#anyway in case it’s unclear that is a bathroom lol

[sneverussape]

at 18 years old a decision was made.

[midnightmoonkiss]

Painful Stings & Sweet Apologies

Yandere! Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: Rage fueled by failure, Izuku finds comfort in a bar, only to come home to a broken promise and a furious darling. He didn’t mean for this to happen.

WARNINGS!: blood, violence, alcohol (Izuku under the influence)

Category: Angst, one-sided fluff

Word Count: 9k+

A/N: This is my first yandere fic! I’m nervous as hell, I have no idea if I got this right lol. Though I did spend months perfecting it to the best of my abilities! Hope you enjoy~

Just To Clarify:

You’re both adults

It’s Friday

It’s cold and rainy (naturally--)

Izuku’s bedroom has a walk in closet and a bathroom

the kitchen is off-limits

THIS IS A YANDERE FIC!

Izuku is an obsessive yandere~

Cold, burning liquid rushed down the male’s throat as he gulped at the drink within the short glass.

Whiskey, or more specifically - a Jack Daniels, the honey-brown alcohol that delivered a bitter slap to all those who drank its refreshing nectar. 

It wasn’t his usual drink, and certainly not one he’d ever guzzle like a parched beast.

Hell, who in their right mind would do that? Even with a single sip, it left your chest burning with its heat.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Or, more of, self-loathing times call for a quick, one-way ticket to Forget-Me Ville and Cringe Island.

The bar he sat at was lively, filled with drunken laughter and slurred speeches of men and women who have been out for far too long.

But it was Friday night, so who cared?

A rainy, cold, sucky, depressing Friday night, one of which his friends tried to make a bit better by taking the pissed off, green-haired hero out for drinks.

They certainly hadn’t expected Izuku, an innocent little guy who couldn’t handle his liquor for shit, to shoot down an entire glass of whiskey.

At first, he ordered a simple beer - a starter drink if you will.

It didn’t take but ten minutes for him to gulp that glass down, and he was onto his next drink - a sangria wine cooler. His typical drink. He always was more of a fruity guy, after all, preferring the sweet tang over the bitter bite.

But as the night raged on, and so did his inner turmoil, he kept ordering stronger and stronger drinks, until he got to the whiskey. You could say he lost his sense of reason a while ago.

He was still seething with rage, not as much as before but the mixture of anger and frustration swirled hotly with the alcohol pumping through his veins and sitting in his belly.

You could say it was keeping him warm in this lifeless atmosphere.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t think of you, his precious little darling. He could barely think straight, mind occupied with too many thoughts to be able to understand any of them. It was all a garbled mess, one he chose to ignore.

Was that a good or a bad thing? He’d find out later.

But for now?

He needed another drink.

In the beginning, this Friday seemed like it was going to be one of the best he’ll ever have.

For months this pro hero has been working alongside detectives with catching a murderous villain known by the name “Ghoul.”

They were sick and twisted, their motives unknown, their trail hard to tract.

He had only one encounter with them, but he was too late to catch them.

That’s the day he was brought in to help aid the case.

But, that day haunted him for weeks. He knew that if he had arrived at the bloody scene sooner, he could have captured that cannibalistic fuck, brought justice to those who had already died by their mangy hands.. and prevented the deaths that would ensue after.

He’d known horrible villains before, but this one was different. Their teeth were sharp, blood permanently stained their clothes, and they gave off a wolfish vibe. Yes, a hunter. One who tore flesh from human bones and munched on it until someone screamed in terror for help.

For months he helped gather intel, piece puzzle pieces together, aid with location predictions and stakeout missions, until finally - they found that bastard.

It was more of a hunch than anything really, that Ghoul would show up to that site.

Ghoul, while hard to track, left a pattern in their wake. They avoided certain areas, thrived where the poor were at their weakest. The murders always seemed to happen at the exact same time behind run-down fast-food restaurants.

It was unclear if the sicko liked a hearty human meal with their victims own stomachs filled with greasy, fattening food, or if it was just convenient to them, either way - the perp was too damn sloppy.

To regular ol’ police personnel, the murders would just always happen there, behind restaurants.

But after Deku’s team began tracking where each and every murder occurred, it was quite easy to tell they were drawing, funnily enough, a circle around the city’s map.

It was stupid, childish, and downright idiotic, but damn if that didn’t lead the team to find the cold-blooded killer.

Adrenaline and pure hatred for the villain fueled Deku’s onslaught of attacks, each seemingly more powerful and less calculated. His mind was muddled.

He was filled with rage, finally being able to see the shitty excuse of a human again, but it affected his movements. He was being hasty, careless, not his usual calculated self.

And that’s what brought him his demise.

His shoulder was harshly bitten, razor-sharp teeth tearing through the fabric of his suit and shredding up the skin on his shoulder. Their quirk pumped through his blood instantly, making him collapse onto his knees, paralyzed. He hissed in pain as the sickeningly warm liquid flowed down his arm, unable to stop himself from face planting onto the dirty gravel of the alleyway.

He had lost, and Ghoul got away.

He still remembers it, after all, it was only hours ago that it happened.

The sun had long since set, the crescent moon hung high in the sky as her stars shimmered around her. His wound was stitched up and healed by doctors, leaving only a bitter scar to remind him of his failure.

He failed not only himself but those who counted on him.

God, he sucked.

And so, he ordered another drink.

He wanted to forget. He didn’t want to feel the failure sting at his fragile heart anymore.

It was too much to take.

What type of hero let the villain get away, knowing full well that they would kill again?

They couldn’t track Ghoul’s trail anymore, for the circle had been completed - and they were left with nothing with the numbing feeling of brutal loss.

Hours blurred together as his mind went hazy. His speech slurred together, dull, green eyes unfocused and mouth blabbering out nonsense to his friends that he couldn’t even really hear. It just- came out. 

Soon enough, he was being dragged out of the bar by his annoyingly sober friends.

The night had gotten colder since they first entered the warm bar, rain pelted down like freezing bullets flying from a machine gun. A dirty old awning kept them dry as they stood still at the front of the bars entrance, the loud music bouncing off the walls inside echoed down the empty streets.

Heavy streams of salty rainwater poured off the edge of the awning, splattering down into a mud puddle that emptied into the sewer grate below.

Who doesnt love the musty stench of rain on asphalt?

Hell, the smell itself, combined with the strong yet savory scent of the Korean barbeque joint across the street was enough to make him nauseous. He had drank far too much, and his stomach was suffering the consequences. He should have eaten more before drinking. How foolish.

 “It’s pretty late, you should head home.” Reasoned his best friend, Todoroki, puffs of condensation leaving his mouth as the warm breath met cold air, pressing a freezing hand to the back of the freckled boy's sweaty neck to jolt his drowsy, drunken self into a more alert state. Nothing but time could sober you up, but damn if that hand didn’t help slap some energy into him.

“Yeaahh, ye-yeahhh.. I gooht you Todooroe.” God, he sounded like someone high on anesthesia after being awoken from a surgery - which he definitely would be able to compare this experience to. Being a hero meant at least a few surgeries a year. Comes with the job.

Plus, this wasn’t the first time he’s been drunk.

He sure as hell hated the aftermath, but some nights it felt as if the hot burn of alcohol was the only thing that could keep him sane.

This was just one of those nights - or perhaps it was multiple nights slammed into one from just how stupidly drunk he was. The world was blurred, and Izuku doubted he could even walk straight at this point.

The half and half hero waved down a stray taxi, street water splashing up onto the sidewalk as the yellow vehicle came to a screeching halt.

“Get home safe.” Todoroki sighed out his nose at seeing his friends out-of-it state, helping the giddy and jelly-like hero into the back seat.

Izuku pouted, grabby hands clinging onto his friend's shirt in protest.

With a half-hearted chuckle, Todoroki pried himself free from his grip, handing the cab driver more than enough yen to get the drunk boy home.

He gave the taxi driver an address, and soon the car was rolling off down the street, Izukus flushed face pressed against the cold, fogging glass and staring with eyes full of tears at his friend.

Though, it seemed as if he had forgotten a promise he made to someone very important to him. Someone who he devoted his entire life to.

Someone who he risked everything for.

You.

His princess who had been locked in a small, dark room all day, wrists tightly cuffed to loose chains on the wall. The only light provided was a rusty oil lamp Izuku had gotten at a yard sale one day. The flame was dull, and left the room covered in shadows.

The tile below was as cold as it had been since the morning when Izuku had forcefully chained you there for misbehaving the night before.

You had deserved this punishment for disobeying him.

That’s what he tried to convince, anyway.

He was only trying to keep you safe! He hated punishing you, hated the way you thrashed and screamed at him in protest - that only meant he had to be rougher with you. You had broken into the most dangerous room in the apartment, afterall.

The kitchen.

There were far too many harmful objects in there!

Knives that could slice your delicate skin to shreds, forks that could jab into your body, hot stoves that could leave you with a nasty burn, and canned food stored too high up on the shelf that could fall and hit your head.. It was for your protection that the kitchen was off-limits to you!

Plus, Izuku, your oh-so kind and sweet boyfriend, had no problem with cooking you meals to eat together. In fact, he loved it!

He felt accomplished whenever you'd hum in approval at his cooking, or even turned on if that slutty mouth of yours just so happened to moan around your utensil. 

Those were the nights dinner was forgotten.

But you had been foolish, entering the kitchen for a midnight snack whilst Izuku was out on patrol. Your sneaky little self thought you were clever, leaving no trace of your betrayal.

Until you were awoken hours later by a green glow, blood running cold as a pair of murderous neon eyes stared into yours.

It had to be one of the scariest sights to date.

His pupils were shrunk, green electricity buzzing around his large body. He hovered over your trembling body, a wrapper in between his two gloved fingers.

He was so close, your noses brushed together.

You swore he could see into your soul, as well as see the fear in your (E/C) eyes.

“What is this, (Y/N)?” He had asked innocently, hurt coating his words.

“I-” you wanted to make an excuse, protest, say it wasn’t yours, but every single letter died on your tongue as his face pressed closer, a sadistic smile overtaking his features.

“You didn’t.. You didn’t go into the kitchen, did you?”

His hot, minty breath blew all over your face as he spoke, and you shriveled back in fear as insanity crossed his expression in that way you were far too familiar with.

The giggles bubbled in his throat as he tried to fight logic with delusion, “It wasn’t you, right? Someone broke in, didn’t they? You wouldn’t break my trust, would you?”

His voice was cracking, fingers digging into the flesh of the bed beneath you as his eye began to twitch.

He stared down at you, curly green hair brushing against the sides of your face, waiting far too long for an answer he would never get. His bottom lip wobbled, feat tears welling up in his eyes and falling onto your pale cheeks as his body shook with anger and sadness.

He was already stressed about the following mornings mission, and to come home to his princess betraying his trust was not something he enjoyed.

And so, you were punished.

But he had promised you wouldnt be locked in there for long, he knew how you feared the dark. He had conditioned you to fear it, after all. It was his greatest accomplishment.

You were always so willing to cuddle into him when the lights were off.

A few hours turned into nearly an entire day, the only indication you had of this was past experiences, skin around your wrists rubbed raw from the metal cuffs, and the unusual sting of your ass and bare legs burning from the freezing tile beneath you.

That was the least of your worries, though.

Worst of all - the flame, which was holding you together and keeping you from crying out for help to those who might hear you in this soundproof room, which would no doubt get you a harsher punishment, was about to die out.

That flame, albeit small, was your only hope of surviving this.

Izuku was typically a very reliable person, it was strange for him to not keep his word to you. He devoted his being to you, worshipped the ground you regrettably walked upon, why would he break his own promise?

The thought of being trapped in the dark, the echo of your chains taunting your delirious mind had you close to tears. You didn’t want to be alone here anymore.

You watched in horror as the flame got smaller and smaller, tears now rolling down your cheeks as you pleaded under your breath for it to last longer.

The air vents around you provided enough oxygen for it to survive, but that damn oil..

Where was he?! 

Suddenly, the door to his apartment flew open, giggles seeping through the house and teasing your ears.

Then, there was no more light.

A screech tore from your throat, a desperate call of his name as you thrashed around, tears pouring from your eyes.

You felt as if you couldnt breathe as your head whipped around the space, desperate for more air and light as your lungs seemed to scream.

You couldnt feel the cold chill of the floor anymore, body numb as adrenaline pumped through your veins.

What was in the dark?

How big was this space again?

Rather, how small was it?

What was that noise?

Did something just touch you?

There was wind, there was wind, no. A cold chill?

Oh god what was that-

Loud, clumsy footsteps made their way closer and closer to the locked metal door. You sobbed as your heard the jingle of keys, metal scraping against metal as he fumbled with inserting them into the lock.

Until finally, you were basked in the honey-dew glow of the bedroom.

You fought to control your breathing as he dropped to his knees, taking far too long for your liking to get the cuffs off.

But at least now you know why he took so god damn long.

You could smell the putrid miasma of alcohol wafting off him the moment he stepped into the darkroom, tainted with the salty effluvium of rainwater as it dripped onto your skin from his damp, messy hair.

Rage bubbled inside you as he giggled once more at your tear-stained cheeks, “D-did yoou miss mee?” He slurred, a giddy smile on his face as the stale stench of what he had been drinking all night circled around your head like a rotten wreath.

Instead of answering, like you knew you should have, you turned your head towards the door, soaking in the light you were previously deprived of. Even if it was just a mere minute.

At your silence, his smile quickly turned into a frown. Big, forestry green eyes welled up with sadness, bottom lip trembling, “(Y-Y/N)?” He couldnt help but reach out, scarred fingers wishing to wipe away those stray tears from your face.

You missed him.

That’s why you were crying, surely.

He wanted to comfort you, say that he was there now and that you could both cuddle until twinkling dawn.

You weren’t alone anymore.

He was all you needed, and he was right beside you.

He’ll always be there for you, and you’ll always be there for him.

Because you love each other.

“D-Don’t cry-”

His cold hand was smacked away, and his usually sturdy body was shoved back so that you could scramble out of the freezing closet.

You needed space.

More room to breath.

To be on flooring that didnt feel like ice cutting into your flesh.

Hell, you were sure the skin that had the unholy misfortune of touching the floor were burned red at this point from how long you had to sit there.

Not to mention your poor wrists, you couldnt even bear the sight of them being so raw. You were pretty sure they would bleed if you even touched them. Your body was screaming in pain, stomach growing for food, mouth parched from not being given water so that you wouldnt make a mess on the floor.

You were weak, shaking, and afraid.

That bastard had the gall to say not to cry, to look concerned when he knew damn well how much you absolutely despised the dark.

At first it was a childish fear, but the moment he snatched you from your regular life, that fear became a reality. There were countless nights you’d be punished by being left alone in the dark.

He didnt want to hurt you, no, and he never has, but damn if he hasnt conditioned you to be afraid. 

Storms were the worst.

What was once a peaceful white noise turned into a terrifying nightmare once the moon rose in the sky.

There were times you were locked in that closet during violent storms, screaming and begging to be let out.

Sometimes you were, other times you werent as lucky.

Though it was only raining right now, each pitter-patter of the droplets against the window or balcony made hairs on your neck stand up. The sound was previously muted in the closet, but now it was hitting you like a freight train on a track that never seemed to end.

You heard him scramble to his feet as you wiped your tears away, the creak of the floorboards as he stumbled towards you.

A subtle bang made you jump, his foot no doubt hitting the chest at the end of your bed. Everso the clumsy one, even in an illuminated room.

Suddenly, he was right behind you, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as his head dropped to your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against your neck.

Perhaps it would have been pleasant, comforting, even, if he wasnt soaked to the bone. The cold water from his dark grey, long-sleeved sweater was now seeping into your own thin clothes, freezing wet hair sending shivers down your spine and it presses against your heated, sensitive skin. Some drops even went down your back, ripping a gasp from you.

This wasnt comforting at all.

This was suffocating.

You squirmed in his grasp, desperate to get the hell away from him.

You were already pissed, and him wrapping around you and squeezing you tight like a snake to its prey was the cherry on top of your disastrous sundae.

With a grunt, you used the rest of what little strength you had left to rip yourself free from his ‘hug,’ nearly tripping on your own two feet as you rushed away from him.

He pouted at you as you shoved yourself into a corner of the room, finding comfort in being able to see all around you, no surprise attacks from behind, only what was in front of you.

Your breath was heavy as you glared at him, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching.

