jordan isn't yours. 

You bite him a little harder.

Jordan's hand finds your throat. You whine, the noise strangled against his palm. You go lax as he pushes you back into the bed. Gently. His fingers flex, a little tighter, and your eyes flutter shut. 

“Gonna be good for me?” Jordan asks.

You nod your head frantically, legs dragging him closer. It's never close enough. No matter what you do. 

“Yeah, I'll be good, Jordie.” You say the words he wants to hear, feeling your head go soft and thoughtless again.

“Fucking liar.” He grinds his hips into yours and chokes you harder when you clench around him. 

You’d been fast friends, best friends, since the moment you stepped on campus and met one another as freshman. Talking to Jordan. Spending time with them. Everything that first year didn’t even feel like getting to know one another. It just felt like coming home.

You didn’t say as much to Jordan. They would have rolled their eyes and scoffed at how sensitive you were, if you had. But you knew they felt the same way. You were the one Jordan went to whenever they were sad. When they were excited. When they were coming into themselves, learning to love who they were after a lifetime of everyone else telling them not to. 

You were the first person to see them. Before Brink, even, you saw them. All their potential. All their greatness. All of them, and Jordan had never forgotten that. 

Jordan saw you too, in turn. You’d never felt like much more than a pretty face, before Jordan. 

You were the type of beautiful that made people look twice when they walked past you. When you were a little girl you soaked in all the praise like a flower. Every: ‘she’s so pretty’, and ‘well look at her!’, or ‘oh wow!’ was nourishment to your little soul.

It would be impossible to pinpoint the moment you realized that was all anyone saw. Even once your powers manifested. Advanced healing, advanced reflexes, limited invulnerability, energy manipulation. You were the whole nine yards. Your parents, when you were thirteen, had sent a video of you using your powers off to Vought. 

A man and woman showed up a day later in suits, wanting to meet you personally.

“She sure is a little looker, isn’t she?” The man had said, and he’d held your hand for too long before he let go. 

They’d come prepared. With ideas for costumes. Which team of teenage Supes you should be placed with. If you should just go straight for television. The adults talked around you. Not paying you any mind as you stared at the costume that would reveal so much skin. You’d never worn a skirt that short before. You hadn’t been allowed, hadn’t even wanted to, really. If you’d come home from the mall having bought anything like that on your own, your parents would have blown a fuse. Now they just sat on either side of you, mile wide grins plastered on their faces. 

All the voices faded to background noise. You realized maybe you were too young to be a superhero. You thought it would involve more... saving people. Running into burning buildings. Getting the bad guys. Saving the day. The people from Vought were only talking about magazine spreads. About what persona would fit your look. 

“What about school?” You’d asked, quietly, and everyone in the room had turned to look at you baffled. 

“What about school, sweetheart?” The woman laughed. “You’ll get a private tutor, of course. But your future is big. You won’t even have to worry about stuff like that anymore. Goodbye lame homework. Hello red carpets!” 

You sat very quietly until they left. Your parents were more angry than you’d ever seen them, when you told them you wanted to wait until after high-school to pursue being a hero. 

You knew telling them you weren’t sure you wanted to do it at all was off the table. 

During high-school you noticed people didn’t listen to you. You would be telling someone about your favorite book; or talking about a movie that changed your whole worldview, only to realize the other person had been staring at your lips the entire time. 

You stopped talking so much about things you cared about. No one listened anyways. 

‘Bimbo.’

‘Airhead.’

‘Slut.’ 

Were all things you’d heard before you’d ever gone on your first date. Gotten so much as your first kiss on the cheek. High-school was lonely, and you couldn’t talk about it being lonely without sounding like an asshole, you quickly realized. The few friends you had would roll their eyes when you’d try and vent. You thought it was just playful ribbing. Friends tease each other. It made you feel included! Until you caught them mocking you behind your back to one another.

‘Look at me, I’m Y/N, and life’s so hard because I’m so pretty and popular. Is she fucking serious? Stuck up bitch.’ 

You stopped venting.

When you got to God-U, you weren’t sure what to expect. College was a chance to reinvent yourself. Even if you weren’t sure you wanted to be a Superhero you knew this could be a chance to find your people. Lifelong friends. 

People who you could get coffees with between classes. Who would go to all your birthdays and want to be there. People you would spend hours on the phone with. Fall asleep studying together. Girls who might like you enough to make you their maid of honor. Guys who would high five you when you did something cool and not try to sneak a glance at your chest. 

You were imagining it all as you unpacked your boxes. Your stomach twisting itself into knots. Living in a half world between excitement and dread.

Then you met your roommate and she gave you the look. The look you’d gotten all your life from girls, and you knew you’d never be real friends. Girls who looked at you like that kept their boyfriends away from you at parties. And they never shared the secrets that friends share because they thought you’d put them in a fucking burn book. The look alone almost made you give up and just go home. 

You went for a walk instead, fighting back tears. That’s when you ran into Jordan. Literally, ran into Jordan. You knocked the both of you to the ground. 

When they’d snapped, “What the fuck dude?” at you, harsh and angry and very them, you’d burst into tears. 

It wasn’t the perfect way to meet your person. But you were glad you met them at all. 

 “Stop moving your eyes away from the screen.” Jordan says. 

“I’m not allowed to move my eyes away from the screen?” You laugh.

“No, this part is really important. You have to pay attention. I wanna see if you catch it.” 

You try your best to keep your eyes glued to the screen, as instructed. But you can’t help the way you keep glancing towards Jordan. She looks good. She always looks good, but right now you don’t even want to look away from her. The colors of the movie flashing across her face, blues and golds, make her look like a painting. 

“Are you watching?” Jordan asks, and you smile at the excitement in her voice. 

You look back towards the movie, wondering what she wants you to see so badly. You look just in time. A small detail catches your eyes and you gasp, reaching out a hand blindly to shake her in your own excitement. 

“Did you see that in the background?” You shake her again, for good measure.

“I saw it.” Jordan laughs.

“That means that he killed the wife!” 

“How do you figure?”

You pause the movie, ready to explain where you think the plot is heading. When you turn to face Jordan you have to take a deep breath. You don’t know whether you love or hate that look. Your feelings on the matter change day to day. 

Jordan is leaned up into the arm of the couch, relaxed, and she’s staring at you with The Smile she wears sometimes. She started doing it a few months into your friendship. Back when you used to talk and then slowly stop. So completely sure that nobody wanted to hear what you had to say. 

Jordan had asked you, back then, why you always stopped telling stories halfway through, or stopped talking about your day, or the latest book you’d read. 

You wanted to lie, at first. Eventually you told a half truth, “I never have anything interesting to say.” 

Jordan had looked at you for a long time. You were worried that somehow, up until that moment, they hadn’t realized how boring you were. But you acknowledging it out loud had made them think about it, and now they were going to ditch you for a friend who was interesting, funny, and smart. 

Instead, Jordan had told you that she loved the way your mind worked, and she’d smiled The Smile at you, for the first time. You hadn’t known how to respond, to the words, or the smile. You turned the conversation back towards Brink’s latest class assignment. 

Later that night you’d gone back to your dorm room and cried, but you’d felt happier than you’d ever felt. 

It made you feel warm and soft that three years later Jordan still smiled at you like that. It felt like your cue to say anything on your mind, no matter how dumb. Green light means go. The Smile means talk. 

“Well?” Jordan nudges you with her foot, still smiling, and waiting for you. 

You shake your head to break free of the spell she puts you in, “Well, look at his sense of style for the entire movie. All his stuff is modern and sleek and then the first time we see his bedroom all the rest of the decor is in line with the rest of the house, except that one thing. All the camera shots are so purposeful and they lingered a little, after he walked away. They wanted us to see he was keeping a trophy. He totally killed her, didn’t he?” 

Jordan pauses for a second and then laughs. “I don’t know how you always guess right. I didn’t see the twist coming at all the first time I watched it.”

“Secondary super power.”

“Connecting all the dots?”

“Connecting all the dots, yeah.” 

“Y/N! Y/N, thank fucking god, you gotta come with me.” Cate grabbed you by the arm, rougher than she’d ever touched you before. 

“I was on my way to class.” You tripped over your feet as Cate pulled you the opposite way you needed to go.

“Forget class! Jordan’s gonna get themself expelled.” Cate snapped. 

“What?!” 

“They’re beating the shit out of Peter in the locker room. Luke’s not on campus. I can’t get close enough to stop them-”

You’d broken into a sprint towards the fighting arena. You didn’t know what the hell was happening. Peter and Jordan had spoken maybe ten times to each other in all the years of attending the same university. 

You’d never gotten anywhere so fast in your life. Andre was standing steadfast in front of the entrance to the boy’s locker room, a small group of other students standing outside. You could hear the sounds of fighting pouring out from the door. 

“Back it up you fucking vultures.” Andre snipped. He might not have super strength but he was still Number 4, and could look intimidating when he needed to. 

“Andre, what’s going on?” You pushed to the front of the crowd. 

“Thank fuck Cate found you. You gotta get in there. Jordan’s gonna fucking mur-” Andre glanced at the phones pointed at the both of you, trying to record even a drip of gossip about top students trying to seriously hurt each other and lowered his voice, “Jordan is actually gonna fucking kill Peter. I’ll keep the crowds back. Get in there.” 

You moved past him into the locker room and your jaw dropped at the state of the place. 

You thought these lockers were bolted down. Apparently not. At least four rows of them were knocked to the ground, heavily dented. A water bottle refilling station had been crumpled to nothing, exposed pipe spraying water across the floor.

“Get off of me you fucking animal.” You heard Peter cry from further in the room and ran. 

Jordan had shoved Peter up against the wall. You were surprised Peter was still conscious. He was lucky he healed so fast. You could see his black eye fading even as Jordan broke his nose. 

“You fucking stay away from her. You understand? I hear you fucking talking like that again and I take the tongue out of your fucking mouth, you asshole.” 

Peter laughs through a mouth full of blood,“Not my fault she gave it up so easy, Li-” 

Jordan throws him into one of the last standing lockers and you see that they are indeed bolted into the ground. Evidently, Jordan throws stronger than Supe resistant steel can take. When Jordan moves to lift Peter out of the crater his body made in the downed locker you rush in between them, putting a shield up. 

“Y/N?” You can see some of the anger fade from Jordan’s face, just a little, at the sight of you.

“Hey, Jordie. Think Peter has had enough.”

Jordan scoffs, “No, he really fucking hasn’t,” he leans around you to yell at Peter, who’s trying to push himself onto his knees, “He’s still running his fucking mouth!” 

“Pussy whipped asshole-” Peter groans.

You glance at Peter on the floor, aghast, “Peter! Stop antagonizing, Jordan. What’s wrong with you?” 

“Unbelievable, honestly. You walk in on Jordan kicking my ass and you tell me to stop antagonizing the fucker?” Peter huffs, pushing his nose back into place so it won’t heal wrong. 

“Name calling isn’t gonna make him stop kicking your ass. I’m trying to help.” You shoot back.

“Well, no one needs your help, you dumb-” 

“Hey.” Jordan interrupts. He’s not yelling anymore, but his voice is the loudest thing in the room. “Watch your mouth, Peter. I fucking mean it.” 

You look back and forth between them. They watch each other for a long moment. Jordan looking eerily calm. Peter looks away first. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. Come on, Y/N.” Jordan grabs your hand and marches you out of the locker room. Past Andre and Cate, who try to stop you both but Jordan waves them off and muscles his way past the crowd too. 

He doesn’t stop until you’re back in his dorm room and he’s shut the door behind the two of you. 

“You were fucking that loser?” He asks, clicking the lock into place.    

“You’re lucky Andre and Cate kept people out of the locker room so there’s no video of everything! You could get expelled, Jordan! What the fuck happened?” 

“He hit me first and he’s not even in the top ten. What’s he at? Number 14? No one’ll give a shit what happens to him. When did you start fucking him?”

“I’m not fucking him! Or… I’m not just, fucking him. I’m… I was dating him. Why were you two fighting?” 

“Dating? For how fucking long? You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.” Jordan’s hair is already a disheveled mess. He yanks his fingers through the strands and makes it worse. 

“We’ve been going on dates for like… three months? Kinda? Maybe.” You say quietly. 

“Three months?! Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck?” 

“Why are you so mad?”

“Friends talk to each other about shit like this! And if you’d talked to me, I would have told you that Peter is a clout chasing piece of shit that’ll never amount to anything. You should’ve heard the shit he was saying today. Fucking piece of shit!” 

“That’s why you were fighting?” You wring your hands together, a knot tying itself over and over in your stomach. “What did he say?”

Jordan stops pacing the room, goes still and turns away from you. 

“Well? What did he say? It was bad enough to make you two beat the shit out of each other! So what was it?” 

“He just… You don’t have to worry about it, okay? He won’t go near you again.” Jordan says firmly.

“Whatever he said he’s gonna keep saying. Just behind my back. I should know.”

Jordan sighs and moves to sit beside you on his couch, knee bouncing with anxiety. “He was… bragging to his shitty friends. About being the first guy on campus to fuck you. About how it didn’t even take that long and… how… he was thinking of recording you. So he could show them how slutty you are. It was…. fucking disgusting.” 

“Oh.” You say. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat. You’d done everything you could to avoid something like this happening. Had kept your dates off campus, to make sure he actually wanted to date you and not just the hot girl ranked Number 3. You’d spent nights staying up on the phone laughing and talking. You’d put off sleeping with Peter for a whole two months, even though you liked him, because you wanted to make sure he liked you. 

You hadn’t even let him call you his girlfriend until a few days ago. You thought he really liked you. But no matter how hard you try… you guess this is it. You’re just something pretty to look at. Even Vought doesn’t take you seriously, despite your powers. You’re the top ranked student in everything. Right behind Jordan. Forensic analysis. Combat. Battle strategy. Still, you only ever get asked about makeup routines and how to maintain your figure in interviews. 

You wipe at your burning eyes and try not to cry about something you’ve already accepted. 

“Fuck that guy. Fuck him. He’s so far beneath your level I’m surprised you can perceive his plane of fucking existence, okay? He’s a fucking single cell organism. He doesn’t even know what a brain is.” Jordan gets up from the couch to kneel in front of you, tries to look you in the eyes. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” 

“No, you fucking are not. Don’t say that about yourself. He’s fucking stupid. It’s genuinely insane you even wasted your time with him. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing anyone?” Jordan asks, voice quiet.

“I just…. I wanted to make sure he was actually gonna stick around before I even brought him up to you. You’re so … important, why tell you about someone who isn’t? It’s not like you write home to me about any of the people you mess around with! We’ve never really talked about this kind of stuff.” 

“Yeah, but it’s different. I’m not serious about anyone! You were actually dating, Peter. And I would have told you not to.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was serious. Before I even said anything.” 

