#i have some FUCKING FEELINGS about these two ok?

[all-by-myself98]

OK I'm gonna rant for a second

When I was sick with covid last Feb, I watched the Malcolm X movie and I mentioned the Angela Bassett phenomenon in a Letterboxd review I was basically like.

This woman has such an interesting range of works. Not a predictable range like from comedies to actions to horrors. But like from what would be considered high brow vs low brow film and TV.

She's done like the serious Oscar tier kinda shit like the Tina Turner biopic, Boyz n the Hood, the Malcolm X movie as I mentioned, and a lot of other like. Really successful really like. The kinda shit that might be considered high brow or like. cinema shit, you know? Shit that wins awards and stays in people's minds because of how highly regarded it is

And then she's kinda gradually tapered off of that, which is fine! I think if I was an actress and I had a shit ton of success earlier in my career, I might also branch off and look at other projects. A lot of the stuff she's been in nowadays isn't really classified as high brow. It's mostly drama television or cartoons or, of course, action stuff. Like there was Meet the Robinsons, there was American Horror Story, there was fucking. ER! She was in ER for like two years(?) as a main role! And then of course that itty bitty foray in the failed Green Lantern movie, and then her actual success with the Black Panther movies.

Like... They're less dramatically intense, more just. Fun! She got her bag of money early on and now she's doing whatever the fuck she wants which is so valid of her, I would do the same thing if I ever went into that line of business. Earn your security, then have fun and do what you want!

And honestly this might not have even been her intent. There could have been other stuff going on. Her wiki link mentioned that after her Tina Turner biopic she wasn't getting any calls for roles for like a year and a half. So maybe people were just being idiots and skipping over her, maybe there was some dumb fucked up Hollywood politics involved, or maybe she's genuinely letting herself have fun with her roles now, OR maybe she noticed that there's just as much integrity and potential in a role like Athena Grant or Queen Ramonda or Marie Laveau than there is in her earlier character counterparts.

Again, this is also relying on this backwards and outdated idea of high brow vs low brow film and television. I don't subscribe to these ideas, and I think it's low-key kinda ridiculous and I think people should just have fun watching what they want without feeling like what they want to watch isn't good enough or doesn't command the same respect... But sadly other people do absolutely subscribe to these ideas and you can tell because it's difficult not to notice a difference in the tone or nuance of two different works, and why some works are not nominated for awards as much as others because some Hollywood awards panel either don't see it as serious or as respectable enough to be in with the so called "big leagues".

All visual work is valid and all visual work is capable of eliciting the emotions they need to elicit to keep their audiences hooked.

ANYWAYS that's the end of my little blab

I love Angela Bassett and whatever is the reason for her shift in her filmography, girl you are not gonna hear me complain one bit. As long as she's happy, I'm happy for her. I just find it fascinating to think about is all

And thus. The Angela Bassett phenomenon (copyright pending)

trying to understand a show you don’t watch only through gifs you see on your dash

[banananutmuffin28]

hii if u take reqs could u plsss write a wlw semi x fem reader college au where reader and semi are roommates but don’t get along well bc semi is loud/disruptive and always bringing girls over but over time semi falls for reader as they get closer and gets jealous when someone makes romantic advances towards the reader? happy ending and with a reader that has a sweet and cute kind of personality if that’s ok! so sorry if this is too much for a req 😭😭 tysm 🫶

A/N: YESSS! So sorry this took so long! I was a bit fatigued from work, haha.

Se-Mi x FEM! Reader—College AU

You were quite never fond of loud noises.

The distaste stemmed from when you were very little. You always hid away during thunderstorms and cried when the gongs of the lion dances grew too loud.

As you grew, it would become more manageable, but your dislike of it was always still there, lingering in the shadows.

You were the quiet type of girl who'd rather spend her nights curled up around a television, rather than spend her time partying outside.

Being surrounded by the pillows and gentle quiet made you feel safe.

And so, with this knowledge in mind, of course the universe decided to give you the most annoying and irresponsible roommate ever.

Se-Mi.

You knew she was trouble from the very moment you met her.

You purse your lips. You could still recall that time, even now.

She was dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans. One hand gripped the case of a guitar, while the other was combing through her short hair. She didn't seem too interested in you, rather, it seemed like she merely wanted to get the pleasantries out of the way so that she could go off into her own little world.

You already knew she was a huge fan of piercings. There was one on her lip, one on her nose, and when she started to introduce herself you could catch glimpses of one on her tongue.

And, if her attire was truly the only odd thing about her, then you could live with that.

After all, who were you to dictate how other people dressed?

But, that wasn't the end of it. Hell, it was only the beginning.

For starters, Se-Mi’s room was always half-open, allowing the heavy metal music on her speaker to bleed out into the rest of the dorm. 

You had tried asking her to dial back the volume multiple times, but it never really helped.

It seemed the two of you had very different definitions of the word, “quiet.”

And, what was more, Se-Mi was not bashful about her appearance. At all.

You flush, remembering multiple times when she would simply stroll right out of the shower in only her bra and a pair of very short shorts. You remember once when she had walked straight into the kitchen like that while you were frying eggs.

The sight of her toned stomach and the faint outlines of her abs made you blush. And fuck, were her arms always so muscular?”

You didn’t notice the acrid smell until it was too late.

Later that night during dinner, Se-Mi blurted out, “How the hell did you manage to burn scrambled eggs?”

Se-Mi’s music taste and lax boundaries weren’t the only things that clashed with your own.

She was also a party girl.

At first, she hadn’t visited many, and the few she did frequent never stole her away for more than a few hours.

But then summer hit.

And, from then onward, Se-Mi would always come home at an ungodly hour, smelling of liquor and with her arm wrapped around a girl.