Truly, you had some nerve.

But it was hard to help it.

He broke a promise.

He never does that, and yet in your time of need- he wasn’t there for you.

For once.

He knew damn well you were locked up, scared shitless, expecting him to return home in a few short hours, yet here he is - looking absolutely clueless as to why you were suddenly so angry at him.

Tears streamed down his drunkenly flushed cheeks, hurt by how you shoved him away again.

All he wanted to do was snuggle you, his body exhausted yet numbed by the alcohol still burning in his tummy.

“Where..” you started, voice low, scratchy, and dripping with venom that reached deaf ears. “Where have you been!”

Just as he was about to open that mouth of his, no doubt about babble nearly incoherently - form logical excuses with evidence to back him up, say he lost track of time which you know damn well he never did, you shut him up.

You hated dealing with him when he was drunk, hell - you hated dealing with his obsessive ass most days.

But drunk? Drunk he got worse. He was clingy, more emotional, and worst of all? He didn’t have a filter.

He always managed to hide those more sinister desires under that sweet mask of his - until alcohol brought it out.

God, the smell of it made you sick to your stomach, but luckily you didn't have any food to throw up.

No thanks to him.

“What the fuck, Midoriya?!” You leered at him, noticing quickly the way his eyes darkened in that way they always did when you referred to him by his family name - the name he hated being called by you of all people.

“I’ve been trapped in that room all goddamn day! You said it’d be a few hours? What the hell happened to that! Look at the fucking time! Nine hours! Nine hours I’ve been stuck in my own personal hell! I can’t feel my fucking legs because of you!”

“I-” he attempted to start, the firm grip he had on his sanity quickly loosening with every shout you threw at him.

You cut him off, again, pent up rage now overtaking your sense of reason and fear, “What the hell happened?! You know what! I don’t even care! Not only did you,” You pointed a trembling finger at his stilled body, “break a promise! Something you swore you would never fucking do, you also had the nerve at laugh at me as I was trembling in fear!”

You looked like a mess, body shaking and bent over itself, one arm clutched around your waist as if to hold yourself together as that accusing finger stayed trained on him. Your hair was messy, frizzy, soaked with sweat and oily as hell from being denied a shower. Your clothes, thin and girly - much to your utter distaste, but to his satisfaction - now damp thanks to his carelessness.

All of this was because of him.

It always was.

Every single thing that went wrong in your life always seemed to be because of him nowadays.

You couldnt believe you let yourself fall for that misleading smile all those years ago, only to end up like this.

A mouse in a lions den.

But hell if that would stop you from squeaking your heart out till his razor-sharp claws ultimately caged you back in.

“Do you see my wrists?!” with a strangled sob, you held up both of your arms to show him the mess he already knew was his fault, “look at them! They hurt so fucking much because you left me in those disgusting handcuffs! This is all your fault!”

Your knees were wobbling so bad you swore your legs would give out at any second, but you’d be damned if you didnt hold your ground to this lunatic.

True, some days he was nice, normal, even. But days like these, or days much worse, you were reminded of just who he really was.

A monster was stretching it. He never intentionally tried to hurt you, your friends, or even your family.

No, he just stole you from your apartment in the dead of night, convinced the reason you were crying was because of the thunderstorm and not because some psycho snatched you from your window like some sort of 1970’s movie trope. That night he cradled your thrashing body to his hard chest with his strong arms, cooing at you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you begged to be let go. You were just scared of the storm~ He would keep you safe~ He is the number one hero, afterall~

That was all utter bullshit, straight from the beginning.

And even now he was still wrapped in the delusion that you loved him as much as he loved you.

A fated pair.

Please.

But you still held on to the pathetic hope that one day he’d snap out of it, return to the Izuku you knew from the beginning and not the person who now stood a few feet in front of you, staring with cold, emotionless eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he says impassively, face as blank as a new canvas - unreadable and dangerous in every way imaginable. It was hard not to feel as if he was just waiting to strike, already calculating his next moves like he always seemed to do. It was far easier to deal with an angry Izuku than one where you couldn’t read his already complex emotions, thoughts, anything. He was the definition of expressive, and it truly took a fuckin bullet to the back of his head for him to be like this.

So clearly, you hit a nerve.

Wonderful.

“Oh?” Despite knowing the implications of the situation you found yourself in, it was impossible not to laugh at such a pathetic fucking apology.

Knowing him, he probably was sorry, deep down inside. You knew he didn’t like seeing you hurt, especially if it was because of his doing, and yet- you pressed on. 

Pent up anger was a nasty thing to deal with, especially since it’s been brewing inside you for so long.

“Are you now? You don’t fucking seem sorry! If you were really sorry, you wouldnt have done it! But look where we are! You’re such a fucking-!”

“Shut up.” he growls out borderline maliciously, stumbling slightly as he turns to walk out the door. He was clearly fed up, his strong hands clenched into threatening fists, but so were you. Even if you were undeniably frightened to confront him, you wouldn't let that stop you from pushing yourself off the wall - your safe space - and wobbling after him.

“Look at you! You can’t even walk right! How drunk are you, huh? Washing away your feelings again, are you? What about my feelings! Huh?!”

You were pushing it.

You really were.

The entire house felt it, the air chillingly still as Izuku had to grind his teeth together so as to not lash out at you. 

He didn’t want to.

That was the last thing he wanted to do, but all that stress and self-hatred previously washed away was coming back up to the burning surface that cages his discretion.

Heavy breaths blew out his nostrils as he made his way to the living room, desperate for you to get the hint from his hunched over body that he wanted you to fuck off.

Yeah, he messed up, deep down he knew he did but currently his mind was far too clogged to even begin to comprehend it.

You were like an annoying mosquito, your words morphing into a persistent buzz.

He was ignoring you, and that made you livid.

He always ignored you when your problems were deemed irrelevant, or when he found you were being far too vexatious.

He always did this, always.

You were trapped in a cell with some asshole who didn't even want to listen to you.

Obviously, you had enough.

Typically you’d back off, go fume in another room or punch the wall till the skin around your knuckles tore open and dripped blood everywhere, making him snap out of whatever state he was in just to suffocate you in his toxic love.

Oh how life proved to be full of surprises.

A low growl of your own slithered passed your teeth, eyes practically burning red as if you prayed you had a quirk that could do something against him.

“You’re a selfish bastard! You fucking piss-poor excuse of a hero-!”

SLAP!

A shrill scream tore from your raw throat, the echo of skin burning against skin dizzying you as you were thrown back onto the floor.

Boiling hot tears streamed down your face as you sobbed out of pure fear, body shaking uncontrollably and you shuffled backward, desperate to get yourself as far away from him as you could currently manage.

It had all happened so fast, you didn't even have time to register it as it occurred.

One moment his hands were gripping the back of the couch with such strength you could see his knuckles turn a ghostly white, and the next, crackling, neon-green lightning surrounded his body, illuminating the dim apartment in a slimy glow. Before you even had a chance to register just what happened, he whipped his head around, his eyes, typically blown wide with sickening love and sparkling under delusional illusions, were narrowed and glowing in a way that sent shivers of immense regret down your spine. His arm whipped back with his hand, the very hand that delivered a painfully paralyzing slap.

He always spoke with his hands, and you just happened to be too close to him at that moment.

The reddended skin of your cheek burned, and you swore you could feel more than just tears streaming down it.

You were stuck shaking on the floor, imaginary bile rising in your throat, and all you could do was stare at him with wide, bloodshot and terrified eyes.

He had never laid a hand on you like that before, you didnt know what to think.

He always promised to do you no intentional harm, to never lay a finger on you with intentions of making you cry out in pain.

He had never acted so feral and out of line before.

It.. it scared you in a way you never felt before.

The gap between you grew, you really were just a mouse trembling in a lion's den.

“P-princess-” he shakily called out, voice weak and uneven, quirk diminishing into thin air like it never was there in the first place.

His own eyes were wide and filled with immense regret, tears already pouring down his flushed, freckled face.

He took one step forward, and you scrambled back, hand coming up to touch at your cheek, shock making you feel faint at the sight of blood coating your trembling fingertips.

You felt sick once again, empty stomach feeling as if it was collapsing in on itself to push even the tiniest bit of nonexistent food out.

You didnt know what to do.

Choking on your own sobs, you tried desperately to shuffle away from him, but he only came closer.

You cried out the moment he dove at you, your hands clasped together tightening against your chest as if to hold yourself together as this bear of a man wraps his arms cold, soaked arms protectively around you, his large shoulders violently shaking as he buried his snotty, tear stained face deep into your unruly tresses.

The stench of alcohol burned your nostrils, edging you on to try and push his heavy chest away. You tried, but you failed miserably, resulting in his arms pulling you even closer to his sweaty and damp body. It was disgusting.

“L-let go of me!” you wailed, your own tears stinging your eyes as your vision blurred and you could no longer tell just what you were staring blindly at, the dimness of the living-room paired with the suffocating embrace of your captor swallowing you whole.

You couldnt take it.

You could barely breathe at this point.

“p-p-ple .. plea-s-se..!” your cries intertwined with his own desperate ones as he babbled nearly incoherently on about how sorry he was, how he never meant to do something so horrible.

“I’m not a monster!” he howled out, desperate words seeping with ululation.

He was desperately trying to convince himself of that.

He wasn’t talking to you at all.

He was talking to himself.

He wasn’t a monster.

He wasn’t a monster.

He’s not like him.

He’s not like that piece of filth.

No, he’s so much better.

He’s a good man.

No, no, he’s not a monster.

He’s your hero.

He could never purposely harm you.

No.

It was an accident.

An accident.

You’d understand.

He knew you would!

You always understood him.

You were like two peas in a pod!

You forgave him, surely.

Yes.

Yes!

You did the moment he hugged you, the moment he started comforting you.

He was a good man.

How could you not forgive him?

He loved you so, so, so much.

You knew that-

You knew he would never do such a thing.

His breathing was even, eyes wide and straining as he stared at the floor, a crooked smile on his face as he repeated the words over and over again in his twisted mind.

He never met to hurt you.

No.

He didnt.

“Plea-” you tried once more, biting your wobbling lip as he squeezed you even tighter.

“No, no, no, no, no, no..” he heaved out, hand coming up to gently pet your oily hair as if to calm you. His head shook back and forth in your hair, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m so sorry, honey.”

There was nothing you could do.

You were stuck alone in a mouse trap, the cold, metallic bar snapped down on top of your frail neck.

There was no escape.

There never was.

His form of ‘love’ far too strong for you to even attempt to.

And so, you gave up. 

Just like you always did.

There was no point in resisting him.

Sticky blood trickles down your raw cheek, dripping down onto the chilled bare skin of his neck, still cold from the damp clothes he wore, instantly catching his wondering attention.

“You.. you’re bleeding?” he whispered guiltily, already feeling a new wave of salty tears building up in the corner of his eyes.

His large left hand trailed up the skin of your neck, idly collecting the thin trail of red liquid onto his fingertips and smearing a path up to your jawline, stopping the moment your shivering form flinched.

He frowned at the red mark taking up half your beautifully innocent face, a small cut resting in the middle of it where no doubt the ring he foolishly wore as an accessory swiped.

Guilt made his stomach churn, the familiar burn of acid rising in his throat.

A deep inhale, and he swallowed it down, arm still wrapped around you, languidly rubbing your back as he stared with nothing short of pity at your wrecked state.

Your lips wobbled, holding in a reply as you force yourself to look into the vast abyss of darkness that was the hallway of your apartment instead of his orbs gleaming with concern.

Concern.

Concern for something he caused.

At least he had a heart, but you were still scared shitless and wanted nothing more than to run away. You were still fighting to regulate your breathing.

His thumb suddenly pressed against the slap mark, ripping a yelp from your throat as your head flung back to avoid any more contact. It was then that you noticed a pounding headache echoing inside your skull, yet another reason to aid in the water running down your face. Pain consumed your body, and you wanted nothing more than to escape this shell you were trapped in.

Openly chewing on his lip, both of his arms went back around you, cradling your delicate form to his chest.

Without a word, he stood up, practically forcing you to have to wrap your bare legs around his waist to keep yourself steady, something you were trained to do by him. He loved it when your legs were around his waist whenever he picked you up.

It became a regrettable second nature.

Heavy foot steps brought you back to your bedroom, and then into the bathroom connected to it.

Your fears crept up your spine at the pitch black room you were forced into, remembering how you were in a similar position just a few minutes ago.

When would this cycle end?

Ah. 

It wouldnt, would it?

You were set delicately down atop the cold marble counter as if you were a fragile piece of glass, which, in many ways, you were. The tears had at least stopped, but your body continuously shook like a chihuahua, your breathing still hard to control as fumbled around mindlessly with your fingers to serve as a distraction.

He flipped the light on, momentarily blinding your sensitive gaze with its bright light.

Sniffing, you wiped at your nose, watching as he walked about the bathroom, grabbing a wash cloth just to run it under cool water. The rain was still heavily pouring just outside the wall mixed with the loud splatters of the stream against the white sink. It would have been calming had cold water not splashed up onto your bare thighs, making goosebumps prickle along your skin. Your thighs were nearly numb at this point.

After ringing most of the water out, he held it up to your cheek, staring at you.

Taking the cue, you hesitantly took the cool, wet cloth from his grasp and gingerly pressed it to the swelling skin on your face. You hiss out in pain, dry sobs wracking your body at the stinging pain and the fact that he was still far too close for you to currently handle.

The pain on your cheek paired with the numbing cold was a good distraction.

You chewed on your lip as you squeezed your eyes shut, freehand gripping tightly at the hem of your shirt as you listen to him fumble around in the cabinet hanging over to the left.

You jumped the moment you felt his larger fingers ghost over the ones holding the cloth to your cheek, cautious (E/C) eyes opening ever so slightly as you looked over at him.

You couldnt help but feel idiotic as you suddenly felt flustered at the intense gaze he was giving you, eyes now gleaming viridescent in the white light of the bathroom almost staring right into your soul.

It was like he was reading you, pulling words off your own frail pages just so he could recite them to you.

He did this often.

Keeping silent, staring for long periods of times as he tried out scenarios in his head of the words he was going to say.

It gave you chills, but yet, it made you feel like you were the center of his drifting attention.

The sun his planets revolve tirelessly around, repeating the same cycles like a record forever skipping on repeat.

In these moments, though, he became an enigma.

Not exactly something your fragile state of mind entirely needed right now.

You shivered when his palm came to cup your soft jawline, thumb absentmindedly tracing over your parted lips.

His mouth opened, ready to say something, but he stayed quiet.

Mouth shutting, he leaned forward, tentatively bringing you into another hug.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, the words nearly as quiet as your stilled breath, but you had nothing to say to it. And he knew it.

He was used to you staying silent.

He would prefer it most of the time.

So he could sink into his fantasies, the deluded fantasies that you loved him wholeheartedly, that you chose to stay silent as to not hurt his feelings, and always forgave him no matter what.

That you would forever and always be his.

He wouldnt give you the choice not to be.

He wouldnt let you leave when you’re his favorite person in the whole wide world.

The only one he needed.

And he was the only one you needed.

Yes.

Of course.

You didn’t need anyone else but him.

And he didn’t need anyone else but you.

So what if a few more people died because of his mistake, he would capture Ghoul eventually. Regardless, he would always come home to you.

Always.

And that’s all he needed.

He chucked against your neck, having buried it in the crook as his mind slipped through his shaky fingertips.

The Big Bad Wolf and his Little Red Riding Hood.

God how he loved the comparison.

Perhaps he was addicted.

Addicted to you.

Even now, as he inhaled your sugary sweet, natural scent stained with the metallic smell of dried blood.

Pulling back, he gazed into your hesitant eyes, delicately resting his forehead against yours.

His hair, now dry and no longer dripping with salty rain, tickled your skin, making you involuntarily take in a deep breath.

Closing his eyes once more, he soaks in the moment of your warm body in his frigid embrace, nothing else mattered to him.

Just you.

Only you.

“L-let me see your cheek,” he asks softly, words not as wobbly as before,  afraid that if he spoke too loudly in such a thin atmosphere, everything would shatter abruptly like glass.

Your body moved on instinct as if you were used to doing as he asked immediately no matter what, pulling the cool cloth away from your burning cheek.

Resisting the urge to sniffle and flinch away, you allow him to rewet the cloth, holding still as he dabs lightly at the small wound.