“It wouldn’t have gotten serious if you’d told me about it in the first place. I wouldn’t have let Peter within ten feet of you!” 

“We’re talking in circles.” You huff in frustration, pressing your palms into your eyes to stop the stinging.

“Sorry, I just…. Fucking still wish I was beating the shit out of him, honestly.” Jordan says.

“You are not leaving this room for the rest of the day, Li. Even if he is Number 14, you can’t walk away from a fight then go back for seconds cause you didn’t get it all out the first time. That won’t hold up too well in court.”

“He heals too fast for there to be any marks left on him. It’ll all be hearsay.” Jordan smirks.  

You let out a weak laugh. Jordan reaches out, touching the corner of your lips. “Can we shoot for something a little bigger? If I don’t see you smile soon I’ll actually go kill him.” 

You roll your eyes and slide to the edge of the couch, so you’re resting your head on Jordan’s shoulder, leaning all your weight against him. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles into your spine.

“I really wanted it to work out, Jordan.” You mumble into the skin of his collarbone.

“With fucking Peter?” 

“With… anyone.” Your voice wavers and Jordan’s grip gets tighter. “It’s so fucking lonely. I just want to be someone’s favorite person. Not because of how I look, but because they like me. Really like me. And no one fucking does, no matter how hard I try.” The tears start falling now and Jordan pulls back and makes you look up at him, one hand on your cheek. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I fucking… I like you. I’ve always liked you.” Jordan says, frantic as he wipes away the tears as they come.

“It’s not the same, Jordan!” You shake your head, and bite your lip. You’d almost said it’s not enough. Because it isn’t. But you can't think about that for too long. It makes the hole in you ache a little worse. 

“Yeah….guess it’s not.” Jordan says quietly. He keeps wiping away the tears, dutiful and gentle as he goes. 

“You said he hit you first?” You ask, after a long moment of him quietly soothing you.

“Come on, I’m not stupid. Had to let him get the first swing in.” Jordan smirked.

“What did you say to make him hit you?” You ask.

“Told him he was lucky you believe in charity work and giving back to the fucking needy.” 

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of you. You smack his arm weakly before pulling him into another hug. He kisses the top of your head so softly you don’t notice it, too busy laughing. 

“Y/N, good to see you dear. You keeping our Jordan out of trouble?” Brink asks as he comes out of his office, not surprised to see you perched on Jordan’s desk. 

“Professor, we both know that I’m the one getting Jordan into trouble.” You flash the older man your most mischievous grin. 

“Ah, my apologies. I assume that means you’re distracting her from doing her work, as well?” Brink raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Jordan protests, at the same time. 

You throw your head back with a laugh. “It’s a goal I hold most dear to my heart, to distract Jordan from grading these papers. I think I’m succeeding wonderfully, you’ll be happy to know, Professor.” 

“She’s joking, Professor.” Jordan smacks your thigh and you glance down just in time to burn the image of her hand on your thigh into your brain. She almost never touches you, when she’s like this. 

“You know, Jordan, I didn’t happen to lose my sense of humor after I hit sixty.” Brink waves off Jordan’s concern and leans towards the two of you, whispering conspiratorially, “I know the gray hair gives the illusion of being a boring old fart, but I do like to laugh every now and then.”

Jordan shakes her head with a small laugh and you can’t help but watch, entranced, at the way her hair brushes the olive skin of her cheeks. When you look back towards Brink you find him already watching you, a knowing smile on his lips. You laugh nervously, and look down at the wood grain texture of Jordan’s desk. It’s suddenly fascinating. Is it real oak? Cherry?

“You close to being done, Jordan?” Brink asks casually. 

“Uh-” Jordan’s face blanches and you suddenly feel genuinely sorry for distracting her from her work. 

“-relax, kiddo. You’re not in trouble. Geez, what am I, a work nazi? Those papers don’t need to be graded for another four days, right? You work too hard. I was just asking cause’ I was getting a little hungry myself and wanted to know if you could use a break? There’s a great new Indian place nearby, apparently. Professor. Karp was telling me about it yesterday. It’s only a twenty minute ride away. Wanna tag along?” 

“I should probably finish up a few more papers-” 

“She would love to take a break, Professor.” You reach over, saving the work Jordan’s done and shutting down her laptop at lightning speed. 

“Brat.” Jordan mouths the word at you quickly, so Brink won’t see. 

You stick your tongue out at her, not caring if anyone sees. 

“You should come along too, Y/N. Been awhile since we last caught up.” Brink has a twinkle in his eye that you can’t quite place.

You slide off Jordan’s desk anyways, not willing to pass up any valuable Time Spent With Jordan, “I’m not sure if I trust Professor Karp’s recommendation on restaurants, but I’ll try and be very brave about it if the food is awful.”

“Jordan, have I ever told you how much I love this girl?” Professor Brink shrugs on his coat with a laugh. 

“Yeah.” Jordan watches Brink help you into your own coat with a small smile. “Yeah, Professor you have.” 

“Fucking fuck me!” Jordan throws her phone onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Are the parental units being emotional terrorists again?” You ask from your spot on her bed, turning the page of your textbook, mindlessly highlighting another sentence that could be important for the upcoming final. 

“No, it’s just the whole fucking roster is busy.” Jordan roughly runs a hand through her hair, disheveling her bob. 

“Huh?” You look up from your notes.

“The whole roster is locked in for finals but I really need to let off some fucking steam!” Jordan sighs.

“How big is the roster?” You try to sound curious, like a best friend would be, and not irritated, like someone in love with their best friend would be. 

“Too big for me to not be fucking someone right now.” Jordan snips. 

“We are studying right now. Or I’m studying, and you should be studying too, instead of thinking about needing to get your rocks off.” You say coolly, flipping to the next page. 

“I can’t fucking focus.” Jordan groans, but comes back over to the bed and flops down beside you, throwing her arm over her eyes. “What concept are we on now?” 

“Theories on limiting public and private property damage in fights with other Supes.”

“There is no fucking way I can focus on something that fucking boring without having an orgasm first.”Jordan groans, again, “It’s not even about limiting loss of human life or injury?”

“Nope. Property damage.” 

“Fuck me!” 

You both fall into silence. You studying. Jordan, you assume, weighing the pros and cons of downloading Tinder. The thought makes your stomach drop.

Then you get an idea. An awful, horrible, no good, rotten fucking idea. 

Your mouth is opening before you can stop yourself, “You could fuck me.”

“Huh?” You’ve never seen Jordan sit up so fast.

“I just mean- … we really gotta focus and I... I mean if you just need to let off some steam we could always…” You try your best to fumble your way into proper usage of the English language but even the thought of fucking Jordan makes that impossible. 

“Are you serious right now?” Jordan shifts halfway through the sentence, eyes glued to your every nervous, jittery movement as you sit in front of him.

“Wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t a real offer.” You say quietly, not looking up from the book. 

Jordan snatches said book from your lap and tosses it away, ignoring your noise of protest. “You don’t think it’d make things weird?” 

“Weird was when I had to take you to get your wisdom teeth removed and you kept saying the green man was gonna get us while you were still high off the good stuff. Sex is just sex, right?” You try to say it casually. 

“Would… would it be a one time thing?” Jordan asks slowly.  

“It could be more… we could be-” You say, equally as slow. 

“- could be?” Jordan echoes, voice sounding oddly tight and expression carefully blank.

The look is so strange it makes you panic, and if you’d thought of saying something stupid and desperate for one second like ‘a couple’, well, that look on his face is more than enough to send you straight back to reality on the ‘my-life-fucking-sucks’ express in no time flat.

“We could be like friends with benefits!” You blurt out in one breath. 

“Oh.” Jordan says. 

“It was just an idea.” You reach for the textbook again, which landed near Jordan’s thigh. You’re careful not to touch him when you grab it, or sound too disappointed, or heartbroken at the completely lackluster reaction Jordan has to the thought of having sex with you. “A stupid idea, forget it.”

“Why’s it stupid?” Jordan’s brow furrows, tone teetering on the edge of defensive. 

“I mean…” You can’t think of a reason fast enough. “We’re probably sexually incompatible.” 

“Why do you assume that?” Jordan goes from staring at you, to glaring at you. 

You’ve always hated how once Jordan latches on to a line of questioning, you can’t get them to drop that interrogation for shit. A dog with a bone has nothing on a Jordan who wants an answer.

“I don’t… know?” You say, but it sounds like a question. 

“I think we’d be compatible.” Jordan states this like he’d state the sky is blue or water is wet. 

“Have you thought about it before?” You ask, bewildered. 

“What, are you into something really kinky?” Jordan answers your previous question not at all.

“No!” There goes that nervous body language of yours again. 

“Only way to really know if we’re sexually compatible is to actually try it out.” Suddenly, Jordan is within your personal space bubble. 

You don’t really know how to react, your body freezes up on instinct. Jordan’s hand comes up to rub soothing circles into the crook of your elbow. Your shoulders fall away from your ears.

“Can I kiss you?” Jordan’s voice is quiet, soft as he tilts his head to knock his nose against yours. Playful, teasing. But the look on his face is something you can’t place at all. 

You feel his breath on your lips and nod absentmindedly. 

“Don’t want you to nod when I ask you a question like this. Yes or no, Y/N?” 

“Ye-” The words not fully out of your mouth before Jordan is kissing you, a heavy hand pulling you closer by the nape of your neck. 

You pull yourself into Jordan’s lap and try to focus on how good it feels when he nips at your bottom lip, instead of how much you wished you’d asked him to be your boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. Everything. Even if he’d said no, at least then you would have had an answer. Now you’ve only made your life harder. 

You stop thinking so much when Jordan puts a hand on your hip and guides you to grind yourself against him. 

“Y/N’s right.” Jordan mutters, not looking up from his phone. 

“No, she is not. You’re just agreeing with her because that’s your default factory setting. Listen to the context of the argument please.” Andre snaps, drowning his Vought Triple meat burger in ketchup.

“I did. Your grim dark theory on children’s media is lame, and Y/N knows more about the Monster’s Inc universe than you ever will.” Jordan shrugs.

“Hah!” You laugh in Andre’s face.

“Is it really such a flex to be an expert on the lore of a Pixar movie universe?” Cate asks teasingly. 

“Yes.” You say. 

“No.” Andre says, like a sore loser.  

“I agree with Y/N, it’s literally in the explicit text of the movie, Monsters Inc isn’t a post-apocalyptic world. It’s a separate dimension from ours. The monsters come to our dimension to harvest screams of children to get clean, scream energy. God, Andre, pay attention during movie night.” Luke jumps in on the tormenting Andre train, grinning wildly at the other man from across the table. He gets a middle finger for his troubles. 

“I’m glad someone pays attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You sniff haughtily. 

“I literally agreed with you first.” Jordan looks at you from over the top of her phone in a way that makes you blush. 

“I’m glad two people are paying attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” Jordan’s intense brown eyes fall away from you and you take a gulp of your drink. 

“Bathroom alert, Y/N. A stall just opened up.” Cate tells you pointing to the bathroom door right as another girl exits. 

“I am kissing you on the lips, telepathically.” You say, sliding from the booth you’re all sharing.

“Don’t you telepathically lip lock with my girlfriend.” Luke calls after you, laughing.

“Get some powers of telepathy yourself and make me, fire boy.” You enter the bathroom, shutting out the sounds of laughter from your table with a smile. 

You take the biggest stall at the back and try to go about your business quickly. You hear two faucets turn on, someone washing their hands, and try not to get pee shy. 

“So how was it?” A monotone voice asks, you assume one of the hand washers.

“You know I don’t usually kiss and tell, but it was insane.” A higher, more giggly voice answers. 

“So they really are good in bed then, huh?” The monotone voice sounds a little more curious. 

“Incredible. All the rumors are true. They’re a little… uh, brusque, about the after sex part, if I’m putting it lightly, but the sex itself was great!” The high voice chirps. 

“What? Did they throw you a towel and tell you to kick rocks?” The monotone voice asks. 

“Pretty much.” The high voice sighs. “But they made me cum so many times I think I’d still pick up if they called me again. You think they might?” 

“I say this with all the love in the world: girl stand up.” Monotone voice drawls. 

“You wouldn’t be telling me that if you knew how good it felt to sit on her face.” High voice says.

You stifle a laugh, trying not to get caught eavesdropping, but with Supe hearing it really is hard to mind your own business. Besides, they’re not being that quiet about the conversation anyways. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Or you could experience it for yourself. They were just as good as a boy as they were as a girl. Maybe better. I dunno. She was more aggressive as a girl, which was kinda hot.” 

“Jordan Li, pussy eating extraordinaire. Can we go now? Our food is probably ready.” Monotone voice sighs. 

“Fine, but I’m telling you, the things they can do with a strap are-” 

The voices fade away with the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. 

You find you don’t really want to finish eating your food, when you get back to the table. You spend the rest of lunch trying your best not to look at Jordan, and also ignoring Cate’s concerned gaze boring into the side of your skull. 

You pretend to be sick to avoid having to face the reality of Jordan being more than happy to touch other girls as a girl. They just don’t want to touch you when they’re a girl. You wonder what about you is so uniquely off putting. You wonder why it can’t be you. Why can’t it ever fucking be you? 

Jordan barges into your room on day three of the silent treatment that you told the group chat was due to a raging fever. 

Luckily your eyes, swollen shut from all the crying, and the red nose to match, corroborate the story. 

“We got it all. We’ve got tissues. We got soup. We got pain meds. We got liquid meds. We also have all the ingredients for a hot toddy, if you want to mix your poisons a little.” Jordan begins to unpack everything onto your counter. 

“I don’t want to take anything.” You say morosely, and a little mean, kind of wanting to hate them but just feeling sad. Jordan’s your best friend before anything else, and you could never hate your first real friend. 

“Come on, just a little something. You sound fucked up.” Jordan practically coos, touching your forehead. “Feels like your fever’s gone down a little. Sit up for me.” He says, and pulls you to sit up when you don’t do it on your own.  

“I don’t want to fucking-” Jordan puts two pills in your mouth as soon as you open it to bitch at him. He hands you water to help you swallow it down. 

“Thanks for that. That was really fun for me.” You snap once you’re done.

“It’s for pain and should bring down the rest of your fever.” Jordan lays you back down, tucking the covers all the way up to your chin. You marvel at the way he doesn’t rise to the bait of your very clear attitude. Jordan, catching the look on your face offers you a small glare. “I’m worried. You usually don’t get sick. I’ll check that attitude when you’re better. Now, do you want the damn hot toddy or not?” He rubs your head soothingly.

“Yes, please.” You try not to pout as you watch Jordan make the drink for you. You really hate how hard it is to hate them. “Sorry, Jordie.” 

