#so many angles and they're all interesting

[randomidiocyncrazies]

TBHX ep 8: The Cyan Girl

lots of data points for the timeline in this ep! (and as always, feel free to lmk if i got something wrong!) Further thoughts on the ep under the cut

Liu Zhen (heh heh really on the nose with 真 "truth") is an interesting character, and I'd imagine Cyan and Queen having a closer relationship because of him? (he's Queen's dad, and got Cyan to the orphanage and seems to care about her in the ep 9 preview.) He does say "we" when talking to Queen, so that implies at least another parental figure; I couldn't quite get a clear look at the photos in their house to see who that might be, but in Queen's PV we do see someone who looks like Liu Zhen with another gentleman, so maybe that guy is Queen's other dad??? that's the one pic were it seems like a couple shot with clearer details, but i don't think the people in the photo really looks like Liu Zhen or the other guy aside from the suggestion of dark and light hair? idk.

He seems quite involved in her hero career, having an agency in mind for her to sign with, but her confidence and ambition took him by surprise heh heh. I wonder if Micky is a friend or if they're the partner/other parent in this situation? I also wonder why he suggested DOS for her... I natural assumption is that he knows people (Micky) at that agency, but I can't help but think there's something more to it

I guess Queen's name is Liu Yuwei (on the certificate)... interested to see what the specific characters for her name will be

With the conspiracy around the airplane crash, I kinda wonder where Enlighter was, or if he's even active yet. There were at least a few people who believed very strongly that the plane crash was a coverup and was no 'accident'; the leaflet guy yelling about truth made me think of Enlighter, the guy whose whole thing is about uncovering the truth... Did that prompt him to investigate things, if he wasn't already a hero? Also, I wonder if Aether Labs is a precursor to the Spotlight Organization, since both seem to experiment with using Fear?

(We do know that Little Johnny also has a connection to the plane crash, and it's implied that he lost his parents—one of whom had been X at one point—due to it in one of the PVs; was his dad one of the heroes who tried to stop the crash but died, or was his parents on the plane? or did the plane crash on top of them? much to think about...)

The society is practiced at only reporting good news/news that wouldn't rock the boat in order to perpetuate the Trust System, which is bad. But at the same time, I do think it's a little unfair that heroes are expected to prevent all accidents from ever happening? like how many heroes can fly and stop the plane, really? I know hero society in this setting is corrupt as shit, but I also think it's kinda unreasonable that heroes are supposed to prevent even freak accidents, and it's seen by quite a few people as "abandoning the people" the second they couldn't prevent it. imo Cyan touches on the core of the issue here—"I want to be able to make mistakes/not be perfect all the time"—which I think is a burden all heroes are under to varying degrees.

Trust Value as a burden comes back into play here: Cyan's powers are so strong because she has such a high Trust Value, and Luo's 10 Trust might be more sinister—like maybe 10 people really really believe that he's a walking calamity, or something. (Trust doesn't have to be something good, after all. You can trust that someone will bring harm to you.) It's interesting to have a girl with really high TV for as long as she could remember right after we get the exploitation of YC, who was made vulnerable and marginalized due to his 0 TV (while Cyan's high TV is what made her exploitable by the adults around her).

It's interesting that the two arcs before this is more focused on capitalistic exploitation, and the exploitation in Cyan's arc is from a religious angle. The Dean doesn't seem to care that much about money, but is fixated on "saving" or "blessing" the world instead. LH0 mentioned in the E-soul Q&A session that people avoid deifying someone due to the fall of Zero, the corrupted hero who brought calamity to the world and prompted the forming of the Commission... but Cyan was clearly being deified as the "saintess" here. The ending of the ep is intriguing as well, because the Dean has invisible (?) tentacle powers and a dream of being a hero/savior—like what the hell kind of reputation does he have to get that power??? they don't seem like puppetmaster tentacles (like the kind you'd get with a reputation as someone pulling the strings), so is he blackmailing people to keep his cult orphanage running, since he seemed to restrict Cyan with them in the preview (hamstringing people with threats)? what do those invisible tentacles actually represent?

(also interesting that there's another orphanage kid helping Luo and Cyan escape, until the Dean arrives. I'm interested in the kid's motivation in helping the pair, and what that reveals about the dynamics of the orphans in the facility.)

also Mr Matchstick 乾柴 and Ms Blazing Fire 烈火 lolololololololololol! 乾柴烈火 is similar to the English idiom of "getting on like a house on fire" and often used for uh euphemistic relationship developments, so them getting caught in a cheating scandal is pretty ironic. their designs are cool as hell though, I wanna see them in action!

[athena-gundampla]

HGUC 1/144 Principality of Zeon Mass Production Mobile Suit Ace Commander Custom MS-05B "Zaku I" (Late War Type)

Back to the classics with this older Zaku I build. This 2006 kit isn't the oldest version of the Zaku I from the HGUC line, but it certaintly shows its age. The MS-05B is the version of this mobile suit used towards the end of the One Year War, during the events of the original gundam anime, and is a refit of the original Zeonic suit (the MS-05A) meant to hold its own with newer suits like the Zaku II and Gelgoog.

Being from 2006, there's limited colour separation, but being a design from the original 1979 series, the suit itself doesn't really have that much in terms of colour variation in the first place, so there's not really much to correct. I did re-do the booster nozzles in red (although you can't exactly see it at all in the final pictures), and I also decided to add some extra colour by giving the suit a red pauldron and yellow command fin.

I used one of the multipurpose waterslide decal sheets from Bandai to add a few markings as well. I kept it light, to match the simplicity of the build, and I think it turned out fairly well. The decals are a little thin and fragile, but they're super vibrant too. I find that white decals can sometimes be a little see-through and disappear on darker colours, but they really pop on this kit. There were a nice assortment of markings, including some numbers, rank markings, and even thin lines that you can cut and wrap around round parts (although this was really tricky to pull off). There's even a set of hit markers depicting downed Federation ships, which I just had to include. This build has the Zeon rank marking for a captain.

I also did a decent amount of weathering on this kit, mostly just a bit of sponge chipping, drybrushing, and silver pigment powder to give the raised edges a worn metal look. I've outlined my process in this post, and pretty much kept to that process, except I chose not to add any surface damage this time. I think weathering helps to add a lot of visual interest to simpler kits, especially older ones, and also provides an oppurtunity to hide any stress marks or nubs that are often a little more prominent on older kits.

For an older kit, this comes with a surprising amount of extras. There's two pistol grip right hands, one for the bazooka with an angled joint, and one for the older-style zaku machine gun with a normal ball joint, as well as pretty faithful recreations of both weapons. There's also the requisite two open fist parts, and an open left hand piece which is designed to fit the right hand inside it, recreating the iconic shoulder barge pose from the anime.

Unfortunately, just like many of the kits from the 00s, the articulation is significantly limited, especially in terms of hip and thigh rotation, and it's difficult to force the kit into the dynamic poses that were present in the anime.

The kit also comes with a swappable head panel to allow you to build the kit with or without the command fin, as well as a removeable shoulder reinforcement designed to allow the suit to safely fire its bazooka (given the lack of shoulder shield that the Zaku II has). It has just enough articulation to hold the bazooka over the shoulder.

There's also the spike shield - a repurposed Zaku-II shoulder shield turned knuckleduster, which has storage for a "sturmfaust" (a mobile suit sized panzerfaust, which is a type of ww2 recoilless rifle) - and a heat hawk which slides into a holster on the side skirt. Along with a fold-down part on the rear-skirt for the bazooka, this means unlike many other kits, you can store almost all the extras on the kit itself.

Despite its limitations, this kit was a lot of fun to put together and customise. I just wish it had had a little more articulation, because it was a pain to pose.

[verittean]

writing a felix and turbo centric fic and while trying to get inspiration i just keep thinking about how boring their ship name is like ... '80s boyfriends' dude that could refer to like any ship between boyfriends from the 80s ... like yeah it's a serviceable name but like it feels so unspecial ... glad it has the alternative 'hammertastic' tho i like that one a lot better it's more creative

while i'm at it i really like the ship name 'heroes cuties' LIKE ??? love that it's so perfect ... it also kinda works in a double way bc like not only does it rhyme with 'duty' they are also both heroes and they are cute together <3 also while 'sour candy' is kinda plain in contrast to other names since it incorporates the characters' names i mean like yeah it makes perfect sense idk what else you'd call it ... i don't really like either these ships but the names 'sledgehammer' and 'demolition derby' are also very good ...

yeah ig that's all i have to say lol buncha rambling in the tags

[just-a-carrot]

campfire nights 🏕️

[beatcroc]

Oh yeah I watched the digital circus thing. It was alright

[aro-aizawa]

one of my minor skills is having a great ear for when voice actors change even if the voices are v similar and they're speaking a language i don't. im much quicker when it comes to my favourite characters, but also surprisingly my least favourite. unfortunately, even tho this guy was my least character character i actually really liked his voice it was like,,, one of two things i liked abt him. now that its gone.........

[grison-in-space]

from the number of asinine complaints about how "voting is NOT a form of harm reduction" because harm reduction is for ADDICTS! ONLY! I'm seeing around... all coming from OP blogs I don't recognize and which otherwise don't have much presence... well, that coordination alongside the timing of US politics sure feels like the Russian troll bots agitating again. (Yes, they absolutely infested Tumblr; I think @ms-demeanor had a great post about what the bots looked and felt like somewhere that I will have to try and track down tomorrow.)

The thing is, if you actually do know harm reduction well, the complaint makes no sense. It's not as if the origin of harm reduction is a secret or especially hard to find out more about. I am not exactly an expert in the field: I have a educated layperson's interest in public health and infectious disease, I'm a queer feminist of a certain age and therefore have a certain degree of familiarity with AIDS-driven safer sex campaigns, and I'm interested in disability history and self advocacy (and I would in fact clarify harm reduction as a philosophy under this umbrella). So I have about twenty years of experience with harm reduction as a philosophy basically by existing in communities whose history is intertwined with harm reduction, which means I know it well from many different angles, and I know how the story of the philosophy is generally taught.

See, this is a story that starts, as so many stories do, in the 1980s with something monstrous President Reagan was doing. In this case, it was the AIDS epidemic, and Reagan refusing to devote any money or time to what eventually became called AIDS (rather than the original GRIDS, which came with its own baked in homophobia). Knowing themselves abandoned by society in this as in all things, and watching as friends and loved ones died in droves, queers and addicts are two communities who see that they are the only resources that they collectively have to save each other's lives. Queers know that sex, even casual sex, is an important part of people's lives and culture... and people aren't going to stop doing it even if there's a disease, so how can it happen safely? Condoms. Condoms every time, freely available, easy and shameless, shower them on people in the street if you have to. (And other things: this is the origin of the concept of "fluid bonding", for example... both of which were concepts that were immediately adopted in response to COVID, like outdoor socially distsnced greetings and masks and "bubbles." That wasn't an accident. Normalizing sexual health tests and seeing hard results on paper before sex was a thing, too.)