The first time you had seen her like this, you screamed, more for her sake than yours.

"Se-Mi! What the hell are you doing at this hour? And who the hell is with you?"

The other woman merely shrugged, lips curling into a lazy grin as she ignored your question to whisper something into the stranger's ear.

The girl turned a bright shade of red, and then scurried into Se-Mi's room.

You scowled.

Great, so your new roommate was a womanizer.

"Oh, don't worry about it sweetheart. I'm just having some fun," SeMi cooed, stepping over to pinch your cheek.

You wrinkled your nose and swatted her hand away.

Se-Mi pouted.

"And besides," She continues, gesturing a hand towards you, "What gives you the right to lecture me about being up at this hour while you yourself are out of bed?"

You could barely hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

Running a hand along your neck, you pointed to your frizzled hair and tired eyes.

"Your loud footsteps woke me up, genius."

Normally, you were never this rude to strangers, and certainly not so quickly after meeting them. 

But, something about Se-Mi sparked a fire inside you, prompting you to snipe back.

And besides, it wasn't as if she was making any effort to be nice to you.

Unrepentant, Se-Mi waved her hand dismissively.

"Sorry, didn't know you were a light sleeper. I'll be careful next time," She said, in a tone that made you think she definitely wasn't going to be careful next time.

Before you could think of a retort, she began walking away.

"Sorry, sweetheart,” She purred, wiggling her long fingers into the air. “I can't talk for long. I got a girl to see."

As she strolled to her room and shut the door, you let out a loud exhale.

This was going to be a long night.

–

Yesterday, you learned approximately two things about your roommate. One: She was apparently great at sex, and Two: Whoever she brought over could not keep her damn trap shut.

You already knew you looked like a walking zombie before Mi-Na called you out on it.

"Hey girl!" She chirped, skipping up to you with a perkiness that made you jealous. She paused when she got closer, eyebrows drawn up in concern, "You doing okay? You look like a sick bear chewed you up then spat you back out."

You looked at her wearily.

"What gave it away?"

Mi-Na shook her head incredulously.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's how you're literally hunched over like you're suddenly in your eighties and your skin became five layers paler?" Mi-Na grabbed a strand of your hair, appalled. 

"What happened to your shine? Your morning smiles?"

You barked out a laugh.

“It’s just my roommate. She brought a girl over at 2 AM in the morning and the thin walls did a terrible job concealing their concerning noises.”

The brown haired girl jutted her lips out and she cupped your face together.

“That’s fucking terrible! I think I would straight up kill her if she were mine.”

Mi-Na backed away and straightened up.

"That's it! Today after you're done with your classes I'm taking you to the cafe. I can't have my best friend keel over so quickly. What if you were supposed to meet a rich hot woman tomorrow and your death off-sets the universe?”

She clamped your hand in hers and started dragging you over to the vending machines. As she walked, the keychains in her bag jingled softly, making you smile. 

Your eyes trailed to the glittery pink bunny keychain clipping to the front, then looked back to the red one dangling from your backpack.

Mi-Na had purchased it a few years ago when the two of you were in a mall.

“See? Now it’s obvious to everyone that we’re besties!”

The memory eased a bit of the tiredness from you, making your body feel lighter.

Letting out a giggle, you began to skip along with her.

Noticing your change in demeanor, Mi-Na grinned.

“Yes! That’s the bestie I know!”

–

The cafe food really did help. Mi-Na didn’t hold back, and demanded you try each and every one of the pastries and a drink of your choice in order to, and you quote, “Regain your sunniness.”

Honestly, you were surprised you didn’t get a stomachache from all the sweets.

Stomach comfortably full, you strolled along the familiar path on your campus to the dorm. A dumb smile was dancing across your face, and the scenery felt clearer. 

The trees swayed gently in the gentle breeze, and you could hear the birds chirping faintly in the distance. The sun was setting, bathing you and the concrete path in a warm orange glow.

Maybe your dorm state improved, too.

The thought sent a thrill down your spine, setting your chest alight with excitement. You would be roommates with Se-Mi for a very long time–you didn’t want to spend all of that hating her.

But…as you walked, you noticed a peculiar buzz in the air. It bounced along the breeze, managing to sound both obscenely loud and muted at the same time.

You pause, feeling the smile start to die on your lips as you look around.

Was someone throwing a party?

You stare at the many windows of the dormitory, trying to find one with shifting lights or figures of people in the aperture. 

No luck.

You shrugged, and continued to walk.

Whatever. It wasn’t your business, anyways.

–

Fuck. 

Okay, maybe it was your business after all. Because, why in the hell was the music coming from your dorm?

Please tell me I’m just going crazy, You think, heart thundering in your ribcage. Parties lasted a fucking long time and you didn’t have the energy to kick a whole group of people out of your room.

You put your hand on the doorknob, and twisted it.

On the other side were four people. Se-Mi was off to the side strumming the guitar, a man with purple-dyed hair was in the middle with a microphone to his mouth, another man with waves in his hair was drumming, while the last, shortest man had his back turned to you, recording the group.

They all froze when they noticed you.

“Hey, what the hell man?” The guy—whose name you just vaguely remembered was Thanos—hissed, glaring at you. “Do you know how long that took us to get right?”

He turned to the man recording.

“Cut!” He screamed, before running a hand along his face. “Min-Su, I thought I told you to lock the damn door!”

“I-I did!” Min-Su stammered, glancing back at you fearfully. “I swear—“

“I have the key,” You interrupt, awkwardly holding the metal object out. “I’m Se-Mi’s roommate.”

The second her name left your lips, Se-Mi set aside her guitar and rushed to you.

Her eyebrows were furrowed and her face was scrunched up in a frown. “Hey love, why didn’t you knock first?” She asked, a little forcefully. “Now we’re going to have to reshoot everything.”