“Oh, you can go ahead and save that apology for when I make you cry into your pillow, yeah?” Jordan doesn’t even look up from measuring the ingredients.

You pull the covers over your head and leave them there until Jordan pulls them back down. 

You almost hadn’t come to the party. 

You weren’t in a partying mood, as of late. You were in more of a Shakespearean pining era than a City Girls one. But the group had bullied you in the group chat for a week straight until you’d promised to come. The group bullying hadn’t worked so much as Jordan asking you one single time to go had.

So here you were. 

You’d been nursing one drink for the better part of an hour and hadn’t done a single line of cocaine. Jordan had offered you some, but the line had already been placed on the back of his hand. You politely declined, much to his confusion. You only ever did hard drugs with Jordan, and only at big rager parties like this one. 

At the moment you’re nearly sober. Because you didn’t so much as want to touch Jordan right now. Let alone do something like snort a line off of him. Then you’d have to do something like lick the residue off his skin. Which would lead to kissing him. Which would lead to making out with him. Which would lead to fucking him. 

And you think, for the sake of your sanity, you need to be done fucking Jordan Li. 

It’s been about three weeks since you were “sick” and you’d dodged every attempt at getting physical that Jordan tried to initiate since. At first you were able to pass it off as still feeling icky. That excuse worked for a week. Now, you didn’t hang out alone with them and pretended not to see Jordan’s ‘you up?’ texts until morning. 

Your friendship just needs a hard reset. This time spent not having sex will do it. 

Besides, it’s not like Jordan isn’t swimming in fucking choices. What does it matter if you’re one less body off the menu? There are plenty of hot girls at this school. Jordan’s probably already fucked half of them.

You throw back the rest of the drink you’ve been nursing all at once.

“Are you okay?” Cate puts a hand on your arm and you offer her a blinding, completely fake smile. 

“Yeah!” You say, as chipper as possible.

“Jesus christ.” Cate replies, face going all sad and concerned. “What did Jordan do?” 

“Huh?” You blink, confused.

“You are the most pissed off I’ve ever seen you. What did Jordan do? You’ve been avoiding them for like two weeks. What gives?” Cate pulls you closer by the arm so that she doesn’t have to shout over the music. 

“Nothing!” 

“Can you try to lie again but do it better, this time?” Cate frowns.

“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about Jordan? Must my whole entire goddamn life revolve around Jordan Li?” You snap, the way someone who isn’t mad about anything does.  

“Okay.” Cate says slowly. Like she’s trying to placate a wild animal. 

The tone alone makes you roll your eyes and move to disappear back in the crowd of drunk twenty-somethings. But she firms her grip on you, the leather of her glove digging into your skin. 

“Y/N-”

“I’m fine, Cate. I just have to get over it.” 

“Get over what?” Cate narrows her eyes at you. That shrewd look she sometimes wears when she knows something before someone else falls onto her face. 

You wonder if you’re completely transparent about your pining or if Cate missed a dose of her medication. Is she starting to hear the buzzing of your frantic, angry, miserable thoughts? Or is she just naturally perceptive? 

“So, this is where the real party is hiding!” An arm is thrown around your shoulders suddenly and you are careful not to sigh, because Jordan may not be as perceptive as Cate, but they’re pretty damn close. Especially when it comes to you. 

You’ve never moved away from them holding you close like this before, so you can’t do it now. You try to just be still. Don’t lean into his warmth, but don’t cringe away either. You probably used to melt against him, when he touched you. Pathetically. Desperately. A sunflower following rays of light across the sky. 

“-Princess?” Jordan gives you a gentle shake and your head snaps to the side to look at him. “You okay?”

“Yup!” Apparently, you didn’t say that convincingly because he starts to scowl at you. Surprisingly enough, the thought of withstanding a Jordan interrogation does not make you want to be at this party for much longer. “I’m gonna head out, though.” 

“What?!” Twin exclamations of confusion form Jordan and Cate both.

“Not feeling it. I think I need to get some more sleep. I got a headache, or… something.” You shrug.

“Or something?” Jordan echoes.

“You are not going anywhere, yet, dear friend.” Andre throws his own arm around you, appearing from thin air, and tugging you away from Jordan. You’ve never been more grateful to him. 

“How do you figure that?” You laugh.

“We’re about to play truth or dare in the other room and you dodged playing last time. You can leave after you’ve played. You can’t get known as the truth or dare dodger.” Andre says. 

“You say that as if being a party game dodger is like being known for dodging the Vietnam draft.” You snort.

“No, it’s worse. People that dodged the Vietnam drafts are heroes. Truth or dare dodgers are cowards. Come on.” Andre begins to drag you towards the other room and you go along with minimal dragging of your feet across the floor. 

The room is crowded, but all the faces are familiar. They’re all within the top twenty, or the groupies that hang around everyone in the top twenty. You pull Andre across the room to a spot on a raggedy couch you have to squeeze the both of you into. No room for Jordan, who you want to avoid. Or Cate, who is too fucking perceptive. 

You wish you’d grabbed another drink for yourself. Jordan winds up across the room from you, in an optimal position for trying to catch your eye and give you a concerned look every ten seconds. 

This does not make Truth or Dare more fun to watch. 

Vulgar dare from one classmate to another. Forcing someone else to admit an uncomfortable truth. One humiliation after the other. Pick your poison on whether you want to debase yourself through the damnation of your own words or a physical act. All challenges of self-mortification being doled out by people who secretly don’t like each other very much, but all call each other friends anyways. 

“Earth to Y/N the space cadet.” The girl sitting next to you gives you a playful shove. You try not to glare at her. Her name escapes you. You think she hangs around with number 6. Or something. 

“What?”

“Cate picked you. Truth or dare.” She says the words ominously, causing teasing jeering to rise from the entire group. 

“Well, Y/N, what’s it gonna be?” Cate raises her eyebrow at you challengingly. 

“She doesn’t have to play if she doesn’t want to, guys.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Dare.” You say, wanting to get this over with. 

The room erupts into excited noise. You don’t know why. Cate, of all people, would never force you to do anything humiliating. Or truly scandalous. It’s why you trust her enough to say dare, instead of truth. But you never pick dare, because anyone else would abuse the power. Everyone looks too eager to see Number 3 do something embarrassing. 

As if Cate isn’t your closest friend beside Jordan. As if she’d abuse the trust you place in her. It makes you sick. You don’t wanna be here. At this party, or at this stupid fucking school.

“I dare you…. to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” 

“What?!” Jordan turns to give Cate the nastiest, most disgusted glare you’ve ever seen.

“She doesn’t have to do it if she doesn’t want to. You know I’m all about consent.” Cate shrugs innocently, crossing her legs together and giving you a smirk. 

You sit for a second, contemplating your next move. There are plenty of pretty girls at this party. In this room. If nothing else, the top twenty and their groupies are photogenic (hell, some of them are only in the top twenty because of their looks to begin with. You hope you’re not one of those.) But there’s only one girl you want to kiss at this party. 

There’s only one person in the world you want to kiss at all. 

You take a shaky breath, feeling like the walls are closing in. Andre nudges you subtly, catches your eye, as if to say: ‘you okay?’ but there’s something else in the look too. Something that says it’s not just Cate, who knows. Probably your whole friend group knows how you feel. Probably the whole school. Probably anyone but Jordan sees it. And Jordan probably does see it, because they’re too fucking smart not to, and they’re choosing to ignore it. Because it’s easier that way. Because your feelings are probably too inconvenient. Because you’re not their type. Because you’re clingy, and stupid, and not good enough- 

You stand up. The room is a wall of noise, and smell and sound pressing in on you. You see Cate smirk. You see Jordan looking away. You see every girl in the room sit up straight. Delusional, if they think any of them could ever be anything, compared to Jordan. 

You walk past every other girl in the room, and stand in front of Jordan, who still isn’t looking.

You kick his ankle with the toe of your heel, to get him to look at you. His head snaps around, the curls of his hair sticking to his forehead, and he looks comically confused. And it’s really too fucking much, for someone as smart as Jordan to look so confused. So fucking baffled, about what’s happening here. But it’s a pretty convincing act. That only makes you more angry. 

You make an impatient motion with your hand. A ‘do it already’ movement of your wrist. The same way you’d crossly signal for another driver to go first at a fucking four way stop. 

He just blinks up at you, owlish. 

"Well? Are you gonna let me kiss the prettiest girl at this fucking school or what, Li?" The room has gone a little quiet, or maybe the blood is rushing in your ears so bad everything is quiet in comparison. 

Jordan stares up at you for a moment longer than is comfortable. And you really start to feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you. You don’t let yourself shy away from the attention. Not Jordan’s, not anyone else’s. You straighten your spine and look down your nose at him, and tap your foot. Try to look like the mean girl everyone expects you to be because no one cares who you actually are. 

As if you could care less if Jordan leaves you stranded right now. As if it will be their loss, if they don’t kiss you, instead of the worst moment of your entire life. 

Jordan shifts. 

You try not to think of how desperate you must look, when you reach out at a speed that isn’t human to hold her face and angle it up, so you can finally fucking kiss the girl you love. 

You wish you could kiss her like it didn’t mean anything. Like she’s nothing. Like you hate her. But you don’t know if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Jordan when she’s your girl, and not your boy. This might be the last time you kiss Jordan ever. 

It has to be. 

You close your eyes tight. Try to ignore the way they’re stinging. You kiss Jordan slow and tender. The way you’ve always wanted to. You tangle a hand in her hair, to bring her closer. You try not to marvel at the way the longer strands tangle in your fingertips. She gasps against you, and her hands find your waist and you are too sober to cry over Jordan touching your waist above your clothes. Like a fucking middle-schooler. 

But the tears start falling anyways. You let out a quiet sob against her lips that you try your hardest to stifle, and Jordan may not have kissed you like this before. But she’s kissed you plenty. She pulls back, startled, like an animal. Big brown eyes full of concern. 

And the spell is broken, and you are standing in front of about thirty of the world’s worst, most unsympathetic human beings, crying, because you kissed your best friend who doesn’t want you back. 

You’ve got ten seconds to leave before someone pulls out their phone and records you. If they haven’t already started. 

So you run.

Through your tears the layout of the house becomes unfamiliar. You try to hide your face a little, and hope people don’t recognize you as you pass them by, sobbing openly. 

Years of pent up feelings are bubbling out of you. The relief. The grief. The way you hate yourself for falling in love with the only person who has ever loved you. Wondering why you couldn’t just be grateful for the kindest, most understanding friendship you never even thought yourself worthy of. Why couldn’t that have been enough? 

Why did you fall in love with them? 

A hand closes around your wrist and you try to yank yourself away but you’re pulled into a bathroom and the door slams shut behind you. 

You wipe your eyes so you can see who’s tried to save you from embarrassing yourself any further. 

It’s Jordan. Because of course it is.

You burst into tears again. 

“Are you fucking drunk? What the fuck was that? Y/N what the fuck is happening right now?” Jordan sounds on the verge of a mental break. 

She’s probably wondering what type of things people are gonna start saying about the two of you on social media. She’s probably mad at you for giving her a PR mess to clean up. 

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, sounding a little like someone who might be drunk. 

“Are you high? What did you take? Lemme see your pupils.” Jordan reaches out to grab your face and you swat her hand away. 

“No one fucking drugged me, Jordan. I’m just a stupid fucking idiot who’s in love with you! There! Are you happy?! Why don’t you go laugh at me with one of your stupid fucking girlfriends. You’ve got so fucking many of them.” You wail, sinking down to the floor, and hiding your face in your arms. 

The room goes quiet, besides the sound of you crying. Loudly. You think you might be having an anxiety attack. You can’t breathe right. But maybe that’s just from the heaving, toddler-like sobs. 

“You’re in love with me?” Jordan asks, quietly. 

“As if you don’t know!” You snap your head up to glare at her. She kneels down in front of you, and puts her hand on your knee and you try not to get distracted by how pretty she is. “I follow you around like a puppy dog. Like your little shadow. And everyone notices except for you, because you don’t want to notice, because you don’t fucking want me. I got the message, Jordan. I got it!” 

“What message?!” Jordan grabs you by the shoulders, voice fraying at the edges, and looks like she wants to shake you.

“You don’t touch me!” Your voice raises to the edge of a yell, and the sound of it echoes in the small room. 

“What are you fucking talking about-”

“-don’t be cute, Jordan. You don’t touch me when you’re a girl! I thought… I thought it was maybe just that you didn’t touch girls when you’re a girl but it isn’t. Apparently you have plenty of fucking girls that you touch and fuck, when you’re a girl. It’s just me, that you don’t! What’s so fucking bad about me? Huh? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want me?” You demand.

You think you might sound like an insane person, and you wish you could pull the words back in but the hurt is bubbling out. A river relishing that first burst of freedom when a dam breaks, no matter how much damage it causes. 

Jordan is staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Mouth agape. You wish you were dead, a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jordie.” Your voice goes small, and you sniffle. “I really tried to stop. But I can’t, I love you. I’ve probably loved you from that very first day. Because you’re wonderful, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met and I don’t know how anyone…” You trail off, fanning at your eyes to try and pull yourself together. “...I don’t know how everyone else knows you without being in love with you. I wish I wasn’t in love with you, please don’t be mad, please don’t fucking-” You sob, again. 

You find yourself pulled into Jordan’s lap this time. It’s a foreign feeling, to be touching so much of Jordan when she’s like this. You bury your face into her neck and cry, and let her black hair block out the fluorescent lighting. She shushes you, cheek pressing against the side of your head, and that’s familiar. The way she soothes you. Your hands wrinkle the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her tightly. 

“I’m sorry. I can get over it, I promise. I just needed to tell you. I’ve never kept anything from you before. It was killing me, but I can get over it, Jordie, I promise-” 

“Hey, hey, hey, no-” Jordan’s turning you to look at her suddenly. “Don’t fucking… I’m not… I’m not mad at you or fucking… gonna leave you, Y/N. What the fuck? I love you.”

You could start crying from the relief of hearing those words come from her lips again. You thought she wouldn’t ever speak to you again. She grabs you by the chin and kisses you, hard, your teeth clink together and your noses mush and you go completely still and frozen, like a scared deer. 

“I could see the words not fucking register in your brain the way I meant them. I am in love with you. Romantically.” Jordan barely pulls away, you feel her lips brush against yours, every other word. 

“What?” 

Jordan laughs, “Good, now you’re just as confused as I fucking was. Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you? I’ve always wanted you. You’re…you.” 

“I’m me?” You echo. 

“I didn’t…. I didn’t want to make you feel… like everyone else has. Like I was just fucking waiting around for a chance to date you. Or fuck you. As if your friendship doesn’t fucking matter. Or was a consolation prize, if I couldn’t get you to date me. It isn’t a consolation prize. It’s the most important thing to me in the fucking world.” Jordan laughs, and the sound is suspiciously choked up. 