Addicts, too, knew that using was going to happen no matter how earnestly people tried to stop. If it was that easy, addiction wouldn't exist. So: how do you make using safer for longer? If you could stop someone getting HIV before they could bring themselves to get clean, that's a whole life right there. If you could stop someone overdosing once, twice, a dozen times, that's more time you're buying them to claw themselves out of addiction and into a better place. Addicts see, right, needle sharing is getting the diseases spread, so cut down on needle sharing. Well, needles aren't easy to get hold of. Their supply is controlled because people who aren't prescribed needles are theoretically junkies, so taking the needles away makes it harder to use, right— and no one is complicit, and also you see fewer discarded needles lying around where they're unsanitary and unsafe, right? Except that people want to do a buddy a good turn, so they share if there's no other option, and they'll keep a needle going until it's literally too blunt to keep using if need be. So fighting needle sharing means making it easier to get needles to shoot up with: finding a place to discard used ones and get as many fresh ones as you need to use safely!

Making free needles available to junkies and free condoms for the bathhouses was not a popular solution with politicians, for perhaps obvious reasons. Nor was routine testing of the blood supply, because that cost money too. But these things work to stop the spread of disease. Thus the principle of harm reduction: policy interventions in response to communities that frequently engage in risky behavior should focus on whatever reduces aggregate harm by reducing the risk rather than by trying to reduce the behavior. The homos and junkies say look, all your societal judgement in the world hasn't stopped us being homos and junkies yet. You ain't going to look after us? We'll look after our own. And this is the form that takes. Not increasing the pressure to act like people who aren't is, but making it safer to be the people we are while we try to be the happiest versions of ourselves. Even if that means being morally complicit in a whole lot of casual sex and drug abuse.

The thing is, harm reduction is a philosophy rooted in the defiance of people who knew that their society thought they deserved to die painfully, young, invisible and alone. This is not the kind of thing that people come up with and get mad if you adapt it and share it, especially if you tell the story of where it came from. And importantly, harm reduction is not purely the child of addiction: that philosophy, from the get go, was cooked up to apply both to substance abuse and casual sex. It didn't just spread from addiction care; it was born straddling addiction care and queer & feminist health care.

So it doesn't make sense to see actual activists who know harm reduction well complaining that this is a term exhibiting semantic drift when we talk about voting as harm reduction. It's actually a good metaphor: you're reducing the overall risk of the worst case scenario metaphors by voting Democrat, at least until future votes can install a system where multiple parties can flourish on the political scheme. (Democrats and Republicans are essentially coalitions of a pack of arguing factions anyway, and those factions are essentially what would be classed elsewhere as a party in its own right; the US essentially just lumps political granularity rather than splitting it in our political system.) And anyone who understands harm reduction itself knows that.

So it's this wildly inorganic complaint being voiced repeatedly by different sources. Sounds like a pretty good flag for a potential psyop to me.

If you want to learn more about harm reduction and its history, especially from an addiction perspective, I cannot recommend Maia Szalavitz's Undoing Drugs: How Harm Reduction is Changing the Future of Drugs and Addiction (2022) highly enough. Szalavitz has a history of addiction of her own as well as being a clear and accessible writer with an excellent grasp of neuroscience and history. I have a lot of respect for her work.

[katyarn]

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS - HAIKYUU!

CHARACTERS: Tsukishima, Oikawa, Atsumu, Kenma

SYNOPSIS: headcanons about when, how and why you became FWB

CONTENT WARNINGS: suggestive content, degradation, spitting, fingering, they're all complete and utter assholes

Author's note; This isn't smut but there's really suggestive content ahead, Feel free to request anything you want I'm desperate to write anything. This is a college AU but feel free to consider it whatever you'd like I don't really care. also I see you 13 year olds lurking, I can't really stop you but I'm obligated to tell you to stay away

TSUKISHIMA who had no sexual interest in anyone before he saw you batting your pretty eyelashes at him when you were at a party

Tsukishima who was friends with you way before college, way before you got so damn mature

Tsukishima who finds himself thinking about you day and night, waiting for the next time he'll be able to watch those tears prick at your eyes as he shoves his cock down your pretty throat.

Tsukishima who acts so so mean in bed, calling you his slut or his little whore just to be so so soft for aftercare

Tsukishima who spits on your pretty face when you go down on him

Tsukishima who gets jealous when he sees you with your boyfriend, fucking you in the nearest public space hoping you'll get caught and he'll have you all to himself

Tsukishima who always guards your drink when you're away

Tsukishima who acts soo mean so he doesn't get attached :(

OIKAWA who keeps his pretty girl a secret.

Oikawa who's an asshole that never lets you get a boyfriend but has had countless girlfriends

Oikawa who's mean to you in public, humiliating you in front of others but makes it up to you with those skillful fingers of his

Oikawa who makes you count how many times he spanks you if you misbehave

Oikawa who is so so mean in front of his friends but so sweet in bed

Oikawa who showers with you and washes your hair gently after fucking your brains out :(

Oikawa who makes you dumb on his cock if you flirt with any other guy

Oikawa who doesn't respect you enough to date you but still want his little angle to be all his

Oikawa who bullies your pretty cunt during class :3

Oikawa who always marks you up with love bites and scratch marks so everyone knows he owns you

ATSUMU who fucks you in the locker rooms before every game as a token of good luck

Atsumu who takes out his frustration after an argument with his brother on you

Atsumu who likes stuffing you full in public making you walk around with cum dripping down your leg :(

Atsumu who lets his brother fuck you every once in a while despite your protests (so meann)

Atsumu who takes you on dates but would never go out with you

Atsumu who makes eye contact with you when he's kissing other girls to get you jealous

Atsumu who brags about fucking you to his friends so they tease you when they see you

Atsumu who is just a huge asshole but you love him so much :(

KENMA who goes back to playing video games after frying your brain on his cock :(

Kenma who ignores you in public and pretends he doesn't know you but fucks you so so good after

Kenma who ignores you after you've had sex leaving your apartment immediately after

Kenma who lets you get off on him after he's came cause he's too lazy

kenma who calls you a slut for letting him use you :(

Kenma who does everything possible to not get emotionally involved

Kenma who is such a meanie calling you nothin' more than a warm mouth to him after you ask him to stay

I did everything I could to make them as mean as possible, I don't even know why I just felt like it :3

[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

[fafodill]

The exact wording of the ask I got was: 'what if someone was asking deprived!Snape (read my whole essay about him) to "break them off a piece of that KitKat bar?" How would they go about it?'

So today we're going to discuss this. Buckle up people.✨

SO his reaction will largely depend on the context and their current relationship but one thing that will happen FOR SURE every time before anything else is that he's going to think they're messing with him.

What else could it be? This man had been so heavily bullied as a teen his self-esteem is buried and has its own tombstone.

"Here lies Snape's self-image. Spit to pay your respect."

We don't have any canon proof of it happening but many people headcanon that some of the bullying might have been people being dared to come up to him and fake attraction or compliment him (so funny omg) only for him to realize they were just messing with him. It's totally the kind of immature stupid shit kids will come up with (speaking from personal experience here). Not funny but deeply scarring for one's self-image. So being told he's attractive would trigger him in his adult life. Any potential suitor asking him out would be welcomed with him immediately closing up and getting angry at them. They'd need to find a way for him to believe them first.

If you're thinking "this already sounds like a pain", yes it is. Welcome to deprived!Snape. Welcome to Snape, basically. If they want a piece of him, they have to brace themselves for the long run.

He will get angry and leave a lot. Fleeing the situation - since it's a very vulnerable subject for him - will be his go-to move. The whole ordeal will require patience. So what should this person do?

Friend or Stranger?

If it comes from a DE he'll think it's an angle. If it's from a member of the Order, he'll think it's a joke. If it's from a colleague at Hogwarts, he maaaay be a tad less suspicious? In any case, it will depend on how close they are. The more time they have spent together, the closer he'll be to not flip out... too much.

I'm a bit torn about his reaction if it was coming from a stranger. Either it's easier because he can lean into the idea that maybe they're lying about their attraction and he doesn't care (and if he's horny then why the fuck not, it won't affect him as much since they both now they're here for physical release) OR he might not be into it at all because he actually needs a real connection (and I think this is more realistic). Severus is a feral cat, he needs time to trust people.

What else? He could also maybe open up faster with someone not from his usual inner circles (a foreigner or a muggle) as the interactions wouldn't be charged with the same deep-rooted habits and expectations.

I also believe he'd unconsciously feel way more at ease with someone coming from a modest background. A pureblood aristocrat hitting on him would have little chance of getting past his natural distrust of them (unless he knows them very well).

So what should they do?

Build trust

The quality of their interactions and conversations will have a huge impact. Do they have an interesting personality? He needs someone capable of taking him on and keeping up intellectually. Can they keep up with him and challenge him?

Severus has a temper. Can they deal with his bullshit and not give up on him at the first scowl? Argue with him? It doesn't mean they can't be nice, but I don't see him get worked up over someone cowering under his gaze.

They need to be stubborn. He's a Capricorn and he's got the horns. He's hard-headed. They need to not back down when he bites or dismisses their attempts at flirting. One of Severus's classic tactic is to hurt people so they leave him alone, so they need to be able to dodge the attack, make fun of him or retaliate.

If they manage to deal with his temper, they will start to see what's on the other side of the snarky exterior. Then, they'll be able to start kneading the dough (Severus is the dough).

Convince him the attraction is real

That person could go the gentle/honest way, assuring him they're not kidding and explaining what they find attractive about him (he'd be super wary and need days to digest it - if he can). Genuine compliments could work quite well as he's good at reading people but it would be a process and it shouldn't be too much at once. He's NOT USED to compliments so if the person goes too hard, he's going to get overwhelmed, distance himself and reject it. A good trick would be to compliment his intelligence and magical skills alongside physical traits. A 2/3-1/3 ratio would be a good start. He would trust compliments about his big brain way more than anything regarding his cute butt.

Complimenting his presence, aura, voice might be good too as it's not directly related to physical traits. Else, physical starters could include hands and eyes. But I also love the idea of taking him by surprise and complimenting his nose. Might weird him out in a good way.

Or they could go the blunt way (or what I now refer to in my mind as the @maxdibert way) and be like "dude, I really think you're hot, deal with it" and leave him to sort his feelings out like a big boy.

The two strategies can be mixed of course. But at the end of the day, the real problem is that Severus as approximately a thousand confirmation bias in his mind telling him this is not happening. So what could they do to help ease this process?

Make him horny

Less overthinking = more chances to get this piece of ass.

Severus Snape needs to be warmed up. And as stated in my previous essay, he's plagued with the core beliefs that he's ugly, ridicule and undeserving. These beliefs need to be kneaded and challenged enough (not healed, this would take decades and it's not their job), so that he can relax and open up to the idea of intimacy.

Here are a few strategies to do so.