“I know it hurts,” he breathes out, “shh, shh, it’s okay.” it was always so strange how his voice still managed to calm your nerves even after all you’ve been through.

Deep down, you knew he was still that loving and energetic boy you met back at that coffee shop.

If only you knew how sinister and twisted he could really be.

Perhaps.. perhaps you wouldn’t be in such a situation now.

But there was never any point in pondering the what-ifs.

All you could do was fight your mind from seeking normalities in such a relationship as this, if you could even call it that.

You wouldn’t succumb to his desires like you always did.

You wouldnt lose yourself.

No.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Or was it too late already?

You hissed when you felt the stinging seer of rubbing alcohol dotted onto your cut, cleaning the wound.

“It’s okay.” he repeats, cooing to you with a reassuring smile that should have made you feel sick all over again.

You let him apply antibiotic ointment and a small cheek bandage, his hands shaky yet careful. You could say he has experience in applying bandages.

It was uncomfortable as it sat on your raw skin, but it’s not like you were going to go and rip it off. That would feel like ripping off a wax strip on a sunburn.

Humming, he gingerly wipes away the dried blood on your neck with the same washcloth, not minding how blood-stained the innocently white fabric became. 

Next came your still aching wrists. There wasn’t much he could do for your legs, but at least he had roll-on bandages on standby.

Turning the cold tap on, he lets you run them under cool water before gently dabbing the stray droplets away, careful not to press too hard.

He really needed to invest in softer handcuffs, it’s just- those were the only ones he had, and he didn’t use them often. Besides, it never got this bad before. But that wasn’t a good excuse.

He’d have to order some online tomorrow..

Applying more ointment around the area, the kind that offers instant relief, he wraps your smaller wrists up as best he could, cringing himself whenever you’d flinch.

He’d make it up to you.. Pancakes in the morning, perhaps?

Izuku then begins to sluggishly put away everything he brought out of the cabinet, tossing what needed to be tossed into the trashcan.

He was slow, almost as if he was trying to keep his balance, which he no doubt was. 

Standing in front of you once again, he wrapped his arms around you, whispering “up” in your ear.

It was something he would always say when he wanted you to wrap your arms and legs around him so he could carry you like a baby.

But who were you to refuse?

It wasn’t as if he couldnt pick you up without your limbs wrapped around him, it was more for your comfort rather than his convenience.

So, tentatively, you wrapped your still shaking arms around his neck, doing the same with your legs around his bent waist.

“Good girl.” he praised as he began walking back into the bedroom, stopping just at your side of the bed to place you down at the edge.

Numbly, you let him remove your rain-soaked clothes from all the hugging, sitting on the bed in just your panties as you watched him toss the clothes in the hamper by the door

It wasn’t the first time he insisted on treating you like a child who needed help changing, but at least you didn’t have to walk.

It was hard to remember if it was a good or a bad thing that you didn’t care about being nude in front of him anymore, not even bothering to hide your chest as he came back over with a fresh set of clothes - the strawberry patterned pajamas he always seemed to adore you wearing.

You always looked so innocent in them. The shirt is far too large for your frame, the sleeves hanging off your hands and the large v-neck exposing your collar bones and parts of your shoulders. The bottoms were the regular run of the mill pajama pants, soft as cotton and comfy as hell.

The top truly was the part of the look that tied it all together.

He couldn’t help but smile as your arms immediately raised as he pulled the shirt out of the pile, making quick work of slipping it over your cute head and helping your arms into the sleeves.

He liked to take care of you.

You needed him to, after all.

You were his innocent, helpless little darling, after all.

Pulling your pants up, he guided your body down into a resting position, dragging the thick, grey, and black patterned comforter over your stilled body.

Such a good girl.

He tucks loose strands of messy (H/C) hair that fell across your face behind your ear, being mindful of the wound.

He stares at it for a moment, his expression holding that of worry and regret.

Pushing off the bed, he stumbles his way to the kitchen in the dark, having turned off the light as he went, the layout of the apartment burned to memory so he could easily avoid furniture.

In the kitchen, he opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack, one he would commonly use on his own sore muscles and bruises. It hurt his heart knowing he was the reason you had to use it for the first time.

After wrapping it in some paper towels, he trudges his way back into the dark bedroom, eyes wracking over your balled up form, covers bunched over you like a shell.

“Put this on your cheek..” he whispered, placing the pack just in front of your face.

He would love to be the one to hold it to your cheek, but his mind was still hazy, and his words were still slurred. Events could sure as hell sober you up a bit, but damn did that nausea always come back crashing in through the brittle window full force when you’d least expect it.

Rummaging through the drawers once more, he picked up some of his own fresh clothes and made his way into the bathroom again.

All he wants is to sleep, but he also didnt want you to smell dried sweat and rain on his being throughout the night.

He knew you missed him, him and his warmth, you always did, right? No question about it. You must be longing for him even now. 

Wanting him to hold and comfort you just like always.

Numbed adrenaline pumped in his veins as he stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away his filth and regrets.

God, it felt so good to be able to somewhere warm for once.

The entire night he’s felt nothing but cold.

Not even the fire in his belly or the breath stolen from his lungs could’ve warmed him up.

He was mad at himself. Mad that he lost control and hurt the one thing that mattered the most to him.

Mad that he let himself get disgustingly drunk.

Mad that he walked in the rain like a dumbass just to soak your clothes and make you feel as cold as him.

But at the moment, too many thoughts were flying in his mind for him to properly think, no, he couldnt really even say he was thinking at all.

He was just letting the water splatter on the back of his neck, forehead resting on the cold shower tiles and he watched as water swirled down the drain like a whirlpool. His hair stuck to his cheeks like glue, but he couldn’t find himself caring.

Absentmindedly, his fingers brush across the fresh scar on his broad shoulder.

He swore the longer he stood there, watching the clear flow of water, the looser his grip on himself became.

He couldnt really say he felt anything at all anymore.

When did he lose himself?

Was he ever even really found?

Ah.

With you.

You were the missing piece in his complicated and skull biting puzzle, the one who made him whole and lit up his dull life. You were the reason he felt things anymore, you were the reason he still managed to get up and save people with a clear conscious.

You always had such a positive impact on his life, and he knew he had just as good a one on yours.

A wobbly smile tore his flushed face in two, you both really did need eachother.

He was so happy to have you in his life.

Knowing you’d never leave him.

Turning the boiling hot water off, he stepped out, the plushness of the bath-mat embracing his wet feet as water continued to pour down his nude body.

It felt, it felt so hot suddenly.

His breath came out in exaggerated pants, hands sweeping his hair from his face as the burn of bile rose in his throat.

Lunging for the toilet, he emptied his stomach into the glistening white bowl.

Gasping for air, Izuku whipped his mouth on the back of his hand, still trying to catch his breath as he fumbled to flush.

God, he needed to sit down.

Shakily turning the bathroom faucet on, he washed his hand, making quick work of brushing his teeth before lazily drying himself off.

Ignoring the other clothes he brought in, the toned hero simply pulled on a pair of black boxers before walking out of the bathroom.

Green eyes immediately looked at your form, just to see the soft rise and fall of your chest as you soundly slept, the ice pack sitting comfortably on your cheek.

You looked so adorable.

You always did.

Smiling once more, he walked over to the bed, pulling back the sheets just to slide his larger, warm body in and next to your own.

He sighs blissfully the moment he tugs you into his embrace, relishing in the feeling of your soft body against him.

Removing the icepack from your cheek, not wanting you to awake to a cheek burning from the cold, he places it on the nightstand before snuggling closer to you.

You always fit so perfectly in his big arms.

You were meant to be by his side.

And you loved it, didn’t you?

Eventually, he fell asleep, soft snores echoing around the quiet room filled with the downpour of rain still pouring down outside the large glass windows,

But you were still wide awake.

It was hard to remember the last time you got a good night’s rest, especially when the room was spine-chillingly dark..

Hard to remember what life was like before you even met your own personal nightmare.

You were used to the exhaustion, the dark circles kissing at the skin under your eyes becoming normal the day you were brought here.

Oh, how foolish you were.

You should have locked your window that fateful night.

But heroes are quite stealthy, aren’t they?

Was this even reality at this point? Or all just a figment of your imagination, protecting you from the true horrors before your very eyes.

Either answer wasnt one you wanted.

But you never had a choice.

Tears slipping from your eyes like they always seemed to do, you stared longingly off into the distance, the warmth pressed against your back pulling you further into your own bubbling madness.

All it took was a signal thought for this to all become normal.

For the pain to wash away with your tears.

‘Maybe this is ok.’

[asgardianthot]

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 5

Series Masterlist

Warning: mention of abuse

Words: 2597

A/N: I know I sort of disappeared for a while lol school work has been insane and I’m just beginning to get used to the stress of being an art major, especially under these circumstances :/ All my free time I spent doing fanart tho so it feels like forever since I last wrote! Anyways, enjoy the following set of heavy declarations between these two loverbois because I loved writing this chapter!

Another note! In case it’s unclear, the flashback in the second half is what happened the night of the first chapter, when Sam invited Bucky over to help him with his financial problems and such, and he ended up getting drunk and being dragged to bed (when Sam asked if he said anything stupid, Bucky lied and said no)

When they reached their bedroom, Bucky let go of Sam’s grip, softly enough so that Sam would know he wasn’t tumbling from mere drunkenness. Even though he did tumble a bit on his way to the bed. Meanwhile, Sam closed the door and turned to aid his friend.

"I'm fine, Sam.” Bucky reassured him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, “Just wasted, 's all."

Sam, however, was determined to look after him, "Sit." He ordered.

James nodded with acceptance and took a breath, feeling the alcohol wash away and making room for sleepiness. Almost immediately, a knock was heard on the door, to which Sam checked to see if Bucky looked decent enough, in case they had to deal with any family members.

“Who is it?” Sam asked before opening.

He was relieved to hear a female voice which belonged to the maid, Nicole.

“I brought your coffee.” Her statement sounded more like a question.

Sam let go of the breath he was holding and received the platter, not without before thanking her with a kind smile. He waited until she had left to shut the door for good; the next person to come knocking would be met with them pretending to be asleep. Neither Sam nor Bucky were in the mood to withstand more judgement, but especially Sam wasn’t in the mood to deal with any other Barnes than the one in that room.

Sam offered the mug to Bucky, "You still want it?”

Yet the man made a grimace before rubbing his left eye, letting Sam know he was sleepy now and was in no need of sobering up through caffeine. It was better to just go to bed. When Sam put the mug away, James laid back on the bed with exhaustion. A few seconds later, he felt Sam’s hand taking off his shoes.

"Thanks." Bucky said in a hoarse, almost embarrassed tone.

Once Sam finished taking off the drunk man’s shoes off, he tossed them aside and sat on his butt, groaning with tiredness. What his eyes spoke to Bucky was uncertain, but there was a clear hint of disappointment. Sam didn’t mean to, but his entire body was rejecting the patience he tended to have for his buddy.

"What's got you so jumpy, dude?" Sam finally spat out what was in his preoccupied mind.

From the bed, Bucky looked down to the man on the floor and saw concern. Love. Someone who cared, and Bucky’s every fiber rejected the possibility of giving into it. He put up a big emotional wall between them and proceeded to fake disinterest. He scoffed, rubbed his sleepy eyes again and began looking up at the ceiling with nothingness dwelling in his eyes.

He shrugged and spoke as if it was nothing, "You know what's got me jumpy."

It had to do with Brock, obviously, and he didn’t feel like discussing the sensitivities of the past relationship right now. But Sam knew his friend and he knew he had never seen him react that defensive to anyone before. So aggressive, and excessively responsive. Sam wasn’t an idiot.

"No, I don't.” Sam replied sternly, “I know he's an asshole, and he's manipulative, and he's horrible, but I think there's more. And I really want you to tell me, if that's okay."

The way Sam phrased it, Bucky knew he already suspected the answer. There was no use hiding it, and he felt like lying about it would turn the whole situation into a bigger deal. There was no deceiving Samuel Wilson.

He bit the inside of his cheek, concealing his disgust, and replied in a monotone, "He kicked my ass, okay?"

Sam frowned, but his friend couldn’t see him.

"He what?"

Bucky sighed loudly. No matter how hard he tried to derail the subject, he knew he had to tell the details. He was finally giving in, and he hated it.

"I was... walking out that door for the last time, you know, he said he was tired of me leaving and coming back.” He turned his head to avoid facing his friend before continuing, “So he- whatever, he sort of... yanked my hair and stuff.”

The silence that followed gave room for Sam to believe there was more.

“Kicked me.” Bucky completed the details, then cleared his throat in an attempt to get rid of the knot in his throat, “Like I said, he kicked my ass."

"That's a big deal, Bucky,” Sam stated, his eyes big and apprehensive, and filled with an indiscernible mix of negative feelings, “that's abuse."

"So, it was. What'd you care?"

As much as Sam knew, deep down, that Bucky was speaking out of mere rejection of his own feelings, he couldn’t help but feel offended at the assumption that he could not worry about it.

"Because I care.” He raised his voice with disbelief, “God, of course I do, how couldn't I?"

He gained no response from James. In the midst of the horrific news, Sam had to remind himself of the fact that the man was still wasted, therefore he couldn’t ask too much of him. Sam wanted to know more, he wanted to have a real heart-to-heart, he wanted to go downstairs and smash a glass to Brock’s smug and damage his face permanently. Instead, he steadied himself, somehow. It took him a few long and difficult seconds to gather his calm, but he managed to do so.

He stood up and went to the bathroom to put on his pajamas. He seized the walk to throw Bucky his pajama pants, not too gently. The last thing he saw before shutting the bathroom door was Bucky’s inaccurate hand grabbing the item from the other side of the bed. When Sam came back from brushing his teeth, he saw Bucky in pajama bottoms and shirtless, passed out on his belly.

During the half hour to follow, Sam tried to catch some sleep, but his mind was elsewhere. More agonizingly long minutes passed, and all he could think about was that he would be too tired at the hunt the next day, which made him think of the Barnes and their guests, which made him think of Brock and how much he wanted to kill him for hurting Bucky.

Eventually, he heard choked noises coming from the man he was giving his back to, and later he realized that those noises were sobs. He turned and saw Bucky, curled up on himself, also giving Sam his back and trembling slightly as he failed to conceal his own crying.

"Buck." Sam called softly.

"I'm sorry.” He replied, his voice cracking, “I'm sorry for everything, for bringing you here, asking for money, fuck, I'm sorry for being your friend."

The final statement broke Sam’s heart even more than the sound of Bucky’s sobs. He placed one hand on the side of his torso, where his ribs contracted at the rhythm of his hectic breathing and attempted to calm him, mostly by telling him a comforting truth.

"Don't say that, man. I love you." He reminded his friend.

"You shouldn't.” James denied it, “God, I'm a mess, I drag everyone into my shit, and now I dragged you. You- you don't deserve this."

"Hey.” Sam interrupted, “You got some issues, doesn’t mean you're not a lost cause."

"No, but I am.” Bucky’s pitch dropped an octave, managing to express more sorrow and certainty than before, “Not even Brock fucking Rumlow could handle me, he said I was so-“ a hiccup cut his words short, “so damaged that... that not even he- he could stand me."

"He was manipulating you."

"I know, but he's right!” his own words surprised him, and they truly cut like knives, “I'm such a fucking-“

"Hey." Sam cut him off, hugging him from behind.

"I'm-"

"You're my best friend, remember?” He said sweetly, “You're a great guy. And I'm a great guy, so I know what I'm talking about."

Barnes shook his head, "No."

"Just let me hold you, dude."

At the sound of that, Bucky’s breathing calmed a little, realizing there was no convincing Sam of his own self-flagellating thoughts. Sam believed he was good, and perhaps, only perhaps, it gave Bucky a tiny bit of hope. He eventually loosened next to Sam’s embrace, and they accommodated themselves in a cuddle. Sam ran his thumb up and down Bucky’s naked shoulder, as a reminder that he was there.

"You're okay.” Sam whispered soothingly, “You're dealing with stuff. We'll manage."

We. Bucky couldn’t help but warm up at the thought of a ‘we’.

"Thank you.” Bucky croaked, then swallowed with difficulty, “For everything."

Silence and calm being insured, they slept like that, cuddling until morning came.

-

A few weeks ago. The night before.

“Okay, Professor Wilson, you got homework to grade tomorrow.” Bucky groaned humorously as he struggled to hold Sam’s weight on his feet.