“Oh.” You say, and are crying. Again. Jordan laughs and wipes the tears away with her thumb. 

“But what about when we started having sex? You still… never touched me when you’re like this.” 

“You’ve never said anything about liking girls.” Jordan says quietly.

“You’re not just a girl. You’re the girl. And guy. ” You say, holding her hand against your face and kissing her palm fiercely. She laughs again, and puts her forehead against yours. 

“So what? I’m the one girl you’re into?” Jordan raises a brow and doesn’t look very happy saying the words, oddly enough. 

You tilt your head trying to puzzle out why, slowly, you arrive at a conclusion. “I literally talk about girls all the time.” 

“When?!” 

“I’m constantly pointing out pretty ones!” You snap. 

“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jordan snaps back. 

You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of her cologne. 

“You make me so angry I don’t know how to think.” You say, and kiss her bottom lip softly. “You’re not an… experiment, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re the…” You trail off, realizing this is not one of your romantic daydreams where you’ve thought of the words you’d tell Jordan over and over again. 

In real life you can’t tell people that they’re the love of your life if you aren’t their girlfriend. Unless you want to look crazy.

Jordan, who is your best friend, before she’s anything else, melts. Because she knows you well enough to know what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah.” Jordan nods, sniffling once and trying to look very tough even though her lip is quivering a little. “I… I love you too. Or whatever.” 

“If it makes you feel better I’ve slept with other women before, to make sure I wasn’t just in love with you.” 

“Weird fucking thing to tell me after I say I love you, but go off.” She glares at you. 

“I think you could do with feeling a little jealous. Why am I hearing stories about how good you are at fucking other women while I’m trying to piss at Vought Burger in peace?” 

“What?” Jordan’s brow furrows. 

“Three weeks ago I heard-”

“-I fucking knew you’ve been mad at me!” Jordan grabs your waist, pulling you closer.

“You would have been pissed too, if you heard the shit I was hearing!” 

“If I hear anyone talking about fucking you ever again I’m going to go to prison.”

“Hot.” 

“Shut up and be my girlfriend.”

“Shut up and be my everything.” 

“You’re gross.” But she kisses you, and it’s gentle, and no one else is there to see it. 

And it’s perfect.

A/N: this is my first time doing full on smut for a fic! it beat me the fuck up. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

[sualne]

carnis au accidental [???] but i was thinking about mimic luffy wanting to get closer and closer to law, and i'd been thinking since i've made the au about how he'd want to see law's scars (already various scenes on how it could happen, written notes and all, don't know which to pick), and then the fact that he knows there's something carnis still in him.

so i was thinking of another scene where he's inspecting the scars on his face and they both very close but it's not the scars he's really looking at, he's searching for that carnis leftover and says maybe mostly to himself "It's still inside you. That's just so unfair. Why, just why couldn't it have been me?"

And jokingly is thought: This is it folks, I broke the code, this is about bottom dysphoria!

But then! I thought again, the au is about feeling otherized, isolated and monstrous and wrong. i've already strongly considered the idea of luffy's death as a suicide metaphor. the mimic has been thinking about socially detransitioning because it keeps getting accosted by creeps and assholes and knows that luffy would've fought back most of the time but also knows it's much stronger now and doesn't want to get caught, he needs to lays low, it doesn't want to cause a scene, it has to go stealth.

law hates the idea because it's not enough that it killed luffy now it has to just go and erase that important part of him of as well but the mimic insist, he's still a man, he'll just fake being a girl to make it easier. but law doesn't understand because to him the mimic is faking being a man, it's faking being a person, it's faking being luffy.

the reason the mimic wants to lay low is because it doesn't want to get caught so it can stay with law and study him, understand him. law doesn't knows that, he's too freaked out by the fact that's it's a mimic! that it killed luffy and might possibly want to kill him too! but the mimic feels a kind of kinship with law because of that remaining carnis in him.

remains he got from nearly dying, from losing his family, from an attack to another carnis. and i thought, law is meant to be reminiscent of mimics. he had to regrow his face, he's (as always) autistic and doesn't always act as expected, he's also paranoid even when he happens to be right, he's traumatized to the point of psychosis, the encounter changed him. it was meant as a parallel to how ppl like to think murderers&co are all mentally ill because they can't possibly be Normal Like Them, they must be different, they must not be human, they're obviously monsters. but those victims, those who get to survive, the trauma change them, they can acquire all sort of neurodivergences, and when those same Normal People learn that a person has some kind of The Scary Disorder they think "Oh, you're a monster too! You'll (inevitably) hurt someone!" which lead back to being otherized ect.

there's also something about how law didn't just get scars from his near death experience but also what's essentially a disease.

and then back to the mimic, who recognize itself in him, in that disease, but it isn't quite right, it's not enough and it's also nothing alike at all and also he's kind of jealous? it makes no sense to the mimic itself but he can't stop thinking about law either.

it's also how a monster that's linked to what is theorized to be something close to a hivemind accidentally developing a sense of identity and facing some sort of existential crisis over the fact that it can't ever escape it's monstrous nature and doesn't want to either. and that sound like, very much like being trans and cracking your egg and realizing you're fucked cause that sure is knowledge to have about oneself and also it's in the fictional 90s of a op carnis au so good luck with that.

anyway that's a lot of words and im not sure how to phrase the rest it's just, this was supposed to be a casual au where i went "OHOHO look at the Tragedy" but i thought about it too long and now i feel like i've ended up with a millefeuilles of overlaying themes and im, i means sure. can't draw All that tho so what now.

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Cock Fight

Art by woaini_ogelskerdig

Summary:

Crowley wants Aziraphale, but does Aziraphale want Crowley?

Moreover, Crowley has the hots for Aziraphale, hasn't ever had the hots before, and isn't even sure what "hots" are supposed to feel like. He can't even cuss properly because every sex-related cuss word just reminds him how fucking (see?) confused he is.

But there's help on the horizon -- in the form of one Greek demigod they just happened to rescue off the side of a mountain. Not that our ineffable idiots have the sense to ask for help. But they're getting it anyway.

Written by startledplatypus, find them on Reddit and AO3!

Word count: 16,049 words

Trigger/Content Warnings: Explicit; dubcon; sex pollen; anal sex; oral sex; masturbation; mild exhibitionism; naga sex; snake sex: Ancient Greece religion and lore

Excerpt:

Crawly woke up on a low couch covered in deep navy velvet studded with tiny gold stars. A matching neckroll pillow nuzzled his head. The air was warm but pleasant, scented with cinnamon and cassia and… myrrh.

F---

“OH, my God,” he heard from across the… room? Well, it was more cylindrical than that, with fluted columns around its circumference and a ceiling lurking somewhere above. Night-dark curtains of tassel-edged heavy damask hung between each pair of columns, masking whatever lay beyond. Tiny lanterns floated here and there, strobing saturated, shifting colors across what little he could see of the lush, carpeted floor.

The Greeks did not have carpet any more than they had soap.

“OH, my GOD,” he heard again. This time it sounded less surprised and more mortified. And more familiar.

It sounded like Aziraphale when he’d realized one of his “rare statuettes” was a dildo.

Crawly groaned. Quietly. This was not going well. He thought about calling out to the angel, but changed his mind when he looked down.

He was starkers. Even his sunglasses were gone. And he was very… male.

Something made a muffled sound from not nearly far enough away. Then there was a thump, a quavery curse which might have been that awful “f” word, and a rather desperate groan. And a cream-colored neckroll pillow with pale blue stitchwork came sailing toward the demon’s head.

Crawly, too busy considering the ramifications of this situation, failed to duck. The pillow flumphed into his face and fell onto the couch-bed. It was, of course, tartan.

Shit.

A feminine alto laugh echoed around the chamber. And something ssssed.

“What the FUCK,” a very Aziraphale voice shrilled… and all the lanterns flared, revealing a too-tall woman standing on a low, round, central marble platform with a long, sinuous snake coiling up her linen-draped legs, over her cloth-covered shoulders, and down her bare arms. Its great head lifted, amber eyes lazily opening.

“Ohhhh,” it said. “Guessssts.”

Read more on AO3!

Special thanks to!!!

For beta-reading: DoonaRose, harlotupdog, ckocek, Paperclip_Ninja, and blackjeans93

For snek-jucation: blackjeans93

For ao3 formatting help: cheeseplants, GaiasEyes, mrscakeishere, and polychrome

For ART!: woaini_ogelskerdig

[wrathofrats]

That posts just got me thinking about Swiss going into heat with Phantom in his bed. They're still new to the sexual side to their relationship but Phantom would do anything to help the pathetic whining ghoul next to him, even if it means trying out a lot of new kinks he's never even thought about

I got carried away as usual are we surprised.

Sorry this took like … 6 months HAHAH

Forgive My Reasons And What I Can’t Disguise.

Swiss/phantom, 2k, explicit

Read below or on ao3!

Warnings for: dubious consent, dollification, objectification, heat, knotting, sensory deprivation, i made it fucking weird as usual.

Or swiss goes into heat, phantom gets himself in more hot water than he can probably handle.

Phantoms shirt was soaked. The body underneath him radiating heat he only thought possible by a fire ghoul.

Swiss still hadn’t woken up, his skin was shiny with his own sweat, likely the cause for the dark splotches on phantoms shirt. His breathing was heavier than usual, the up and down motion of his chest likely the cause of phantom waking up at an hour he is sure is supposed to be illegal. Oh, and the heat. The waves of heat that are almost suffocating.

“Swiss, swiss” phantom grabbed his shoulders and shook. Swiss was never one to wake up easily, he was sure that they could downright bomb the building and swiss would be none the wiser. It was useless, and considering the state he’s in phantom doesn’t know if he truly has time to mess around with trying to wake him gently.

Could he be sick? Did they catch some human illness at mass? The siblings were cesspools of diseases unknown to the ghouls, they would come in to the infirmary constantly with things that truly sounded demonic in nature. Bronchitis, gonorrhea, hell he’s surprised they didn’t just start naming the common cold asmodeus.

That wasn’t the point though. Phantoms finger sparked with a small purple bolt of electricity before placing it against Swiss’ temple. An old quintessence trick, nothing to hurt whoever it was, but it was enough to jump them out of their sleep.

Swiss shook, eyes flying open while his breathing only got heavier, he gave phantom a confused look before taking in the state they were both in. Phantoms shirt clinging to him with sweat and swiss practically dripping with his own. He felt a sharp tug in his stomach, before throwing his arm over his face with a groan.

“Are you ok? Are you sick? I can call aeth-“

“I’m in heat bug” swiss sighed. “Thought I had more time but clearly I was very wrong, otherwise I would’ve locked myself in mountains room for the night”

The pit of worry in phantoms chest melted into a feeling of arousal, something needy. He’d never been able to help another ghoul with their heat, only really knowing that it’s happening when he asks where someone is just to hear banging on the walls and growling from another ghouls room. Locked away to do who knows what in order to quell the animalistic need.

Swiss started to get up, throwing the suffocating blankets to the side in order to stand in the middle of the room instead of in the bed, which seemed to only make the warmth worse.

“Sorry about this phantom, I’m going to head to dews room and see if I can get it to go away anytime soon” swiss threw on a shirt that was laying on the floor, shaking out his locs and throwing them up into a loose bun in an attempt to cool down his face and neck.

“Wait” phantom scrambled out of bed “you don’t have to go, I can help you”

“Bug it’s a lot more intense than you’re thinking, it’s hard to control myself, I don’t want to hurt you or scare you off” swiss was practically panting by now, his sweatpants tented obscenely and were slung low around his hips. His hands clenched at his sides, he was getting desperate, about to snap if he couldn’t fuck out his heat as soon as possible.

“Please scare me, show me how to handle your heat, use me” phantom nearly begged. Swiss didn’t need much convincing, his heat already clouding his judgment. On any other day he would’ve taken it slow, explained to phantom exactly what was going to happen. But in a state like this? After phantom told him to scare him? It’s hard to keep a calm demeanor.

Swiss just nods, not trusting himself to actually speak without biting. He backs phantom up against the bed, phantoms legs spreading for swiss to stand in between. He grabs his hips, simply staring at his thighs with small, tight boxers being the only thing covering him. He looked small in Swiss’ grip. There was a pause in their movements while swiss tried to maintain composure. With dew he could easily bend the little thing over and take as he pleased, but with phantom? Part of him still worries. New and not used to how hard some of the others play.

But his need only grows. The fire in him only getting worse as he tries to stave it off.

“Tell me again. Tell me that you want this again. Tell me to scare you phantom” swiss practically growls.

“Break me swiss, I’m yours to use”

Swiss pushes against him hard, forcing him up the bed to lay on the pillows. He doesn’t waste any time pulling the clothes off of him, ridding him of his still wet shirt and boxers, watching as his cock rapidly thickens as swiss strips him.

His hand immediately grabbed at his neck, forcing his head back. He can feel Swiss’s breath on his skin. It feels predatory, the heavy breathing and sharp teeth so close to his jugular that a part of him truly is afraid, especially after swiss warned him he couldn’t control himself.

“Don’t think you know what you’ve done bug” swiss chuckled lowly into phantoms ear. “Won’t be able to stop myself from fucking ruining you now, gonna just turn you into a sex doll”

Phantom whimpered, pulling his head further to the side to expose the skin more, invite swiss to take what he needs. As his eyes close he felt the ghoul on top of him shift, rummaging through his bedside drawer.

Before he can open his eyes they’re covered with a soft black cloth, completely shielding his vision.

“Uh, swiss?” Phantoms voice shook. It was a weird feeling, he was used to being in tune with everything at all times. Quintessence making him sensitive to any change in the air. But without his vision? It feels weird, he knows he can’t be in control but this is a different level of loss that makes him actually fearful.

“Said your mine to use right? Don’t need to see anything. Just gotta stay still”

“Yeah I- if that’s what you want” swiss didn’t want to admit how much the fear in phantoms voice turned him on, a horrible part of him relishing in the control and power he feels from it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you relax doll”

A spark of quintessence jolted through phantoms nerves. He quickly realized he could no longer move, couldn’t shake his head, couldn’t lift a finger, couldn’t even speak. could only lay still and wait.

There was a small nudge in his brain, another bit of quintessence used to communicate. Quints were known to be able to talk to each other with their magic, and although swiss had a much weaker grasp, there was still the necessary sense of safety knowing if he needed to safe word he easily could, and he knew those were Swiss’ intentions.