First, de-dramatize the subject. Making the topic less taboo by talking about it in a lighthearted way (no flaunting! certainly not!). A good move would be to joke about it. Deprived!Snape isn't comfortable with the subject but it's because it's evaded him and then he convinced himself he wasn't concerned or interested.

-> Here are some of the things he could benefit from hearing: that sex is not a big deal at all and we can laugh about it. It should be fun, a shared moment, trials and errors are part of it and there should no be judgment about experiences and preferences. People with a high 'body count' aren't necessarily good lovers, it's all about presence and intent etc.

His potential partner could share funny mishaps that happened to them and - when there's an opening - ask him what he would expect from a pleasant intimate moment (that's a very advanced move, don't forget he's bad with words)(it would only work in my opinion if they're both drunk and have been going at it for a while).

Also sharing experiences is a great way to build trust and intimacy (and arousal). He thrives on knowledge so learning more about his potential partner might ease his mind in some way (and give him some free intrusive thoughts). See it as added ingredients to make him simmer.

Though they shouldn't talk too much about the number of partners they had and said partner's skills. This might make him retreat. Again: low self-esteem and always on the lookout for an excuse to sabotage it.

Wait what about drunk!Snape you say? That's a trope we enjoy around here. Although I headcanon him as not being a heavy drinker (if a drinker at all because of his father) it would be a great way to lower a bit his inhibition. A DE would have a hard time sharing a drink with him, same for an Order member (he never stays after meetings but could be coerced), but a colleague could maybe drag him to the Three Broomsticks with other members of the staff and then leave early with him. wink wink Come on, rub his foot under the table and look at him choke on his ale. He'll skin you alive with his eyes and you can just raise a suggestive eyebrow back.

Persistence, persistence.

Of course a bit of physical baiting could help with his dusty libido. After all, they'd kinda be dealing with an teenager, experience-wise. Nothing too bold (though I headcanon that his sooty Cokeworth self would get way more worked up over unabashed desire than delicate courting but he's buried a bit too deep at the moment) but a nice cleavage, some leg showing, a fitting pair of pants or robes might not be a bad move. Since he might be uncomfortable with words, they could flaunt the goods in his face! The man has eyes, let him look and scold himself for looking. Also a few heavy looks, biting a lip and lingering fingers could go a long way for such a deprived man, especially if it's directed at him.

At the end of the day, the trick is to make him able to put his worry aside (or snap, if you find the word sexier).

They could go the provocative way, being insufferable and making him want to shut them up.

They could try some endless teasing until he's a lost hot mess, unable to express what he wants except by going 'fuck it' and going for it.

They could go slower and create a safe space with a weekly ritual (every Friday night meeting for a drink/to grade essays/to hang out) which can lead to a late night snog (floating candles optional).

They could be blunt and go 'I want to kiss you so bad right now' as they leave Hogsmeade together and are walking on the dirt path towards the castle. A gust of wind will prevent him from hiding himself behind his hair and they'll see the flush creeping on his face.

They could hammer the compliments and validation, because Severus craves recognition (is there a praise kink in there? yes). So first it could be his mind, his work, his skills... then the way his cape suits his frame so well, his silky voice... and then bam, hitting the nail on the head with complimenting his mouth. Blabbering mess guaranteed. Might flee but blush deliciously. Or might stop dead in his track and then it's time for them to claim these lips.

Kissing

Clumsy. Tentative. Awkward.

But earnest.

He might freeze at first. Wait, these lips knew how to do that once upon a time... how does it go again? He'll need a bit of time to remember but the best way to (re)learn is practice.

It will be a lot for him. As he's extremely touch-deprived he'd be literally rediscovering human contact. So much to feel, the supple of the lips, their shape, the softness, the wetness.

Honestly, deprived!Snape could get really worked up just from kissing.

(They could honestly make him cum just from this and some grinding. Amen. If he does he'd need reassurance after and still might flee and hide and snarl for a few days because male performance blahblahblah. Hopefully they'd be able to skip this step at this point in the relation.)

But I believe he'd enjoy it greatly and this might be a step he'd want to stay at for some time before going further.

Undressing

I headcanon deprived!Snape as being very self-conscious about revealing his body so it might only be possible with someone he really trusts. It might be painfully difficult for him (might require dimmed light if not obscurity but I mean come on, they're here to look at him and it'd be better for him to rip the bandaid... but giving him the option might help).

Either he'll be too aroused to care (or act as if he doesn't) or he'll feel very self-conscious and look for cues to confirm his belief that his partner will find him disgusting. It's the right moment for them to express their desire.

If for some reason he gets too triggered and leave, they wouldn't be back to square one but again, patience is key. He needs time. Or maybe they could convince him to stay and try to resolve the situation by stopping the intimacy and just talk about something else. It could be good practice to show him this isn't a big deal and that everything is fine.

But at this stage, complimenting him sincerely (no coddling) whilst not hiding their arousal could work nicely. Sprinkling some of the fantasies they had about him as well. ('I've been dreaming about these hands on me', 'You have no idea how much I've been wanting to kiss these lips to make you shut up', 'I laid awake at night thinking about touching this part of you'). Showing appreciation with touch could convince him more though and it has the advantage of preventing him to think too much.

But really, he won't like to focus on his appearance as it's something he has no control over so they should -unfortunately- bite their tongue and keep the flood of horny compliments to themselves at first. A new one might be fed to him once every two weeks to slowly build his confidence.

In Bed

Deprived!Snape is: prideful, yearning for control and very sensitive.

Now honestly I could make a whole other post with the different scenarios where he'd be more top or bottom. Instead, I will focus more on what would happen either way.

He'll want to learn. Because Severus is nothing if not a scholar. He's got a very curious nature regarding topics that interest him so if his partner is showing him how they like something, he'll get super serious about it. He will try to touch them in the exact same way at first and he's a fast learner so once it's mastered, he'll experiment. And he's going to be good at it.

That man got dexterity and an inventive mind. And that's canon.

But his focus on his partner might also be a way to keep control during this highly new situation. Depending on how self-conscious he is about his inexperience, shifting the focus on him might be a challenge. Maybe letting him take the lead could be a good idea. But maybe shoving him against the mattress and seizing control is the way to go here.

Now, he will be very sensitive, won't he?

Yes, he might. He might be a whimpering mess in no time. His partner should be cautious and gentle with him. Severus letting his guard down and letting them touch him is a very big effort coming from him so they should savor it and be sure to make it feel safe if they want this to happen again. Help him relax, let him breathe, don't hesitate to pause if he gets nervous. The walls will be destroyed, moan after moan.

But what if he isn't sensitive?

That's a possibility as well. He's been by himself for years and his wariness of intimacy and people is wired in his cells at this point. He's disconnected from his own body and never pays attention to it. He might also tense heavily once in bed with his partner, the vulnerability of it accentuating the disconnection. He might not feel pleasure, might get frustrated and feel angry or inadequate.

This situation - which I find very interesting and seems like a realistic follow-up to him wanting to kiss for a long time and struggling with undressing - is tricky and will require diplomacy and more patience.

But maybe this could be a dealbreaker for him. If the payoff isn't worth the discomfort, he could easily take it as a confirmation bias that intimacy isn't for the likes of him. The best course of action could be to focus on non-sexual aspect of intimacy.

But this essay is way too long already so I'm going to stop here.

What should I write about next? Is there something you wish I had addressed here? Is there something you'd like me to discuss next?

UPDATE: so a few people seem to be mad at me, demanding I keep on elaborating SO. Let's say I'm done here for the 'how to bed him' part (which was the premise of this essay) and I'll do another one following thoughts and possibly... focusing on the different roles in bed (top/bottom/switch) for our dear Severus. See you there.

TLDR: He's gonna be a pain, his partner needs to have calming draught for their nerves but in the end it will be very rewarding because he's starved and inventive.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 better off as lovers (not the other way around).

synopsis: your favourite band isn’t exactly mainstream when you first get into them, which leads to a series of encounters with the bassist and singer. partially sidelined as they skyrocket to fame, you’re forced to grind your heels into the dirt against his whirlwind lifestyle to decipher what exactly you are.

contains: 9.1k words of modern band au with singer/bassist mydei, fem/afab reader, strangers to groupie and musician to lovers LMAO, reader is kinda a loser but he's into that, slightly ooc mydei, oral, pinv, creampie, slight angst, death before i give up FOB references, and annoying Phainon.

You’re sniffling through the tail end of allergy season when you first stumble upon ‘ICHOR’, a small band, through a random autoplay slew of songs as you're groggily cleaning up the nest you made while sick. It’s some sort of unpolished grungy post-hardcore pop rock amalgamation you can’t quite put your finger on but it's good; really good. You end up replaying it once or twice before just putting it on loop and spending the next half hour of cleaning listening to those same three minutes over and over again. The singer has a strong voice and the instrumentals come in with a depth that scratches your brain just right.

Once the space is tolerably clean, you begin your research into this band and slide through their whole discography before you know it. You come to know a couple of things. Firstly, the most popular song they’ve released has barely grazed a thousand streams and you’re at least ten of them. Secondly, they're from a town only about an hour away. Lastly, heavens above the leading man, who you’ve learned is named Mydei, is hot. Dangerously so. The kind of hot that you’d risk it all for. Finding his social media is nearly effortless and he’s got just under two hundred followers and many, many, many photos of himself and the other band members practicing. It’s unfortunate phone cameras haven’t developed far enough to catch individual hairs and beads of sweat from four metres away because you’re squinting and focused on the small shadow below his navel. It’s painfully enticing. Shame be damned, you hit the follow button and go back to finding all the information you possibly can on the group.

Just shy of an hour later you’re piecing together a plan to head over to one of their shows. Naturally your best friend is coming along despite their bewilderment at your sudden interest. A hotel room for the night is cheap and tickets are even cheaper. Their set starts at eleven in the evening two days from now and you’re vibrating with barely contained excitement. Even if it's a weird brief infatuation with a guy from a little band, you’re sure it’ll be fun anyways and the music is supposed to be good if it’s anything like what they’ve put out online. With plans settled you slide back to giggle and kick your feet at his pictures again, as any normal person does, and nearly choke to death at the little notification telling you he followed you back.

Sure, it’s a small band. Sure, he doesn’t have many followers. Sure, only your best pictures are posted but the endorphins are working overtime to let you know he really did return the follow. He’s seen your face. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty? Or, the more reasonable assumption, he’s assuming he must know you from somewhere. Not that it really matters why, it matters that he did. Oh man are you going to be annoying about this to everyone you know for the foreseeable future.

Regardless, you’re following common stalking courtesy and not liking all of his pictures and instead just looking and going to every single photo he's tagged in and every single one of the people he follows. It’s there that you find his other band members and thank whatever higher being there is for fellow bandmate Phainon because he posts Mydei more often than he does himself and knows all of the angles. Half of you wonders if maybe they’re already a thing but there's a caption under a shirtless picture of Mydei he’s posted that says ‘ladies! look no further than @ mydeim0s if ur in need of a husband and professional cook ;p’ and the man himself has commented ‘Keep my name out of your mouth unless you’d like to get in the ring again, @ best_deliverer.’ You find his attitude charming and can’t help but giggle as if you actually know the two of them but the proof of him being single makes you unreasonably happy and you continue your perusal of his pictures. Birthday posts, practice pictures, off-guard secret snaps, and the occasional video focused on his fingers traversing the strings of his bass; it’s all going straight to your guts and the pretend romance you’ve already started writing in your head. 