The wine they had poured for themselves was long gone, but its disappearance was, at least, ninety percent Sam’s fault. While Bucky’s senses were untouched, even though he was the one whose life was falling apart because of his miserable living situation, Sam seized the opportunity to get absolutely wasted nonetheless, leaving the task of getting his ass to bed in Bucky’s hands.

While Bucky found his friend’s drunk state amusing, leading his tumbling body to the bedroom turned out to be harder than he thought. Sam’s entire weight relied on Bucky’s upper body strength, not to mention his resistance to being babied.

“N’a don’t.” Sam protested.

“Well, you’re drunk.” Bucky sighed.

Sam’s lips curled into a smile and he directed his wine-smelling breath directly towards Bucky’s face, almost taunting him, “Yes’am.” He slurred.

Bucky looked the other way with exasperation before bettering his grip on Sam’s unstable body, losing his patience.

“Come on, man, help me out.” He complained.

Finally, the two managed to cross the door to Sam’s bedroom, and being so close to dropping the dead weight on its bed, Bucky started realizing how tired his own arms were.

“You hittin’ the gym or something?” he mocked, almost out of breath, “Why do you weigh ten times more than the last time I did this?”

“Mmm-maybe I put on old man fat.” Sam said in a grumpy tone, “Like an old man.”

Barnes rolled his eyes while taking a breath to recover his physical strength, “You’re not an old man.”

As soon as he let Sam’s body fall dead on the mattress, Bucky sighed with contempt, yet went back to his babysitting task by leaning down, hovering over Sam’s face.

“Hey.” Bucky put on a stern, yet not serious voice as he pointed a finger at his friend, “I hope you remember this tomorrow, ‘cause I’m about to drop some knowledge, okay?”

Sam’s lost expression didn’t change though, “M’kay.” He mumbled.

“You’re not old.” James began, “You’re a youthful, incredibly handsome man, and any woman would be lucky to have you.”

The hyping words caused Wilson to snort amusingly.

“I bet all of your students drool over you but you’re too much of a good man to even notice.”

This time, they both laughed.

“I dunno…” Sam shook his head, his eyes not really focusing on anything.

“Say it with me. I’m hot.” Bucky demanded.

“’m hot.” The other repeated.

“I’m a catch.”

“I’m a catch!” He raised his voice with a deep, exaggerated tone, clearly concealing his laugh.

Bucky then squinted with amusement, “And I got a fine piece of ass.”

That got the last of Samuel, provoking him a loud chuckle that satisfied Bucky enough to decide his job as drunk-babysitter was completed.

“Alright, go to sleep, hot stuff.” He smiled and stood up straight.

Sam, however, stopped him before he could leave, “Wait. I got some knowledge, too.”

His words were difficult to pronounce, and even more when he struggled to sit. He gave up on trying and simply rested on a more upright position, supported by his forearms. Bucky watch him do his best effort and prepared for the drunk babbling that was certainly about to happen. He crossed his arms and was incapable of concealing his smile.

“Alright, go.” Bucky taunted him.

“You’ve always… been too good for him.”

At the sound of that, Bucky’s smile dropped. He wasn’t expecting a serious chat, and less one about Rumlow. He didn’t know what to respond, and so Samuel went on.

“He’s not even that great, he’s just… so good at lying, he-he made you think he was.” He declared, frowning like he was trying to understand the injustice, “And you-you tried to…I dunno, see the good in him. ‘cause you do that, you find the good in people.”

Sam’s gaze lingered, focused on Bucky’s expression, but it didn’t seem like the drunkenness allowed him to process the fact that Bucky was neither content nor comfortable with the conversation. After a few seconds of silence, Bucky spoke in a cold, partially upset tone.

“Why would I do that?” He asked out of genuine curiosity for Sam’s insight on the matter.

“’Cause you’re good!” The man replied with an instantly escalading smile, definitely not reading the room, but entirely confident in his own words, “You’re the goodest- no, that’s not…” He stopped himself by laughing at his own made up word, finally catching on how unintelligent he sounded.

“Alright.” James cut him off dryly, “Time for bed.”

But Sam was too invested in conveying his strong opinions to his friend, so he barely even heard him.

“His hair is dumb.” He continued naming Brock’s flaws, “And he’s the dumbest guy alive for treating you like that. ‘Cause you, you… God, if I…? If I had you-?”

Before he could stop stammering, Bucky raised his voice and interrupted him.

“Sam, go to sleep.”

Being too wasted to protest or even understand why Bucky was acting in such a way, Sam dropped his head down with exhaustion. He nodded in agreement of the fact that he should go to sleep, and plopped on the pillow behind him.

Sam was too far gone to consider the weight of his words. But even if he was sober, he would never know to what extent what he was about to say would hurt Bucky. Because Bucky had considered it before, years ago. He had thought, in his darkest days, that if only Sam liked men, if only Sam dared to look Bucky’s way like something more than a friend, perhaps Bucky could have had a shot at real love. He fantasized, long ago, that Sam’s love would be a breath of fresh air, that Sam could teach him what respect and real care could mean.

In his brightest days, however, before Brock, he had felt something beautiful. There were no selfish reasons, no wishful thinking, simply… something. Bucky had felt something beautiful towards his best friend, something that made him think perhaps he was capable of beautiful feelings, he was capable of loving selflessly. The problem was that if it ever came out into the light, and Sam found out, he wouldn’t reciprocate, and then Bucky would have risked everything. He decided, eventually, that Sam’s friendship was more important than his hope of becoming the kind of person who felt beautiful love.

That kind of confusion, Bucky hadn’t felt in years. Not since he shoved it all down his throat and pretended he had never even considered Sam as something other than just his best friend.

So, whatever Sam was about to say right there, Bucky refused to hear the end of that sentence.

[piamii]

JP joker / KS sangwoo

hi, this is my word vomit about the comparison between joaquin phoenix joker and killing stalking sangwoo because i adore both characters. they’re similar in a lot of ways but also different. similarities: -both victims of physical abuse, emotional abuse, and neglect by their families -both abused by their mothers -both exhibit what would arguably be considered “psychopathic traits” (symtpoms of Anti-Social Personality Disorder). i haven’t looked into the DSM criteria for ASPD for awhile and i’m also not really interested in trying to diagnose these two nor do i specialize in personality disorders. even so, i want to distinguish between having ASPD and exhibiting the violent traits commonly associated with ASPD in the media. there are many nuances to this distinction. if we conceptualize ASPD as a neurological inability to experience empathy, we can distinguish the receptive, passive aspects (e.g., not understanding others’ distress, not feeling the need to comfort, etc) from the “active,” more “conduct” aspects (e.g., killing animals, physically hurting sentient beings just to see what it’s like, etc). in that sense, it’s much different to simply not have empathy than to act in ways that significantly hurt others because of it. it’s indeed common for those who don’t have empathy to hurt others, but the degree to which ASPD individuals hurt others is not fixed. tl;dr not everyone with ASPD is a serial killer. so Arthur’s and Sangwoo’s development into people who callously kill others is a journey that is ripe for debate and learning in regards to the topic of the nature of ASPD. -an idiosyncratic aspect: i fell in love with the storytelling and richness of background history of both characters but i didn’t particularly LIKE either of them as a person. -both of the stories don’t address how either character got to the current stage of their life (did arthur just drift until he found his clown job? did sangwoo finish school and then live alone at his house - where did he get money to sustain himself? inheritances?). obvioiusly these details arent’ vital to the plot, but i was actively curious about them  -i believe that for these two characters, severe discrete AND developmental trauma events formed the basis on which these characters developed maladaptively. i felt very deeply connected to both stories because i viewed both series from a developmental trauma perspective, which is an area that i think about and work with on a daily basis. -work-related soapbox: it breaks my heart when kids don’t have a flying chance in hell to live a decent life from a young age and furthermore have very little chance to foster and find the type of interactions that would bring slow and gradual healing to their lives. it’s a vicious cycle that feeds into itself - the more violent and fucked up shit that happens to you, the more violent and fucked up shit you do. the more violent and fucked up you get, the less you get chances to have prosocial interactions because your actions make people not want to treat you well. and as a result, you live in a world where it doesn’t seem like genuine and positive human interactions can possibly ever occur, because they have not ever, for you.  -it’s not enough for us to just UNDERSTAND arthur or sangwoo - could we have helped them enough? helpers are only human as well in that we can only crawl inside so much pain and must maintain the right emotional boundaries in order to survive and keep doing what we do. -hypothetically speaking, we could have ALWAYS helped more. that’s not the point. the point is, the way we are as a society and as individuals, would we have been able to help enough? and what is enough - no killings? (i live in the US, so i guess i’m speaking from US society perspective). the saddest part of these series is that i don’t know the answer to my own question.

differences: -sangwoo appeared to be socially functioning at a  much higher level of than arthur. social: arthur didn’t seem to pick up on many social nuances or display strong social skills other than his bright and receptive demeanor.  - it was unclear why that was: was he never exposed to appropriate social interactions in his developmentally sensitive periods? it’s possible that with a mother with Severe and Persistent Mental Illness (SPMI) that school attendance/engagement wasn’t particularly a priority, which would have significantly reduced his social exposure. his mother does not seem like she would have facilitated healthy peer interactions anyways if he did attend school. this is complete conjecture. (this could have been the case for Sangwoo too, making my point moot) -Sangwoo’s mom definitely had some issues, but we aren’t sure what they are, while we at least know that Arthur’s mom received diagnoses by the forensic system (Schizophrenia and Narcissistic PD, if I remember correctly). as a person who works in the field, i don’t take diagnoses at face value without further consultation/records/personal assessment, especially Personality Disorders. but i’m inclined to believe that Arthur’s mom was psychotic- there’s likely going to be less diagnostic ambiguity/differentials to consider when someone is experiencing psychosis. -unlike sangwoo, we got to see how arthur became joker; in contrast, we saw how sangwoo’s shitstorm, significant turning points of the in between, and the psychopathic result - we never got to WATCH the moments of internal shift for sangwoo (think refrigerator scene, bathroom dancing scene, getting fired from his job, finding out that his coworker fucked him over). - which begs the question: WERE there discrete points of internal shift for sangwoo? the even bigger question - are there always/usually discrete points of internal shift for serial killers? put in another way, if they had gotten help earlier, would they have killed people? i think we can make educated guesses in both cases that if they had come from loving and attentive families that they likely wouldn’t have become serial killers - we see clear links between their traumas and their violent behavior, even if it’s not completely clear why. but HOW much earlier? -furthermore, i think arthur’s lack of social skills fed into how his transformation played out (vs sangwoo). this view will become clear as i rant more but just hold on we’re going home - i felt angry at society for letting down Arthur, while i only felt a pervasive sense of sadness towards Sangwoo’s mom for letting down Sangwoo. i say this because this guided my very different reactions to these two characters when they started killing people -we don’t know when sangwoo started acting with Callous-Unemotional (CU) traits, but we DO know when arthur did. there were many turning points throughout the movie, some small and some big. the first big one that immediately comes into my head is the subway shooting and subsequent bathroom dance.  Lol fuck im tired but i m not done yet. WIP

[xellandria]

Hey remember back in February when I was like “hm, chest pain, this isn’t good” and started talking to my doctor about it?  She and I have since done all sorts of tests and not come up with anything conclusive, and it’s continued to happen once every week or two, usually for about an hour.

At about 2:30-3am on Thursday (July 4th) it happened again, but much more intense and with a much longer duration as well as being accompanied by shooting pain in the top half of my right arm (with occasional mirroring pains in the left, and occasionally wonky vision (which all in all I’ve since attributed to the pain keeping me up far past my bedtime)); at about 6, 6:15 my dad got up to go to the bathroom and I intercepted him before he went back to bed and was like “hey this is way not okay and I think I’d like a ride to the hospital, please.”

The hospital ran all the same tests my doctor has over the last four or five months (but in rapid succession instead of one every 2-3 weeks, cos they can do that I guess) and eventually came to the conclusion that I had, in fact, had a heart attack—and it’s possible that every bit of chest pain I’ve been dealing with since the start of the year were also heart attacks, but I’m a little unclear on that part (they glossed over it, honestly).  They ran a catheter/camera down my wrist and into my heart and discovered two blockages (I think they said it wasn’t fully blocked but it was like 95% blocked so pretty damn close), and put drug-coated stents in those arteries.  They kept me overnight and then decided to keep me for an extra night, but they let me go this morning.

They also actually diagnosed me (which is a fucking whole other rant in and of itself which I may have gone into in the past but is mostly irrelevant now) with hyperthyroidism, which is something I’ve suspected for a while but haven’t been able to get anybody to really focus on, since there were so many other “more important” things to try and treat.  The specialist for that seems to think that’s why my hair is the way it is and also accounts for why I’m so heat-sensitive and why my heart rate is always so high; I’ve been taking my own pulse when I’ve been in pain the past couple months and it’s usually around 110 when it happens (and 80-100, usually on the higher side of the range, when I’m not in acute pain); on Thursday I was at 125-130 nearly the entire time I was in the ER itself, in the surgery, and before they gave me whichever of these new meds are supposed to slow it down; before they stopped monitoring me this morning I was still running at around 93-95 just sitting in bed doing nothing.  They’re gonna give it a week or so for things to settle down from this in case it was an acute issue and then I have to go get more tests done, so it’s not an immediate solution but at least it’s something I can focus on on the horizon.

Anyway, I’m home now and have had my first actual meal since wednesday night.  I feel... not fine really, but Xella-style normal, which is essentially fine for now.  I don’t know if it’s not sunk in yet that I’ve been in Mortal Fucking Peril™ for half a year or if I’m just so used to that being my default condition at this point cos I’m not super worried about it at all.  It’s just a Thing That Happened And Is Happening, and shouldn’t shake the foundations of the world.  I dunno.

Anyway so that’s what all my disjointed twitter rambling has been about for the past couple days, lol.

[canaryatlaw]