Your eyes narrowed and you scowled back. 

“Look, it’s not my fault I’m still sleep deprived,” You grumble, jutting a finger at her chest. “Which was your fault, by the way. I was terrified you were throwing a large fucking party in our dorm!”

“Wait—hold on a second,” The drummer interrupted. “Se-Mi, did you fuck your roommate?”

“What?���

“Nam-Gyu!”

For the first time ever, both you and Se-Mi were in sync.

Pink flushed the other woman’s cheeks. She glanced at you for the briefest of moments, but averted her gaze just as fast.

And, you weren’t faring much better. You were suddenly intimately aware of how close you were to Se-Mi, and the fact that if you just reached a little further you could hold her hand.

Don’t you dare think about that, you idiot! Remember how obnoxious she is!

Still, you felt like your face just turned fifty shades brighter, and you were sure your mouth was open enough to resemble a frog trying to catch flies.

“Hey, she and I did not have sex last night,” Se-Mi growled defensively, staring daggers at Nam-Gyu. 

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming.

“If that’s what you say~”

“Asshole.” Se-Mi whispered. You were inclined to agree.

Thanos put down his microphone, looking unamused. 

“Fuckkk, all this talking’s making me tired.”

He packed his things and walked towards the door. 

“I’m heading out. Peace.”

The others followed suit, until it was only you and Se-Mi.

She blew out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

“Great, now we’ll have to do it again another day,” Se-Mi grumbled as she began to clean up the mess her bandmates left behind.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad…” You start, though when she barks out a laugh you stop.

“Sweetheart, do you know how hard it is to fucking organize a time when we’re not all busy with some shit?”

“Like what? Getting drunk at parties?” You hiss back.

Se-Mi’s eyes widened, then her lip began to curl into a snarl.

“Don’t act like I’m some drug addict, love. Just because I can afford to have fun doesn’t automatically make me some junkie.”

 “The hell? I can have some fun too!”

“You call watching TV and squeaking around with your best friend all day fun?”

You swear your Goddamned roommate is going to be the death of you.

“Yes, I do, and if you don’t want to end up dead in a ditch one day you should try it too,” You grit out, before turning around to your room.

“I’m too tired to keep this argument going. I’m going to bed.”

—

The tension between you and Se-Mi grew each passing day. 

It became suffocating.

Minor problems ended up turning into major fights, and neither of you would respect the other’s wishes.

You refused to leave the room whenever Se-Mi’s band came along.

Meanwhile, Se-Mi blasted her music, and it was so loud that you could feel it reverberating in your rib cage.

Your roommate is a nightmare.

—

The door to Se-Mi’s room burst open.

You flinch, nerves alight as you pull the blanket taut over your cold frame. You rip your eyes from the TV screen, staring at Se-Mi.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, are you alright?”

Se-Mi only scowls in response.

A phone dangles from her hand as she presses it to her ear, completely ignoring you.

“Yeah, of course I’ll be there,” She says. Try as she might to hide it, there was a tremor in her voice.

Se-Mi’s steps were unsteady, and more than once she had to lean against the wall to keep herself from toppling over.

Shit she is not okay.

Concerned, you stand up, leaving your blanket to hang haphazardly on the couch. 

“Hey,” You say, hardening your voice as you make your way to her. “ You’re not feeling well, are you? Seriously, go sit down.”

Se-Mi sniffed, still refusing to meet your gaze.

“It’s just a cold,” She replies curtly. “Why do you care, anyway? Don’t you hate me or some shit?”

Her harsh words cut open your heart as you feel your face fall.

“What?” Sure, I may not like you and you’re certainly an ass, but I don’t hate you.”

You pause.

“And even if I did, I still wouldn’t want you making a mess all over the living room floor.

You stop mid sentence to grab her arm. “Come on, you look like you’re going to vomit.”

“Get off me!” She snarls, though she barely has any strength to push you away. The taller woman tries to move away, but she suddenly doubles over in pain and ends up curling into you instead.

“Shit…”

“Hey, senorita are you alright?” 

Thanos’s voice could be heard on the other side. His voice was a little soft, muffled by the sound of music.

“Give me that,” You demanded, before putting on the brightest voice you could muster. “Sorry, Thanos, but Se-Mi isn’t going to attend whatever you’re planning. I’m putting her on house arrest.”

“What? Why—“

You end the call before he can say more.

Se-Mi was glowering at you, her chest heaving. She was still leaning at you for support, though you could tell in her eyes that she loathed every second of it. 

“What the hell was that for? I don’t need your help—“

She starts to cough.

Hastily, you bring her to the sofa and bundle her into your blanket.

She looked like an oversized blanket burrito.

The corner of your mouth tilts up, and you could barely suppress the giggle bubbling up in your throat. Your roommate looked so…soft like this.

You could almost call it cute.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” Se-Mi mumbles, snapping you from your thoughts. Her cheeks were tinged pink again, and she nervously played with her lip piercing.

Heat rushed through you.

“Of course! I’m so sorry,” You stammer, and run to get her a cup of water and a cold towel.

When you come back, you find Se-Mi curled up in a ball. Her gaze was fixated on the telenovela you were watching, and she gripped the arms of the sofa.

“They’re so stupid!” She exclaims hoarsely when she hears your footsteps. She pauses, taking a swig of the cup you handed to her before continuing. “How can they be so oblivious to their feelings?”

Who would’ve known your obnoxious roommate likes soap operas of all things. 

You liked it. At least now you could bond with her over something.

Giggling, you crawl onto the couch with her and pat her back.

“Shhh, give them time. I’m sure they’ll sort through their love problems eventually.”

She chewed her lip.

“They better, else I might reach through the screen and smack them both on the head.”