You sift from Phainon’s page to another member, Cipher. She’s pretty, often dressed up in things that show off her legs and you're torn between being jealous and in love but Mydei has already snatched your heart so it's imperative you don’t stray from your goal. There’s a couple photos where you can spot him in the background but nothing more and you wrinkle your nose before moving onto the next. Castorice’s page yields no results as she's got it private and you cry a bit internally. What if she's got the best ones? But you don’t dare to request to follow her, that would be weird. Having some morals, no matter how small, is important.

You think waiting until the show to really see him will be hell.

Crunched up in the passenger seat, you’re sipping on some sort of energy drink your friend handed you as soon as you flopped into the car. You’ve taken to playing all of the band's songs to them over the slightly busted and worn sound system the vehicle has. The windows are rolled down and your sunglasses are threatening to slide all the way off your face as you leisurely drink and pull at your shoelaces. Your friend had insisted on leaving at nine in the morning so you could enjoy walking around the city before the show and, while you’re positive it’ll be fun, you’re still not fully awake. That’s your fault for staying up to ogle at Mydei again. Sleepiness aside, the excitement still hasn’t slipped away and you’re praying for some sort of hot and heavy eye contact at the least at the concert, more than would be welcome.

The drive is uneventful and checking into the hotel even moreso. Beds assigned and bags thrown to the floor, you agree on coming back to the hotel prior to the show to freshen up before heading out.

It’s not a huge city by any means but it’s bigger than your hometown and that's enough to make it feel like a different dimension. The downtown area has a slew of shops pressed up tightly against each other and all the tiny trinkets are hurting your already small wallet but how could you ever pass up the tiny plush seal that practically begged you to take it home with its big soggy boba eyes? You’re not heartless but you are drinkless when you go face first into the chest of someone as you cradle the small creature maternally. The can falls to the pavement loudly and you can feel the sticky drink seep into your clothes as you fumble for an appropriate apology to the person you’re avoiding eye contact with. Silence greets you so you dare to look towards their face and almost join your drink dead on the ground. Of course. You just had to soak the man you’d definitely not been weird about, Mydei. He’s not frowning or visibly angry, but he’s staring at you and suddenly you understand what it must be like to be a fish in a tank. 

His eyes are golden like the sun above your head or the wedding jewelry your mum never let you touch and your heart almost stops in your chest. He’s even more handsome in person, now stained shirt and all. When your brain finally kicks back into gear you clear your throat to get out a more cohesive apology.

“I uh… I wasn’t looking where I was going… Sorry. Do you,” you pause unsure of what help you could possibly offer as the only thing your brain is coming up with is licking him clean, “can I help at all? I’ve probably got napkins somewhere in my bag.” You busy yourself to search for them as he stays silent and part of you thinks he might just snap your neck and be over with it but his voice, low and slightly gravely, cuts through your thoughts.

“It’s fine,” you look up in time to catch him licking his lips, “I wasn’t looking either, a mutual fault.” You nod in response, still feeling like you should be lashed for your sins. “Cute seal,” it takes you a moment to process what you think is a compliment of sorts and your heart sings even if it wasn’t actually about you. The seal is close enough.

“Oh! Thanks it’s uh… Yeah, I thought it was cute too. Obviously. I bought it,” your hands are sweating and your mouth is dry, “hasn’t got a name yet. Would letting you pick work as an apology?” It’s not exactly a joke but you hope it’ll lighten what you feel like is a gratingly awkward encounter. His small chuckle and the sight of his lips quirking up makes him even more handsome, you think. He laughs subtly, it sounds the way coffee smells and marshmallows taste. You notice his eyes turn into little crescents when he smiles. It’s painfully cute and you feel like you’ve stepped into the orbit of something truly special. Mydei hums thoughtfully.

“It would. How about,” his eyes cast back down to the plush in your arms. If it had a voice you think it would be crying for the love of its new father. “Pebble?” You almost swoon. It’s a silly name and everything you could want as you nod vigorously which earns you another perfect laugh from him. You’re looking more at the necklace he’s wearing than his face but you can still feel the way his gaze presses into you without faltering. “Are you from here?” The question catches you a bit off guard but you shake your head.

“No, just visiting,” you tell him your actual town with a slight grimace, “small getaway trip I suppose. Nothing fancy.” Mydei nods along with his eyes still fixed on you.

“Any particular reason,” he prods, “for the trip, I mean.” You’ve been found out, you think. He knows you’re a freak. He looked at your face long enough to remember which would be nice if he wasn’t prompting you like a cop. You think about joining your drink on the ground for the nth time but manage to force out a stiff laugh that definitely sounds forced.

You run through a litany of excuses but the truth is valuable in the situation. No need to dig your grave deeper than the already allotted and shoveled six feet. “Oh, yeah, I guess,” the words come out a bit too breathless for your liking, “wanted to check out this music thing.” It would be a nonchalant answer if you didn’t know that he knew that you knew. Maybe the can will swallow you itself.

“Figured,” you can hear the amusement in his voice so you look up again in hopes that at least you can appreciate his smile again before you die, “see you tonight, then.” You catch the slightest hint of his cologne as he walks away and you’re left to figure out if that's a good thing or bad thing.

The evening rolls in and your friend is still giggling occasionally across the hotel room. They had watched the whole scene between you and Mydei unfold, much to your horror, and thought it was apparently the pinnacle of both comedy and romance. You thought otherwise but his smile and laugh haunted each crevice of your mind; it was all you could think about.

It wasn’t as if you were getting dolled up, the show was supposed to be in some half underground dingy bar, but you needed to not be sticky and the hot shower was helping with that and working to clear your mind. Logically you knew your run in was a one time encounter and he likely wouldn’t even remember you amongst all the other people in the crowd but the sliver of hope that maybe he would made you want to curl up into a ball on the bathroom floor.

Clean, dry, and in not soda soaked clothes, you put on your shoes with a sigh and repeated the mantra of ‘phone, wallet, keys,’ until you were positive there was no chance you’d leave anything behind. Scrappy tickets in your pocket, you finally left with the soundtrack of laughter and nerves.

The venue is dark and the floors don’t even resemble wood anymore. You’re stood to the side idly chatting with some cheap liquor in a plastic cup. It stings like rubbing alcohol and the taste isn’t much better, barely covered with a flavour you can only liken to indistinguishable fruit. It’s sweet and burns, settles warm in your chest and stomach, but it gives you something to focus your senses on that isn’t noise.

You take note of the crowd, mostly young men, and cringe a little bit at all the looks you’re obviously getting. Trying to look as unapproachable as possible, you duck your head a bit lower and check your phone which reads ten-fifty-five. A sigh of relief passes your lips knowing skeevy eyes will be off you soon enough. As if on cue, everyone turns to the stage as a snare rings across the room. Front and center stands Mydei.

He’s giving the microphone an irritatingly intimate groping as he adjusts it slightly and the bass slung across his front makes you jealous but you remember, although awkward and unintentional, you’ve also been that close to him. It gives you a weird sense of pride. He’s outfitted, rather not outfitted, in nothing more than a pair of low-rise pants and some jewelry. On any other musician you’d find it tacky but he makes it work. His gaze is searing when he looks up and takes in the crowd that’s cheering for his band. The small tilt of his mouth into a smirk is more intoxicating than your shitty drink. You skim over the rest of the band who are all more clothed than Mydei is. They look good, just not as good as him. His voice is just as nice when he addresses the room.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” He sounds casual and a conglomerate of agreements sound out that has his smirk grow a touch wider. “We appreciate the turnout. Best we’ve had so far,” his head tips to one side and his hair looks like the softest thing in the world, “hopefully we don’t disappoint.” You don’t think anything could let you down now.

The music is just as good in person as it is through your phone. It’s better in person, honestly, and you’re still stuck to the wall humming and swaying lightly. The throngs of people are dancing and hollering but you can appreciate the view more from your stationary spot. From one song to the next, you think Mydei must have been a siren of sorts in a past life; he has the voice of one. His eyes slide across the crowd with every line and change in expression. Some are powerful, some are cocky, and some are deeply emotional. He smiles at all the people and you wish you could bottle it up and keep it forever. It’s when his gaze finally finds you that your heart beats out of your chest.

His eyes linger on you, not moving, and you think he smiles a bit wider than he has all night. The lyrics slide past his lips with ease, “you’re a canary, I’m a coal mine,” and you wish it was written about you but his sight doesn’t let up. What you thought would be maybe a brief glance stretches into a dozen seconds and you probably look dumbstruck but he’s staring and so are you. It’s nice.

When the music sadly lets up and the band says their thanks and goodbyes, you sigh out in disappointment but promise yourself you can always go to another show. Turning to your friend who looks ready to explode from the earlier look shared between you and Mydei, you’re ready to leave with a sad look when a hand hits your shoulder. You jerk away in shock and whip around to see a man. Irritation almost turns into a sharp question on your part but the mint haired man says Mydei wants to see you. This guy is the band's manager and Mydei asked for you. Your friend shoos you off with the promise of seeing you later and you let the man lead you back past the security to the green room.

The green room is bright with laughter as the band winds down from the show and shares the joys of performing. You feel like an intruder as you step in after the manager and all of their eyes land on you. Their smiles remain, though, and Phainon shoots a knowing look of sorts to Mydei who gestures for you to now follow him and you end up in a cramped space outside the building but away from any prying eyes, band members or others. He doesn’t speak up yet, opting to pull out a cigarette and lighter. Two inhales later his focus turns to you fully.

“Wasn’t sure you’d show up after this afternoon,” he breathes out with the smoke, “thought you might’ve been too mortified.” You laugh dryly and his smile is easy and relaxed.

“I’m not a coward. I’m just,” an unusually bold urge came over you and you plucked the cigarette from his lips to place it between your own, “not exactly confident at the best or worst of times.” The smoke is cool, menthols, and you think it suits him. His eyes follow to your lips and he leans in to steal it back. His nose grazes yours teasingly and he’s still smiling as his lips almost touch the corner of yours. Mydei pulls back for another lung full and is polite enough to exhale away from your face before he leans back in and takes in your face. He hums a tune you don’t recognize while his eyes travel from each detail to the next even as he turns away to take in the last of the cigarette but rather than blowing the smoke away, his other hand comes up to part your lips with his thumb and the smoke travels from his mouth to yours. It’s intimate and you love it. You wish he’d just kiss you but he doesn’t and straightens back up to his full height while he crushes the butt under his heel and moves a stray hair from your face.