okay, this needs to be quick because it’s late and I have to wake up tomorrow and do WORK so you know. today was pretty good. I woke up to Jess being like “Rachel!!” and then once I was awake she asked if my alarm had gone off. I grabbed my phone and saw it was 8:41 am, at which point I was like wtf because I know I had set my alarm for 8:15. So I open my phone and go to the alarm and it’s sitting there with the alarm still on for 8:15 am....no idea what happened there. so we were running a tad late, but wanted to make sure we got to breakfast which ended at 10 so we threw clothes on fast and went down to get breakfast, then came back to the room and did makeup and all that good shit before taking an uber to the con. We met up with our friend and figured out what we were doing before going to Tom Wilson’s line. You probably don’t know that name offhand, but he’s most well known for playing Biff in the Back to the Future movies, the majority of the main cast of which was at the con, but more recently was seen as Hank Heywood, Nate’s dad, on Legends, so of course we wanted to see him. We ended up just doing a selfie with him because it alone was $60 and an autograph was even more. He was super funny and very nice, very congenial and just all around lovely to meet. We told him how sad we were when he got killed off on Legends and how since we’d seen the episodes early we knew he was actually a good guy and had to hold it in for weeks during the hiatus when everyone thought he was evil and we were just like no!! he’s good he just wants to build his son a theme park!!! lol. but that was pretty nice. Once we finished up there we decided to get food and I got another poke bowl because I’d enjoyed it yesterday and my acid reflux was really bad last night so I was trying to avoid the other options that were mainly fried or other things that could set it off. It was once again very good so I was pleased. After that we spent a while wandering the merch floor searching for some specific KPop merch, including a tiny koala plushie (because the BTS members all have “animals” that they’re associated with or some weird shit like that) which I’d seen yesterday and decided I wanted. We went to artist’s alley to hunt down a KPop print Jess had seen yesterday and wanted, and we found it fairly easily which was nice. After that we just found a wall and sat down for a bit before Jess and our friend went to do their photo op with Stephen Amell, at which point I went to hunt down the TWLOHA booth, I hadn’t realized they would be there until I searched “megacon” in my email inbox and their emails popped up, so I wanted to say hi to them and we chatted for a bit, telling them some of the stuff the UChapter I founded did and has done since I left so that was pretty cool. After that I had decided I wanted to get a new lanyard, because the one I’d been using was from HVFF and we don’t like them anymore lol. I kinda wanted a Captain Marvel one but I couldn’t find one, so I ended up going for a Wonder Woman one which is also a great option so I was pleased. Once I finished that I went back to where we were sitting to meet back up with them, and then we ended up saying goodbyes and ubering to the airport. We got through security easily enough, just the metal detector this time which is always nice lol. Our flight had ended up getting delayed a bit because of “thunderstorms” though it was unclear where exactly those storms were because of course it was a beautiful sunny day at the time in Florida but I know they can switch to a downpour in the span of minutes, so I wasn’t sure if they were trying to predict something here. We were initially supposed to take off at 5:55, and it ended up getting pushed to 7:06. The seating by the gate was pretty limited, so we ended up going to one of their little food court areas that had a smoothie and yogurt place and Jess got a smoothie and I got a yogurt shake, and we ended up killing some time there before deciding to go to the Ruby Tuesday’s they had there to actually get some dinner food. I ended up just going with their salad bar and a cup of soup because my acid reflux was being annoying again, and I ended up not actually finishing either but I was full so it wasn’t a big deal. We finished up there and then went to the gate which was of course swamped with people, and after about 10 minutes or so they started boarding. I was very excited that we were only in zone 3 out of 4 for boarding, because on the way there we were flying American and if you only get their cheapest tickets it makes you board in the last group which is like, group 9, even when there’s nobody actually in groups like 6-8, lol. So we got on the plane and ended up waiting a little bit to actually take off but not too bad, I went back to reading my court cases and briefs with the stopwatch recording my time, I ended up getting 1.8 hours, which comes out to like $50 by the hourly rate so I felt accomplished lol. The issue with getting paid like this is gonna be I have to take my own money out for taxes, it’s not already done, so it’s gonna end up being less money than it seems haha but oh well. We ended up landing around 9:15 Chicago time, getting off the plane seemed to take forever but eventually we made it, and of course like the dumbasses we are we took the escalator down to baggage claim like we always do even though we never have checked bags and we have to go back up for the uber spot lol and yet we do it every time. So after a bathroom run we went back up and made our way to the uber door, which had like, 20 people crowded around it waiting for them and even more outside. It took like 10 minutes for our uber to actually get there, but once it did it was a smooth ride home. KItty was of course very happy to see me, I had forgotten to text my roommate that I was going away for the weekend lol but she saw my pill box cartridges for the weekend were gone so she figured it out, and since I had filled up kitty’s food all the way right before I left she was fine. I showered and then ended up talking to my roommate for a bit about game of thrones and other tv shows and the general shitshow the world is right now lol so that’s always fun. Once we said goodnight I came into my room and then wasted time on my computer before actually starting to write this, and now I’m here. I’m glad I can post from my laptop again, doing it on mobile is so annoying, I can’t believe I used to always do it like that lol. Anyway. gonna try to get some work done tomorrow so I don’t want to sleep in too late, so I’m gonna head to bed now. Goodnight dearies. Hope your Monday doesn’t suck.

[latte-hotte]

Hey! I just saw your post about how awesome booksmart is and I am very gay and excited about watching it but I have a problem which keeps me from being able to watch a lot of comedies and that is:::: an extreme vomit phobia 🙃 so I’m reaching out to you a random stranger on the internet to ask hey is there any barf in that movie or am I safe lmao

Hi!! Unfortunately there’s one vomit scene if memory serves, but you can probably bypass it if you leave at the right time! I’m gonna try and do this without spoiling everything but also making it obvious, but there’s gonna be a lil lesbian sex scene right before The Vomit™️. Depending on how long your movie theater bathroom breaks take (I’m doing out the math hold on):

There’s an easy to pick up line “We are not stopping” said by Amy, there are roughly two minutes between that and the vomit scene. If you leave then, you’ll most definitely bypass it, because movie theater bathrooms are always annoyingly far off. You might miss some plot stuff after it though, so if you can time it right, there’s a scene with Molly and Jared before it too. You could leave when Gigi jumps into the pool (sounds obscure but trust me, you won’t miss it) and you’ll have to take at least four minutes to bypass barf time. You won’t miss much, just two characters making up after a fight. Kinda. Anyways uhh, you could leave right when Amy goes to the bathroom if you’re really worried about missing plot stuff, that’ll give you about six minutes to kill (you could bring your phone in to time it right). If you want earlier, you’d be cutting into important plot stuff, but you could leave right after Amy Reveals a Secret To Molly (sorry spoilers sksksksj but it should be obvious in context), which should give you a nice 8 minute window to avoid the barf (again, timing it helps.) oh, it’s also kinda late in the movie, so you won’t have to watch out for it until the third act. Oh shit, I also just realized you could stand outside the theater and just wait for two/four/six/eight minutes to pass (via watching your phone / watch / whatever clock), so you can probably just leave at the two minute one and give an extra fifteen/thirty seconds before going in just in case. Eight might be overkill unless you actually have to pee lol

There’s about… I wanna say a minute? maybe 30 seconds between the barf and the next scene? And i think a one minute window between the start of the scene and important things, so you definitely have wiggle room. If you’d rather not risk it in a theater, there are tons of torrent links floating around (it also got put on Netflix in some places), so those are also an option if you can find ‘em! Barf scene starts at 1:17:09 (barf only shown from 1:17:21-1:17:30) and ends at 1:17:45 (at least on the one I’m watching). On other’s, I’d guess it’s around that time but not exact, just because they may not show the netflix logo beforehand. 

There are a couple times throwing up is mentioned too, so I’ll add those too just in case. There’s a scene where the girls get high and Amy mentions it there. In the same scene, Molly says “you have to throw up”, but it doesn’t happen and it’s just that line. You could easily bypass all that by leaving right when Gigi calls them into her office (this one sounds obscure also but again, nothing is obscure with Gigi) and waiting about 4 minutes before going back in. Again, it’s not graphic in the slightest, just mentions/references, but I figured I’d leave them here just in case!

I hope that helps! If anything’s unclear (because sometimes i ramble and go real off course skdjaskdjf), just shoot me a pm and I’ll be more than happy to clarify! If there’s anything else you’re concerned about let me know and I’ll also let you know if it’s in there, and if so, how to bypass it! :^)

[nothingwithoutwannaone]

Twilight - Ong Seong Wu

In which Seong Wu’s  coffee serves as a source of hope.

“Beautiful wonderful

Those are cliché words

I can’t express how I feel

With those words

Ay I feel stupid when I’m in front of you

I keep repeating the same jokes

But you still laugh

Do you feel the same way?

I smile because of you

I forget about my unclear future

Am I being too greedy?” - Twilight (Wanna One)

In celebration for Wanna One’s 1st Debut Anniversary, @ongsung an I have decided to release a series of oneshots daily, starting from today July 27th and ending on August 6th (August 7th in KST, and thus Wanna One’s anniversary).

I’ve chosen to write based on a selection of Wanna One songs, and she’ll be writing based on the individual teasers that were released for Energetic/Burn It Up. We will link each other’s stories below, so feel free to read hers after this one. See you tomorrow in our next installments :)

Seong Wu carefully poured the cream until it reached just under the brim of of the coffee cup. Selecting the appropriate lid size, he capped the cup before turning around to hand it to the waiting customer.

“Here is your order, sir. I hope you enjoy it!”

The customer thanked him before leaving, and Seong Wu turned around to tackle the next order. However, before he could, his co-worker Woo Jin called out to him.

“Seong Wu hyung, do you mind taking over the counter for a bit? I have to run to the bathroom.”

“Sure, just hurry back. Rush hour is coming up and I don’t want to be manning the counter alone.”

“Got it, will be back in a flash,” Woo Jin said before throwing off his apron and rushing to the bathroom.

Seong Wu punched his credentials into the register before looking up to see the most beautiful person enter the cafe. That might have sounded like an exaggeration, but Seong Wu truly did believe that. Something about her drew him in, and he braced himself as she walked up to the counter to place an order.

“Hello, welcome to The Bean. What can I get for you today?”

“I’ll take a small cafe latte with soy milk, please.”

“All right. Your total is $3.25...and your name?”

“Y/N”

And he wrapped up the transaction before telling her the order would be ready in a few minutes. Seong Wu felt his heart pound faster when she smiled and thanked him before going to wait on the side.

Looking at the cup with which he was going to prepare her coffee, Seong Wu thought for a few seconds before grabbing a pen and scribbling a some lines onto it:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words - 

And never stops -at all-

He then quickly prepared her drink before slipping on a cup holder and heading to the counter.

“A cafe latte with soy milk for Y/N?”

She looked up from her phone when she heard her name and walked over to accept the drink from his hand, their fingers brushing ever so slightly with the exchange.

“Thank you so much, have a good one today!”

He smiled shyly and nodded his head.

“Thank you, you as well.”

And with that, she was gone. Seong Wu let a breath as he began to stew over the poem he wrote on the cup. What spurred him to pen a verse from a famous poem, he had no idea. He ended up hiding them with the cup holder and he wondered if she would even see it. In the case she did see the poem, would she think it was weird? Would she not come back again? Clearly he was overthinking, and mussed his hair in frustration. It was to this sight that Woo Jin came back to.

“What happened? Demanding customer again?”

“No...but I might have chased one away.”

Seong Wu then launched into a story of what happened while Woo Jin was gone, his nervousness increasing as he did. By the end of his story, all Woo Jin could do was smirk.

“Well, it’s too late to worry now, hyung. But in my opinion, it doesn’t seem that bad. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

Despite the poem he had so courageously (at the time, anyway) written on Y/N’s cup, Seong Wu didn’t have much hope that he’d see her again. But to his surprise, she was back again the next day. Upon entering, she searched the cafe until her eyes landed on him. When they did, she smiled and made her way to the counter.

“Hi, you’re the one who took my order yesterday, right?”

“M...me? I mean, yes I did!”

Seong Wu wanted to kick himself for stuttering. It wasn’t even a difficult question.

“Did you also write the poem on there?”

He balked slightly before answering. What would she think of him? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Yes I did...I apologize if it wasn’t to your liking.”

“Oh, no, I’m not here to complain; I actually really liked it, and wondered where you got it from?”

“Where I got it from?”

She nodded and Seong Wu really wanted to sink into the ground now. Why was he repeating her questions back to her? He felt so stupid all of a sudden.

“Uh, I read it a long time ago but I remember it because it’s one of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson. Many of her poem’s are numbered instead of titled; this particular one is poem 254.”

“I’ve heard of her before! I think I also read another poem by her back in the day. Do you think you could recommend to me some other poems?”

And so he did. Each day she came in for her coffee, he’d write down a snippet of a poem and the author so she could look them up. Some days he’d write some jokes, just so he could see her laugh when she read it. They were lame, and one time he even repeated a joke by accident, but she still laughed and that made him feel better.

The sight of Y/N everyday nearly made Seong Wu forget everything else. If he was in the middle of something, he’d put a hold on it just so he could greet her when she came in. Although he enjoyed daily encounters, he found himself wanting more, but afraid to ruin what they already had, he kept his feelings silent.

One particular day, Seong Wu walked into the cafe feeling unusually nervous. The feeling of butterflies wouldn’t leave his stomach, and when Y/N came in, he pushed the feeling down to greet her.

“Same as usual?”

“Yes, but I also had something else to ask.”

Seong Wu stopped writing her order and looked up curiously to see Y/N look at him. Was she okay? She looked almost...nervous?

“What is it, Y/N?”

“I was wondering...if you had time this weekend? We could catch a movie before grabbing dinner?”

Seong Wu’s mind blanked as he tried to process her words. She was asking him to watch a movie with her, and to eat dinner with her. He wasn’t imagining things, was he? Seeing how he was not answering, Y/N began to feel embarrassed and diverted her gaze.

“Well...uh, I suppose this is awkward now...I’ll, I’ll just get going.”

That shook Seong Wu out of his reverie immediately and he frantically spoke.

“Wait, wait, don’t leave. I didn’t mean to make you wait! I was just really surprised, that’s all!”

“Surprised?”

He smiled bashfully and scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ve actually had a crush on you since the first day we’ve met. I guess I was in shock that you’d be interested in me at all.”

They both met eyes and blushed as realization sunk in. It looked like there was hope after all.

A/N: Lyric translation credited to colorcodedlyrics

Also realized after writing this that it could be part of the same universe as Woo Jin’s story from my monthly series here LOL

Poem 254 - Emily Dickinson

nothingwithoutwannaone: Min Hyun I Ji Hoon I Jae Hwan I Guan Lin I Dae Hwi I Jin Young I Ji Sung I Woo Jin I Seong Wu I Sung Woon I Daniel

ongsung:  Min Hyun I Ji Hoon I Jae Hwan I Guan Lin I Dae Hwi I Jin Young I Ji Sung I Woo Jin I Seong Wu I Sung Woon I Daniel

Master List

[taramatsu-san]

💎 ⛰️ and 🎢 for "UN//forgotten", please!

I’m gonna try and keep this as spoiler free as possible since read mores don’t work on mobile, but there will be some spoilers so maybe don’t read this if you haven’t read UN//Forgotten yet.

💎What was your favorite part?

I have two, but they are honestly one big moment just that no one really caught into the significance and implications of it.

The first part happens in Chapter Ele//ven. The only chapter to be titled that way, right? Odd isn’t it? Well in any case everyone assumed the first part of the chapter had to be from Karamatsu’s perspective, but it’s not! Well that’s not entirely true. Karamatsu wrote it, but he wrote it into the novel. Notice how there is no line break between that scene and the next? The only line break I used was the // break which I only use when differentiating scenes within the actual novel. That means Karamatsu actually wrote that down. It’s unclear if he meant for it to be a part of his story (It’s possible since Kara was in the bathroom in the next scene and he almost wrote another similar scene by accident when Kara is cooking but stops himself) or he was just writing that part to vent and accidentally included it with the novel. Either way it was published and that means Choromatsu read it.

And what happens in Chapter Twelve? Choromatsu forces Karamatsu to talk with him despite Karamatsu trying to avoid him. This is my other favorite scene, the dual conversations between Kara//matsu and Choro//matsu. It was what sort of inspired me to write the whole story! Karamatsu escaping into his story in his mind rather than face what Choromatsu is actually saying to him. The reflection of Choromatsu’s words coming through in his story anyway, where he feels safer dealing with his emotions. It’s a good scene I love it!

⛰What was the hardest part?

Honestly writing the ending to the novel. I mean Karamatsu’s novel. I’m not good with action scenes. It doesn’t help that my notes for that part says “Plan goes into motion. Tense fight scenes! Action! Finally Kara gets to fights. Use ghost powers oooOooo.”

Wow that’s really helpful past Tara thank you for the excellent notes.

The other difficult part was keeping the plot twist a secret across four fanfics. Especially Hemorrhage, which I didn’t indicate was part of the series until way later. That story, which takes place right before [redacted] is one of the sources of inspiration Karamatsu used in writing his novel. Him falling off the roof is what lead him to writing about Kara falling from the cliff. Also note how it’s Osomatsu who “saves” Karamatsu when he falls from the roof.

Oh and on that same note, the amount of misdirection I had to use was difficult to manage. Characters lying to Kara, other characters telling him wrong information because they don’t understand his situation, there was a lot of that kinda thing. It was fun to write, but man was this whole fanfic a huge web of plotlines that weaved together in some strange ways.

🎢Were there any scenes you were nervous about?

Yeah. I think I mentioned that [redacted]’s death made me nervous. I thought people would get angrier at me than they did about that lol.

I was also nervous about the whole AU aspect, I knew it probably wouldn’t go over very well, but the story couldn’t exist without the AUs. I am kinda sad that I didn’t do more with the steampunk AU. Oh well.

Also I was nervous about the concept of slavery being an important part of my novel. I tried my best to treat it as seriously as possible, just like all the other mature concepts in the story. Really in the end, slavery was a bit of a metaphor? For depression? I don’t know if that came across well, but like how depression makes you unable to leave your house without great difficulty, makes you feel hopeless and like you have no future. How you might feel like you have to do something extreme to escape from it, like what Homura, and to a lesser extent, Oso did. Slavery is still a serious real life issue as well so I hope I did alright writing about it!

Okay that’s enough rambling lol.

[insecure-hbo-recaps]

hella questions

Previously on Insecure: A bunch of bad dates, missing Lawrence, trifling Lawrence, failed "get my ex back" party, Molly is way underpaid. And two minutes of ex sex.

"Y'all fucked?" is the incredulity that welcomes us to the second episode of the season. I can't decide if I love or hate that Issa has one of those old school ugly wooden entertainment center things that I'm sure we ALL had growing up.