He trusted him. Phantom just kept having to repeat that he trusted him. The hands on his body felt tenfold what the usually do without being able to see them. His cock kicked on his stomach, a small bit of liquid dribbling onto his stomach. It was almost embarrassing how hard he was given the circumstances, he should be afraid, he shouldn’t be into this, but he’s so hard it almost hurts. Swiss still wasn’t moving, and phantom realized that being able to take away phantoms ability to see and move was arousing enough to keep swiss under control of himself, even if just for a bit. He was getting off to phantom being a doll.

“Could just keep you like forever bug, let everyone use you to fuck out their heats, do whatever depraved things I know they’ve been dying to do to you. And you’d just let them wouldn’t you?” Phantom couldn’t nod, couldn’t protest, couldn’t respond. “That’s a good doll. Knew you wanted it.” Swiss laughed at the lack of response.

Two fingers prodded at phantoms hole. They were slightly slick, likely hastily licked by swiss in order to provide just a little glide. The intrusion still burned, thick and hasty, barely even for phantom comfort, more just so swiss knows he will fit.

“Sweet little thing. You almost feel real” swiss added another finger, spreading them wide to watch as phantoms hole stretched around them.

Phantoms skin felt like it was static, like he truly may be made of plastic. The fingers in him not even trying to give him any pleasure, more just an uncomfortable intrusion than swiss trying to get him off as well.

But phantom wasn’t supposed to get off. He was a toy. Silicone and nothing more according to swiss.

He could hear the rustling of clothing, a sign Swiss was actually about to fucking him properly. The smell of need from the both invaded his senses, made his already fuzzy head even more dizzy with the need to be used.

It hurt. Swiss was too big and it hurt. He barely fit, slowing sinking into him and only waiting for it to stop being borderline uncomfortably tight.

“You’d think you’d have more give, good thing I don’t have to worry about hurting you do I?” The talking felt like swiss was mocking him. Solidifying the fact that he couldn’t do anything like this.

After a minute or two swiss pulled out slowly, before slamming back into him. “Forgot I just gotta force you to stretch out. Silly me”

Phantom truly felt like a rag doll, the only sense of stability being where swiss held his hips in place. The rest of his body simply moved as swiss pleased, shaking with the force of his thrusts instead of being able to grab something to keep him on solid ground.

Once he adjusted the burning feeling melted into pleasure, Swiss rammed into his prostate, holding his hips up against him to get as deep as he possibly could. It felt amazing, the lack of sight and movement only heightening the simulation.

He wanted to beg, sob even. Needed swiss to touch him properly. He felt so close to the edge without even the relief of knowing he will finally get off because he truly doesn’t know what swiss is going to do to him.

There was swelling at the base of Swiss’ cock as it continued to pound into him. He was going to knot him, phantom should’ve known that this is how you break a heat but it still scared him. He couldn’t see how big it was, could only hope it was at least relatively painless.

“Gonna get you stuck on me, tear you open so no one else will fit. Make you fucking mine” swiss gave a final thrust before it finally popped into him with a sickening squelch. It didn’t hurt but god he felt overwhelmingly full, like he was going to fucking bust open if swiss moved at all.

He heard panting above him, Swiss’ hands soothing up and down his hips.

The blindfold was delicately removed, and swiss slowly used his magic to bring phantom back to.

“Fuck you’re so good to me bug, are you alright?” He breathed

“Yeah, m fine” phantoms brain felt like soup, like it could leak out of his ears.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, I liked it, like that I made a good toy for you” phantom gave swiss a sleepy smile. He was worn out, the given control back making him realized how sore his muscles are.

“Can I finish you off baby bat? Let me make you feel good?” Phantom just nodded. He squirmed under Swiss’ hand on his cock, sensitive and overwhelming after being used. His fist took up most of it, cute and sticky, flushed a deep red. It didn’t take much, just a couple strokes before phantom came along his torso with a pained whimper.

“There you go baby, my sweet lovebug”

[tizeline]

Hello ooohs! I just wanted to say that I adore your AU and just can't get enough of the change in dynamics for Rise!!

Your designs are incredible (( especially Leo's!! He is so adorable <3 )) and I get so excited each time you post!

So I have a question I want to ask: I have a huge soft spot a mile wide for Leo/Splinter family bond dynamic. I just turn to mush every time their familial bond is portrayed in comics/fanart/ and fanfiction.

Anyway! My question is: do Leo and Splinter develop a close relationship with each other later in the AU after meeting for the first time? I mean it has been shown how much of a fan boy Leo is for Splinter XD. Can your provide more insight into it and what Splinter thinks of the other three kids?

I also wanted to bring up a small error in The Cell part 3 that I noticed

For Donnie: "that's " was it supposed to be "that" ?

If not then I'm sorry for nitpicking your work. I just figured I'd help but my apologies <3 I still want to stress that I adore this AU so much and in extension; platonically adore you!! Keep being the best that you can be and take care!

Love,

🌹

Thank you!

And skfskbdwlskdisj yessss I love Splinter's and Leo's dynamic you're so real for that. And yeah, out of the of the Drax Bros, Leo is the one who ends up growing the closest to Splinter, both because he's been a secret Lou Jitsu fanboy for years at this point, but also because Leo was the first to change his mind on the evil world domination plan. Leo freed Donnie from imprisonment and tried to help him stop The Foot and The Shredder in the season 1 finale, and I imagine Splinter would be quite appreciative of that.

Not to mention, after Leo technically betrayed his family (even if it was for good reasons) Leo's and Draxum's relationship is a bit tense to say the least. And we see in the show that Leo has a tendency to seek out extra father figures, so in the AU Leo would be quite enthusiastic to recieve any positive attention from Splinter.

Splinter I imagine would feel rather guilty about not being able to rescue any of the turtles aside from Donnie when he fled Draxum's lair. He'd wanted to prevent Draxum from raising them as soldiers, so in failing to do that Splinter would continue to worry about how they were doing even years after the incident. After encountering the Drax Trio again years later, he'd be relieved that they don't seem to be TOO traumatized or anything, but they ARE still child soldiers, so that's a yikes.

That being said, while Splinter would've liked to find a way to get the other turtles away from Draxum, his priorities very much lie with Donnie. Considering how powerful Draxum is, and how Big Mama would also be looking for him, Splinter couldn't risk going back to the Hidden City to try to get Donnie's brothers without risking both his own and Donnie's safety. So he decided to cut his losses and play it safe by laying low in NYC and putting as much effort as he could into only protecting Donnie. This stays the same even after Donnie runs into his brothers as a teen, Splinter feels no ill will towards the other three turtles, but they WERE raised by Draxum so he does not trust them. Leo gains his trust after helping Donnie in the season 1 finale, but it takes some more time for him to start fully trusting Raph and Mikey because he wants to be sure that they're not gonna switch back to being evil or something and try to kidnap Donnie again.

Splinter's relationship with Draxum is the same as in the show, Splinter hates Draxum, Draxum hates Splinter, and there is NO underlying homoerotic tension between the two of them WHATSOEVER!

... Anyway, with that concluded, that IS a typo goddamit. I do appreciate people pointing out spelling and grammar mistakes in the comics I make, so thanks for that. But also it's a small enough mistake that I'm probably just gonna leave it be, I'm to lazy to fix it XD

[icycoldninja]

I’m feeling angsty today so I came up with the idea.

Can you write the DMC men when they’ve been in a relationship with the reader for a relatively long time and they thought that they’ve been truthful to one and another and understand their flaws and uniqueness but one night, while in bed, the reader mutter under her breath:

“ You’re too good for me, how? And why? To be loved and desired…is one’s closest feeling to being immortal in this vast universe yet…why me? Of all those out there?”

She muttered as she thought they were still sleeping, but in fact they’re listening very carefully what she says, the quiver in her voice and the cracked tone of one’s suspension of crying

Then they turned to ask her why she thought she didn’t deserve to be loved, she kinda replies that it feels wrong to be loved and feels wrong to love someone knowing you can’t return the gesture how you want due to wither their financial limitations or emotional limitations, even though one should never be deprived of such feelings disregard of race, gender and class

Then she muttered that:

“If anything were to happen to me, you need to move on, forget about me, fall in love with others and treat them like how you treated me and start a family with them, okay?”

“You should not bind yourself in the past for my sake…even though it pains me to see you with others…but to not let you move on would be my biggest guilt”

How would they initially react?

This one's gonna be a bit different since they're more like reaction headcannons than anything else. Enjoy.

Sparda boys + V reactions headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante cannot believe you just said that. He's shocked, genuinely, undeniably shocked.

-He loves you because you're an awesome, sweet person who dared to get close to him despite all his issues and emotional baggage; someone who stuck with him through his crazy highs and depressed lows, and he'll forever be grateful for that.

-Then he hears you yammering on about how you want him to move on if something happened to you, and wonders if you've gotten amnesia.

-What kind of monster do you think he is?! He could never get over you even if he tried, and besides, with him around, nothing bad could possibly happen to you.

-That's it, Dante can't stay silent any longer. He decides to wake from his pretend slumber like Dracula and tell you all this straight to your face.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil, the ever alert insomniac, heard every word you said and was quite upset about it.

-He chose you because you had the strength to stand before a son of Sparda and not quaver in your boots. You accepted him for what he was, and loved all of him equally, from Urizen to V.

-He was insulted by the next string of blasphemous words that left your mouth. How dare you suggest that he, the King of Motivation, would allow you to get hurt? Did you really have such little faith in him?

-He would not let you die--he would sooner kick the bucket than let you meet your demise, and even if you did pass away by some unfortunate turn of events, Vergil would never get over it.

-He could see it even now, how he'd lay his remaining human half to rest alongside your corpse, fully embracing the demon within him and going on to conquer the world, disregarding his brother and all that you'd built together.

-Vergil probably should have told you this, since the only reason you were saying such depressing words was because you needed comfort, but decided to keep silent. After all, he wasn't supposed to hear what you said, so he'll pretend he didn't. However, he will snuggle up to you so you can at least feel the comforting warmth of his presence.

□ Nero □

-Nero was awakened by your mumbling and managed to catch most of what you said. It took him some time to process everything since his brain was foggy, but once he understood what you meant, his heart broke.

-Why is that even a question? Why do you sound like you're about to cry? Are you considering leaving him? Are you terminally ill? What would make you say such a thing?

-Nero loves you because you're sweet and you care for him in ways no one else can. You're ready to die to protect him, and so is he--no one else could replace you.

-How dare you ask him to move on if something happened to you? He loved you, and only you! If you died, Nero would be inconsolable, he'd probably fall into a deep, deep depression and overdose on painkillers or something, but this is all speculation.

-Nero would sacrifice anything and everything if it meant keeping you safe, do you should have nothing to fear.

-Nero knew the only reason you were mumbling such things was because you thought he was asleep, meaning you intended for these words to be kept private. As much as he wanted to keep that illusion alive for your sake, he couldn't let you say these things and go to sleep thinking so negatively. Thus, he arose from slumber and pulled you into his arms, repeatedly reminding you of how much he loved and needed you until you fell asleep.

● V ●

-V happened to flutter awake at the exact moment you began your nocturnal lament, mumbling about how you didn't deserve him, or something like that.

-V was taken aback, wondering why you would even think that when it was clear he was the one who didn't deserve you.

-Then you started muttering about how you wished he would move on, forget about you, and start a new life if anything was to happen to you. This made V's heart shatter.

-He could believe you would say that; you were the love of his life, the one woman who cared enough to stay with such a weak, physically pathetic, borderline invalid for so long and enjoy the experience. You'd left a lasting imprint on him, one that he wouldn't forget anytime soon.

-The very fact that you'd suggest such a thing was not only heartbreaking but also insulting. V wouldn't let you continue thinking like this any longer.

-He got up and immediately wrapped you in the tightest hug he could muster, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ear until you broke down in tears, then covering you with kisses till you calm down.

[adventuringblind]

Rock Gardens

Maxiel x Reader

Genre: Magical-Realism Fluff

Summary: Just because she's a low level earth elemental doesn't mean she's useless! Actually, she loves her rock and wishes everyone could see how she does. The media and fans have other things to say about it and Max and Daniel refuse to see their rock loving gremlin so sad.

Warnings: Toxic media, protective Max and Daniel

Notes: For 🎀, I hope you like it!!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Her powers aren't something she likes to flaunt around to the media. They aren't flashy or give her some massive show of strength. They're still hers, though. She loves them, and that's all that matters.

Max and Daniel had stumbled across her when she first started working with Redbull as a data analyst. Her affinity for the ground helps her assess possible tire degradation around different circuits. When they hired her, it was the first time somebody had said her powers were useful.

Her office at the factory is decorated with all her rocks. Some she's found over the course of going to races. Others she's shaped over extended periods of time. Still, each one represents something. A testament to some event in her life.

Daniel and Max had wandered into her office for no particular reason other than a tour. Max felt is necessary to show Daniel all the changes that had gone on in the last four years. Her office being one of them.

Technically speaking - it was new to both of them. She'd never had direct contact with Max. She'd never needed to.

They ask her about them. Genuine curiosity lacing their voices. Which is odd to her, considering both if them are considerably stronger than she is. Max is a level six and a metal bender. Daniel, a seven, who plays with sound.

Then there is her. A level two who plays with rocks... it's shocking that they've taken an interest.

Regardless, they take such an interest that they keep coming back. Again, and again, and again... then they just stay. They let her build rock gardens in their apartment. They listen to her stories about each one.

It's certainly not what she was expecting. But when they lay together at night, limbs tangled up and usually giggling, she wouldn't have it any other way. She counts herself lucky.

As do the media, apparently. She should've known it would come out eventually - nothing stays a secret forever. She was just hoping that - maybe - the media would like her. That the fans wouldn't find any reason to eat her alive.

Oh, how wrong she'd been.

She wakes up to the news that their relationship has been exposed. The fans take on so nicely to Max and Daniel being together that there is a bit of relief. It's her that they don't like.

How she looks. How's she speaks. How her entire being is insignificant.

The EU's don't hold back their comments either. It's a constant stream of them saying her partners deserve someone with a stronger power.

It's ridiculous - is what she tries to convince herself. That the media portrays her as weak and useless in the realm of EU's.

The unfortunate thing is that it does get to her. It weighs on her more than she wants to admit.

Max and Daniel can see it written all over her. The way her rocks seem to be ridden with despair now and her gardens grow darker the longer she forces herself to stay away from them. The ridicule of fans calling her strange and useless.

Max and Daniel want nothing to do with those fans. In fact, the media in general has been grating on their last nerves.

The downfall of the media begins on a Thursday; media day. Max and Daniel have taken their respective spots on the press conference couch. It's been better for Max since Daniel started racing again. Makes these things less boring.

"Question to Max and Daniel: do you plan on making any changes to your relationship now that you've gone public?"