“No one’s always confident,” it almost feels like patronizing advice but you don’t mind if it’s from him. “You should be more, though,” he hums another few notes as you finally have the strength to let your eyes wander down his still sweat sheened and muscular chest. “You’re pretty,” it seems natural coming from his mouth, “got an unforgettable face.” You let it go straight to your head and guts with a shaky but overjoyed smile.

That night ends with you in his metaphorical bed, it’s his car, and brimming with barely contained happiness.

It’s just shy of a week later that you get a message from him. You hadn’t wanted to send one first in fear that he’d air you but the little notification sends your heart into overdrive.

It’s not a long one, but it feels good. ‘Got a show near you tomorrow. Come by and I’ll give you a free ticket.’ The offer is beyond enticing and you feel blessed that you just so happen to be free. It takes everything in you not to send back some sort of Shakespearean love confession but you play it cool with ‘say less. i’ll be there :) look forward to seeing you again’ and take a chance with a follow up. ‘give me an even better performance than last time and i’ll have a reward prepared.’ It’s teasing and you doubt he’ll take it seriously but he promises to blow it out of the water.

This time you’re alone as you get to the venue. Mydei had offered a single ticket and you were too embarrassed to ask for another plus you didn’t want to burden your friend knowing you’d likely make them leave alone again. He’d instructed you to head to the backdoor at ten and that same manager would be there to let you in. True to his words, he was there and held the door open for you with a sigh. You said your thanks and were led backstage where you’d get to watch up close from the comfort of behind the curtains and, despite his clear disinterest in you, his manager spoke.

“Don’t be a distraction,” you think it’s supposed to be scolding but it registers closer to flattery. Mydei had found himself distracted by you? You’d twirl your hair if you weren’t in public.

The back view of him as he walked on stage was delightful and the side view you got as he performed was just as good as the front. You noticed he had a habit of leaning back, letting the bass rest angled against his hips in a way that made your stomach flip. He casted you a sidelong glance at least once each song and you grinned back the whole time. You wish he’d never stop looking at you as each lyric went in your ears like a drug.

“You’re the only place that feels like home.”

“Robbing lips and kissing banks under this moon.”

“Better off as lovers.”

Not a single line goes unappreciated by you. Some of the lyrics made you fumble over your own lips but that didn’t matter when his voice kept you on track. Every syllable felt perfect and every strum of his bass was like heaven. If you weren’t excited for some more personal time, you’d never want him to even think of stepping out of the spotlight.

He walked away from the stage smiling at you and shining with sweat and adrenaline. You had to admit this show was better than the last somehow and you weren’t sure if it was because it really was a bigger effort or if it was due to the impending post show romp you’d get to star in yourself. Either option was good and either option made you feel special. He slides the instrument slightly to the side to slot one hip against you as he leans down to talk straight in your ear over the clamoring of the crowd and his band mates.

“Do I deserve that reward?” He doesn’t need to ask but he does and it’s paired with a self assured smile fueled by lingering laughter. You nod with a grin of your own and let your lips brush across his chest; a taste of what’s to come. Mydei grabs your hand in his and leads you away to pack up his guitar and throw it at Phainon with instructions to take it home and a threat to be careful with it. You’d feel bad if Phainon himself didn’t laugh and mock salute in response as Mydei tugged you away again.

The air has a bite when you step out of the building and you don’t share any words until you’re both tucked into the backseat of his car. It’s some old model but it’s pristinely clean so you have no complaints. He’s parked himself behind the building with the back end against a dumpster; the peak of privacy. What a gentleman.

It feels natural and instinctual when you slide yourself onto his lap. Your hands land on his shoulders, still bare, and you take a moment to massage them lightly with a lazy smile and growing arousal. He sighs out at the touch and his own hands find purchase on your hips. He’s gentle in how he handles you, gripping hard enough to ground you but not enough to hurt. You’re admiring his tattoos when he shifts to pull your lips against his own. They slide and lock together like puzzle pieces. You feel his nose against your own and his tongue slide languidly into your mouth. It’s wet and slow and God it feels good. Briefly, you think he’s like a cat in how he’s kneading at your body but when he lets out a sigh that tapers off to a groan into your mouth you’re brought back to how his hips are pressing up.

One of your hands slides down to palm over him generously as he pants against your mouth and moves himself to grope at your chest and push up your skirt. His large hand cups your heat and the heel of his hand grinds into you which pulls an embarrassing whine from your throat but he smiles against you so it can’t be that bad.

Mydei has a distinct style, and yes you love it, but you’d never really realized how much of a pain it is to undo the three different belts, four buttons, and two zippers on his current pants until now. It doesn’t help that you’re on top of him as you blindly fumble at the array of closures. Your brows furrow and he laughs at your struggle before pulling his mouth back from yours, unfortunately, to lend his professional assistance. It looks effortless when he gets them all taken care of and it feels good the way his hips buck up to slide his pants and boxers down but you pray that you get really good at belts and buttons fast before the next time.

His hands pull you upwards to slide your own shorts and panties off harshly and you have half the mind to ask for thanks for your super considerate and definitely deliberate choice in easy to remove clothes but then his mouth is on yours again and his calloused fingers are running along your slit. A shaky moan fans across his face and his lips curve into a smile while the tips of his fingers swirl around your bud.

“Please,” you don’t even process it before it leaves your mouth and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for but he lets out a huffed ‘aww’ before pulling you flush against him to rub his tip back and forth to gather your slick. You’re impatient and clearly so is Mydei as he helps you slide down on him. It’s not an easy fit but his thumb is smoothing over your clit nicely and his lips are on your neck; an efficient distraction. A couple more beats of your whines pass before you bottom out. His teeth graze your neck and you feel him swallow at the full contact finally being reached.

You brace your hands firmly on his shoulders as you start slowly, rocking your hips against him. It’s a warm up of sorts before you rise upwards and drop back down. The feeling causes your back to bow and a shudder to race along your spine. Mydei’s thumb stills for a moment against you at the sensation and the deep moan he lets out against your damp skin is addictive. You repeat the motion until you’ve built up a steady pace. Wet skin smacking together again and again, your own cries of pleasure, and his reverberating groans fill the car. Your positive the vehicle is shaking and you can see the windows fogging up in the back of your vision but your eyes are too focused on him.

His hair is thoroughly tousled, you feel his earring against your neck, and the red ink extending down his back compliments the small indents your nails are leaving along his shoulders. Mydeimos is beautiful and right now he’s all yours. You almost wish you could feel his face but if his body was separate from being flush to yours for even a second you fear you’d float away; he’s keeping you grounded. Imagination is a wonderful thing so you think about the way his mouth is parted, how his eyes are certainly squeezed shut, how drool must be sliding down his chin, how he must be thinking of nothing but you as well. It's enough to have you moving with renewed vigor, coming down onto him heavier and basking in his sharp intake of air.

Mydei grabs onto your hips even harder, finally leaning back and confirming all of your suspicions of his expressions in favour of being able to push himself up into you. He matches the pace you’ve set with ease, his hips clapping harshly against yours. The muscles of his arms and stomach flex deliciously with the effort he puts into the motions. He’s hissing through his teeth, head tipping back further practically begging you to put your mouth along the skin. So you do. You lean down and press wet kisses along the flesh, stopping along the sides to suck pretty bruises into him. Ones that you hope will last, that he won’t cover up in the following days. The blooming of mottled purple and blue eases a possessive urge you hadn’t even taken note of over the pleasure building inside you. Mydei pushes his hips upward at a slightly different angle that knocks the wind out of you, your vision blurs slightly and an embarrassingly loud cry is ripped from your throat. You barely register the smirk that splits open on his face past your own shock as he continues at that same angle, putting pressure exactly where you need it. His continued assault has you fumbling for purchase on his shoulders, a slew of ‘please’ and ‘close’ leaving your lips. The only response he seems capable of himself is something akin to ���yeah’ with a raspy uptick as he doesn’t slow down in the slightest.

A particularly harsh thrust is what pushes you over that edge. You vaguely register tears dripping past your lashes while your vision dances with stars, none brighter than him, and watery moans stream endlessly from your mouth. His own climax follows soon after. He grunts low and from his chest as his hips press and shake into you, a distinct wetness growing and spilling out. There's no tact in how he moves one hand to better admire the way he's stuffed inside of you, fingers playing with your sensitive folds to see just where you’re connected. He pulls and plays with the soft flesh, humming as he does until he finally helps you off but his fingers don't stray for too long in favour of pushing what he spilled back inside of you with slow and through movements. It’s almost romantic.

You begin talking regularly. He asks for your number that night before dropping you off at home and you’re thrilled to hand it over. 

Most of your texts are trivial and silly things. You spend lots of time interrogating each other to get closer, he likes sending you photos of his cooking, and you like telling him about the books you’re reading. He promises to check out each of them and you promise to test all of his recipes. 

It becomes a routine of sorts. You spend all your spare time texting and calling, at least once a month you get raunchy after going to one of his bands shows, and it feels good. It’s easy and it’s comfortable but you can’t ease that weird gnawing of wondering what exactly is this relationship you’ve developed? You think it’s obvious you like him beyond a friend or fuck buddy but his feelings are hard to read and asking is like a humiliation ritual. Your brain worries over what could or couldn’t be but ultimately you decide it’s best to wait everything out a little bit longer in hopes you can suddenly develop some courage to voice your thoughts. Besides, maybe Mydei is in the same predicament. Or maybe he isn’t but imagining he is makes it a bit easier for you to cope with all the things that make you want to scream and thrash around.

It’s that exact train of thought that gets interrupted by a notification from the man himself. He’s asking if you’d like to come stay with him for the weekend and it’s paired with some sort of fancy dessert as if you’d need further convincing; just him was enough. You’ve never really spent time together in person but there’s a first for everything and maybe you’ll be greeted with an elaborate love confession and the cutest blushing Mydei the world has ever known. Pipedreams are funny things.

He picks you up Friday morning in that same car you’ve gotten busy in numerous times but now you get to sit in the passenger seat. His radio and sound system might be even worse than your friends but you mind significantly less as he’s telling you about the history of each and every song that comes over the speakers. By the time he’s finished explaining one, you’re already three songs later and occasionally he makes you go back to one that he’d talked over because you just can’t miss it. It’s charming how he seems determined to share all these little pieces of knowledge he’s accumulated and you’re down horrendously hanging off every word. It’s an hour long drive but it feels like only seconds when you get to stare at him and you’re only broken out of your reverie when it’s time to get out.

Your first thought is that this certainly isn’t a house or apartment building. Mydei parked his car around the back of some place that, when he unlocks the back door with a bent key he has to force in, you realize is a restaurant of some kind. The air is warm and scented like bread, coffee, and syrup. It’s not some huge establishment but it’s clearly well loved. He shuffles in behind you with a slightly strained smile across his face before explaining.

“I, or we, live upstairs,” he pauses to shout some sort of response to someone's question, “my family runs and owns this place. Breakfast type thing. Closes at one.” A lightbulb suddenly goes on over your head. All of his cooking being so professional suddenly makes sense. He’s been doing this his whole life and, by the sounds of it, gets nervous about people knowing. But he’s not only telling but showing you. 