Issa is also wearing a hoodie with Harriet Tubman on it... though I can't figure out what the two pictures on her wall are. Molly wants to know who initiated the sex and whether they've spoken since. They aren't really in any better place, and Molly doesn't find this encouraging. Issa is grasping at straws. Molly asks whether it was a getting back together fuck or a "fuck you" fuck. Hmmm. As someone who recently had sex with her ex that she's still in love with... it was definitely neither lol. It was... well, actually, it was a “I put up this picture of me kissing another dude as my facebook profile pic so that everyone could stop feeling sorry for me for being single, but you think I moved on and am dating someone else and don't love your trifling ass anymore and you got the nerve to have a jealous streak" kind of a fuck. This fool asked me like four times "so what's new with you?" As if I would tell if it WAS true, lol. Anyway, the sex between Lawrence and Issa would fall in a similar category - dudes being in their insecure ass feelings but STILL not trying to give you the respect you deserve.

Issa calls the sex "nebulous." Nebulous: unclear, vague, or ill defined. Molly is wary of drawing any conclusions based on this murky outcome, but Issa brightly tries to convince herself the sex means something good. Idk, girl. I don't feel like that. I'm not even going to delude myself that way.

Lawrence is in the gym, because in case you haven't noticed, he ain't a capn crunch eating white socks scrub no more. He starts to text Issa that he made things weird and didn't plan for it to happen, but thinks better of it and deletes it.

Meanwhile, Molly did stick with her therapist and is at a second session. Far from how close mouthed she had been before, she is ranting energetically about her stronger work ethic and going above and beyond but still being underpaid. Honestly, this is why I just solve this issue by half assing everything at work. I'm never going above and beyond. I will ALWAYS be a solid 3/4 at annual performance review time. Fuck your five star review. This job don't give a fuck about me and I don't give a fuck about y'all. And when the pay stops being enough, my resume makes it easy for me to bounce and renegotiate a new salary. But Molly is not interested in conceding defeat and can't understand why she can't figure out a way to get into the all boy's club. The therapist points out that Molly is "shoulding" all over herself. And if you watch this show, you've seen Sex and the City, so we don't need to break down the logistics of this.

The therapist tries to tell Molly she's living in the reality she thinks she should have, not the one she does have. Molly, naturally, doesn't understand what she's saying. The therapist tells her that there are certain standards levied at black women - and let's take the time to point out the difference here... in the past, the standards of a black woman were to singlehandedly manage a household and all of its financial and functional needs, put yourself aside and be a supporting force for everyone else in your life, and maybe you might find a man but how can you expect that, and you shouldn't, because it's too hard, and well, if you can't find one, maybe nice Willie the janitor will be there for you and don't be thinking bout no law degree. That shit ain't the move no more. These days the perfect standards of being a black woman are all about getting your 2013 self titled album Beyonce on - fulfilled in yourself and your life choices and not subscribing to any ideology that says you can't be enough or what you have to offer isn't valuable... with a slice of "even if no one else can see my value, I know it far exceeds that of many of those around me." Later for settling. Later for accepting scraps. But now that opens the door to a battle that's twice as hard, choosing to except the ways in which you are exceptional, in a world that is not willing to agree with you purely because... you are a black woman.

The therapist asks Molly if she would be open to a life that doesn't look like the one she thinks she "should" have. Molly isn't ready to grapple with that idea, and demurs on scheduling the next session. See what I'm saying? Bitches afraid to look at themselves.

Gallery opening. Which, again, is a little too close to Sex and the City for me, but I don't know what y'all be doing in California or New York. Gallery openings ain't a thing in Chicago. The four of them are talking about Issa's party. Tiffany is being annoyingly bougie as usual, Kelli is only mildly extra. I don't... I don't know what to say about these outfits.

I fully respect everything Insecure is doing. But I'd be a damn lie if I said... it was very... right, I suppose. It wouldn't be the route I'd take if it were my show, I guess is what I'd say. They are trying to decide plans for the weekend but Issa doesn't want to go out clubbing - she thinks sleeping with Lawrene means a reunion is imminent so she can't really be going out anymore. Tiffany decides to empathize and shares that her gay husband lived in a hotel for basically half a year while they were going through something. "The point is, even perfect couples have problems," Tiffany says, and I'm not looking forward to the season where they try to humanize Tiffany by showing she hides behind all this "perfect" bullshit to cover up the fact that she is miserably depressed and hates herself. I accidentally paused at a moment that captures this sentiment:

Issa thinks she just needs to give Lawrence time to forgive her; he can't just walk away from five years like that. Every single time I've thought I offered something so incredibly unique to a man he'd be stupid to walk away from it, I was patently, 100% wrong. Kelli points out that for 2 of those years his bum ass mooched off on her couch and Issa should move on. Issa wants to work it out. But... really? Why would Issa want to still be with Lawrence? She wasn't happy with him, that's why she cheated in the first place. And I'm not buying that she saw the error of her ways and truly wants the life they had together in the end. More like being single is shit, especially when you've had someone as your counterpart for a significant chunk of time, and rather than adjusting to something new it's easier and more comfortable to want back what you had.

Kelli lets it slip that Lawrence is with someone knew, which Tiffany was also aware of. They know who she is and everything, but Issa claims she doesn't want to know. In the two seconds it takes to decry that claim, Molly finds Tasha's instagram profile. Tiffany offers some friendly shit-talking ("why does she only speak in emojis?") and Kelli says she looks like a stripper. Issa pretends like she doesn't want to know who she is.

Gallery bathroom. While Issa is doing her "go high or go low?" mirror freestyle, I am just mesmerized by her crown-mimicking braidout. Like. I wouldn't wear it because I couldn't pull it off, but it is fascinating on her. She decides going the high road is overrated, and when Molly comes to check on her, Issa snaps, "pull that bitch up!" The soundtrack that kicks in at that moment - bass heavy intoning "fuck that nigga" - pulls all of us back on the thrones we sometimes forget but need always to occupy.

The next day. For reasons that are unclear, Issa stops by Chad's apartment looking for Lawrence. Chad remarks on her glow up approvingly, which Issa awkwardly plays off. They have awkward small tight for a bit before Issa asks for Lawrence. Chad doesn't want to say where he really is, and if I had the skills/patience to make gifs, I'd insert one here now of the coy way he then slups on the straw of his beet juice. As it is, Issa concedes defeat and decides to leave.

It turns out Lawrence is at Tasha's, watching Defamation. I know that's not the name of their in-series show, but I can't be bothered to find out what it was, so I'm just going to call it the same as DWP's. Tasha is into it while Lawrence is aloof, and the thing that makes *me* most uncomfortable about Tasha - as stated, I do not buy into the thotty because she is traditional narrative - is her liking Real Housewives-y television and occupying that "black women in Atlanta" sort of social space. I do fully approve of her around the way girl oversized gold hoops.

Lawrence says he has things on his mind and Tasha, again refreshingly casually, asks whether he wants to talk about it. She gets a text from her mom, informing her about a family barbecue. She takes a moment and hints about whether or not Lawrence would like to come. Rather than pretend to be oblivious, Lawrence actually makes a noise like he acknowledges this time that he knows this would mean something, and Tasha, sensing his hesitation, immediately walks the invitation back. Lawrence decides to just drop that he slept with his ex. He tries to explain why it happens and says he just wants to be honest, and doesn't know what it means. Hmm. I don't know at this point in their relationship how big a deal this should be, so Tasha's measured response of "I think you need to go" is about level and appropriate. Oh MAYNE, she got that black glass and gold accented vanity mirror that I'm sure was a pattern we ALL had in our moms' bedrooms at some point.

Dunes. Issa is getting ready for bed, trying to resist looking up Tasha. Of course she isn't able to manage it, and pulls up Tasha's instagram.

Law firm. Molly rolls up on the front desk lady and they exchange pleasantries and niceties. Molly wants to know about a hockey game the bosses are going to. She is planning to shoot her shot and try to ingratiate herself into the "boy's club." "I'm scared of you," the front desk lady says neutrally, grinning and turning back to her computer.

Issa's boring after school job. The principle is prejudiced against latinos, Frieda doesn't like it, Issa is tone deaf. Blah blah blah.

So how do we feel about Chad's suit? Apparently he had to wait outside for Lawrence to express his disbelief that Lawrence told Tasha about Issa. Uh, how did he find out about that? lol. Lawrence says he couldn't lie about it because he's "not dirty like that." Chad, and all of us:

Seriously, what's up with Lawrence? He is delusional about his capacity for being a good dude. Which, to be perfectly frank with you, is not very surprising to me for a guy who could mooch off his girlfriend for two years and then be totally blindsided with her being dissatisfied and unhappy in the relationship. Lawrence can't believe he slept with Issa, thinking he was once step out the door away. Chad is overall not surprised that Lawrence went back to being a "John Legend ass nigga."

Apparently they are going to check out a new apartment for Lawrence. Why does Chad need to be there for that? Chad mentions that Issa came by looking for him, acknowledging her glow up: "did she always look like that?"

The broker is a black woman in an off white pantsuit. You know how sometimes you'll be watching white tv and you never see any black people until you need a bus driver or a maid or a nurse or some other menial service person? Insecure does this in reverse where most of the roles of businesspeople in the community are held by black women, which is truer to life. Anyway, she's Patty from ABG. The apartment seems to have disturbingly pale sea green walls which I would not be happy with. I'd feel like my entire apartment is a bloody bathroom from a scary movie. That's the exact same shade of sea foam green blue.

They like the apartment. It's pretty big. I know nothing about Los Angeles real estate but I assume it's extremely expensive. Lawrence is hesitant to commit, possibly because he wants an invite back to the Dunes. Who knows, the scene doesn't elaborate.

High School. Frieda is mad about Principal Gaines not caring about the latino students. She calls it a "racist joke" he made. Issa doesn't care, and Frieda's Clueless White Person rambling doesn't help. They arrive to the after school program to find it full of students. Gaines hooked them up with kids. Issa is thrilled but Frieda is concerned about the lack of latino students.

Molly is riding an escalator somewhere. Where ya going, Molly? Ooooh... eeeee... she's making the bold but fairly ill considered decision to try to rub elbows with the boys club in the box seats for a hockey game.

I don't begrudge Molly attempting to shoot her shot, but there have got to be more... shall we say organic ways for her to attempt it. We look like assholes popping up in entirely the wrong context like this. Now I'm having a flashback to an ill advised friendship with an overweight white woman who, time would reveal, primarily wanted to use me to get an in into black spaces where she could meet black men. But never fear, her black female friends were just as corny and thirsty: her black counterpart was this overweight chick who went out of her way to assure all of us how much she loved hockey and when she talked about basketball she made sure to only talk about the two or three white players on our home team. The thirst was real and it went in both directions, and that is tonight's anecdote on why I make very little effort to make female friends as an adult.

Back at the Dunes, Issa cannot resist the allure of her phone, holding the secrets as it does to Tasha's insta. Of course she eventually caves and we are treated to this snap filtered gem:

Doing the most. But followed up by this:

Loving the wig. Issa throws the phone down pretending she doesn't care, going back to her book.

Back at the hockey game, Molly's attempts to bond with middle aged white men is typically embarrassing. They're drinking shitty beer, Stella Artois as far as I can tell? Molly takes a moment then decides to shoot her shot, socially approaching her boss. He's wearing a ridiculous suit. They make small talk about lobster rolls, but Molly misses the timbre of the humor and her "women are clueless about sports" bit doesn't quite land. Which I'm going to go ahead and chalk up to a racial barrier because let's just admit it. It's not believable to pretend a black woman gives a fuck about hockey. I have sat around with white dudes and tried to watch hockey games. That shit is boring. They score once every fifteen minutes. Let us submit a blanket moratorium on black women appeasing whites by pretending to like hockey.

The next morning at work, Molly tries to maintain cordial commentary with her boss but it's awkward and they both wish it had never happened. She walks away from the break room while her boss and a random white man look awkwardly after her before going back to their conversation.

Hey. Don't you fucking hate that we have to do this shit?

Chad's. Lawrence is on his air mattress, looking pensive. Dune's. Issa is on her mac still stalking. She has progressed to facebook. Then she swaps to Twitter. Then she swaps to the LinkedIn. I have amazing internet stalking skills. I once found posts from a message board someone posted on anonymously in high school. I knew an ex of mine had gotten married like six months after I dumped him and I wanted to know who the wife was - that took licensed private investigator levels of digging because he had zero online footprint and a super generic name. I once found someone's professional license, which listed their contact number, saved the number to my phone, and used it to find their instagram page. Fuck with me dog. No one has shit on my internet stalking game. I'm not crazy just nosy as fuck.

Letsmovealong... Tasha's social media is meant, I'm thinking, to paint her as slightly basic. She has Beyonce quotes in the Beyonce font, she's wearing an uncomfortable suit in her linkedin pic. She takes pics eating jalepeno poppers in ecstasy. And, to be fair, I think that's the characterization we are meant to take away from Tasha. She isn't quirky like Issa. She's just "regular black." And I know that's a thing that people have had negative reactions to, so I don't mind telling you I aggressively defend "regular black." I live on the northside of my city, which is white neighborhoods. Every man I date has no less than a college degree and often a graduate or professional degree, as, having one myself, this only makes sense for finding someone with compatible values. So my ability to occupy a quirky, upwardly mobile black space must take responsibility for blackness as a whole, in the sense that it would be shameful for me to shun "regular blackness." Whenever I'm wearing curly 30 inch remy in my sew in and I meet randoms who ALWAYS ask me whether I'm latina I make SURE to put them in their place. Asking me whether I'm mixed. That's not a compliment, y'all. Don't be on the okcupids and the tinders talking about you're "other" race. I used to block men on sight with bedebees talking about some "Mixed race, other." Don't side with the oppressors. Don't shun regular blackness. (I have seen many, many black people do this, both male and female, and it is incredibly disheartening and disappointing. It's not just men. Women do it too. All of y'all need to stop.)

Issa realizes that Tasha works at the bank Lawrence goes to. So the next morning she takes it upon herself to take a visit, taking note of the Best Buy right next door. Issa goes inside and gets in Tasha's line. "I'd like to make a deposit," she says, and then cold-cocks Tasha. This, of course, is yet another fantasy.

But in real life, Molly is having a cup of espresso on some campus somewhere. Lawrence spots her and decides he's not petty enough to not say hi. I'm loving the linen denim blue button up, less endeared by the flat hipster leather backpack, but I don't mind the attempt. They hug with Molly surprised to see him - she was there for some meeting or other. Lawrence says it's "Meridian" which I know as a health insurer, but probably means something different as it's where he works. Molly's wear a midi dress and heels which... I remember those cut out shoulder cut out things from a time far far in the past, guys.

They make small talk about Lawrence's new job and how they're both "good." Lawrence makes to walk away but Molly, steeling herself, calls him back. She wants to talk about Issa, who she tells him is "still torn up." "And?" Lawrence says, rudely. Yeah, Lawrence has no concept of the fact that their relationship was garbage. Maybe it wasn't always, but where they were when we met them, their relationship was trash.

Molly champions Issa and asks whether he hates her. He says he doesn't, so Molly asks if he'd ever take her back. We don't get to see Lawrence's response as we swap to Issa in her car. She's still outside of the bank when Tasha walks past, talking to a friend. Issa drops the recline on her seat all the way back to hide. Molly calls at this moment, walking away from her conversation with Lawrence and carrying a fabulous pale tan attache case. She makes it clear to us that she was only there as a plant, to run into Lawrence so she could ask him about Issa. This is the new age adult version of the secret three way call.

Issa asks what Lawrence said about her. Molly apologizes, and breaks the bad news that Lawrence says he's done. He ended up taking the new apartment, so he's not coming back. Issa digests this in silence. Molly offers to come by but Issa tells her she's fine. She reclines in her car a bit longer into an annoying security guard comes by and tells her she can't sleep there.

Nighttime. Molly's still at work, skyping with Hannah, the lawyer who recently transferred to the Chicago office. They're both working late. My ambitions and skillset and also personal passions would seem to dictate that I should have been a lawyer. But even when I was much younger and just starting to think about what I wanted my life to look like, I never wanted to give more of a fuck about work than anything else in my life. Like, this being at the office at nighttime shit? No thank you. ....I kinda regret that now. You know? Maybe in the go-go 90s I took the trope of the serious businesswoman who doesn't have time for a man and a life and a family too seriously. I don't know.