A snort escapes your lips before you could quell it. Se-Mi grins, leaning closer to you. 

A loud explosion draws your attention back to the screen, and you quiet down. Se-Mi follows suit, scrunching her nose as she watches.

When the episode finishes, she lets out an angry groan.

“It was so obvious that that witch was lying!” She grumbles, freeing a hand so she could point it to the screen. “They’re so stupid, love!”

You laugh again, wrapping your arms around Se-Mi.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait until next week to see what happens next.”

She stills in your embrace, exhaling softly.

You frown. “What’s wrong, Se-Mi? Do you not like being hugged?”

She shakes her head. 

“Nah, sweetheart, it’s just…” She trails off, trying to fit her thoughts into words. “I’ve been an ass to you, yet you still cared enough to take care of me and let me hog the blanket.”

Se-Mi turns to you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The way she looked at you so earnestly–with shame and gratitude flooding her eyes–awoke some primal feeling inside you. It was like you had just run a marathon; your nerves were alight and you were breathing oh so heavily.

Nervously, you reach a hand out to her, praying to any and every God out there that she wouldn’t notice your flushed skin. 

“I…was a bit of an ass too,” You admit, hating the hitch in your voice. “Let’s call it a truce?”

Se-Mi beamed and clasped your hand in hers. 

Her skin was hot.

“Yeah.”

“She paused.

“Hey, you said the next episode will come out next week?”

“Yup.”

“Could I maybe…be there to watch it with you?”

 Se-Mi seemed to have to force the words out, and she bowed her head slightly.

Your eyes widened. But, it wasn’t long before a stupid grin made it on your face.

“Of course!” You chirp. “Be warned though, I might talk your ears off.”

Se-Mi gave you a wry smile.

“There are worse ways to die.”

“So, it’s a date?”

Se-Mi gasped softly and you cursed yourself. You had always used that term with Mi-Na, and it didn’t matter much since she was straight and you were not. 

But…this was different. Se-Mi was very vocal about her complete disinterest in dudes.

And, it wasn’t like you weren’t attracted to her on any level. Again, the memory of Se-Mi’s toned body and slender fingers barged back into your mind. You saw how well she played the guitar, and noticed how she would always leave in the morning to run laps around the campus.

More than once, you had nearly choked on your coffee when her shirt would ride up just enough to reveal the light abs beneath. 

 Embarrassment began to pool in your gut and you scrambled to save yourself.

“As friends!” You yelped with a little too much enthusiasm. “As totally, 100% platonic friends.”

Se-Mi didn’t respond, and instead chose to stare at you blankly.

Fuck.

Did you really just ruin the budding friendship you had with your roommate?

With each passing second, it became more and more unbearable to feel her gaze on you. Maybe it would be more merciful to disintegrate into a thousand particles right now and be swept up in a dustpan. 

“You know, sweetheart, with how you worded that it sounded anything but platonic.” Se-Mi finally teased, eyes twinkling as she began to unfurl the blanket from her body.

Sweat glistened from her neck, and the tips of her ears were tinted pink.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that! I swear!” You squeak, which only serves to make her laugh harder.

“Really now?” She whispered, slowly crawling to you. Se-Mi was careful not to crush you, placing one knee between the spot in your legs whilst resting the other to the left of you.

And it was oh so unfortunate that she was wearing a shirt with a low V-neck today.

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it—“

Boobs.

Your mouth opened into a silent scream.

Se-Mi shook her head fondly.

“Alright, alright, sweetheart, I’ll stop the teasing,” She said, eyes glinting mischievously. 

The taller woman moved away and sat back up, cheeks flushed.

“I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

—

After your conversation with her, weekly telenovela get togethers became commonplace. Usually, Se-Mi would bring the blankets and pillows while you prepared the snacks. Once you two were both settled, you’d switch the TV on and snuggle together side by side.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t feel flustered when Se-Mi’s skin brushed against yours, and that you didn’t fantasize about kissing her hot, soft lips while her calloused fingers trailed down your thigh.

You are not falling in love with your stupid, obnoxious roommate. That simply wasn’t possible. You hate her.

You hate her.

You loathed her.

You…

Oh, who were you kidding?

You whine, shoving your face into the blanket wrapped around your waist as you tried to get away from your intrusive thoughts.

Focus on the damned show! Not on how terribly you wanted Se-Mi’s hands to wander across your body, to touch you in the most intimate of places.

No.

No!!

Shut up you dumb, horny thoughts—

“Sweetheart, are you focusing on what I’m saying?”

You gasp, jumping backward slightly.

Se-Mi’s face was so close to your own, allowing you to memorize her features.

Fuck, she’s so pretty.

“Yes?” You stammer?

Se-Mi’s lips twisted into an apologetic frown.

“Next week I can’t attend our movie night, love. My friends have been complaining nonstop about how I “suddenly ditched them” and how they really miss me. Apparently they organized a whole secret party for me and only told me today.”

She blew out a breath.

“I can’t skip a party if it’s literally thrown in my honor.”

Disappointment flooded your veins, but you still tried to smile.

Noticing your reaction, Se-Mi played with her hair anxiously. 

“I’m really sorry, love. If there was any way out of it for me, I’d take it but…my hands are tied.”

“Wait,” You say, suddenly grabbing her hands. “Take me with you.”

Her eyes widened.

“Are you sure, love? Don’t you hate loud noises?”

“I do, but I want to spend more time with you. And we’ve only been focusing on my interests. I want to try some of yours too.”

Se-Mi smiled.

“You’d really do that for me? Thank you.”

She ruffled your hair.

“But, if it gets too much, will you promise to let me know? I’ll bring you home immediately.”

You nodded.

Try as she might, Se-Mi couldn’t contain the excitement buzzing through her.