Mydei grabs your hand in his and gently tugs you along up some stairs and down some hallways. He has to pause to open a door occasionally with those same bent keys and you feel unbelievably special. 

Finally, you arrive at what's his room. It’s not huge by any means but you can tell it really belongs to him. It smells like cinnamon, sage, and musk with that same syrupy sweetness seeping in. There’s a corner dedicated to his instruments; his favourite bass front and center with two different amps. A couple more sit on the walls alongside some framed pieces of memorabilia. Setlists, posters, and other bits you can’t quite recognize. His desk is against a different wall, tidy and neat with only a few papers unceremoniously on top and next to is a television with a large collection of movies underneath. Some are DVD’s others are VHS. Evidently, it's another collection of sorts you feel lucky to see. Across is his bed and it feels weirdly scandalous to see but it’s nicely made and you mentally sob a bit seeing that he actually has not only a bed frame and sheets but a duvet and four pillows. Four of them. Mydei once again has proved himself to far surpass any other man on the face of this planet and probably beyond. You note other uninteresting things, his closet, and a rug until your eyes land on the shelf above his bed. There’s a water bottle and a pair of glasses but who cares about that when there's a stack of books, all of them ones you’d recommended. You’re smiling like you’ve won a million dollars and you see Mydei turn away with red creeping up his ears. You can’t help yourself but tease. “Seems we’ve got a similar taste in literature,” you step closer to him as he concentrates really hard on setting your bag down, the one he insisted on carrying for you, “I’m flattered, really.” Your voice softens out as to not too badly embarrass him despite how much you’d love to see that same rouge crawl down his neck and chest. He grumbles out some sort of reply about how he means what he says and you do, in fact, have fantastic taste. You giggle and barely suppress the urge to poke his cheek in favour of throwing yourself into the chair with a sigh. He visibly relaxes at that and leaves saying he’ll grab something for you both to eat and drink.

You come to learn his family, parents as he’s an only child, are gone for the weekend. They were invited to some sort of event he didn’t really bother to remember the details of but he figured it would be the best time to have you over. He stumbles over his words to explain it’s not because he just wants to sleep with you but because his parents would grill him for more information on you. Apparently, he’s never had a girl over in his life that wasn’t Castorice or Cipher and he doesn’t want you to be tortured with whatever childhood stories they’d be eager to share. You’re a touch disappointed you won’t be privy to baby Mydei yet but the world isn’t ending tomorrow so there’s still time. Before your inevitable wedding, of course.

He pulls out some cheap liquor and you think if not a brunch place, then he should be behind a bar because you don’t taste a drop of alcohol and you’re on the brink of shitfaced with him. Some sort of slasher is on the TV and you’re in a weird pile of limbs on his bed with him laughing about something you don’t really remember. He’s warm and one arm is around your middle as you giggle like kids. You changed clothes after spilling some of your drink down your front and Mydei insisted you wear one of his shirts instead of another of yours in the name of comfort. The graphic on the front is worn out but it's soft and he’s had it on countless times. You feel dizzy with happiness.

At some point he ends up on top of you with his lips on your neck. You don’t remember what led up to it but he’s laughing into your skin and leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks as you play with his hair and sigh with each press of his mouth. He says you both shouldn’t go further while drunk. You almost whine but know he’s right so you settle to have him lather you with kisses before returning the favour.

You wake up the next day with a headache but nothing more besides the bruises covering your neck as evidence of your drinking. Mydei makes pancakes and it’s painfully domestic as you watch from the table. You’ll have to get him a new apron for his birthday as the one he’s wearing has at least a dozen holes in it and is just plain black. He needs something cuter most definitely.

Eating together is nice and you’re leaning over his shoulder as he mulls over what he should post next for the band. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's pressing a bunch of different buttons when you bring up the concept of video content. He throws you a hesitant look so you explain further. Algorithms and people love video content. They love getting to see things in action and, as a band, showing off what they actually make should be paramount. Mydei nods along and moves to his camera roll where he actually does have a variety of videos saved of the band. Some are serious performances, some are practices, and some are Phainon throwing drumsticks straight into his eyes. You huff out a laugh.

It takes some time and by the time but you eventually piece together a pretty cute video that sort of acts like an introduction to the band. By the time you’re done Mydei’s coffee is cold but you’re both proud of the fruits of your shared labour. He sends it to the bands group chat for approval before posting it a couple different places as per your suggestion before throwing his phone on the table and standing to collect the dishes.

You help him wash them up and only whip him with a towel once. The soap he flicked into your eyes was worth it for his expression when the towel cracked against his ass and you swear he smiled just hearing you laugh. It’s all stupidly domestic.

You’re sad when you have to take off his shirt to get dressed for the day. With a tearful dramatic parting, you switch into your own clothes but Mydei promises he’s got more shirts and you’re already coming up with a plan to make his whole wardrobe yours. He’s wearing some sleeveless shirt and, for once, jeans with no extra bits and a pair of sunglasses is shoved onto his head. He’s promised to take you out to his favourite spot to write songs so he holds your hand out to his car, the other one keeping his acoustic on his shoulder. You think he likes holding hands, you hope he never lets go and he doesn’t; at least until you have to get out of the car again.

The view lets you see all the way down to where forest meets beach meets water. You’re admiring the tops of trees and sparkling water as Mydei folds down the back seats so you can both spread out. He keeps the back open as the two of you lay in comfortable silence. He’s picking at chords and humming along, you’re thinking of how any sound he makes could be the soundtrack to your life right now and you’d die happy. Something about ‘love’ and ‘no one else’ passes his lips and maybe it’s about you.

You groan waking up the next morning but someone’s shaking you hard so dozing back off is impossible. The someone in question being a very bewildered looking Mydei who isn’t phased at all by you trying to swat him away while grumbling. Instead, he shoves his phone into your face. It would be annoying if you didn’t see all of the dots and notifications lighting up his screen. You blink dumbly a couple times while opening and closing your mouth like a fish. He mentions ‘the video’ and you realize that this is the response. People have seen it, lots of them, and liked it. You smile and laugh and he’s got the traces of a grin but is clearly too shocked to fully commit. Sitting up, you pluck the phone from his hands and look through all of the comments and influx of followers and likes. You remember the names of some of the bands he likes and a couple of members have given the video their approval so you show Mydei and he almost passes out. There’s far too many comments thirsting after him for your liking so you definitely one hundred percent don’t delete the ones you see.

He’s pacing the room and running both his hands through his hair when you look up again. Clearly, processing this is a lot and you can’t blame him. At this point hundreds of thousands of people have seen his band. It’s a huge deal. There’s a gross feeling in your chest that says he won’t be just yours anymore but you stuff it down; it’s irrational and unfair to feel like that. Instead, you placate him with some reassurances, kisses all over his face, and a promise to make sure only good photos are posted by paparazzi. He wrinkles his nose at the last part but he’s really smiling finally so it’s a win.

You’re busy making him swear not to forget you when he’s famous when his phone starts ringing. Mydei doesn’t seem eager to answer it and tilts the screen to show you; it’s his manager. You can only give a sympathetic smile as he puts it to his ear with a grimace. He’s obviously expecting yelling based on his expression but is pleasantly surprised and pulls the phone away to put it on speaker for you to listen in on.

“You’re stupendously lucky. I’ve had about three different labels bombarding my email with questions and requests and I loathe to think how there’s soon to be more,” you hear a deep sigh, “I’ll have to go through them all then create a more concise list of what they’re offering and asking before sending it for you and the other fools to look over. I can tell you already, there’s some very good looking things here.” You decode he’s talking about record deals. Part of you is surprised they’re already getting offers but the other part knows being early to these things makes labels the most money. Mydei nods along before saying goodbye and looking at you again with his jaw slack.

You’re reminded of how you felt when you first met once more. You’re most definitely in the orbit of something special.

After that weekend Mydei isn’t texting you as much. He isn’t calling and no more new shows have been lined up with how busy the band is signing contracts so you don’t see him then either. It feels weird not to have him so prominently in your life but all you can do is brush off your worries and convince yourself he’ll be back and apologize for his absence soon enough. He’ll tell you all about how he gets to make music in a real studio and how the whole band is excited for what’s next. But one week of radio silence turns into two. Then three. Then a month and you’re pretty sure he’s overwritten you in favour of his new life as a rockstar.

You’ve kept up on his posts as well as the rest of the bands and they’re pulling in thousands of likes and comments. You see them practicing somewhere much nicer and, evidently, their manager doesn’t mind keeping all of the horny comments about Mydei up. Jealousy is nasty and it’s all you feel. You spent the better part of a year siphoning all of your support into him and sacrificing your desire for a real relationship and now he’s airing you like it’s second nature. You’re absolutely green. But it really hits when you check on Phainon’s post and see him joking with fans about how Mydei is ‘painfully single’ and ‘in need of love’. Did you ever agree on a label? No, do you still feel betrayed? Yes, very. All you can do is sigh and put your phone down.

Mydei is smacking Phainon on the back of the head for his comments where they’re sitting in the new studio. Is it embarrassing knowing that he’s been to nervous to confess his feelings to the girl he started fucking that he knew because she was a fan of his? Terribly so, but Phainon taking advantage of his feelings to egg him on into actually telling you made it all even worse. He knew you’d see them and he knew he’d been accidentally ignoring you in favour of other things but now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being his inability to confess and the hard place being Phainon. Mydei dragged his hands down his face with a heavy sigh, knowing he had to do something before you blocked him out of your life altogether.

It’s four in the morning and two months since you last spoke to Mydei when you hear something at your window. It’s an uneven tapping sound and, as someone who’d be first to die in a horror movie, you pull yourself out of bed to go look. Lo and behold, the man himself stands there with a handful of pebbles. You blink a couple times before sighing and making some sort of gesture you hope reads as ‘give me a second’ and turn to head out to see what he could possibly want after ghosting you then showing up at such an ungodly hour. If you were a pettier person you’d have flipped him off and gone back to bed but some feelings never die and Mydei has your heart under lock and key even if you’re pissed.

He looks unusually uncomfortable when you stumble out the door to stand in front of him but softens a bit as he looks at your shirt. It’s then you realize it’s actually one of his shirts you’d stolen.

“Oh. Do you want it back,” you ask with a yawn while rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes. You hope it sounds nonchalant but you’re very chalant about all of this. “I forgot it was yours, sorry. I’ve got a couple others I can grab to give back.” He shakes his head hard and fast.

“No no God no, keep them all,” he pauses for a moment, “You can have more even if you want. As many as I have.” He sounds out of breath as he speaks, “I’m sorry,” it comes out strained and you fear he might cry, “for all of it. I never meant to ignore you and Phainon does nothing but spout stupid shit.” The confession hurts your chest.