Molly makes professional good with Hannah, offering to help with her workload - and this is kind of what I mean - in kind of like "I'm a workhorse, use me." Hannah is touched by the offer, and agrees to throw some work Molly's way, perhaps recognizing the ploy Molly is extending. So that one, at least, went over well.

Somewhere in LA. While Molly's in her office, Lawrence has stopped by Tasha's house. She comes out to meet him where he is waiting by his car. She's wearing ripped jeans and very clunky sneakers. When Lawrence says hi, she regards him coldly. He launches into an apology, telling Tasha she didn't deserve that. Tasha, still playing "cool girl" who doesn't make a big deal about the fucked up shit you're dealing, plays understanding, that she gets why he was still messing with his ex. She knows their relationship wasn't exclusive.

She's giving him an out. But Lawrence muddies this by saying his thing with Issa was over. Tasha tried to let him keep things casual, but his response signals that casual behavior isn't ok while they are seeing each other. Recognizing this, Tasha makes an excuse for why she has to go back inside.

But, at the last minute she just can't help it, and caves, asking him whether or not he wants to come in for dinner. Lawrence, who was walking away, stops and takes her up on it. Damnit, Tasha. You almost made it.

Dunes. Issa, in her hairscarf and tshirt again (this has been a dry week for Issa right?) is putting away her laundry. She is suddenly annoyed about hanging all of her clothes on one side of the closet. Lawrence's shit is gone. She angrily shelves her shit on the opposite side, and, in bed, pulls her pillow in the middle, grappling with the reality that Lawrence is really not coming back.

Swiper more swiping helps blunt some of the pain as Issa pulls up Tinder again, trying, still trying.

[narahalara]

ah yes wait i remember what else i wanted to write about. ok this is another vulnerable vent.

I feel like ive actually become like, idk, careless.

I don’t know i dont feel like i feel and sometimes that feeling of not feeling is so numb it actually kind of hurts. idk like im not saying i don’t care for people. i care for my family my sisters and best friend my old friends even if i dont talk to them anymore i care for people in general but like

i still feel like i’ve lost everyone. and its not really like bad? i think thats what i wanted, i knew i had to push people away to get better. and honestly I feel like i really did. I loved my old friends with all my heart, and if they were ever hurting or in need of help or called me to hit me up i would gladly accept. but i just feel like, im better now so i don’t want to be a bother to anyone anymore. i never really acknowledged how the people in my life in the past aren’t really part of my present anymore. and i know thats normal. but ive always been the person whose struggled to make friends. like i do have friends but i honestly only trust like two of them and one is my roomie and the other is my friend from church and thats only because theyre the only ones ive opened up to about my problems like when i was feeling suicidal and stuff. but otherwise i dont have that many “close” friends, i like being alone honestly like i dont mind it. I enjoy going to the gym or eating by myself or just sitting on a bench alone thinking and people watching. thats just who i am. but i think i never really acknowledged to myself that the friends whom i loved and will always have a special place in my heart are gone. it was like an indirect breakup if i think about it LOL or more of just life, where we move on. I always write letters to my exes about my goodbyes but ive been meaning to write this to all my old friends, so here we go...

dear former friends,

hello, i know i dont really contact you guys anymore and I know you guys have forgotten about me and thats okay honestly. I am really thankful for each of your guys times in my life. I remember being in 6th grade with no friends and literally praying and crying in my bathroom for God to send me an angel. Who knew God would send me more than just one. I know you will all never read this, but I just want to say thank you so much for everything. You guys were my foundation my rocks. Even though I bothered you guys so much everytime I was going through a mental struggle you guys stood by me. I probably wouldnt be even alive if it werent for you guys. but years past and it started to feel like a bad habit, where I became dependent on people that I didn’t even realize I was losing myself. I know pushing people away isnt good, but i think in special cases it is when you know that people can only take so much of a burden. I felt like a damn burden to the world, damn i even felt like a burden to the strangers on tumblr that would message me if i was ok which is why i stopped using this. it was becoming like a medication that i was getting addicted to. and eventually i knew it wasn’t healthy anymore. but i know im better now. I am still trying to figure out my life, there are still things unclear, but i know im getting there. anyways, thank you for always pushing me in high school to do things i couldnt have done on my own. for the laughters the tears the memories. It was all worthwhile. I pray each of you all get to live out the plans and life you all set for yourself, and you all get more blessings and success and that trials only make you stronger. i know in my heart everyone ive loved is different now, and i used to think i was the only one who remained stagnant, but i realized im growing too, just in different ways. so thank you. i love you so much. goodbye my former friends. here’s to new beginnings. 

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

How a college meme group regained control after a hacker took it hostage

It's Troll Week on Mashable. Join us as we explore the good, the bad, and the ugly of internet trolling.

Facebook meme groups are the lifeblood of modern college culture. For one school, a power struggle between a hacker and shitposters became a bonding experience for a whole student body. 

If there's anything that this generation of young people can do without fail, it's shitposting. In an surprisingly nuanced entry on Urban Dictionary, a user defines shitpost as "any content on the internet whose humor derives from its surreal nature and/or its lack of clear context." Differing from memes in that a meme's humor "comes from its repeatability," a shitpost's humor stems from its tendency to ridicule a situation by making something out of nothing. 

The art of shitposting is best exemplified in this bizarre saga of an Iraqi hacker bent on obtaining passports, a college meme group held hostage for incomprehensible demands, and the girl whose tenacity for trolling reclaimed it.

SEE ALSO: The only good thing left on Facebook is private meme groups

What does Addman want anyway?

Berklee College of Music in Boston is a small school whose social culture, like many smaller academic institutions, is strengthened by memes. Its seminal Facebook group, Overheard at Berklee, functioned as a town hall for students to poke fun at the administration, promote their work, and share the most ridiculous snippets of conversation they overheard on campus. 

Brendan Cornish, a current Berklee student who provided the screenshots of the group's shenanigans, calls Overheard a "huge part" of the school's culture.

"It lets off-campus students like me feel like a part of the community, and it helps everyone develop a sense of Berklee identity," he said over Facebook Messenger. "It's fun to have a shared sense of humor in what feels like an in-group."  

But in March 2017, that all changed when one of the admins' Facebook accounts was hacked. 

Image: screenshot courtesy of Brendan cornish 

Under the compromised account, the hacker was able to remove all of Overheard's admin and moderation team, and establish himself as the sole controller of the group. He quickly changed the group's name to "The Iraq virus was here" in Arabic, according to Google Translate.

"Having difficulty telling if this was a move by the White House to make us live in fear or not," one member posted in the group. "Sad reacts," another member posted. 

"People were confused because it's mostly a meme page," Berklee alum and active Overheard member Alejandro told me over a video chat. He asked to only be referred to by his first name. "And naturally most of the responses were just people A: Being confused, B: Making memes about it, which became considerably easier with the first thing that Addman said." 

In his first public statement in his new digital domain, he announced, "I.m hacker. And. Hacked the addman."

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

From then on, Overheard members referred to him as  "Addman" or in some cases, "The Addman."

"Next thing you know, it's just shitposts. Everywhere," Alejandro said. "The entire group is flooded with memes. Flooded with memes about this mysterious hacker, flooded with people sending screenshots of them messaging him, and the hacker occasionally responding."

As people tried to figure out what the fuck was going on in their group, they inundated Overheard with offers for free grams of weed, jokes about alerting WikiLeaks, and attempts at sending Addman mixtapes. 

Then he revealed what he hacked the group for: "Photo passport." In return for "passport English," he promised to "give you drub." 

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

Image: Screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

That, of course, sparked a fresh wave of shitposts about what he meant by "drub." Some theorized that Addman had drastically misspelled "group," while others joked that he was offering drugs. 

Students began coming up with conspiracy theories about Addman; some believed that it was an elaborate hoax by another Berklee student who was ambitiously trying to pull off the ultimate shitpost. 

Sure that Addman was just another Berklee kid, Alejandro messaged the hacker.

"I thought it was fucking hilarious, I added the guy, sent him messages on Facebook," Alejandro said. "But I totally thought this was a fucking joke, and sent stuff to the guy. And then I went through the guy's profile and it had been there for a while. It was a real Iraqi guy."

Image: screenshot courtesy of alejandro

Image: screenshot courtesy of alejandro

Image: screenshot courtesy of alejandro

Image: screenshot courtesy of alejandro

How one girl tried to save it 

Amid the chaos, Berklee student Emma — who we'll refer to only by her first name  — was concerned. 

"I thought all of the memes that came out of it were funny," she said over Facebook Messenger. "But when he started deleting the other admins and changed the name I got a little worried. Everyone was just making light of this ridiculous situation." 

She decided to take matters into her own hands, and messaged him: "Are you into kinky shit?"

"I figured nobody was going directly to the source of the memeage and I wanted to try my best to get the group back," Emma said. 

Addman replied with his best attempt at sexting, messaging Emma gems like "Let's get your body up," and "Send me your picture in the bathroom to raise my appetite." 

She replied with a photo of her foot haphazardly pointed in front of her shower. As Cornish writes in his Imgur album chronicling the wild chain of events, "it is still unclear if Addman's appetites were raised." 

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

"I thought the whole thing was such a joke," Emma said. "It was probably 1 a.m. and I was laying in bed being a troll, lol." 

Addman, however, was determined to get his passport. His demands were unclear; at one point, he posted, "Hi I want Facebook account creation date2005 ... I will give you the group." 

His grasp on the English language also seemed to improve with every post. An hour after demanding a Facebook account from 2005, he posted, "Hello, I want personalized photo IDs and passports in exchange for that I will return to you to download personal IDs or passports in the comments." 

Who wouldn't risk some lighthearted identity fraud for adminship to a Facebook meme group? 

Undeterred by the threat of never getting Overheard back, Berklee students responded with an onslaught of shitposts. Running with the classic trope of ripping off young creatives, one member even offered to pay Addman in exposure.

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

Image: screenshot courtesy of brendan cornish

Image: SCREENSHOT COURTESY OF BRENDAN CORNISH

"It's almost surreal," Alejandro said, still astonished that it all happened.

This whole situation is like a testament to shitposting itself. When presented with absurdism, why not respond with absurdism? If anything, the Overheard reaction to being hacked exemplifies the Millennial and Gen Z love for nihilistic humor — the world may be falling apart, but at least we can make jokes! 

"This is just more new content," Alejandro agreed. "And new content lets you explore old memes and ideas that you couldn't before, so people are gonna jump on that immediately. It affected all of us because everyone's in that group, and it was so ripe for the picking." 

"You saw all the regular Berklee joke subjects brought up, but adapted to the situation," Cornish concurred. "No one missed a beat."

Addman shuts it down

But Addman wasn't as entertained. He archived the group eight days after triumphantly gaining control, perhaps after being the target of constant trolling. Berklee kids made another Overheard group, but according to Emma, it "wasn't the same." 

Image: shitpost courtesy of brendan cornish

"There were thousands of members in the in the original group," she said. "Alumni, current students, and even some staff. We didn't want to lose that as a community." 

Although many former members resigned themselves to the new Overheard group, Emma was determined to regain control. While filling in friends who were out of the loop it hit her: They had to "give one last shot of getting the old group back." She redoubled on her efforts to message Addman, attempting to harangue him into making her an admin. 

"He kept pushing for me to take off my clothes and send him pictures, but I wasn't having it so kept being like, 'Maybe after you do ME a favor and make me an admin with you," she said. 

One of the friends who resolved to win back the group with her made a collage of Addman's best attempts at sexting. Gems include, "I have brought my head into my confusion," and "I am now a young man in your blades." 

Image: connor mccoy/courtesy of emma

Emma played along — when he messaged her, "I want your body," she replied with: "I need your body, as long as you got me, you don't need nobody." 

Berklee vs. Berkeley 

It seemed like Addman, like many people, confused Berklee for the larger, more well-known University of California, Berkeley. That mix up in itself is a meme within the Berklee community — at the beginning of every summer, incoming Berklee freshmen try to join the UC Berkeley Facebook group, Emma explained. 

Knowing that Addman was clueless about what school he was hacking made it infinitely more funny. In the end, it wasn't the sexting or the shower foot photo that got Addman to relinquish. Instead, Emma promised to add him to an actual UC Berkeley Facebook group.

"Music school breeds some trolls," she said.

In September 2017, months after declaring Overheard Berklee his, Addman made Emma an admin. She unarchived the group, restoring balance to the school's culture. 

"Thanks four addind my love Emma," Addman posted in UC Berkeley's Class of 2019 group after she added him, passing him off to another college Facebook group to deal with. 

Although Addman promptly unfriended everyone from Berklee and left Overheard, his reputation and impact on the school's lore lives on. 

"You could almost do a BC and AD split with before Addman and after," Cornish reflected. "The whole thing kept me up until 4 a.m. that night, and whether this is pathetic or not, was one of my most fun Berklee memories." 

Who was Addman anyway?

There's something beautiful about how cemented college social interactions are in meme culture; no matter how cliquey or divisive a class may be, an opportunity to make memes will bring them together in a way that administration-sponsored orientation events can't. On a larger scale, it hints at just how sardonic this generation is. Who can resist a good shitpost, even in times of crisis? 

More than a year after the incident, Overheard at Berklee and its spinoff group have been untouched by foreign hackers in search of passports. But one question still lingers: Who was trolling who? Was Addman the real puppet master in all of this, playing the Berklee kids like marionettes? 

"I don't know how in on the joke he was," Alejandro wondered about Addman. "I don't know if he was serious, or if he was doing this just to fuck with some dumb college students? I don't know if he was just trying to have a laugh." 

Addman appears to be living his best life as well — in May, he changed his profile picture to a saturated selfie of him wearing a snazzy maroon vest. But he hasn't stopped in quest for passports. When I messaged him for a comment on this story, he responded in typical Addman fashion. 

"Do you want to group," he asked. "I want to get a passport and return you svez group." 

WATCH: Researchers have found the oldest intact shipwreck in the Black Sea — Genius Moments

[insecure-hbo-the-recaps]

hella questions

Previously on Insecure: A bunch of bad dates, missing Lawrence, trifling Lawrence, failed “get my ex back” party, Molly is way underpaid. And two minutes of ex sex.

“Y'all fucked?” is the incredulity that welcomes us to the second episode of the season. I can’t decide if I love or hate that Issa has one of those old school ugly wooden entertainment center things that I’m sure we ALL had growing up.

Issa is also wearing a hoodie with Harriet Tubman on it… though I can’t figure out what the two pictures on her wall are. Molly wants to know who initiated the sex and whether they’ve spoken since. They aren’t really in any better place, and Molly doesn’t find this encouraging. Issa is grasping at straws. Molly asks whether it was a getting back together fuck or a “fuck you” fuck. Hmmm. As someone who recently had sex with her ex that she’s still in love with… it was definitely neither lol. It was… well, actually, it was a “I put up this picture of me kissing another dude as my facebook profile pic so that everyone could stop feeling sorry for me for being single, but you think I moved on and am dating someone else and don’t love your trifling ass anymore and you got the nerve to have a jealous streak" kind of a fuck. This fool asked me like four times “so what’s new with you?” As if I would tell if it WAS true, lol. Anyway, the sex between Lawrence and Issa would fall in a similar category - dudes being in their insecure ass feelings but STILL not trying to give you the respect you deserve.

Issa calls the sex “nebulous.” Nebulous: unclear, vague, or ill defined. Molly is wary of drawing any conclusions based on this murky outcome, but Issa brightly tries to convince herself the sex means something good. Idk, girl. I don’t feel like that. I’m not even going to delude myself that way.

Lawrence is in the gym, because in case you haven’t noticed, he ain’t a capn crunch eating white socks scrub no more. He starts to text Issa that he made things weird and didn’t plan for it to happen, but thinks better of it and deletes it.

Meanwhile, Molly did stick with her therapist and is at a second session. Far from how close mouthed she had been before, she is ranting energetically about her stronger work ethic and going above and beyond but still being underpaid. Honestly, this is why I just solve this issue by half assing everything at work. I’m never going above and beyond. I will ALWAYS be a solid ¾ at annual performance review time. Fuck your five star review. This job don’t give a fuck about me and I don’t give a fuck about y'all. And when the pay stops being enough, my resume makes it easy for me to bounce and renegotiate a new salary. But Molly is not interested in conceding defeat and can’t understand why she can’t figure out a way to get into the all boy’s club. The therapist points out that Molly is “shoulding” all over herself. And if you watch this show, you’ve seen Sex and the City, so we don’t need to break down the logistics of this.

The therapist tries to tell Molly she’s living in the reality she thinks she should have, not the one she does have. Molly, naturally, doesn’t understand what she’s saying. The therapist tells her that there are certain standards levied at black women - and let’s take the time to point out the difference here… in the past, the standards of a black woman were to singlehandedly manage a household and all of its financial and functional needs, put yourself aside and be a supporting force for everyone else in your life, and maybe you might find a man but how can you expect that, and you shouldn’t, because it’s too hard, and well, if you can’t find one, maybe nice Willie the janitor will be there for you and don’t be thinking bout no law degree. That shit ain’t the move no more. These days the perfect standards of being a black woman are all about getting your 2013 self titled album Beyonce on - fulfilled in yourself and your life choices and not subscribing to any ideology that says you can’t be enough or what you have to offer isn’t valuable… with a slice of “even if no one else can see my value, I know it far exceeds that of many of those around me.” Later for settling. Later for accepting scraps. But now that opens the door to a battle that’s twice as hard, choosing to except the ways in which you are exceptional, in a world that is not willing to agree with you purely because… you are a black woman.

The therapist asks Molly if she would be open to a life that doesn’t look like the one she thinks she “should” have. Molly isn’t ready to grapple with that idea, and demurs on scheduling the next session. See what I’m saying? Bitches afraid to look at themselves.

Gallery opening. Which, again, is a little too close to Sex and the City for me, but I don’t know what y'all be doing in California or New York. Gallery openings ain’t a thing in Chicago. The four of them are talking about Issa’s party. Tiffany is being annoyingly bougie as usual, Kelli is only mildly extra. I don’t… I don’t know what to say about these outfits.

I fully respect everything Insecure is doing. But I’d be a damn lie if I said… it was very… right, I suppose. It wouldn’t be the route I’d take if it were my show, I guess is what I’d say. They are trying to decide plans for the weekend but Issa doesn’t want to go out clubbing - she thinks sleeping with Lawrene means a reunion is imminent so she can’t really be going out anymore. Tiffany decides to empathize and shares that her gay husband lived in a hotel for basically half a year while they were going through something. “The point is, even perfect couples have problems,” Tiffany says, and I’m not looking forward to the season where they try to humanize Tiffany by showing she hides behind all this “perfect” bullshit to cover up the fact that she is miserably depressed and hates herself. I accidentally paused at a moment that captures this sentiment:

Issa thinks she just needs to give Lawrence time to forgive her; he can’t just walk away from five years like that. Every single time I’ve thought I offered something so incredibly unique to a man he’d be stupid to walk away from it, I was patently, 100% wrong. Kelli points out that for 2 of those years his bum ass mooched off on her couch and Issa should move on. Issa wants to work it out. But… really? Why would Issa want to still be with Lawrence? She wasn’t happy with him, that’s why she cheated in the first place. And I’m not buying that she saw the error of her ways and truly wants the life they had together in the end. More like being single is shit, especially when you’ve had someone as your counterpart for a significant chunk of time, and rather than adjusting to something new it’s easier and more comfortable to want back what you had.

Kelli lets it slip that Lawrence is with someone knew, which Tiffany was also aware of. They know who she is and everything, but Issa claims she doesn’t want to know. In the two seconds it takes to decry that claim, Molly finds Tasha’s instagram profile. Tiffany offers some friendly shit-talking (“why does she only speak in emojis?”) and Kelli says she looks like a stripper. Issa pretends like she doesn’t want to know who she is.

Gallery bathroom. While Issa is doing her “go high or go low?” mirror freestyle, I am just mesmerized by her crown-mimicking braidout. Like. I wouldn’t wear it because I couldn’t pull it off, but it is fascinating on her. She decides going the high road is overrated, and when Molly comes to check on her, Issa snaps, “pull that bitch up!” The soundtrack that kicks in at that moment - bass heavy intoning “fuck that nigga” - pulls all of us back on the thrones we sometimes forget but need always to occupy.

The next day. For reasons that are unclear, Issa stops by Chad’s apartment looking for Lawrence. Chad remarks on her glow up approvingly, which Issa awkwardly plays off. They have awkward small tight for a bit before Issa asks for Lawrence. Chad doesn’t want to say where he really is, and if I had the skills/patience to make gifs, I’d insert one here now of the coy way he then slups on the straw of his beet juice. As it is, Issa concedes defeat and decides to leave.

It turns out Lawrence is at Tasha’s, watching Defamation. I know that’s not the name of their in-series show, but I can’t be bothered to find out what it was, so I’m just going to call it the same as DWP’s. Tasha is into it while Lawrence is aloof, and the thing that makes *me* most uncomfortable about Tasha - as stated, I do not buy into the thotty because she is traditional narrative - is her liking Real Housewives-y television and occupying that “black women in Atlanta” sort of social space. I do fully approve of her around the way girl oversized gold hoops.

Lawrence says he has things on his mind and Tasha, again refreshingly casually, asks whether he wants to talk about it. She gets a text from her mom, informing her about a family barbecue. She takes a moment and hints about whether or not Lawrence would like to come. Rather than pretend to be oblivious, Lawrence actually makes a noise like he acknowledges this time that he knows this would mean something, and Tasha, sensing his hesitation, immediately walks the invitation back. Lawrence decides to just drop that he slept with his ex. He tries to explain why it happens and says he just wants to be honest, and doesn’t know what it means. Hmm. I don’t know at this point in their relationship how big a deal this should be, so Tasha’s measured response of “I think you need to go” is about level and appropriate. Oh MAYNE, she got that black glass and gold accented vanity mirror that I’m sure was a pattern we ALL had in our moms’ bedrooms at some point.

Dunes. Issa is getting ready for bed, trying to resist looking up Tasha. Of course she isn’t able to manage it, and pulls up Tasha’s instagram.

Law firm. Molly rolls up on the front desk lady and they exchange pleasantries and niceties. Molly wants to know about a hockey game the bosses are going to. She is planning to shoot her shot and try to ingratiate herself into the “boy’s club.” “I’m scared of you,” the front desk lady says neutrally, grinning and turning back to her computer.

Issa’s boring after school job. The principle is prejudiced against latinos, Frieda doesn’t like it, Issa is tone deaf. Blah blah blah.

So how do we feel about Chad’s suit? Apparently he had to wait outside for Lawrence to express his disbelief that Lawrence told Tasha about Issa. Uh, how did he find out about that? lol. Lawrence says he couldn’t lie about it because he’s “not dirty like that.” Chad, and all of us:

Seriously, what’s up with Lawrence? He is delusional about his capacity for being a good dude. Which, to be perfectly frank with you, is not very surprising to me for a guy who could mooch off his girlfriend for two years and then be totally blindsided with her being dissatisfied and unhappy in the relationship. Lawrence can’t believe he slept with Issa, thinking he was once step out the door away. Chad is overall not surprised that Lawrence went back to being a “John Legend ass nigga.”

Apparently they are going to check out a new apartment for Lawrence. Why does Chad need to be there for that? Chad mentions that Issa came by looking for him, acknowledging her glow up: “did she always look like that?”

The broker is a black woman in an off white pantsuit. You know how sometimes you’ll be watching white tv and you never see any black people until you need a bus driver or a maid or a nurse or some other menial service person? Insecure does this in reverse where most of the roles of businesspeople in the community are held by black women, which is truer to life. Anyway, she’s Patty from ABG. The apartment seems to have disturbingly pale sea green walls which I would not be happy with. I’d feel like my entire apartment is a bloody bathroom from a scary movie. That’s the exact same shade of sea foam green blue.

They like the apartment. It’s pretty big. I know nothing about Los Angeles real estate but I assume it’s extremely expensive. Lawrence is hesitant to commit, possibly because he wants an invite back to the Dunes. Who knows, the scene doesn’t elaborate.

High School. Frieda is mad about Principal Gaines not caring about the latino students. She calls it a “racist joke” he made. Issa doesn’t care, and Frieda’s Clueless White Person rambling doesn’t help. They arrive to the after school program to find it full of students. Gaines hooked them up with kids. Issa is thrilled but Frieda is concerned about the lack of latino students.

Molly is riding an escalator somewhere. Where ya going, Molly? Ooooh… eeeee… she’s making the bold but fairly ill considered decision to try to rub elbows with the boys club in the box seats for a hockey game.

I don’t begrudge Molly attempting to shoot her shot, but there have got to be more… shall we say organic ways for her to attempt it. We look like assholes popping up in entirely the wrong context like this. Now I’m having a flashback to an ill advised friendship with an overweight white woman who, time would reveal, primarily wanted to use me to get an in into black spaces where she could meet black men. But never fear, her black female friends were just as corny and thirsty: her black counterpart was this overweight chick who went out of her way to assure all of us how much she loved hockey and when she talked about basketball she made sure to only talk about the two or three white players on our home team. The thirst was real and it went in both directions, and that is tonight’s anecdote on why I make very little effort to make female friends as an adult.

Back at the Dunes, Issa cannot resist the allure of her phone, holding the secrets as it does to Tasha’s insta. Of course she eventually caves and we are treated to this snap filtered gem:

Doing the most. But followed up by this:

Loving the wig. Issa throws the phone down pretending she doesn’t care, going back to her book.

Back at the hockey game, Molly’s attempts to bond with middle aged white men is typically embarrassing. They’re drinking shitty beer, Stella Artois as far as I can tell? Molly takes a moment then decides to shoot her shot, socially approaching her boss. He’s wearing a ridiculous suit. They make small talk about lobster rolls, but Molly misses the timbre of the humor and her “women are clueless about sports” bit doesn’t quite land. Which I’m going to go ahead and chalk up to a racial barrier because let’s just admit it. It’s not believable to pretend a black woman gives a fuck about hockey. I have sat around with white dudes and tried to watch hockey games. That shit is boring. They score once every fifteen minutes. Let us submit a blanket moratorium on black women appeasing whites by pretending to like hockey.

The next morning at work, Molly tries to maintain cordial commentary with her boss but it’s awkward and they both wish it had never happened. She walks away from the break room while her boss and a random white man look awkwardly after her before going back to their conversation.

Hey. Don’t you fucking hate that we have to do this shit?

Chad’s. Lawrence is on his air mattress, looking pensive. Dune’s. Issa is on her mac still stalking. She has progressed to facebook. Then she swaps to Twitter. Then she swaps to the LinkedIn. I have amazing internet stalking skills. I once found posts from a message board someone posted on anonymously in high school. I knew an ex of mine had gotten married like six months after I dumped him and I wanted to know who the wife was - that took licensed private investigator levels of digging because he had zero online footprint and a super generic name. I once found someone’s professional license, which listed their contact number, saved the number to my phone, and used it to find their instagram page. Fuck with me dog. No one has shit on my internet stalking game. I’m not crazy just nosy as fuck.

Letsmovealong… Tasha’s social media is meant, I’m thinking, to paint her as slightly basic. She has Beyonce quotes in the Beyonce font, she’s wearing an uncomfortable suit in her linkedin pic. She takes pics eating jalepeno poppers in ecstasy. And, to be fair, I think that’s the characterization we are meant to take away from Tasha. She isn’t quirky like Issa. She’s just “regular black.” And I know that’s a thing that people have had negative reactions to, so I don’t mind telling you I aggressively defend “regular black.” I live on the northside of my city, which is white neighborhoods. Every man I date has no less than a college degree and often a graduate or professional degree, as, having one myself, this only makes sense for finding someone with compatible values. So my ability to occupy a quirky, upwardly mobile black space must take responsibility for blackness as a whole, in the sense that it would be shameful for me to shun “regular blackness.” Whenever I’m wearing curly 30 inch remy in my sew in and I meet randoms who ALWAYS ask me whether I’m latina I make SURE to put them in their place. Asking me whether I’m mixed. That’s not a compliment, y'all. Don’t be on the okcupids and the tinders talking about you’re “other” race. I used to block men on sight with bedebees talking about some “Mixed race, other.” Don’t side with the oppressors. Don’t shun regular blackness. (I have seen many, many black people do this, both male and female, and it is incredibly disheartening and disappointing. It’s not just men. Women do it too. All of y'all need to stop.)

Issa realizes that Tasha works at the bank Lawrence goes to. So the next morning she takes it upon herself to take a visit, taking note of the Best Buy right next door. Issa goes inside and gets in Tasha’s line. “I’d like to make a deposit,” she says, and then cold-cocks Tasha. This, of course, is yet another fantasy.

But in real life, Molly is having a cup of espresso on some campus somewhere. Lawrence spots her and decides he’s not petty enough to not say hi. I’m loving the linen denim blue button up, less endeared by the flat hipster leather backpack, but I don’t mind the attempt. They hug with Molly surprised to see him - she was there for some meeting or other. Lawrence says it’s “Meridian” which I know as a health insurer, but probably means something different as it’s where he works. Molly’s wear a midi dress and heels which… I remember those cut out shoulder cut out things from a time far far in the past, guys.

They make small talk about Lawrence’s new job and how they’re both “good.” Lawrence makes to walk away but Molly, steeling herself, calls him back. She wants to talk about Issa, who she tells him is “still torn up.” “And?” Lawrence says, rudely. Yeah, Lawrence has no concept of the fact that their relationship was garbage. Maybe it wasn’t always, but where they were when we met them, their relationship was trash.

Molly champions Issa and asks whether he hates her. He says he doesn’t, so Molly asks if he’d ever take her back. We don’t get to see Lawrence’s response as we swap to Issa in her car. She’s still outside of the bank when Tasha walks past, talking to a friend. Issa drops the recline on her seat all the way back to hide. Molly calls at this moment, walking away from her conversation with Lawrence and carrying a fabulous pale tan attache case. She makes it clear to us that she was only there as a plant, to run into Lawrence so she could ask him about Issa. This is the new age adult version of the secret three way call.

Issa asks what Lawrence said about her. Molly apologizes, and breaks the bad news that Lawrence says he’s done. He ended up taking the new apartment, so he’s not coming back. Issa digests this in silence. Molly offers to come by but Issa tells her she’s fine. She reclines in her car a bit longer into an annoying security guard comes by and tells her she can’t sleep there.

Nighttime. Molly’s still at work, skyping with Hannah, the lawyer who recently transferred to the Chicago office. They’re both working late. My ambitions and skillset and also personal passions would seem to dictate that I should have been a lawyer. But even when I was much younger and just starting to think about what I wanted my life to look like, I never wanted to give more of a fuck about work than anything else in my life. Like, this being at the office at nighttime shit? No thank you. ….I kinda regret that now. You know? Maybe in the go-go 90s I took the trope of the serious businesswoman who doesn’t have time for a man and a life and a family too seriously. I don’t know.

Molly makes professional good with Hannah, offering to help with her workload - and this is kind of what I mean - in kind of like “I’m a workhorse, use me.” Hannah is touched by the offer, and agrees to throw some work Molly’s way, perhaps recognizing the ploy Molly is extending. So that one, at least, went over well.

Somewhere in LA. While Molly’s in her office, Lawrence has stopped by Tasha’s house. She comes out to meet him where he is waiting by his car. She’s wearing ripped jeans and very clunky sneakers. When Lawrence says hi, she regards him coldly. He launches into an apology, telling Tasha she didn’t deserve that. Tasha, still playing “cool girl” who doesn’t make a big deal about the fucked up shit you’re dealing, plays understanding, that she gets why he was still messing with his ex. She knows their relationship wasn’t exclusive.

She’s giving him an out. But Lawrence muddies this by saying his thing with Issa was over. Tasha tried to let him keep things casual, but his response signals that casual behavior isn’t ok while they are seeing each other. Recognizing this, Tasha makes an excuse for why she has to go back inside.

But, at the last minute she just can’t help it, and caves, asking him whether or not he wants to come in for dinner. Lawrence, who was walking away, stops and takes her up on it. Damnit, Tasha. You almost made it.

Dunes. Issa, in her hairscarf and tshirt again (this has been a dry week for Issa right?) is putting away her laundry. She is suddenly annoyed about hanging all of her clothes on one side of the closet. Lawrence’s shit is gone. She angrily shelves her shit on the opposite side, and, in bed, pulls her pillow in the middle, grappling with the reality that Lawrence is really not coming back.

Swiper more swiping helps blunt some of the pain as Issa pulls up Tinder again, trying, still trying.