“That’s great! I can’t wait to see you there.”

—

You frowned, twirling around in the mirror. In front of you, your dress flared out prettily. Your fingers danced in your hair, making sure that no strands were out of place.

You can do this, you think.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

Se-Mi’s voice was muddled through the doorway.

“I am!” 

Eagerly, you opened the door and posed in front of her.

“How do I look?”

Se-Mi inhaled sharply, her eyes alight with an emotion you couldn’t quite describe.

“…You look gorgeous,” She whispers at last.

You grin, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks. 

“Well, you’re easy on the eyes, too.”

And she truly didn’t. Se-Mi wore a buttoned up navy blue shirt and black stylish pants. Her hair was combed, and a small guitar pin was pinned to her shirt pocket.

Fuck, you wanted to kiss her so bad.

You shook your head, once again trying to dispel those thoughts.

This was going to be a normal party. Nothing more.

Se-Mi extended a hand to you.

“Lets go, love.”

—

A disco ball hung from above, coating the large room in an assortment of colors. First, the walls were red, then shifted to green, blue, and so on. 

The table containing the snacks and drinks was crowded, and everyone was talking at once.

This wasn’t your scene.

Immediately, you looked to Se-Mi, and some of that stiffness in your posture melted away.

She looked so content like this, like it was her natural habitat. She chatted with various people, seemingly unbothered by the strong smell of alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

But, Se-Mi would always periodically glance back at you to make sure you were okay. The gesture made your heart swell.

Currently, she was engrossed in a conversation with a man in black slacks. 

You let her be, and started to meander around the room, wanting to stretch your legs.

Suddenly, you felt a cold hand on your shoulder.

“Hey baby,” A very drunk man purred, trying to pull you towards his chest. “What’re you doin’ here, all alone?”

You swat his hand away, disgusted.

“Don’t touch me,” You snapped, and tried to move away.

“Awww, don’ be like that, baby.” He said, his words slurring together. The stranger tried to palm your breasts, and you wanted to retch.

You opened your mouth, ready to retort—

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Her.”

From seemingly out of nowhere, Se-Mi burst into view, her eyes coldly trained on the man in front of you. She all but ripped his hand away from your chest, and slammed him to the wall.

The man shrieked.

“Get off me! I don’ want your dirty hands on me.”

“Oh? So now all of a sudden you care about consent, you dipshit?” Se-Mi sneered, sinking her fingernails into the man’s skin. “You didn’t seem all too worried about it earlier, when you were molesting her.”

The creep didn’t respond, and only scowled, trying to wrench himself free from her grasp. 

“Get out.” Se-Mi spat, finally releasing him. “I want your face out of here in the next thirty seconds, or I’ll throw you out myself.”

The man fell to the floor, and all but scrambled to run out the door.

Se-Mi’s chest heaved up and down. Sweat slicked her forehead, and a snarl was still on her face.

“Did he hurt you anywhere?” She demanded, grabbing your arms to check for injuries. When you winced at her roughness, she immediately relaxed her grip.

“Fuck, sorry sweetheart. You okay?”

You only nodded, pulling her into an embrace.

“Can we get out of here?”

“Of course.”

—

The cold air bit your skin and you shivered, nuzzling closer to Se-Mi’s embrace. Cursing, she hugged you tighter and rubbed your arms.

“Shit, I forgot to bring a jacket.”

“It’s okay…” You mumbled, sinking deeper into her hug. “I like this.”

“That bastard,” Se-Mi hissed angrily. She cupped your face protectively and stroked your hair. “To have the fucking audacity to lay a finger on you while looking like that.”

You hushed her and pulled her closer.

“It’s okay, Se-Mi. I’m okay.”

She sighed.

“I know, sweetheart. I was just…scared. I know you didn’t like him touching you.”

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with hers.

“I’d prefer you touch me instead,” You admit, cheeks growing red.

“W…what?” Se-Mi looked like a deer frozen in headlights. Her face turned a deep shade of pink and she ran a hand through her hair.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I mean, you just went through a terrible experience, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“I mean it,” You murmur, tilting your face to angle yourself against her lips.

“I…I want you to kiss me. To make me forget his touch.”

Se-Mi exhaled softly. 

From beside her, a car drove past the road, briefly illuminating her face in an otherworldly glow.

She bit her lip, her hands sinking down to your hips.

“If you insist,” Se-Mi whispered, and you could feel her breath tickling your lips.

“Of course I do.”

Slowly, she closes the distance.

Her lips were soft.

So utterly soft.

Se-Mi’s mouth tasted sweet, and you whined, tongue prodding at her lips, begging her passage. She allowed it, opening her mouth for you to explore.

Gently, she began to dip you down, supporting your back with her hand.

When the two of you finally parted, Se-Mi grinned, wearing that stupid smirk that she always had.

“You’re a good kisser, sweetheart.”

She purred, brushing your cheek with her hand.

You sighed, leaning into her touch.

“You aren’t so bad yourself.

[yellowocaballero]

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled. 

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully. 

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it. 

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick. 

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages. 

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit. 

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining. 

Poor guy. Imagine being from France. 

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place. 

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive. 

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.” A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird.  Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?” 

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!” 

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you  know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it. 

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short. 

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that. 

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully. 

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing. 

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed. 

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust. 

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned. 

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

*

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc - 

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this. 

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

*

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles. 

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’. 

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing. 

*

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried. 

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned. 

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes. 

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself. 

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed. 

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same. 

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside. 

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said. 

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody. 

It was so easy. It scared Marc. 