“Right, I figured out the Phainon part a long time ago but ignoring me? Leaving me to try and figure out if I ever meant anything to you? If I really was just some stupid groupie who thought maybe you liked me? If it was just some massive ruse to get your dick wet,” you take a deep breath, “Mydei, I’m tired and angry so I’m going to be terribly honest; I really have felt things, love, for you. And having it all shoved down the drain? Hurt. Badly.” Tears sting your eyes but getting it out had to happen eventually and your exhausted brain and heart couldn’t hold the dam anymore. Embarrassment be damned, you hope he feels bad. He nods along to your words and throws the rocks to the ground. His hands land one on your waist and the other on your face before his lips meet yours. It’s fast but surprisingly gentle and you wish you had the strength to deny him this but your face is now wet with tears and your lips are trembling against his. So, you melt against him. You soften completely and let yourself be warmed by his body until he pulls back to stare at you. The hand on your face swipes away each teardrop and his lips follow, kissing the tracks left behind.

“I’m… bad with words but it meant something to me. You mean something to me,” it’s whispered against your cheeks, “I need you. With me. Always, Like a dog needs a bone and a story needs an ending.” You click your tongue.

“…I’m a bone now?”

“The only one I want to chew on.” It’s strangely romantic but then you’re tugging him inside and he’s pushing on his shirt you’re wearing and his shirt he’s wearing. You let him.

You tug him to your room and expect him to shuck off your panties and his pants but instead he pushes you onto your back before settling between your legs. Your face flushes and you turn away but he reaches up to pull your gaze back to him. His eyes are filled with a deep yearning as he drops his head to kiss along your thighs. He’s slow and tender as he plants his lips with purpose, every peck an attempt to translate his feelings and burn them into your skin until you both die.

When his lips finally meet where you need him most you cry out louder than you had intended. It’s so much and not enough at the same time. He licks up and down slowly, pulling out all the slick he can with a deep groan before sucking harshly on the pearl he loves so much. His hands keep you spread open while his mouth works perfectly. He rotates between sweet kitten licks and languid sucks on you before he deems you ready for his fingers. One hand moves away from your thighs to gently poke and prod before sliding inside you slowly. He’s soft with how he opens you up, scissoring the pair of fingers before beginning to push them in and out. The tips massage your insides perfectly as his mouth continues to eat at you with greed. His eyes never leave your face and you can’t do anything but focus on how his mouth and throat bob with each movement; it’s mesmerizing.

Mydei only picks up his pace when he feels you push your hips up into him. He starts fingering you faster while his mouth suckles and licks with renewed vigor. He’s groaning into you loudly and your panting and whining with pleas for him to never stop. Never stop touching you and never stop loving you. If he wasn’t busy with the task at hand he’d promise over and over that he wouldn’t.

It’s sudden when the pleasure overtakes your whole body. A shiver races up your back and you sob at the feeling. You’re gushing all over his face and he’s drinking every last drop like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and maybe it is. His mouth doesn’t stop moving but it slows as he draws out your climax as long as he can without overstimulating you too much. He pulls away with a sigh as if he can’t bear to part from between your legs. His chin rests against your stomach while he appreciates just how beautiful you are in the afterglow. Neither of you speak for a couple minutes until you break the silence.

“I’m still mad at you,” but it comes out mumbled and slurred with elation and he chuckles.

“I know, but I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. Every single second.”

And he kisses you like it’s better than air.

[remina-mina]

First years and how they ended up at Ramshackle (Savanaclaw)

Jack

"Do they always pick fights with you?" "… Yeah but it’s nothing i can’t handle by myself."

If someone asked Jack why he first slept over at Ramshackle he would say it was to make sure his cactus had a safe environment

When Yuu offered to care for it over a weekend while the Track & Field team was away for a tournament he didn't expect to stay there for long

Savanaclaw was his dorm. it was the place where his soul was meant to be and the atmosphere fits him but he can't help but wonder...

He is a lone wolf, he knows it and his dormmates know it too so they remain wary. they hold him at arms length as the freshman who is strong, the one who went against the pack in the past and stood on his own.

He continues to stand tall even as his throat sometimes dries up with memories when he steps onto the spelldrive field or as he wakes up with phantom pains

It isn't uncommon for someone to challenge him to fights as he navigates the dorm. it is nothing he can't handle after all he is a lone wolf, he knows his strengths and knows how to avoid trouble

(He can never bring himself to linger on these thoughts but he knows they're there. Sometimes he can't help but think about how it would feel to be a part of a pack. To have someone defend you when your challenged and dragged into a prideful match.

As he walks into Ramshackle to inspect the environment for his cactus he notices Ace, Deuce, and Grim yelling about a card game. From his angle at the door he spots some cards hiding up Ace's sleeve.

Somehow his observation leads to him getting dragged into a long game of Uno. It slowly devolves into a catch the cheater (Ace) game with everyone teaming against him to figure out his technique

he lost track of time he tells himself ignoring the part of him that willingly overlooked curfew, and he decides to stay the night and helps them pile up mattresses in the center of the lounge

Jack forces himself awake and stumbles to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. He can't find the cups, his hands shake as he fumbles through the cupboards. Suddenly, a full glass of water is handed to him.

As the water soothes his soul, the feeling of overflowing ink and air so dry -so unbelievably dry- leaves him. And to his left is Ace, the heart that's typically drawn on him is gone, his hair is a mess, and for a moment he expects him to laugh and ridicule him. Instead he quietly shows him where the cups are kept and goes back to his spot in the lounge.

And so even if someone asked why he sleeps over at Ramshackle he wouldn't speak the full truth. the truth that sometimes even a lone wolf yearns to not be on the outside for once.

Jack is a tsundere at heart and in many ways Ace is as well so I think having them be the two that understand eachother most is interesting. They both challenged their Housewardens in different ways that ultimately lead to their overblot. Although all the first years were betrayed by someone who was expected to have their best interests at heart, these two are more similar than expected. I almost wish we had more of their interactions in canon but that alright I'll just have to make up for it. Ace / Deuce / Jack / Epel

[quixoticprince]

Yayyy!! Yippee!! I finally get to make one of these!! Art without the text under the cut and some long-winded elaborations:

How long I've been playing: well, it hasn't been a straight 11 years, rather off and on - but I have drawings of these guys dating back to when I was 14, so I'll give it to me. And man I had no business reading the fanfics I was reading back then It's also crazy how this was a super influential media for me in so many ways. It's the reason I ever made a tumblr, it changed the direction of my drawings for a long while, my broken sense of humor (gmod animation memes and yt poops were the brainrot back then), tf2 Sniper changed my god damned gender (rather, it was the inspiration for me to start socially transitioning at 15). This is part of my personal lore that I tend to not admit to 😓

Your main: I've always been completely ass at the game, and I can play flexibly, but I enjoy playing Sniper, and more recently as Heavy. Whenever I'm sitting around somewhere, occasionally throwing sandwiches and attracting Medics, I feel like this:

Favorite character: When I was younger it was definitely Medic, and I think you can tell that he's still up there based on how much I've drawn him! However, since getting back into it, I've felt quite a shift in focus towards Heavy, very strongly. It's unfortunate that he's side-lined in a lot of fanwork, and I think I'm also complicit in this so far - but for me it's cuz, how tf2 works is that it's going to prioritize humor over character and consistency haha, and Medic is just so loud and insane that he's really easy to make fun stuff with. Heavy is a more serious and grounded character, not to say that he's not funny or that he doesn't have his own cartoon slapstick moments! But that aspect of him is what is really really intriguing to me. I love his quiet, stoic, and intimidating character, I like how loud and boisterous he is when filled with bloodlust in contrast! I love his bird story and him getting into wrestling as a child from Poker Night. I love his back story setting, there's so much to extrapolate from a young boy in Russia growing up during WWII, what his parents must have been through before that from the aftermaths of the revolution, all the way to his fathers execution and his imprisonment. I love his strong relationship with his family, his role as an older brother, as a protector, as a man - the way that he performs these roles - and because I personally see him as bisexual - how his orientation intersects with all that! He is incredibly fascinating to me and I wish that he was played around with more to see a lot more corners and angles of these things that I listed! There's way more that I want to say here too but this is getting very long 😅

Character I relate to: It's so interesting that a lot of the characters have very strong, tho maybe dysfunctional, families. Heavy, Demo, and Sniper in particular really speak to me in that relation. From Heavy being an eldest brother (I am also an eldest sibling) the parentification that comes with that, especially with him probably being like 10 years older than his sisters from the looks of it. Demo and Sniper both struggle living up to their parents expectations (although there's a lot of love there from everyone), being disappointments in one way or another (not gonna deep dive into that lol), and the general alienation both of them feel. From Sniper not knowing why he's not like other Australians to Demo being "a black Scottish cyclops." And well, I'm Filipino, I'm queer, and mentally ill so - there's a lot to project there!

Class you want to play as: I find Medic incredibly stressful to play as but I find the idea of battle medics incredibly funny. However I usually find myself rushing around madly trying to cater to everyone, and I'd like to just not give a shit and just start stabbing people with a saw lol

Favorite ship: "I just like the dynamic" - The dynamic:

No but fr, they're really compelling to me, I'd probably need a longer more thought out post as to what I like about them and I was already going crazy up there ^ Overall tho I like that they're practically built for each other in terms of mechanics, really plays into my desire to spiral into intense codependency haha. I also think that Medic's drive to cheat death and hide behind meat shields plays really well into Heavy's desire to be a meat shield and a protector, and how nice it is in turn, that Medic can grant this man who's been around death, starvation, and war invulnerability. (He outsmart boolet, yknow?) They're also depicted together a lot and I like how much they enjoy each others company, and bring a lot of joy to each other. It's beautiful to me :'^)

Character you like to draw: What can I say! Medic is handsome! He is very fun to draw and easy to make memes and shit posts out of!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

About the "kwamis as mentors" angle: Interesting to read and analyse, yet I can't help but feel they were not necessarily meant to be seen as mentors. At least to me, they seemed to be kind of whacky mascot characters who are tied to the lore, who have a personality to crack a joke or point something out or cause a little situation or be cute, but nothing more.

They are rather naive magical entities chained to jewelry (a fact they don't seem to mind that much or think about at all except for Plagg) and all that talk about "being around for 5000 years" and having seen many holders before is just there to make them seem more wise than they actually act like. From what I've seen on the show I would even assume there's a threshold to how much they can even mature emotionally and understand humans. Sometimes Tikki and Plagg even come off as indifferent and egoistical towards their holders (like an example you gave with Tikki, or Plagg's fixation on cheese over Adrien at times).

So...sorry if I missed it, but why do you view them as mentor characters? You made an interesting post about rom-com vs magical girl and the magical girl part is exactly why I always viewed them just as critters to appeal to kids, but nothing more. I can see that the show's writing is so inconsistent that sometimes they are portrayed as wise but more often then not they are just background noise to get a little interaction on screen so that the characters are not talking to themselves about miraculous stuff or to point something out for the audience.