They both blink at the interviewer. Shock coursing through the veins of Daniel and Rage burning through Max's.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you-"

"Yeah, I heard the question! When your you people going to stop asking them?!"

Daniel throws an arm in front of Max before he can make any aggressive moves. Max settles back down in his place, huffing in frustration.

"How about you stop giving our girlfriend grief?"

The press conference ends there. Max and Daniel are feeling annoyed, but happy things might start dying down now.

Max and Daniel see them on social media the next few days. Some fans are going as far as to say she isn't worth it. It hurts them, obviously.

She also aches.

What did she do to deserve this kind of treatment? The answer is simple - it's nothing. Nobody deserves this treatment. Nobody saying these things even knows her.

The rocks in the garden stumble. They shake, and they rattle - until eventually, like most things, they fall.

"Love?" Oh, it's Daniel. The other set of footsteps is Max. She's learned them based on how the rocks shift when they step. Daniel’s are quicker where Max's are confident and long.

The middle of the track is certainly not the best place for her to be. There aren't any cars, though. Just her and the ground.

"Take it things were too much?" Max grunts as he gets on the ground with her. Daniel makes more of a huff sound.

"The media hates me. The fans hate me. Even the damn EU's hate me. My rocks don't hate me though."

"And neither do we."

Daniel chuckles. "Yeah, Maxy was ready to fist fight a journalist in your honor."

"Daniel wouldn't let me." He glares back. "So I made a post about it instead."

"PR won't be happy about it."

"So then why'd you do the same?"

It's entertaining to hear her boys banter back and forth about how they might defend her. How they refuse to let her rocks sit in sadness while people continue to berate. "My heroes."

"Yeah - nobody but us get to tease you."

She looks between the two boys on either side of her. "If it gets worse... will you-"

Daniel launches himself upright. "If try to self-depricate, I will personally reorganize your entire office."

Max chuckles when her jaw snaps shut. "Just let us defend you, schat. You may be a dork, but you're ours."

And we'll - who is she to argue with that?

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @qwertynerd97, cat, and Necer0s; the wet nurse omegaverse.

"Here, let’s just set up on the coffee table, why don’t we," Bruce says, pushing the scant few knick-knacks and books on it down to the far end and sparing a last calculating glance for Carl, who has a hand on both Lor and Jon’s backs and is petting them both with heavy, steady strokes as he goes back to that low and rumbling purring. Jon is visibly melting into him; Lor is already functionally a liquid. 

Bruce is still a little concerned that Lor might have difficulty digesting human milk, but all things considered, this seems to be going unexpectedly well. Apparently the list of prioritized nutrients he sent over to all those agencies is finally paying off. 

Carl keeps purring like a very quiet engine and clearly doesn't care about anyone else in the room at all, including Tim and Damian. Tim looks a little relieved by that, for some reason; Damian just looks irritated. Bruce doubts he'd ever want to nurse from a wet nurse, considering, but not being offered the opportunity probably still feels like an insult to him. Still, he's not in Lor's pack, never mind his and Jon's not-quite-formed pack bonds that everyone else has been politely not mentioning in order to avoid making a thing. It's normal for pups to try and pack up with their friends, especially when they're particularly close ones, even if said packing up doesn't always succeed or pan out in the long term. 

It's just not normal for Damian, so again, they've all been avoiding mentioning it just yet. 

“Yes, of course, Alpha Wayne,” Travers says stiffly, setting out her paperwork on the coffee table in a tidy, easy-access arrangement. She's more than a little questionable as a chaperone, but at least she's efficient, Bruce supposes, which means her personal files should be easy enough to investigate when he asks Barbara to break into them. “The contract is the standard setup, but of course we can go over it as thoroughly as you’d like. Er–well, actually, if you’d like Carly to do direct nursing, it’ll be the A contract, not the B, but I have copies of that too.” 

Small favors, Bruce thinks. Saves waiting for the office to email or fax it over, at least. 

“Sounds good,” he says, leaning over the coffee table to glance at the papers she’s laying out. “Alright to take a look, Clark?” 

“That’s fine, yes,” Clark says, flicking his eyes away from Jon and Lor and Carl and putting on a pleasant smile as he steps up beside Bruce and looks down at the papers himself. He makes a show of adjusting his glasses and leaning over too, as if he isn’t in possession of vision that could read paperwork with a font half this size from the opposite end of a football field without so much as squinting. Tim visibly resists the urge to come over too, being Tim and always wanting as much information as possible. Alfred has more patience and Damian just isn’t interested, Jon and Lor are both understandably distracted, and Carl is just continuing to ignore everyone that isn’t actively cuddled up to him, so otherwise they have all the space in the world. 

“We strive to keep the contracts as straightforward as possible, of course, but there are a few necessary clauses and disclaimers,” Travers says, gesturing at the paperwork as she lays out the last sheet, and then proceeds to explain said clauses and disclaimers in agonizing detail. Bruce listens to and absorbs the information, resenting the entire conversation as something that could’ve absolutely been an email and also half the length it currently is, but keeps a touch of attention on Carl and the pups. 

Jon ducks his head against Carl’s chest when he finishes nursing and . . . sniffs, once, very quietly. And then blinks, very quickly. 

Clark’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Bruce decides to defer to him. 

Carl does not, and starts purring louder and drags Jon up to bury his face in the scent gland in his throat without even bothering to fix his shirt. His pheromones are clumsy, unrefined things, not the kind of clear and straightforward communication that an omega his age should know how to push through their scent, but they’re still omega-sweet and all-encompassing enough to fill up the room. He smells not quite comforting, perhaps, but warm and sweet as milk and strong and solid and present: the kind of protective and certain and promised scent that Bruce is more used to associating with powerful and secure omegas like Clark and Diana than random stray civilians who’ve barely presented. 

So it’s not particularly surprising when Jon plasters himself against Carl and lets out a very, very quiet sob against his scent gland. Carl wraps his arm tighter around him and purrs at him as he inexpertly nuzzles his hair. Damian bristles, glaring at Carl, and for some reason Tim’s face is very red, but Alfred projects soothing reassurance through his own pheromones and Damian’s hackles . . . well, they don’t go down, exactly, but he also doesn’t try to attack Carl, so Bruce will take it. 

Clark swallows, looking pained, and keeps his eyes on the paperwork. 

So yes, he’s very upset about this, if he’s not going to Jon right now. 

Travers looks stressed again but doesn’t say anything about the situation, just keeps carefully explaining the contracts. They do seem to be fairly standard arrangements from what Bruce has researched in regards to wet nurse agencies, and there aren’t any particular red flags so far. Some unnecessarily archaic language and a bit of benevolent sexism on behalf of Carl, who rolls his eyes when he hears it, but nothing explicitly concerning. Bruce glances towards Clark, because Clark’s the omega here and therefore likelier to notice an abuse an alpha might not, but he doesn’t look concerned either. Well–about Jon, obviously, but not the contract. 

“And of course the agency can arrange an alpha, for propriety’s sake,” Travers continues, and then Bruce finds himself very concerned. 

“I'm sorry?” he says as Clark bristles beside him. Bruce attempts to find any possible way to interpret that “of course” that doesn’t involve a goddamn arranged mating in the interest of him not having to worry about an omega under his roof having the right to make any paternity claims against him if they just so “happen” to get pupped. Politely phrased, obviously, because they’re in mixed company and the Waterton Agency has manners, but still no kind of subtle for anyone who knows those manners. 

“The fuck do they need with an alpha?” Carl asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion, and Bruce is reminded that Carl does not know those manners. Which means Carl has no idea what Travers just offered on his behalf. 

Goddammit.

[mibibosartblog]

Some more merman!Jim for Mermay, but mostly Cassandra from a bootleg/rip-off Little Mermaid cartoon from Golden Films / Good Times Entertainment. This all came about from a dream, and I kinda love the idea of her being involved now. Whoops?

You can see her original form in the top right, and some slightly varying redesigns. I still haven't decided on what her bottom half is supposed to be yet :'D In the cartoon she's an eel, but I'm considering shark fins or something angler-fish like, though that might be a little too stereotypical?

The plot so far is under the cut.

Jim is trying to figure out a way to get on land to reclaim a relic that was stolen by divers, and with no other merfolk willing to help him, he seeks out the help of Cassandra. She minces no words about the dangers of the above world, but promises to help him get back at the thieving humans. She takes his voice as "collateral," because humans won't listen to reason anyway, and if he's going to do anything, he must lay low and keep quiet.

Jim gets on land, and soon meets humans. The humans theorize he's lived on a ship for most of his life, and never learned to read or write. They're uncertain whether he's non-verbal from before, or if it's a result of the shipwreck trauma, but they try their best to get him accustomed to life on land. Jim's surprised to be treated with kindness when he's only ever known them as invaders, and quickly realizes he's been duped by Cassandra. In the following days, Jim tries to figure out a way to communicate the importance of the relic to the people below the waters, and what will happen if he doesn't return with it.

[walker-extended-universe]

Walker Season 4 Deleted Scenes

4x01: The Quiet

Stella enters her dorm room and turns the light on. She locks the door before turning around. Her steps slow as she sees the window. The glass is blank and shows a clear night outside, with the blinds up and the curtains pulled aside. Stella drops her purse on the floor, quickly walks up to the window, and closes the blinds and the curtains. She then walks over to the bed and pulls her boots off, leaving them on the floor as she gets into bed still fully dressed. She reaches for a round fluffy pillow and holds it to her chest as she lays there silently. Ambient sounds from the dorm hallways can be heard throughout the scene.

4x04: Insane B.S. and Bloodshed

We pan up from an abandoned drink on the bar of the Side Step to see Sadie staring in through a clean spot on a cloudy window. We hear a robotic voice telling her to leave a message at the beep. She then leaves this message:

Hey, Ger. Um, I thought I'd catch you closing up the Side Step.... But, uh, I just wanted to say bye. Some tour stuff came up. Big opportunity! Um, I wish I coulda stayed longer, but I'll try and call from the road. Um.... Keep an eye on Stella for me, okay? Thanks. Alright, bye Ger.

As she talks, we hear some real regret in her voice and it's clear she's not telling the truth.

While she was on the phone, a car pulled up, illuminating her with headlights. Someone honked the horn, prompting her to quickly end her message. She rolls her eyes and grabs the backpack she left on one of the outdoor tables and heads for the car that's parked off screen.

4x10: End This Way

A light gray truck slowly drives down a road in a sunny area. As the truck pulls to a stop in some shade, we see Cassie is driving with David Luna in the passenger seat. After stopping the truck, Cassie pulls up her phone and starts poking at the screen. She says that the gazebo they're looking for is supposed to be on the north side of the lake, but she can see one much closer. As she confusedly looks for more information, she complains about the low quality of the map on the website she's looking at. David suggests they just go check it out and starts getting out of the truck. As he rounds the back, Cassie follows him out.

4x13: See You Sometime

Scene 1:

We see Stella and Liam walking alongside a fenced in field. Liam is looking over the horses and Stella is talking about her confusion over college and everyone expecting her to know what she wants to do with her life, echoing her earlier plotline about being unsure what she wanted with her life.

But, now that everything is done with the hunt for the necklace, she's remembered that, in her heart, all she wants to do is help people. She's not entirely sure what that looks like yet but lists psychology, sociology, and criminal justice as options she's looking at. Liam teases her and calls her a "regular Cordi Jr.", making them both laugh.

Stella then shifts the conversation to the rescue and suggests getting help for the rescue. She starts to explain that she's been collecting resumes but she needs help when Liam interrupts her and says they might not need more help, as he's recently received an offer to buy the horse rescue and he thinks they should take it. They've got it off it's feet now and it helped them both a lot, but it's clear that they're both at a point where they have different priorities. It's time to let it go. Stella asks if Liam is serious and Liam confirms that he is, but that he won't go through with it unless she's okay with it.

"So, what do you say? Should we move on to greener pastures?" he asks, holding a hand out to shake. Stella smiles and shakes, agreeing that it's something to consider.

Scene 2:

Sadie closes the trunk of her van and turns around. The camera pans over to show the farmhouse as August exits the front door. August apologizes and says he just got her text and starts to explain that his graduation party is actually at the main house, but stops talking as he sees what Sadie has.

The camera jumps to show her standing next to a pile of music stuff- August's old things he sold earlier in the season. She presents it all proudly.

August, in disbelief, asks if she really got all his old stuff back and Sadie says she did. She says he shouldn't give up on music. August, still shocked, agrees, saying he was thinking the same thing. He has a lot of decisions to make about school and he was actually thinking of waiting a year to make some money, work on photography and now his music.

Sadie then says she might need a roadie. August, in a different stage of disbelief, asks if she's serious. She nods, saying it's best to make music with people you trust, and that after everything that's happened this year, she trusts him. She says his family.

August thanks her and they hug. He then awkwardly brings up that they're not technically family in that sense and she tells him not to ruin the moment. Besides, they both have places to be. They both laugh and start carrying August's things back inside, where they belong.

Scene 3:

At Ranger HQ. Cordell, in his civilian clothes, enters the bullpen and interrupts Trey at his desk. They fistbump in greeting and refer to each other as "partner".

Trey asks if Cordell is ready to hit the ground running and Cordell explains that while he is excited for everything that's coming next, he's just put in for a leave of absence.

Trey, surprised, asks if everything is okay. Cordell says that it is, or that, at least, he's trying to make it that way. Trey nods in understanding and says he's not going anywhere.

Cordell then notices a sticky note Trey is holding and asks what it's about. Trey hesitates and explains that an old army buddy of his named "Jenny" has been repeatedly calling him and he needs to figure out what it's about. This old buddy of his is the kind of person that will just show up and "it might be a good time, but it's never good news". Cordell laughs and says he knows the type.

Trey then moves the conversation along, saying it's not Cordell's problem and that he should go have a good time with his family, wherever they're going. They laugh and hug as Cordell leaves and he says he'll "see you soon, partner". As Cordell leaves, Trey sits down with a smile on his face.

[johanna-swann]

In the good Star Wars that lives inside my head, Ahsoka still leaves the Jedi, but(!): Anakin who has always felt like the other Jedi don't fully trust him and like he doesn't fit in and who has more than enough reasons to at least consider leaving as well realises: "Even if I do everything right they might still cast me out". So he goes "Fuck this shit, I'm out. Wait for me, snips!"

There were so many episodes where Obi Wan ordered them to lay low because the council had decided this wasn't a Jedi affair and Anakin and Ahsoka ended up interfering anyway because they couldn't bear to turn their backs on people in need. The Jedi aren't politicians, they're supposed to be peacekeepers. Why are neutral systems less worthy of their support than Republic allied ones?

So they basically still travel around the galaxy, go to active war zones and offer their help. They work closely together with Obi Wan because he can tell them where their help is needed most and in turn Anakin and Ahsoka can often provide information on the situation in neutral or seperatist controlled sectors. Padme is a part of it too, she has a lot of friends and connections on all sides of the war.

[welldonebeca]

It's a Bad Idea, right? (3)

Summary: The worst idea a waitress in MamaStefka can have is to fall in love with a man in Hydra. They aren’t supposed to even talk! It doesn’t stop Betty, though. Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC! Betty Warnings: Mafia AU. Secret identity au. Tension.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

Masterlist

"I'll swing back to pick you up, alright?" Piet wiped his hands on a towel, looking at her. "Don't leave. We're just going to grab some groceries, drop off Wanda, and then I'll be back for you."

Betty tried not to shake her head. It was her turn closing the restaurant and anytime that happened to either her or Wanda, Piet stayed behind so they would walk home together and she didn’t close everything on her own – it was a thing the chefs did too, no girl was ever left closing on her own.

"Just head off, Piet," she urged. "The quicker you go, the sooner you'll be back."

That seemed to do the trick, and she locked the door behind him before entering. She double-checked the money – the girls had already taken their tips, so she needed to be sure the numbers were right – before putting it in the secret safe, hiding it before getting back to the tables.

Wanda had already refilled and stored the condiments, and Betty confirmed that Mila had cleared the tables. Those tasks were sorted. She glanced into the remaining restrooms, secured the windows, stowed the tableware, emptied the waste bins, and powered down any idle equipment.  She ensured the fridges were still running – and made sure no one had made the stupid mistake of turning off the fridges – before locking up the windows.

All she had was to do now was take out the trash and wait for Piet, and she could set up the alarms.

Betty left the backdoor open when she came back inside for the second bag, and if she hadn’t seen a strange shadow, she wouldn’t even know something had happened.

“Pietro?” she called, walking backwards to the counter, and pulled the bat they kept there, adjusting the safety sock on it.

Whoever it was didn’t answer, and she swung it up, ready to use to protect herself.

Who was dumb enough enough to invade Mama Stefka? It was the meeting place of the Mafia!

“I don’t know who you are, but you are probably not from this side of town,” she announced into the emptiness. “I would leave if I were you.”

The answer came not with words, but with a big man walking closer to her with his hands up.

She was frozen in place for a moment.

The German guy.

“Hi,” he spoke slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Some friends said this was a good place to lay low for a minute or two.”

She looked at him and then at the door, still wide open, and he stopped away from her, a bit far. If she wanted to run, she could get out and he wouldn’t catch her.

"What's your deal?" she asked, chin jerking toward him. "Why do you need to lay low?"

He grimaced a little.

"I got caught up in a little situation out there," he gestured behind him. "A misunderstanding. You know how it is with the cops."

She looked at him from head to toe.

“Do I, really?” Betty asked.

He hesitated a bit.

"Malick mentioned you might have a first aid kit around. I'm Steffan. Bauer. Your friends know me as Captain."

She held her ground, still cautious.

"They're quite protective of you, the Malicks. And they've been in this business longer than I have. I wouldn't dare jeopardize their trust, miss. I assure you."

That, at last, made her relax, and Betty lowered the bat slowly.

Yeah, that bit was way more believable than him having a good heart.

"Someone else is supposed to meet me here," she warned him. "And he's just about as big as you."

He wasn’t. Piet was strong, sure, but he was absolutely not as strong as that dude.

“No problem,” Steffan nodded.

Betty lowered the bat, although still holding it.

“You said you need the first aid kit?” she asked, still wary.

He nodded.

“Just a little scratch, miss,” Steffan assured her. “Could use some cleaning.”

She scoffed a little. Fine.

“I’ll go get it.”

The bat was firmly in her hand as she walked to the kitchen – it wasn’t like there was anything valuable at his reach, the very door to where the safe was hidden went through the kitchen. And they had big chef knives there too, she wouldn’t go down with a fight, whatever his goal was.

But when she came back, Steffan was on the same place as before, sat on his chair and without his jacket.

And he was jacked. Really big and strong. A real powerhouse.

She could see the blood sipping through his shirt on his – big, big – shoulder when she approached him, and held the box close as he pushed the fabric aside and over his shoulder.

Bullet scratch. It wasn’t too bad, but it certainly bled quite a bit.

“No need to dig out a bullet in this one,” he joked, giving her a charming smile. “Thank you for taking it.”

But she just walked behind him, putting her bat on a table near and setting the kit behind his arm.

“I’ll do it,” Betty interrupted him. “Just don’t do anything funny.”

Steffan tucked his head down, chuckling.

"Sure thing, ma'am," he agreed, his hands resting on his thighs.

He had big thighs, very meaty.

That dude was really well fed and a big fan of gyms.

She kept her mouth shut as she opened the box, and put on the gloves before touching anything else, and put antiseptic on it with the cotton pads, and he hissed in response, but didn’t say anything or even flinch.

She covered it up with what they had there, some gauze and medical tape, and took off the gloves, grabbing her bat to go throw them into the trash bag.

“There,” she looked at him, keeping her distance. “You’re good to go.”

Steffan readjusted his shirt, pulling it back into place over his shoulder.

“The Malicks called you Betty,” he observed. “Is that your name?”

She shook her head, still wary.

“It’s for the Americans,” she told him. “They butch up my name too much.”

He raised an intrigued eyebrow.

"Put me to the test," he suggested.

Betty pondered for a moment.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t figure it out on his own if he asked the right person.

“Elżbieta,” she told him.

"Elżbieta," he repeated confidently.

Nailed it.

"It's a lovely name," Steffan remarked, his gaze fixed on her face.

How was he this hot?

“Thank you,” she mumbled, shifting her eyes away.

He stood up, at last, getting his jacket from behind the chair.

"I should be on my way, Betty," he smoothly informed her, his tone a bit too smooth for someone who had invaded her closed workplace. "It was a pleasure meeting you. And once again, I apologise for the fright. Rest assured, it won't happen again."

With that, he walked through the open door, leaving without any physical contact. Betty stood there, feeling frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity, until Pietro entered through the same door about five minutes later.

"Hey," her roommate greeted her. "Finished up?"

She shook herself out of her stunned space.

God, that was weird.

"Yeah," she confirmed, her voice steady. "Just need to set the alarm."

. . .

“it’s a Bad Idea, right?” was posted on my Patreon in September 2023 and is finished this month. To have early access to it (and lots of other stories), consider subscribing to my page! It’s just $2 a month, and I know you won’t regret it!

. . .

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Bad Idea: @peaceloveancolor

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Hi :D

i suddenly hyperfixated heavily on wizards of the black circle, and there's absolutely no content(like there's maybe like a few fics and their tumblr tag is just full of posts by the same three people)

what would the wizards do or how would they like rest, cause we see that they clearly get exhausted and worn down a little by the fighting and using their magic

like would duman need to rest longer cause we see him using his powers like constantly(i personally think he takes a lot of naps, actually most of them would consider how old they could just taking group grandpa naps lol)

Am I not one of those three people anymore- Gotta step up my game fr dang

I think generally resting is a pretty straightforward thing. We even see Gantlos taking a nap, which I personally find absolutely delightful. It's very important to me. Get those hours in grandpa!! They're clearly not above sleeping and GOOD, they shouldn't be.

But depending on the point in time, the way they went about things probably did change over time? To me there's like 3 major points for them: Their start -> prime -> downfall.

Like in the early days it was probably a rare sight for them to all sleep at the same time, same goes during their downfall. Plus depending on their personal experience and skill levels they may all have needed a different amount of rest after using their magic excessively or even recklessly, so yeah. As a whole they kinda had this BOOM ATTACK lay low and don't use your magic, then ATTACK AGAIN and hide- Repeat cycle, something like that going on.

Then their prime rolled around and they just. Didn't really need to lay low between attacks anymore. They still slept! Sort of! But when they started feeling low on magical energy they could tap into the Black Circle (the object), which now stored a bunch of absorbed magic, take a quick sniff and be replenished. At most it'd take a meditation maybe, but it wasn't something they needed to take a big break for anymore. Imagine being a Terrestrial fairy. You've gotten used to the wizards disappearing after bigger attacks and suddenly those breaks get shorter and shorter until eventually there no longer are breaks. Me personally, I would give up.

Eventually their downfall rolls around, which brought back both the sleeping in shifts, as mentioned, as well as the ATTACK and lay low approach. But now it's embarrassing because they're cocky and supposed to be above that at their grown, experienced age. They're not stupid enough to inhale their whole magic supply in a panic, but that doesn't leave them with a lot of different options beside the reliable breaks.

HOWEVER!! Back in the day they somewhat had the advantage of going from minor inconvenience to genuine threat, right- Meanwhile during S4 they already ARE a threat, just disappearing like they used to doesn't quite work the same anymore. They don't have the energy to sustain their reputation, and the reputation is too much for their enemy to let their guard down while the wizards try to lay low. Just things to think about. I know I think.

Something else I think about!! Is Duman specifically!! And nobody was surprised sksjdhfj. I'd like to think his magic is on the majority of the time, that's just how he works. His transformations are quick and frequent, as we know, having it on just helps that work properly. Now I have considered!! Hibernation. At times. At least a form of it.

Back in the day there were genuine times he was out of the running for a while just not to strain his magic more than it could handle. Of course he wasn't as GREEDY with it as modern day Duman, so it didn't happen often, but it did happen. Very inconvenient!! Ogron despised his ass frfr. Jk but. It stopped being a necessary thing during their prime too, because of their shared supply- Probably should've returned during their downfall though. But it didn't. So.

I could really yap on about the hibernation thing tbh, I keep breakdancing on the fence whether I really wanna use it, but the concept has given me THOUGHTS and the wizard server refuses to humor me!!!!! No they do just the last time I brought it up with them I didn't have a lot to say yet jdkdj- Either way I could probably just. Use it sometimes, depending on what I'm doing. What else is new right.

[bogkeep]

Do you have any advice or resources on pricing commissions/commissions in general? I've been thinking of starting comms

I hope this is an okay thing to ask lol

PS: luv ur art!

for resources, there's this video (subtitled but not transcribed sorry) which lays it out really well! there used to be a really good twitter thread by yoshi yoshitani, but it seems to be deleted.

here's some general experience/advice:

- IN A PERFECT WORLD we would all price our commissions well and fairly and comparable to industry standard, buuuuuut i get why most of us don't. compared to industry standard my $130 character portraits are also underpriced, and while i AM steadily upping my prices (my first comms were $40 for a fully colored and shaded fullbody. oof) 1) i need to consider what audience i have and who will be able to commission me, and 2) i mostly do commissions for some extra pocket money, not to make a living. i think my prices are comparable to many fellow internet artists in the same sphere.

- the way i price my commissions are that the MINIMUM amount needs to be the amount i have to be paid to feel like a commission is worth doing (taking into account my limited amount of time and energy to work on art, if i take paid $50 but then spend several days to complete it i will grow resentful and stretch myself too thin for too little), and the MAXIMUM is "at what point will the price paralyze me because i feel like I don't feel like i can make something worth that amount."

- working on a commission WILL take longer than just working on a Fun Piece For Yourself, both because you're putting in extra effort trying to make it worth the money you're given, and because you will spend time communicating with your client. you will get a better grip on your timeframe after you have more experience doing commissions.

- you're not just taking paid for the art itself, but client communications, your experience and expertise which has taken years to build, revisions, tools, etc.

- something they JUST told us in clock school: sometimes you get clock repairs that cost less than your quote and you might feel bad about this, but you will definitely do clock repairs that cost a lot more than your quote. THIS IS HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE, THIS IS HOW YOU BREAK EVEN. when you give a quote at the beginning you don't know how much the work is going to take and estimates are always rough, but you're using your time and expertise to offer a service and you need money to live.

- your prices/quote can have wriggle room like "will cost X amount but Y for Extra Detailed Stuff Like Wings/Fancy Outfit/Background Detail"

- don't offer commissions you don't wanna do! i used to offer a wide range of styles and price categories, including some really cheap sketch options, and i don't Regret doing those per se but nowadays i only offer a narrowed down selection. I don't have time to do fullbodies with full backgrounds, so even if it's something i CAN do and people WOULD pay me for, I don't HAVE to do that.

- its okay, encouraged even, to adjust your prices as you go along and get more experienced at doing commissions. it's pretty normal to start out with low prices to get the hang of it (tattoo apprentices do tattoos for lower prices unil they're done with their training, and doing commissions is its own skill)

- if someone thinks your prices are too high, you don't want them as your clients to begin with. dealing with shitty commissioners is rarely worth the pay, and higher prices tend to result in better and more respectful clients.

i hope im not forgetting something hope this helps

[quietwingsinthesky]

"stop voting for gabriel gabriel is Not cool he’s a dork" tbf, my definition of "cool" has never seemed to align with what others consider "cool". my definition of "cool" usually requires some level of autism around dinosaurs and/or animals in general (GODS I love weird animal trivia and Jurassic Park did something to my brain chemistry my dad taking small child me to see it in theaters was a Mistake) which none of the archangels seem to display much of. the closest is Gabe with the little dog in his first ep.

(Jurassic Park example, actually. Alan Grant is the coolest mf in that movie and I'm p sure it's supposed to be Malcolm.) "look at how that dude dresses! how he acts! so cool!" "fascinating, but what is his favorite Star Trek series." I'm too autistic to understand whatever constitutes "cool" conventionally I guess. Hannibal is fine I like him but Will, with his dog obsession and deep desire to be Left The Fuck Alone, and then becoming unhinged over the series? very cool of him.

"this angel is a tyrant in favor of the apocalypse" deeply uncool. "this angel is a hedonistic coward that likes to victimize abusers" well, the bar is pretty low… (which isn't to say I think that deeply uncool (imo) character trait makes them a bad character in general, I just can't associate them with "cool-ness".)

oh but also? "any excuse to think about lucifer being a slut #literally let me run a train on him until he’s mindbroken. that would fix him." ur right ur so right and it's very sexy of u to say.

(godfather voice) You come into my house, on the day my daughter's to be married, and you ask me to accept not only raphael slander, but ian malcolm slander??? HANNIBAL SLANDER??????????

no, no, it's fine. i see all these guys as pretty equally weird and autistic. i mean, ian malcolm is described as a rockstar of a mathematician for a reason, this is his Thing, you know? he thinks flirting via explaining his mathematical theory is hot. i'm really not sure you could claim he's not fascinated by the dinosaurs, given that they're his vehicle to prove his theory correct, that he's the one in the book who takes note of their population growth and figures out that the park is going to get out of human control very quickly. (as far as I remember, it's been a few years since i revisited it.) sorry wait this isn't ian malcolm defense squad time. and we don't have time to get into hannibal lmao.

BUT. i will not be accepting raphael slander ever forever. incorrect. they lay out their reasoning for the apocalypse very clearly in 5x03, how they have watched every monstrous thing that has occurred in human history and only been able to come to the conclusion that god has to be dead, because otherwise he couldn't have allowed it to happen. the apocalypse is a promised escape from pain. and then, of course, castiel's resurrection in the s5 finale alongside the apocalypse being cancelled tells them only one thing: that god is alive and he just. let all that shit happen. let it happen to the world, let it happen to raphael. now, gabriel is dead, michael and lucifer are in the cage, god is still mia, and castiel. it doesn't actually matter what castiel believes because he's become the face of all of that. it's an impossible position to be in, and archangels are, as a rule, not very good at changing course. raphael is alone, and raphael has decided to self-destruct. i just wish the writers actually gave a shit about them so they could have leaned into what is one of the coolest arcs of disillusionment with god and grasping at any measure of control when the one stable thing you've based your whole life on has been yanked out from under you.

and gabriel is deeply uncool. that's the point! he's not a hero of the people, taking out evildoers in funny ways. he's a deeply petty, incredibly self-serving asshole who still carries the belief that, as an archangel, he gets to decide what's right and wrong, who lives and who dies, and how much pain he gets to cause them before they do. he's all for the apocalypse until it starts messing with his things. his eventual stand against lucifer isn't righteous, it's a dozen insults lashing out as his older brother, trying to hurt him as much as he possibly can because lucifer hurt gabriel first. and he dies because he is still too much like lucifer. he's still playing the same tricks lucifer taught him to. cause what's the apocalypse but a much larger version of gabriel's game, right? one angel who decided humanity as a whole was rotten and needed to be wiped out against another angel who has spent the past few centuries taking out his issues on whatever jerk crosses his path. like, really, the difference is that lucifer is out to get Results. gabriel likes fucking with people, but he doesn't want the status quo to change because that would mean no more people to fuck with.

first and foremost, gabriel is a dickhead whose shots sometimes hit their mark. i love him so much, he's so awful.

[republicsecurity]

New Regulations in Use

A0019 walked back to his quarters, his mind a tumultuous sea of thoughts after the meeting with Dr. Graves. The sterile, utilitarian environment of the ambulance station did little to ease his disquiet. As he entered the room he shared with C0128, his friend looked up from a holographic book, concern etched into his features.

"You seem troubled," C0128 observed, his voice gentle but laced with the weariness of someone who had spent over a year in the paramedic corps. The two had formed a unique bond in this world of regimented routine and conformity. They were more than friends; they were confidants, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the suffocating constraints of their reality.

A0019 sank down on the edge of his neatly made bunk, his eyes distant. "Dr. Graves," he began, his voice low, "she's planning something. Youth groups, indoctrination from a young age. It's not just about paramedics anymore. It's about control, about shaping minds and hearts."

C0128's expression darkened in understanding. "I've heard whispers," he admitted, his fingers tracing patterns on the holographic display. "They say the paramedic corps is becoming more than just a medical force. It's becoming a cultural force, a way of life imposed on everyone. The youth groups, they're a tool for indoctrination, for ensuring that the next generations echo the same obedience we've been conditioned into."

A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the distant hum of the station's machinery. In that moment, they both knew the world outside their quarters was shifting, morphing into something unrecognizable. The paramedic corps, once a beacon of hope and aid, had become an all-encompassing force, dictating not just their actions but the very essence of their beliefs.

C0128 moved closer, his arm wrapping around A0019's shoulders in a comforting embrace. "We have each other," he said softly. "In this world of regulations and restrictions, we found a sliver of humanity. As long as we hold on to that, we can face whatever darkness comes our way."

C0128 listened intently, his eyes reflecting the same concern that gnawed at A0019's insides. "Tactical and rifle training for paramedics?" C0128 repeated, his tone incredulous. "That's a shift I didn't see coming. But considering the way things have been changing lately, I guess it shouldn't surprise us."

A0019 nodded, his gaze fixed on the holographic display as if searching for answers among its digital depths. "It's not just about arms control regulations anymore," he murmured, his voice laced with bitterness. "They want us to be more than just medics. They want us armed, capable of enforcing their will if needed. It's a darker turn than I ever anticipated."

C0128's eyes narrowed, his mind churning with the implications. "Armed paramedics," he mused, the words heavy with irony. "We were supposed to be the healers, the ones rushing in to save lives. Now, it seems, they want us to be enforcers, soldiers in a different guise."

A silence settled between them, pregnant with the weight of their shared understanding. In the corner of the room, the paramedic regulations manual lay forgotten, a stark reminder of the rules that governed their existence. A0019's thoughts turned to the future, to a world where paramedics were not just healers but wielders of weapons, where their purpose stretched beyond the realm of medicine.

"We have to be prepared," A0019 said, his voice firm, eyes meeting C0128's with a newfound determination. "Prepared for whatever they throw our way. If they want us armed, we'll learn to handle weapons. But amidst it all, we mustn't lose sight of why we joined the corps in the first place – to save lives, to make a difference."

The room, spartan and devoid of any personal touch, seemed to echo their concerns back at them, amplifying the weight of their conversation.

"They're changing them, C0128," A0019 said, his words heavy with worry. "The fresh recruits, they're not like we were when we first started. There's an... emptiness in their eyes, a blind obedience. It's like they're programmed to be perfect soldiers, devoid of doubt or hesitation."

C0128's jaw clenched, his eyes reflecting the same unease that clouded A0019's thoughts. "It's the conditioning," he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "They're using the neuro VR systems to mold them into exactly what they want – obedient, unquestioning, devoid of independent thought. It's like they're erasing their personalities, turning them into mindless automatons."

A shiver ran down A0019's spine as he contemplated the implications. "What if they decide to do the same to us?" he murmured, his eyes wide with fear. "What if they use the very technology we underwent to change our attitudes, to suppress our doubts, to erase our individuality?"

"Have you noticed, C0128?" A0019's voice carried a mix of disbelief and concern. "All the new recruits, they're... they're all gay. Every single one of them. It can't be a coincidence."

C0128's brow furrowed as he absorbed the implication. "You think they're manipulating our sexual orientations?" he asked, his tone a mix of anger and disbelief. "Using the chastity cages to control not just our bodies, but our desires too?"

A0019 nodded, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within. "It makes sense, doesn't it? By shaping our sexual preferences, they're eroding our personal connections, ensuring our loyalty remains solely to the Corps. It's a form of psychological control, making us dependent on the system for even the most intimate aspects of our lives."

C0128 clenched his fists, his frustration palpable. "They're trying to erase every trace of our individuality, even who we're attracted to," he said, his voice tinged with anger. "It's a violation, not just of our bodies, but of our very identities."

In the dim, confined space of their quarters, C0128 let out a soft, nervous chuckle. "You know," he said, his voice carrying a playful edge, "I never thought much about my orientation before, but since being quartered with you, A0019, I've noticed a certain... shift in my desires."

A0019 glanced at him, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, have you now?" he replied, his tone teasing. "And here I was, thinking I was the one who might be having an influence."

C0128's cheeks flushed slightly, but there was an unmistakable lightness in his tone. "Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention. Maybe this unique situation is just broadening my horizons."

A0019 chuckled, a rare moment of genuine amusement in the midst of their shared concerns. "Or perhaps," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "our connection runs deeper than we realize. In a world where our very identities are under scrutiny, finding solace in each other might just be the most rebellious act of all."

The room seemed to shrink around them, but in that moment, their camaraderie transformed into something more profound

C0128's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You might be right," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe it's all part of the conditioning. Creating these bonds, these emotional connections, just to make us more malleable. It's like they're allowing us a taste of genuine connection while pulling the strings behind the scenes."

A0019 nodded thoughtfully. "It's hard to know what's real in a world where even our emotions could be programmed“

C0128: „did you read the update on the regulations: sexiual interactions are now explicitly allowed and encouraged“

A0019 and C0128 exchanged wide-eyed glances, both shocked and intrigued by the news. The regulations had always been rigid, governing every aspect of their lives down to the smallest detail. The sudden shift in policy was as unexpected as it was perplexing.

"I never thought I'd see the day," C0128 whispered, his voice barely audible over the ambient hum of the station.

A0019 nodded, his mind whirling with thoughts. "It's almost too convenient, isn't it? After all this conditioning, suddenly they're encouraging sexual interactions? What's the catch?"

C0128 frowned, his brow furrowing in suspicion. "Maybe it's another layer of control. By allowing us this freedom, they can monitor us even more closely, see how we react to intimate situations. It's like they're testing our boundaries."

A0019's eyes scanned the words on the data terminal screen, his expression a mix of disbelief and fascination. The new regulations were laid out before him, detailing a world he had never imagined within the confines of the paramedic corps.

"Listen to this," he said, his voice a hushed whisper as he read aloud to C0128, who had joined him at the terminal. "We can now use reward points for sexual encounters. Can you believe it? They're practically incentivizing intimacy."

C0128 shook his head in amazement. "I guess they're trying to humanize us, make us more 'normal.' But it feels... manufactured, doesn't it? Like they're orchestrating our personal lives as meticulously as they do our professional ones."

A0019 nodded, his gaze still fixed on the screen. "And look at this — they've updated our training programs. We're supposed to learn about sexual techniques now, as if it's just another skill to master alongside medical procedures and tactical training. And the regular medical checks will include tests for STDs. It's like they want to control every aspect of our physical and emotional lives."

C0128's voice carried a resigned tone, a mix of acceptance and bitterness. "I suppose you're right. It's just another consequence in the logic of the Corps. They control every facet of our lives, from the moment we wake up to the minute we sleep. Why should our personal lives be any different?"

A0019 nodded, acknowledging the harsh truth of his friend's words. "They shape us into what they believe is the ideal paramedic — physically, mentally, and now, even emotionally.“

The knowledge that their families, like countless others, were oblivious to the true nature of their conscripted lives, and that more unsuspecting young souls would soon join their ranks, left them with a bitter taste of helplessness.

"It's a cycle," A0019 muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "They've crafted a system that perpetuates itself, where each generation feeds the next into the same relentless machinery. By the time the younger ones realize the extent of control, it's too late. They're already ensnared."

C0128 nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and anger. "And the youth groups, they make it seem like an honor, a privilege. The truth is, they're being groomed for the same fate we've accepted, perhaps even worse. It's a web of deception and manipulation, and we're all trapped in its threads."

The door to the adjacent room swung open, revealing a scene that was both astonishing and oddly liberating. A flicker of curiosity had led A0019 and C0128 to investigate the source of the raucous noise, and what they discovered was nothing short of surreal.

In the adjoining quarters, five freshly minted paramedics who had recently completed their Basic Medical Training were immersed in a frenzied and euphoric tableau. Bodies intertwined, the room echoed with laughter and uninhibited joy, a stark contrast to the rigid conformity they had grown accustomed to.

The room fell momentarily silent as A0019 and C0128 stood in the doorway, their eyes widening at the audacious scene before them. The five newly minted paramedics, their bodies still glistening from the recent exertion, snapped to attention with military precision. In the surreal glow of the room, their posture and demeanor were oddly formal, despite their complete nudity.

"Sirs, we utilized the reward points system, Sir!" one of them barked crisply, his voice unwavering despite the compromising situation. His eyes, though respectful, held a glimmer of defiance, as if daring anyone to challenge the newfound freedom they had embraced.

Another of the fresh paramedics stepped forward, saluting smartly. "It's part of the new policy, Sir!“

A tense yet oddly respectful atmosphere lingered in the room. The stark contrast between the utter vulnerability of their nudity and the unwavering military discipline with which they spoke was almost surreal. The Corps had clearly adapted, or rather evolved, in its methods. The reward points system, once a mere concept, had become a tangible currency for experiences, even the most intimate ones.

A0019 and C0128 exchanged glances, understanding the gravity of this moment. The Corps, with its iron-clad regulations, had found a way to channel the primal human desires, wrapping them within the framework of discipline and control.

With a nod of acknowledgment, A0019 closed the door quietly. The room beyond was filled with a muted sense of awe.

A0019 and C0128 exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles tinged with a mix of amusement and empathy. "No trouble at all, lads," A0019 said, his voice surprisingly gentle given the circumstances. "Enjoy your freedom. Just remember, even within these new policies, there are boundaries. Stay within them, and you'll be just fine."

C0128 nodded in agreement, his eyes flickering with a hint of understanding. "You've earned this moment. Just be mindful. The Corps always finds a way to balance freedom with control. That's the nature of our world."

One of the new boys, his confidence bolstered by the liberated atmosphere, approached cautiously. "Sirs, if you're not here for, um, the rewards, may I ask why you're here?"

A0019's smile widened. "Just appreciating the view, son. And witnessing the evolution of our beloved Corps. It's always fascinating to see how regulations adapt to human nature."

A0019 and C0128 exchanged amused glances as the new recruits, still standing at attention, ventured a hesitant question.

"Are we in trouble, Sirs?" one of the younger paramedics asked, his voice a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

A0019, his shaved head catching the dim light of the room, shook his head with a knowing smile. "No trouble here, lads. Just carry on with what you're doing. You've earned it."

C0128, standing beside him, nodded in agreement. "Just make sure to clean up properly.“

"Sir, if you wish to join, we have reward points to spare, Sir," one of them offered, a hopeful look in his eyes.

A0019 laughed and declined. 

The new recruits, their bodies still flushed from their recent activities, exchanged uncertain glances before returning the smiles of their superior officers. They hesitated for a moment before one of them, with a mix of reverence and curiosity, asked, "Is this… normal, Sirs?"

The room fell into a brief, contemplative silence before one of the new paramedics mustered the courage to ask, "Do you ever… miss it, sirs? The freedom, I mean."

A0019's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if reflecting on a long-lost past. "Freedom is a relative concept, lad. We adapt to our circumstances“

C0128 patted the young recruit on the shoulder reassuringly. "Now go on, enjoy your night. And remember, we're always here if you need guidance."

With that, the new recruits returned to their activities, leaving A0019 and C0128 to observe from the sidelines. In the dim light, the tattooed alphanumeric codes on their chests served as a stark reminder of the Corps' omnipresence, even in these supposedly liberated moments.

A0019 leaned against the closed door, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Did you notice that spark in their eyes, C0128? It's almost like they've rediscovered something... human."

C0128 nodded, his gaze lingering on the closed door as if he could still see the enthusiasm of the young recruits through the wood. "It's a rare sight, isn't it? Most of the time, they're so absorbed in their training, their duties. The Corps molds them into efficient, obedient paramedics, but sometimes, just sometimes, we get a glimpse of the people they used to be."

A0019's eyes softened with a mix of nostalgia and something akin to sadness. "I wonder how long it will last.“