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

[salty-an-disco]

What chapters would you say are your favourite characterisations for each of the voices? I ask because a lot of the way they act is very much based on what chapter they’re in :3c

Ooooohhh, that's a good one��… I take all the different ways they're portrayed in these chapters in consideration to inform different facets of them, but if I were to choose a favorite, let's see–

Contrarian: As much as I like seeing their more spiteful side in Fury and Apotheosis, and their line readings in Razor is fucking top-notch, nothing can beat the character arc they go through in Stranger for me. It's just. so good. Love this clown who's full of resentment and guilt <3

Cheated: Torn between Cage and Wraith…… Wraith, because seeing her bond with Cold over their mutual hatred for the narrator is just so fun, and how she goes about suggesting throwing Wraith in the pit ("Fuck those two. Let's flip the table!" how Contrarian of you Cheated) is just incredible to me. But I also really like how Cage shows that as sympathetic as Cheated can be, she can still fall into doing cruel things just to assert control over her circumstances, even to her own detriment. That's some good stuff.

Skeptic: EotN Skeptic, my beloved…… I feel like after pris-cut, people started focusing too much on Cage for Skeptic's characterization. Which doesn't feel fair, when that's him at his most stressed and desperate to cling to any semblance of control. It's still a very interesting look into his character, but people seem to be taking that as his default, and not him in dire circumstances. In Eye of the Needle, though, Skeptic is much calmer and even friendly, trying to gas Stubborn up to get him to help. He has a theory and a very simple set of circumstances to test, and even seems a bit excited to test it. Also shout out to Den Skeptic, the moment when he realizes the Princess is more than just a moment is everything to me. He's got low empathy, but he tries to be fair to others <3

Smitten: Sighs, really wish we got to see more of him, really feels like out of anyone, his character is really underexplored, which is a shame. Character-wise, though, gotta give it to Burned Grey. He's just…… so fucking devastated, lashing out at everyone around him, and the way he quickly switches up the moment we see the princess aikskkdmdk This chapter is what really shows where Smitten's priorities are to me. Her safety. Her happiness. At the expense of anyone and anything, even himself. And if he has to hurt, to burn alive, to get to it, he will.

Stubborn: Listen…… the way he managed to have such good chemistry with Adversary despite never speaking to her directly is just sijsjddjjdjdjf SO GOOD SIKSKDKJDKFJ. And I love, LOOOOOVE how he isn't the cliché 'ew, emotions' kinda tough guy. No, he feels, and he feels STRONGLY, you can even get him and Ada to sob in this route I'm just simskjdmdjjdjfj THEM!!!

Broken: Call me a contrarian (heh), but I love seeing Broken getting worse and doubling down on his devotion lol. It's more engaging, OK? And how spiteful and even mean he gets in Tower-Fury is just so good akmskkdmmdjdjd

Hunted: Den with Skeptic…… Just. Seeing this lil guy who was so so afraid of Beast finally get to understand her, to connect to her, and be the one urging you to reach out to her is SO GOOD. Also, the ending where you end up trapped under the rocks with her, when Hunted realizes there's no escape, and it just says it'll lay down and rest for a moment…… OUGH.

Opportunist: Gotta go with Wraith for him too aikskdjdjdjdis Not only is him hilarious there, but also surprisingly competent??? He actually manages to successfully suck up to the princess here???? The surprise factor of it matched with just how funny he is really bumped him up for me when I first saw this version of the route lol

Cold: Another one where their own route just can't be beaten to me akmskddmxmdm. I just love how even after murdering her in cold blood and suggesting we try to kill her again, Cold still gets along with the Princess so well. I also just really like his insights in this route when you decide to free her, about where does a world ends and another begins. It just goes to show how detached he is from reality. (Also, him casually insulting the Narrator every other sentence is just too good lol).

Paranoid: Apotheosis……… What I think is interesting though, is that while on the outside, it looks like Paranoid is 'winning' here, I think she's never been losing it more. She just confirmed that there are no fucking rules. This world is whatever they think it can be. And for someone with a lot of intrusive thoughts (no, it isn't Cold who's 'intrusive thoughts personified', stop calling him that, it's medically inaccurate and honestly insulting to people who actually suffer from intrusive thoughts), the mere idea of it is TERRIFYING. And I think she reaizes that just as they go to that epic fight, which is why she laughs like that, and why the fall is so hard on her and immediately makes her back down and feel like everything's doomed again. For a person full of delusions and intrusive thoughts, the construct is a fucking nightmare world (pun intended).

Hero: Now, for him, I just can't choose one route for his characterization. Out of all the voices, I think he's the most important one to really take into account how he can act in each route when characterizing him. I love his complexities and different facets so much, I made them into a plural system wkmsdmdkdmd he's just. sighs. Hero, my beloved <3

[rainytrashh]

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

First Time

Fic type-> NSFW + request

Tags-> Sub/ bottom Jayce, Jayce’s first time bottoming, no protection/ cumming inside, so amab reader.

Word count-> 1560, just about a short story

AN-> I can’t find a way to reply to the initial req so I hope you find this anon, also it was a nightmare trying to publish this but I’m glad I got it done in a timely manner.

Masterlist | AO3

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“This ok?”

“Yes just, feels… different.”

You’re careful to ease your finger inside of him, for the first time that is. You’d both decided to ‘switch it up’ given Jayce is usually the one fucking you- not that it became boring or anything no way, (the rumours going around Piltover were in fact true) it’s just you’d been together long enough to start experimenting a little. And this seemed like a solid first step into unknown territory, at least for Jayce.

“That’s it.”

You mumble, leaning in to place gentle kisses against his jaw, trailing down to his neck and collarbones as you eventually reach your knuckle. You begin ever so slowly pulling it back out again when you feel his hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, wait just…”

“Yea?”

Stopping your movements you look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. He looks unsteady, sending a pang of worry through you.

“We don’t have to do this…?”

His mouth hangs open a second or two before answering.