The show's writing is pretty weird, so there are elements that are hard to get a clear read on. The Kwamis are one such element. When they're one-on-one with their chosen, they often feel like mentors to me. When they're all together, they almost always read like "critters to appeal to kids" (mostly because there are too many of them to let them have individual personalities when they're all together). So while I think that they're supposed to be mentors, it's not like that's the only canon-accurate read.

To dig into what I mean by the one-on-one writing, let's look at this exchange from Feast:

Master Fu: See, Wayzz? If Marinette had kept her Miraculous, the sentimonster would have swallowed her right up. Wayzz: Or she would have transformed into Ladybug and fought it. Master Fu: Sometimes fighting is futile, Wayzz.

And then later on we get this:

Wayzz: Master, look! Ladybug and Cat Noir, despite their ridiculous costumes, they haven't let you down! Wang Fu: That's impossible! They don't have their Miraculous! Wayzz: Master, it's obvious it's them—who else would do something so crazy? Cat Noir (Adrien): Hey, have a taste of this! Some exploding banana split from Bananoir! Ladybug (Marinette): Much tastier than any Miraculous! Wayzz: Look, Master, there's no use in running! Your disciples never give up the fight, no matter what! With or without their Miraculous, they are Ladybug and Cat Noir!

That's some pretty active mentoring right there.

Wayzz is probably the character that feels the most like a mentor to me. When he's with Fu, he feels like Fu's partner or adviser, which is why I think that the Kwami's aren't supposed to just be cute critters. They're regular ol' Jimmy Crickets meant to act as a conscience that the characters can talk to since this is visual media and you want a way for the characters to talk through their thoughts instead of having them do it all internally.

I also present this exchange from Desperada as evidence:

Adrien: Plagg, Ladybug needs me. She needs "Adrien"! Plagg: If you asked me, this whole idea is worse than cheese in a can. Adrien: She thinks I'm the perfect guy for this mission. Plagg: You can't be Cat Noir and another superhero at the same time! Which means that you're not the perfect guy for this mission. Adrien: The Lucky Charm told her I am. Plagg: That's not how it works. Why am I bothering? You're not even listening.

We then get Plagg reiterating that this is a bad idea through multiple loops, ending with this:

Plagg: Ah! At last, you've come to your senses. Adrien: I'm not sure Ladybug will have very fond memories of her experience with "Adrien Agreste". Plagg: Then make up for it as Cat Noir.

See? I told you Plagg can be a good mentor when he wants to! Tikki, take notes!

I'd even call this bit from Sapitos some quality subtle mentoring from Trixx:

Alya: Oh please, Ladybug! We'd make a great team! I could help Cat Noir and you every day! Ladybug:(her earrings ring) I'm about to transform back! Hurry! Alya: Please? Ladybug: I have to go! I'm trusting you! (opens a nearby door and goes inside, so she can detransform) Trixx: You're absolutely right, Alya. I'm sure the three of you would make quite the team! You have all the makings of a true superhero. You're strong, brave; but most of all, you're trustworthy.

Way to both build Alya up and reminder her of her duty, Trixx. Gold star. Quality mentorship!

So are the Kwamis supposed to be mentors? Who knows! I just see them fill the role often enough to feel comfortable judging them through that lens.

Miraculous also isn't the only magical girl team show to make the cute critters into mentors. That's a pretty standard path even though it's also common to see the critters used to sell merch/appeal to kids and nothing more. In terms of classic magical girl team shows, I'd say that the Kwamis are written way more like Luna and Artemis from Sailor Moon than Mini Mew from Tokyo Mew Mew.

[astrosamara]

Astrology Observations #2

🩵Mutable risings are constantly changing up their looks because they love experimenting with different aesthetics, whereas fixed risings tend to stick with the same look or a couple of looks throughout their life. They're not as comfortable with outward change.

🩵Mars in the 1st house makes someone a natural athlete and can excel in sports. Also a great placement for dancers.

🩵Saturn in the 1st house and/or Capricorn/Aquarius Rising age like fine wine. They often tend to be late bloomers as well who can feel awkward and uncomfortable with themselves in their early years, but start to grow more into their confidence later in life, specifically after their first Saturn return.

🩵Gemini Venus are so playful and flirty in their relationships. Humor and lightheartedness have to be prominent for them in their relationships to feel loved.

🩵Sun (the father) or Moon (the mother) in the 12th house can indicate that parent dying early in your life or it can represent them being emotionally or physically absent as well. It's spooky how many charts I've seen where this is the case. (I know death is a sensitive topic, so I don't want to freak anyone out by saying this placement is a 100% indicator of a physical death, because it isn't).

🩵I know Taurus' loving food is a huge stereotype, but it's so true! Every Taurus sun in my life loves to go out to eat, cook, or be cooked for and it's their love language. They can also be super big on physical touch such as massages and hugs. They're all about the senses.

🩵Leo moons tend to be the comedians of their family or friend group. They're the ones everyone relies on to bring the fun and playful energy. They really shine a light in people's lives.

🩵Jupiter transiting the 5th house the same time as a Venus return is a super powerful transit for love and romance. I've seen charts where this indicated marriage, meeting a long-term partner, or starting a new relationship.

🩵When it comes to transits, Saturn is the most important planet to look at imo because it's the planet of timing. Looking back on every time Saturn made a conjunction with one of my personal planets or angles, it highlighted a significant event/theme in my life.

🩵Someone having their moon in your 1st house you may notice that these are the people you find yourself easily letting your guard down around. It's easy and comfortable to be with them. This is a great placement for friendship.

🩵You may find yourself feeling soul-bonded to a pet who has their sun as your moon. My cat is a Pisces sun and I'm a Pisces moon and I've never felt such a strong connection to a pet before. He's my actual baby.

🩵Saturn in the 5th house typically aren't interested in having kids. They may feel incredibly overwhelmed by the pressures and responsibilities that come with raising children. If they decide to have kids, their kids can bring out a very karmic energy in them and can exasperate wounds from their own childhood. This can manifest as a positive or negative experience depending on the sign it's in and other aspects.

🩵Check where your 4th house ruler is in your chart. It can further indicate what your childhood was like. For example, I have an empty Gemini 4th house, but my 4th house ruler is in Mercury in my Scorpio 8th house making a conjunction with my Chiron and I had a very dark and traumatic upbringing.

🩵Nobody knows overthinking like a Virgo sun and/or mercury knows overthinking. Their brain is constantly thinking about what can go wrong in any given situation, scanning everything they need to check off from their mental to-do list before they can allow themselves to relax, and will bring up a specific worry you haven't even thought about. I only have a Virgo mars and that's enough Virgo energy in my chart for me. They are the living embodiment of anxiety.

[fuctacles]

Changes

@genderthings ST Women's Day: bouquet T | 805 | Pre-Steddie | Transfem Eddie, coming out, canon adjacent, phone calls | I am not sponsored by Lego but they can call me wink wink | Ao3

"Hey, you're good at making gifts, right?"

"Who is this?"

For a second, Steve blanks, wondering if he's dialed the right number. But the voice in his ear sounds right. 

"Steve? Steve Harrington?"

"Dude, I haven't heard from you in forever."

"Come on, it's been a couple of months at best," Steve protests, but as he starts doing calculations in his head, it doesn't sound as short anymore. 

"Uh-huh, try half a year."

"Shit. Sorry, Eddie. Moving had been... a lot. Guess I've lost track of time. How's life?"

"A lot of work. We have a few labels interested in working with us, but we have to make a few more demos to get signed for an album. But it's... It's good, it feels good."

Steve smiles at the receiver, happy that another one of his friends is following his dreams. 

"That's great! I'm happy for you guys. We should meet up when you're less busy."

"Yeah, totally," Eddie agrees quickly. "I have something to tell you, actually."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"I, uh... So much has changed, man. Different city, different life... It's not Hawkins anymore, you know"

"Tell me about it," Steve chuckles. 

"And I'm changing too. And I'm worried it might be too much."

Steve frowns. Change was always scary, and often meant someone would be left behind, usually him. But he soldiers on with a joke. 

"What, you got even more tattoos? Human painting style?"

"You bet your ass I did," Eddie laughs. 

"Well, Hawkins might hate it, but as long as you're happy, your friends will have your back. We didn't save the world for nothing, right?" 

"Right," he parrots. "So, what did you want to ask me?"

"Ah! Women's Day is coming up and I'm completely blank on what to give Robin."

"Dude." There's a shuffle in the other side, like Eddie changed his position to be more comfortable. "You're her weird cosmic bestie, shouldn't you know her best? How could I possibly be of service?"

"Well," Steve draws out the word, slumping against the wall. "She buys all the books she wants, she's against expensive clothes, we're stocked on candy for a year, and we have limited space. But she said she'd like something to decorate her room, make it more homey."

"Uh, a plant?" Eddie suggests. 

"Eddie. Would I be calling you if the answer was as simple as a plant."

"I'm guessing Buckley is a serial plant killer then."

"She murdered my basil plant and I haven't forgiven her yet."

Eddie snorts before making a loud hum.

"Alright then, well. A painting, a poster?"

"She already has so many posters," Steve groans. "I'm not sure there's even space left on the wall, not after she stole that huge Madonna one."

"I see the big city is doing her good, huh?"

"I need ideas."

"I don't know, man. You're close enough, get her a vibrator or something."

"Already got her one for Christmas."

It's Eddie's turn to groan.

"Just give her fake flowers, Jesu— wait. Does she like puzzles?"

"Uh, yeah? But we have nowhere to display them, so—"

"Did you know Lego has flower sets?"

"It was a great idea, thank you so much! I forgot how much fun it is."

Eddie laughs on the other end of the line. 

"I'm glad to be of help. What did you get?"

"A bonsai tree. It looks great."

"Good to know you're living my dream," he chuckles. 

"What do you mean?" Steve asks curiously, before flopping down on his bed for the conversation. 

"I fucking love Lego, but this shit is so expensive. And, don't tell anyone," Eddie lowers his voice. "But I do like flowers, and can't keep them alive neither."

"I'll keep that in mind," Steve chuckles. "Sooo, when will you be free to meet up?"

"When you said about changes, I didn't think you mean...."

"Tits?" Eddie finishes for him, her shoulders angling in to hide. "If you can even call them that."

"No, don't hide! They're—"

A smirk grows on Eddie's face. She might be wearing make up and style her hair differently, but her dimples are all the same.

"Yeah? How are my tits, Harrington?" she teases.

"Shut up," he grumbles. "You look good, okay? And you'll keep changing, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm aiming for a rack..." she forms her hands into cups in front of her chest. "...this big."

"Who'll pay for the chiropractor?" he raises his eyebrows.

"Uh, my rock star salary? Duh," she rolls her eyes. 

"Mom, I am a rich man?" 

"Exactly," Eddie grins at him.

On their way back, Steve pulls her into a florist's and buys a single rose. 

"For the Women's Day I've missed," he explains, handing it over with a wink.

Next year, Eddie gets two bouquets: live red roses and a sunflower Lego set.

tags: @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @wheneverfeasible