“No I do want to, I do, and I don’t think you can be any gentler… but it’s all new and- and weird and…”

“Different?”

His lips form a small smile, you breathe a subtle sigh of relief at his reassurance.

“Yes, so let’s just, go slow.”

You take out your finger and grab the bottle of lube from beside you once more.

“Ok, do you want to adjust or anything? Then we’ll try again.”

He reaches behind him and takes one of the pillows he was laying his head on.

“Put this under me, I feel too sat-up.”

And that you do, you may feel a little further away from his face than before but that should change soon.

“Let’s try more lube this time, see if that helps.”

You squirt some on the same finger as before, getting some on the one next to it, and place one of his legs over the top of yours for a better angle.

Your eyes meet in a silent agreement before you look back down to the task at hand, placing one of your own on his waist.

The finger enters him once more, able to make it to the knuckle fairly quickly this time.

You steadily insert the second, making Jayce groan quietly at the stretch. You begin moving your fingers in, out and around without prodding too much just to get him used to the feeling. He takes a gasp of air when you brush over his prostate.

“Is-“

“Just keep going.”

It’s not like Jayce to interrupt. Glancing up you notice him staring at the ceiling, a faint flush on his cheeks. Deeming him a bit more than okay, you continue.

“Alright.”

You find the spot once more, curling your fingers and putting some pressure against it. Jayce only lets out a breathy moan and lets his eyes fall closed briefly.

“Yea that’s… that’s good.”

You smirk at his reaction.

“Hm, that’s an improvement.”

You continue like this for around a minute more, making double sure he’ll be ready for the real thing. You probably would’ve gone on for longer if he hadn’t started to get impatient.

“I’m ready, it’s fine now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, trust me.”

You take your fingers out and put some of the remaining lube on them on your ever-hardening dick. You grab the bottle and put some more on just to be safe.

“Just, c’mere, please.”

You shuffle closer to him on the bed, he puts his other leg on top your thigh without you having to ask him too. You bite your lip as you line yourself up, then slowly start pushing yourself in.

Jayce’s thighs flex as he tenses up.

“Just relax for me, nearly there…”

You think it good to start stroking him to distract from the foreign feeling. He sighs as you feel his body relax a little, you hook your other hand around one of his thighs near to his hips. Your bodies get pressed flush together as you enter him to the hilt.

“Ooookaaayyy…”

A breathy whisper from Jayce as he adjusts to the fullness inside of him. His hands land on you anywhere they can reach for support (and probably not knowing what to do with them otherwise). Needing some stimulation yourself, you roll your hips into him and lean down to kiss him too to distract from the movement. You both groan into the other’s mouth at all the new sensations.

Kissing down his jaw again he lets his head fall back and you feel his gentle pants against your ear.

“You feel so good Jayce, so tight.”

“M-more… please…”

He sounds hesitant, but equally as desperate. A tone you can’t resist.

You let your own need slip through the reigns as you start pulling your hips back more and more with each thrust. Jayce’s hands reach up your chest, one going up to squeeze your shoulder. He can barely contain his own noises as you find a steady but still gentle rhythm to fuck him to, now abandoning his dick in favour of holding his hips instead.

“C’mon, shit, you can do more.”

“We said we’d take it slow-“

“Fuck that…”, he looks up at you with those eyes you know all too well. His eyebrows furrowed but his eyes still wide- pupils blown,

“… so fuck me.”

You sigh and hoist one of his legs up so his calf rests on your shoulder. Your thrusts pick up again- only faster this time. He throws his head back as you make his body shift with them. An audible slapping sound echoes from your hips against his ass.

“Fuck!”

A light sheen begins to form on both of you, his dick now leaking against his navel- hard and twitching.

“God Jayce… doing so good f’me.”

You take hold of his cock in one hand and begin stroking in time with your thrusts, the other is placed next to his head to prop yourself up some more. This pushes him deeper into some sort of half-folded-missionary position. He moans as he looks down at the sight of himself getting fucked like this.

He throws his head back again to look up at you.

“Harder, please harder, I can take it, make me take it.”

You wouldn’t be surprised his he was rambling at this point and he already looks thoroughly fucked-out, so there’s not a chance you’re slowing down now.

“Fuckin’ hell, didn’t know you’d be so desperate for it.”

You let your head hang as you let go of his cock and opt for pulling his hips towards you more, dragging him down the pillows.

“Didn’t know it’d, it’d be so good- right there, please.”

Try to keep drilling into the same spot, fatigue starting to get the better of you with the pace Jayce has set.

“Always a… piece of work with you huh?”

Heavy breaths intertwine between you as you let your head fall just above Jayce’s shoulder, almost rutting into him like an animal. His moans and whines fuelling you now that you feel your legs start to shake-

“Harder.”

“No-“

“Why-“

“Need to cum, gotta pull out.”

“Inside...”

You groan into his shoulder as you feel his arms grip your back, nails digging into your flesh.

“Jayce… fuuuuck.”

The leg not pressed into his chest wraps around your waist, urging you not to move another inch. You come to a still as he presses you against him as best he can with his leg between the two of you, you can’t help but cum inside of him. He reaches down to touch himself as he arches his back into you, high-pitched whimpers being let out into your neck.

“Jayce-“

You feel his cum paint your stomachs as his walls spasm around your spent cock.

Both in a post-orgasm haze, you release your tight grip on the other. Just settling for a few seconds of being near each other before you start to get too warm against Jayce’s burning skin.

“We have to do that more often.”

“Come on, clean-up’s gonna be harder now that I came inside you.”

“It was better than I had thought it was going to be.”

You scoff and smile at his comment.

“I’m not one to over-hype things Jayce.”

— – - – — – - – —

A while later you two dry off after a shared shower, clean sheets on the bed. (courtesy of you, and only you).

“So, outta ten?”

Jayce tries to turn to look at you- already comfortable in bed- as he pulls on his sweat pants, stumbling a bit in his hunched flamingo-like position.

“Er, is that how we’re ranking sex now?”

“I don’t know, I just wanna know how it was. Thoughts, feelings, whatever.”

He doesn’t bother trying the strings at the front as he lays himself down across your legs.

“I told you already.”

“No I mean like, what happened to taking it slow you know?”

You smile knowingly at him, reading him like a book as he fidgets a bit.

“It was… really really good.”

“Aw, just good?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, before you wave a dismissive hand in his general direction.

“I get it, I get it.”

You both lay quietly for a few moments, both just taking in each other’s presence.

“Didn’t know you’d be a cumslut though-“

“O-kay, that’s enough talking for today.”

— – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – - – — – -

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[xuxudio]

the voices won

[robotsafari]

“I’ve been alone so long that having someone else around is a little… overwhelming.”

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY TO MY FAVORITE INVERSE DUO MOMENT

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[butch-bakugo]

Its not a shock to me that most "transandrophobia doesn't exist" people are trans women, mostly white trans women. They have a very specific image of what a trans man looks like and it's only two categories: the hyper fem, tits out, make up, twink trans man who doesn't pass nor try to and the hyper masculine, bearded, t'd up, all the surgeries, big buff trans man who you could never clock. They genuinely think every "transandrophobia truther" is lieing about not getting privileges they don't fucking have.

They genuinely believe every trans man passes and therefore we get male privilege and they get backed up by trans men who do pass and think a cis man making rape jokes with them and asking about their lift set is male privilege. Lemme shatter the illusion because as much as you like to scream about some wide spread privilege that doesn't exist, most trans people, in general, do not pass. This is especially true for trans men due to the hyperfocus society puts on feminine features. I have never met a fully passing trans man and I've met over a hundred personally irl. never. I know they exist but the fact y'all think we, en masse, get male privilege is factually just fucking wrong.

Trans men are not more acceptable or palatable to transphobes. Trans men are not more likely to pass. Trans men in mass do not get male privilege by virtue of our lack of passing and our medical history. Most trans men are still affected by the gender pay gap and thus can not afford surgeries.

You do not acknowledge the existence of non-passing trans men, only uphold the voices of trans men who pass and have the money for surgeries (a small percentage) then wonder why trans men laugh in your face when you make claims about male privilege we do not experience.

We are more likely to be conversionally raped than you. We are more like to be forcibly detransioned than you. We are more likely to experience domestic violence than you. We are more likely to experience hate crimes than you.

Trans men's hyper visibility in online spaces dose not transfer to real life visibility. You are more likely to see white cis gay men and white trans women in any media or ever mentioned than even white cis lesbians or white trans men. Your rhetoric is the origin of the "theyfab" myth. Our issues are invisible to you cause you do not care about other trans people besides yourself and other transfems. Everyone and their trans mother knows about transmysogny and the issues you personally face yet you expect trans men to be silent about their issues and feel like they should be silent because they are men. Trans men are more likely to experience litterally all forms of violence over trans women in every single avenue of violence that exists; religious, sexual, domestic, familial, etc. We are more likely to be stopped and abused before we socially transtion than anyone else due to hyper vigilance of society over afabs. You can scream all you'd like about how we only bring up our sex/the gender we are often raised as when it's convenient but you always ignore those often traumatizing experiences when it's convenient for you.

Many Transmascs and trans men had a traumatizing upbringing because society views us as "bad women" and " bad women" get treated so much worse and by many more angles than "bad men" specifically because we were forcibly assigned as women. You take advantage of a lack of nuance in the community by trying to group us with cis men specifically because you group yourself with cis women. News flash, neither of us and our experiences should be grouped with ANY cis group because we do not have cisgendered experiences.

I seriously think you think you are the most oppressed group in the trans community and you are not, not by a long shot. You are not the most oppressed group in the transgender community and that's a statistical fact. The most oppressed group, by far, are two spirits and cultural genders by virtue of them being inherently indigenous and indigenous people being the most oppressed race of people in the community regardless of the location they are indigenous to.

You are literally taking advantage of the things that were drilled into transmascs at a young age to be seen and not heard and to be quiet and let others talk, that they are lesser than everyone. Everyday there's a new story in the community of a cis man or a trans woman getting a trans man/masc pregnant to hurt them or force them off t or to detransion, this is not a fucking accident. You are not men, no one ever said you were, but you sure love to silence them like they do.

I'm not quiet, you do not intimately know our issues the same way we do not intimately know yours, You don't get to tell us what we do and don't experience and the fact you'd rather cry wolf and suspiciously call us "bitches" than hear us out, tells me everything i need to know. That alt right to trans woman pipeline you said you escaped? Yeah, you didn't. Ur just an alt right trans woman, Try Again.

[rainbowtvz]

*grits teeth*

i do not want to discourse here or anywhere anymore but it does kind of affect me as a transmasc bi person when i see shit that indirectly misgenders me and implies that bisexuality is an icky no good word and identity and you have to be bi and gay and bi and lesbian and bi and straight at the same time or support them or you're an evil stinky stinky terf like... hello where am, i

[ratcandy]

spiiders . spidider. sppiiidiers. spiedre. spiders. :) spide r . one million spider attack.🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷

[softest-butch]

i started reading the vampire armand. btw

[sydmarch]

it was so stupidly difficult to find any nutritionist who has experience with arfid & takes insurance so after having to go through all these referrals my therapist sent me & jumping through hoops I lowkey hate the lady lmao feels like such a waste of time & energy

[britneyshakespeare]

My toxic trait is that I like how my incomplete drawings look better than the finished things

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly