#but its me and i also can't fully comprehend it

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

it's certainly possible there were some "false negatives" so to speak but IMO the fact that students who were able to parse about half the literal meaning of the text were placed in the "competent" category mitigates the fact that it's a somewhat unnatural way to read. in addition... idk if you read the actual specific forms of confusion that the students displayed and the actual quotes where you see them grabbing randomly onto whatever information they deem potentially relevant, but to me - and again, i'm going here on both the study and the way it aligns with things i have previously observed solely in students who struggle with reading - there is a specific pattern of haphazard engagement that to me makes it pretty evident these students would be unlikely to succeed at independently reading this text regardless of how they did it.

i also personally think that while it's unnatural and it may take time... if you can't give a sentence-by-sentence breakdown of what you've read, then IMO no, you didn't really understand the sentences you read, and if you didn't understand the sentences you read, you didn't really understand the passage/book/whatever, even if you're able to glean the large arcs of plot, character, etc. i'm not sure what you mean by "especially verbose text" - in my experience as a reader and when working with students, wordy, complex texts are precisely the texts where attending to sentence-level comprehension is most crucial. it's a strange exercise but if someone were to give me a pop quiz on a book i was reading by asking me to restate the sentence i'd just read and i couldn't do it, i would take that as a cue that i'd been glossing too much to fully understand it and should go back and parse it more carefully. speaking anecdotally, there have actually been times when i've been working with struggling readers and forcing them to "translate" sentence by sentence has improved comprehension - and i have never once encountered a student who understood text better in long stretches than in short ones, at any scale, although i have encountered students whose lack of comprehension at a medium stretch wasn't immediately evident and seemed to me at first to be simply a lack of precision - when it started to become apparent, these students displayed much more significant short-term (sentence-level) failures of comprehension than i had anticipated when i thought they were simply speaking in generalities rather than failing to comprehend specifics.

the facilitators also gave students the option to read silently if they weren't comfortable reading out loud (which i appreciate because i actually am one of those people who loses a lot of comprehension if i have to read aloud lmao)... overall i mean of course it's a single small study at a pair of demographically similar colleges and not definitive proof of anything but i appreciate it not for its shocking numerical results but for the way it qualitatively describes with some imperfect degree of systemization phenomena i have spent many many many hours of my life encountering and thinking about and trying to articulate.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[dispotatorulzz]

One day I will try to explain how I feel love in a way that can be understood

[our-inspire-verse]

I think that being autistic got me fucked up

[the-sill-of-all-sills]

JJK Chapter 77: I am... Confused?

[hyprfixate]

magnum opus :: [H.H] x reader

read on AO3

summary: you get a call at 3AM from a number you should've blocked ages ago. you subsequently make three mistakes.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

tropes: exes to lovers, artist!hyunjin, artist x muse, grapheme-color and emotional synesthesia, angst-to-smut, post breakup yearning, hurt-comfort kinda

smut warning: semi drunk sex, dry humping, desperate hyunjin (like, very desperate), begging, biting, pussy eating, slow, needy sex, unprotected sex (use condoms ppl), slightly dubious consent at first, vaginal fingering

content warning: hyunjin has a drinking problem, mentions of past arguments and previous toxic behaviors

word count: 10.9k

author's note: this was supposed to be another plotless smut but I couldn't help myself lol. also i did not edit this. if you see typos no you didn't. enjoy!

A sound penetrates your subconscious, worming its way into your dream until you blink awake, eyes dry and not yet used to the darkness of your room. It takes a second to orient yourself, to recognize that the sound is real and coming from your phone. The digital clock by your charger reads 3:24 AM.

Had you been more awake, you would recognize the ringtone, or would have seen the caller ID. This is mistake number one of the night.

You swipe accept on the call, eyes still blurry and thick with sleep. You clear your throat, which proves useless when your words still come out croaky and garbled.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

It feels like ice has been doused down your spine. You shoot straight up in bed, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing fully at attention. 

You know this voice. 

It's an entirely unique voice. A voice splattered with colors and textures you can't begin to comprehend. But even if it weren't, you know it would still be etched in your brain forever. Your hand shakes as you pull the phone from your ear to glance at the contact name.

‼️DO NOT ANSWER (Hyunjin)‼️

Oh fuck.

This has to be a dream.

You hear his voice crackle through the speakers one more time, his words unclear with the distance you created. Hyunjin shouldn't be calling you, and you certainly shouldn't have answered. It would be wise to hang up, to block his number like you thought about doing so many times. Instead, when you hear more crackling as he continues speaking, you hold your breath as you put the phone back to your ear.

This is mistake number two.

“-- you there, love?”

You swallow thickly, willing your mind to wake up faster so you can fully comprehend what is happening. You feel like you're floating. Or drowning.

"I didn't expect you to pick up."

Your heart hammers in your chest.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a few beats of silence. It's the only thing you can think to ask.

You hear a deep hum of contentment. “Yeah. Better now.”

The air in the room suddenly feels too cold. You should hang up. You need to hang up. But your fingers refuse to uncurl from the death grip you have on your phone. “Why… why are you calling me?”

You hear the distant sounds of the city on his end of the line, padded by his breathing. It sounds labored. Manual, like he's reminding himself every so often to inhale and exhale, too busy chasing a fading feeling. You could recognize that specific pattern of his breath anywhere. You close your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he murmurs. "Maybe. I don't know."

That translates to a yes.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. This is why you don't answer his calls. This is why you should've blocked him months ago. You feel the tension of the moment fizzle into nothing but annoyance. "It's four in the morning. Why did you call me?"

Hyunjin lets out a soft whine, his breath picking up.

"I miss you."

His words land like a punch to your chest, knocking the wind out of you. A simple string of words in that pitiful, whining tone of his, and you already feel like putty in his hands.

You hate this. You hate him.

You want to scream at him. Tell him that this is bullshit. He's bullshit. That you've been trying so hard to stay away from him. But your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your throat.

"No you don't,” you decide to be civil. “You're just drunk."

"But I know what I'm saying."

The civility only lasts so long. “Oh, fuck off," you breathe. There is no real power behind it, but it's better than nothing. "Don't say stuff like that."

He starts to speak, but a nearby train cuts him off. You think about taking the opportunity to hang up, but as much as you don't want to hear what he says next, you're powerless to stop yourself from listening.

"I missed your voice so much, pretty girl." The laziness of his tongue makes the words sound like something entirely new. "I missed hearing you say my name. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you say my name? Please?"

His words are slurred and heavy. You shouldn't be entertaining this. He won't remember this conversation in the morning, too busy with his extravagant artist lifestyle and the swarms of other girls that want his attention. You'll be a distant memory floating around his hippocampus with nothing to tether to, like an itch he will never find.

"Why?"

He lets out a shaky breath, the undercurrent of a whine coating his tone. "Please, baby." The desperation in his voice fills your chest and makes it squeeze tight. "Say it for me?"

You are weak to his voice, but the distant, angrier part of you refuses to let it affect you. He doesn't get to just call you in the middle of the night and ask you to talk to him. Not when he's had months to do that and hasn't bothered.

"No."

You hear him swallow thickly, a slight shift in his breathing as he lets out a short, humorless laugh. You wait for him to speak again, but you're met with nothing but silence. It stretches long enough that you wonder if he hung up, but then—

"I miss you so much, angel."

Six words.

It's only six words, but they hurt worse than anything else he could've said to you. You don't know if it's because you think he doesn't mean them, or because you hope that he does.

Regardless, emotion swells so quickly in your chest, you feel like you're going to be sick. You can't do this. You can't keep letting him do this to you.

"I have to go," you say finally, voice trembling.

"Don't hang up." He sounds panicked. "Please don't hang up. I need to hear your voice."

Your face feels hot, the back of your nose beginning to burn. You will not let him hear you cry. "No, Hy–” You stop yourself. “I can't do this with you anymore."

"Please, baby. Please. I need you. I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you."

That damned phrase again. Your breath stutters in your chest, words coming out softer than you intend. "You don't mean that."

"I do, pretty girl. I promise."

You shake your head as if he could see you. You wish he could see you through the phone— to see what exactly he's done to you, how he destroyed you. You know he doesn't mean any of this, that they're just the chosen lies from tonight's bottle of vodka.

There's shuffling on the line for a second. Then—

"Can I see you. Please?"

You close your eyes, the tears you tried so hard to fight spilling over and sliding down your face until they make fat plopping noises on your sheets. No. He can't see you. You can't do this with him anymore. You need to hang up. This has to stop.

"Okay."

And this is your final, biggest mistake.

—

You're not sure why, but you don't believe he'll actually show up.

You've played this game with him before, right after the two of you broke up. You remember the anxious anticipation whirling in your stomach while you waited for him one night, and how the first rays of the sunrise curdled it in your stomach. You suppose his way with words was what made him a good artist anyway—there is no surprise there.

So when you hear two raps at your front door, there is some surprise there.

You wipe the tears from your face quickly, running a hand through your hair and praying it isn't as wild as it feels. You glance in the mirror by your front door, giving yourself a once-over to make sure you're presentable enough, but you shake your head and stop yourself. It's not like he hasn't seen you at your worst before.

When you open the door, Hyunjin is standing in front of you, illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps on your block. He looks exhausted.

"Hi, angel."

You blink slowly, suddenly regretting every decision that brought you to this moment.

"You're here."

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "You look tired. Did I wake you up?"

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his question, stepping aside to let him in. "Yes. It's four in the morning. Obviously you did."

He has the decency to at least look sheepish as he stumbles past you, looking around your apartment with a faraway expression on his face. You can smell the alcohol on him. It makes you incredibly dizzy.

He toes his shoes off and you watch him quietly, something stirring in your chest. He remembers. You didn't have to remind him about the no-shoe rule.

The realization sends a course of emotion through you that you cannot parse, so instead, you choose to focus on shutting and locking the door behind you.

It's been a full six months since Hyunjin has been in your apartment. It may not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but the two of you used to spend almost every waking moment together, especially when you were dating. You had grown accustomed to having him around so much, his absence left an aching hole in your life, your home, your bed.

When you gain the courage to turn around, you see that he's standing at the threshold of your living room. Hyunjin looks like he belongs here, yet somehow he also doesn't. This isn't the same Hyunjin from your final weeks together—the one that you screamed at until you couldn't breathe. This isn't the same Hyunjin that, in the middle of your last fight, pressed himself against the front door, caging you in your own apartment while you cried and begged him to let you leave.

That Hyunjin was different. He had meticulously styled hair and sunglasses that cost more than your rent. He was swimming in his quick rise to success, riding the wave and content to let you drown under him.

You look at present-Hyunjin, who's now peeling off the hood of his oversized sweater. There are no sunglasses.  no neatly styled hair. They are replaced by a blonde buzzcut, and watery, red eyes that cannot stay focused.

It would be easy to see him as a stranger, an intrusion, but you can't. It just feels like he's come home.

You're staring for so long, you don't realize until he looks over at you from his awkward stance by the couch.

"Are you gonna come over here?"

You take a few steps toward him, but not too close. You are a flame and he is a gas leak. You will both explode on contact.

You choose, instead, to play offense. "What are you doing here?"

He looks around your living room, fingers twitching like they're begging for something to hold. He won't meet your gaze. After a bit, he lets out a deep exhale.

"I don't know."

"Why did you call me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?”

He glances at you, his already watery eyes looking dejected and tearful, and your heart stutters in your chest. You wish you could hold steady to your hate for him. Sometimes it slips through your fingers like sand, leaving you scrambling to catch the pieces. Other times it's solid as glass. You wish it was always like that. You want to shove it in his face and let him suffocate under the weight of it.

But that look. The tears, the pain. You recognize it. It's a mirror of the same look you gave him when he broke up with you: heartbreak, rejection, confusion. 

You can't do this. You're going to cry. Or pass out. He shouldn't have come.

You open your mouth to say just that when he turns fully toward you, closing the gap a bit more. He's always towered over you– he's six feet tall and you're barely 5’1 on a good day– yet you find the intrusion surprising for a moment. You trail your sight all the way up to gaze into those red, unfocused eyes.

"You never say my name anymore," he says, the slur in his speech making a subtle appearance. He's wobbly on his feet. "Never on the phone, and not once since I've been here. Why?"

The question takes you by surprise. "What?"

"My name," he presses. He takes a step toward you, his presence pushing you one step back. "Why don't you say it anymore?"

You take another step back as he advances. You're not scared of him, you never could be, but the closer he gets the faster your heart beats. He's staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before, not even when you were together.

"I don't know," you echo. The lie is bitter in your mouth.

"Yes you do." He looks at you with those unfocused eyes, hurt flashing across his features. He takes another step. "You do know. You used to say it all the time, like my name was..." He trails off, his fingers twitching at his sides again, like he's trying to grasp something invisible. "Like it was yours."

You take a final step back, your spine hitting the wall. Hyunjin doesn't stop until he's a single step away from you, his chest so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"Don't,” you warn.

"Say it," he pleads. His hands are shaking, and you're beginning to recognize that it's not the effects of the alcohol, but a raw desperation. He's literally shaking with need. "Please. Just once."

You exhale slowly through your nose, willing your anger to come to the forefront. You feel the start of it in your bones, boiling hot and ready to lash out.“Why would I say it now? You only listened when it was convenient for you.”

His brow furrows, confusion warring with the lingering haze of alcohol. "What are you talking about?"

The words feel hot like bile in your stomach, the heat of your anger boiling everything in you. He's too close. You're getting too angry. You should stop now, kick him out and block his number. 

But Hyunjin closes the gap, his shaking hand reaching to cup your face. He barely connects with your skin before you feel the explosion.

"Don't touch me," you bark, jerking away from his hand. The hurt that flashes across his face only fuels your anger more. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to-- to come here, drunk and desperate, pretending like you care about what my voice means to you–"

"I do care," he insists, his voice cracking. "I've always—"

"No, you don't," The words tear from your throat, sharp and raw. You put both hands on his chest and shove him away from you with all of your strength. He stumbles back, but he's still not far enough.

"You stopped caring the minute that painting made you famous. The minute everyone wanted to know about the hot new painter with synesthesia and raw talent.”

It’s the first time you've said the words out loud. They taste like acid on your lips, and you hate that, but not more than how much you hate the way your eyes burn with tears.

You let the weight of your words settle between the two of you like a boulder in the ocean. You watch as Hyunjin grimaces, and internal war showing on his face before he lets out a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and turning to take several steps away from you.

You don't want to feel bad for him. He deserves this. He deserves every ounce of pain you're feeling. 

You remember that conversation you had over a year ago, tangled in his messy sheets with your head on his bare chest. Your relationship was still new, still tender. The honeymoon phase seemed neverending.

As you laid there, his heartbeat was, at first, a steady pulse against your ear, but the longer you two basked in the afterglow, the faster it got.

You remember sitting up after a minute, hands cupping his face in concern. "What is it, Hyun?"

"I... I have something to tell you," he murmured.

He told you about his synesthesia, how it was his inspiration for pursuing art, but also an insecurity he struggled to coexist with. You listened to him, comforted him, encouraged him, loved him. Told him how amazing he was and how every little quirk of his just made him better.

A few months later, he was kissing you awake and saying he had a surprise for you. When you walked into his living room, you saw the most gorgeous painting you'd ever seen-- a canvas segmented into 4 sections, each section similar in their subject but distinct in composition.

"It's, uh. It's you," he explained, ears burning red at the tips. "Not a portrait of you, but this is how it looks when you say my name. When you're sleepy, when you're laughing, when you're upset with me, and when you... when we--"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. You knew.

It was you that encouraged him to submit it to a contest a couple weeks after that. It was you who picked out his outfit for his first gallery showing. It was you who said his name over and over the night after while he showed you just how he got the inspiration for that last panel.

And yet.

"You cast me aside."

You wipe at the tears that have traitorously slipped from your eyes. "I was behind you through all of that, and then you let the sounds of the attention you got become louder than me. I didn't mean anything to you anymore."

Silence stretches between you like a chasm. Hyunjin's shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath, his back still turned to you. The air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with everything that's been said and has yet to be said. 

You don't even know why you're doing this, why you're bothering to explain anything to him when he's drunk. It'll be gone from his mind in the morning, and then what will have been the point?

You close your eyes and let your head thud against the wall. “Look. You should–”

"I never meant to make you feel invisible," he says.

You take a steadying breath. 

He carries on, his voice rough in the silence. "It was intoxicating. The praise, the intrigue, the attention-- I was seeing so many colors and shapes I'd never seen before. I'd never had so many people find it– find me interesting. Or worth something.

Your voice is small. “You had me.”

He turns back to you. There are tears streaked on his face, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart twist in your chest. “I know. But I got lost in it– in the attention. I was drowning in so many colors that meant nothing because they weren't yours. But I didn't realize that until you weren't around anymore."

You want to stay angry. You want to hold onto the hurt that's kept you safe these past months. But seeing him like this— almost as broken as you'd been feeling —cracks something open inside of you.

"Do you know what the worst part is?” At his silence, you continue. “I was, and still am, so proud of you.” Your voice is quieter now, more tired than angry. "Even when it hurt, even when it felt like you used me. I was proud."

Hyunjin opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. You watch him swallow, hard, the deliberate bob of his Adam's apple catching your gaze. In everything he does, he looks like art. It's maddening.

He clears his throat, finally finding his voice. "Can I... can I show you something?"

You narrow your eyes at him, confused. "What?"

He fidgets in his spot for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. After a moment of scrolling, he turns the screen toward you. It's a photo of a canvas—clearly a work in progress, layers of color bleeding into each other in abstract patterns.

"I've been trying to paint again," he says softly. "Ever since we broke up. But nothing's been working. The colors are wrong. Dead."

He flicks to the next picture. It's a similarly unfinished painting. "It gets easier to ignore how wrong they look after a few shots. Sometimes they move around like before. But it never lasts, because it's not you.”

The confession hangs in the air between the two of you. Unlike the heaviness of your earlier words, Hyunjin's float above you two like a balloon, hoisting the last of your irritation away with it. You see the truth of his words in the muddy browns and grays that dominate the canvas, so different from the vibrant explosions of his earlier work. It feels, painfully, like he's lost a piece of his soul.

You can't look at it anymore. You glance up at him instead.

He looks more nervous now than he did when you opened the door. It reminds you of your first ever date, and how he tried to hide his nerves with a devastating smile and charm. The memory chips at a hardened part of your heart.

You've missed him.

You've been so, so tired of missing him.

"Why did you come here,” you breathe. The question is softer this time. More genuine.

He puts his phone back in his pocket, gaze locked on you. Beneath the haze of whatever buzz he still has, you see a glimpse of your Hyunjin, the one who made you laugh so he could paint the bright yellow rays of sunshine that exploded in his vision. The one who left you sketches of your sleeping form if he had to leave before you woke up. 

The one who thought the smallest pieces of you were his magnum opus.

Perhaps that's why, when he takes a step closer, you don't move away this time.

"Because I'm selfish," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I miss you. Because I need to see it again– to feel it. Even if it's the last time."

He takes another step, the height of him caging you against the wall. His eyes search yours, desperate and hungry. "Please, angel. I am begging you. Say my name. Let me see it again."

The request vibrates through you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes. It's maddening how easily he can awaken something you've tried so hard to bury.

You know this is dangerous territory—that giving in now could shatter you all over again.

But his proximity is intoxicating, the familiar scent of him filling your senses. Your body remembers what your mind wants to forget—the way he used to worship you, the way your voice could bring him to his knees in more ways than one.

"This doesn't fix anything," you whisper, even as you feel yourself weakening.

"I know," he breathes, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the lingering alcohol on him. "But God, I miss you. I miss the way you light up my world."

Your back presses against the wall as he crowds into your space, not touching, but close enough that the air between you crackles with tension. He puts his hands on either side of your head, caging you in so that all you can look at is him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need and something deeper, more desperate.

"Say it, pretty girl."

You let his voice be the final push over the edge.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, and you watch as his entire body shudders in response.

His eyes flutter shut, plush lips parting slightly as a soft moan slips out. He's trembling now, hands twitching on the wall near your head as though still fighting the urge to touch you. "Again."

"Hyunjin," you repeat. Your voice is stronger now. Your heart is racing, stomach twisting with nerves and desire. It's been so long since you've said his name like this, and the effect it has on him is beyond intoxicating.

He whimpers, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Fuck, I missed that," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin. You feel the brush of his low cut hair against your forehead. "I've never seen it like this before. Please, baby. Again. I need more."

The desperation in his voice makes you weak, and you find yourself sliding your hands up, up, up, until your fingers curl into his fuzz, tugging gently at the wisps of hair at the base of his skull. The reaction is immediate—Hyunjin grunts, low and guttural, his hips bucking forward against yours.

"Again," he pants. "Please. Please."

You drag your nails along his scalp, pulling another groan from deep within. You brush your noses together.

"My Hyunjin," you whisper, right against his lips.

He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours in a hot, bruising kiss. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he licks into your mouth. It's wet, messy, and desperate-- a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. You can't remember the last time anyone has kissed you this hard, this passionately—like he's trying to crawl inside you and never come back out.

He tastes like vodka and cheap beer, but underneath that is something that is so innately Hyunjin that you feel yourself melting, giving in to his touch and his mouth and his greedy hands. He shifts, slotting a thigh between your legs and flexing up into you. It pulls a moan from your throat that he swallows hungrily.

"Can I touch you?" He breathes his words right into your mouth.

You don’t hesitate. "Yes. Hyun, please."

His hands drop from the wall to the curve of your waist, sliding down until he has a bruising grip on your hips. His movements aren't as clumsy as you expect, but there's a hesitancy and nervousness that makes everything more enticing.

He uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his thigh. His movements are slow, deliberate. Your bodies are pressed flush together, his mouth still on yours, kissing you like you're the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence.

He bites down on your bottom lip and you whine his name right into his mouth. He hisses out a strangled sound before he breaks away, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat, and sucking a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind your ear. You're a mess of moans and whines and incoherent, half-finished sentences.

"God, you sound so fucking good," he murmurs into your neck. "Missed that too. Missed how pretty you sound for me.” He nips at your earlobe. “C'mon. Sing for me, angel."

He presses his thigh up into you more, the friction sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You feel the length of him, hard heavy and hot, through his sweatpants. You dig your nails into his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping you. 

"Oh. Fuck, Hyunjin."

His hips buck involuntarily, a grunt slipping from him. He kisses his way back to your mouth. "That's it, my love. That's it." 

"Hyunie." You're panting into his mouth now, words coming out in broken gasps. It's overwhelming, all the sensations– his hands, his mouth, his thigh. You try to hold back your next words, but the building pressure in your stomach disintegrates the barriers in your brain. They come pouring out before you can stop yourself. 

"I missed you so much.”

The confession seems to do something to him. He curses and ruts up against your leg, chasing the contact, the friction. You're both breathing heavily, the space between you nonexistent, moving with a practiced ease that's only born from being familiar with each other. He knows your body like he knows art, like it's a medium for him to mold and shape into whatever he wants.

"Wanna paint you," he huffs out when you moan again. He drags his teeth along the length of your throat. "Want you to see the colors you make for me."

“Tell me.” You drag your nails along the nape of his neck. “What does it look like?”

He moves his thigh up, the sharp movement making you gasp and drop your head onto his shoulder.

"That," he pants, "That one is white. Soft on the edges like feathers. It feels like cotton in my ears."

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, his hips rutting against you with urgency. You can't help the moan that slips past your lips, and you swear his grip tightens, his breath hitching.

"Fuck," he breathes. "And that-- that one is hot. It's like rich red. Like the sun. It tastes sweet. Tastes like you.”

You whine into his neck, the combination of his words and the movement of his thigh making the heat coil tightly in your core. You're so close, right at the edge of your orgasm. You know you should stop-- that this is a dangerous line you're crossing-- but your body aches for him in a way it never will for anyone else.

"Come on. Cum for me, angel.” His voice is ragged, raw. "I wanna see it. Let me see it, please." 

And, well, you have never been able to deny him anything.

You tip over the edge, pleasure shooting through your body like a spark. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your vision goes white around the edges, a broken cry of his name spilling from your lips.

Hyunjin groans and ruts against you harder, faster. "Fuck, yes, that's it. Just like that, baby." 

He kisses you again, swallowing up every noise you make while he lets you grind your way through the aftershocks. His hands roam their way around your body, his nimble fingers slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

You come down slowly, breathing hard into his mouth. When he's sure you've ridden out the last of your orgasm, he pulls back, eyes glassy and still a bit unfocused. His gaze is locked on yours as he slides his hands down your body, slipping a hand into the waistband of your shorts and moving to cup your ass in both hands.

Some of your wits return to you. You find the hairs at the nape of his neck again, dragging your nails against him gently. "Hyun," you breathe. "Hyun, you're drunk. We should stop."

"No," he whines. There's no aggression in his movements, just pure want. He tugs at your ass again, pressing his hips into yours. "Please, baby. I need to feel you."

He leans forward again, kissing down your jaw to your neck. The brush of his buzzcut against your face makes you shiver, but you don't pull away. Instead, you press a kiss to his temple, then another, and another, until you're kissing the shell of his ear.

"You'll change your mind in the morning," you murmur. The thought doesn't sting like you thought it would. It just seems like a fact. “Let's stop now.”

It takes some effort, but you manage to gently untangle yourself from him. You put a hand on his chest, not exactly pushing him but enough to signal a need for distance between you. He relents easily, stepping back and giving you space to breathe.

You take the opportunity to stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him: frazzled hair, blown-out pupils, kiss-swollen lips, and an erection straining painfully against his sweatpants. It's a sight that has your body singing for him all over again.

He looks lost. Desperate. Like you're the only thing keeping him together. Yesterday, you would balk at the thought of that, but now it makes your heart soften in your chest. You try to remember a time when you weren't weak for this man and come up short.

You sigh and reach out, resting your hand on his arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. "Come on, Hyunie," you murmur. "You obviously can't go home. Let's get you to bed."

He follows you down the hallway to your bedroom like a lost puppy, fingers loosely tangled with yours. When you flick on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminates the space that used to be so familiar to him. He stands there, awkward, until you turn down the comforter and sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to you.

"Do you want me to sleep here?" he asks, his voice small.

You nod. "I'll take the couch."

His hand tightens around yours immediately. "No." His voice is small, fragile. "Stay. Please."

You close your eyes, summoning strength from somewhere deep inside you. "Hyunjin, I don't think—"

"I won't touch you," he rushes to say, desperation creeping back into his tone. "I promise. I just... I can't be alone right now. Please don't make me be alone."

The plea strikes something painful in your chest. You've spent months trying to convince yourself that Hyunjin was fine without you—thriving, even. That he'd moved on to bigger, better things. But the man standing before you now, with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, is far from fine. 

"Okay," you relent, because you're weak and tired and overwhelmed from the events of tonight. 

When he slides under the blanket, there's a safe distance between you. Not as vast as it's been the past six months, but a tangible space nonetheless. You lie there on your side, staring at him, wondering if this is what it feels like to drown. He stares back at you, and you watch the redness of his eyes dissipate, his body relaxing under the weight of your gaze. You can't even find it in you to be angry, but you try. You really do.

He looks at you with those glassy eyes and a soft smile. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

You feel the anger slip through your fingers.

"You're drunk," you whisper back.

"I know."

You're not sure who moves first, but you find yourself closing the distance between you, your head tucked under his chin and your arm slung over his torso. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you find yourself melting into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm, letting it lull you to sleep.

"Goodnight, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You're asleep before you can respond.

—

Sunlight filters through your curtains, painting warm stripes across your face. You stir, your consciousness returning to you in fragmented pieces. The first thing you register is the coolness of the sheets next to you. The second is the ache in your chest.

You open your eyes, staring at the empty space where Hyunjin had been.

Had.

He's gone.

The pillow still bears the impression of his head, the ghost of his presence lingering in the sheets in the form of his expensive cologne. You reach out, rubbing a bit of the sheet between your fingers, finding it cold to the touch.

Of course he left. What were you expecting?

You're not sure how long you lie there, staring at the ceiling, but it's long enough for the tears to come. They slip down the sides of your face and into your hair, leaving wet stains on the pillow as everything from last night comes back to you: the desperation of his voice on the phone, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his breath hot on your neck as he begged and pleaded for you to bathe his world in color again. It all felt real, so urgent in the midnight hour.

But morning has a wicked way of washing everything clean, the sober light revealing every mistake in detail.

You wish you could be angry. You wish you could feel anything other than the pain that's splitting your chest in two. You wish you could hate him.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes in an attempt to stall the tears before they get worse. This is exactly why you should've blocked him, why you shouldn't have let him in or slept beside him like nothing changed between the two of you.

"Stupid," You murmur. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A familiar weight settles in your gut, the same one your carried for weeks when he first left-- a noxious mix of anger, embarrassment, and grief. You thought you'd finally shed it, but here it is again, through no fault but your own.

You drop your hands from your face and glance at the clock, which tells you it's a bit past 11am. He's back at his fancy apartment by now, already forgetting the things he whispered in your skin. You let out a humorless snort, imagining that he's painting, finally able to put colors together properly after using you for inspiration.

You're about to drag your pity party to the kitchen when you hear it-- the faint squeak of your bathroom sink turning on.

Your eyes snap in that direction instantly. For a moment, you don’t hear anything else. Then–

Splashing. Someone is washing their face.

He stayed.

You freeze, heart suddenly pounding against your chest. You can hear the water continuing to slosh around for a second, then it shuts off.

More silence, just for a second, then the unmistakable padding of feet on tile.

The en suite door swings open. Hyunjin materializes in the door frame wearing the same clothes from last night. His hair catches the morning light like a halo and his face is freshly washed. His eyes are no longer glassy, even though they're rimmed with the telltale shadows of a hangover. When he sees you sitting up in bed, he pauses, hovering in the doorway as though he's unsure if he's still allowed in.

The two of you hold eye contact for a moment. It feels like forever, but you know it can't be more than a second or two. It doesn't matter how long, really. It's still too long. Long enough to make the ache inside you bloom until your entire chest is suffocating under its weight. Long enough to realize how much you still want him and need to keep him in this space that was once yours and his. Long enough to want to reach out across time and space and mold his edges into something that belongs solely to you—that only you can recognize. Something different and yet exactly the same.

"Hi," he says.

The breath is knocked out of you all at once. 

"You're still here," you breathe. You feel a new wave of tears behind your eyes. You think it might be from relief.

Something flashes across his face quickly-- hurt, maybe, or understanding. "Yeah." His voice is soft. "I told you I wouldn't leave again."

Did he say that? You don't remember. You can't exactly think over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

The words hang in the air anyway, a fragile bridge stretching across the space between you. It feels precarious, like one wrong move will send all of it crashing down. You scan his face for any hint of deception, for a flicker of the old Hyunjin that prioritized his rising fame over you. But all you find is a raw sincerity that mirrors the ache in your own chest.

He takes a hesitant step into the room, then another, like he's waiting for you to change your mind and kick him out. You don't. You just sit there, heart thrumming against your ribs, watching as he drifts closer until he's standing at edge of the bed. There's barely any space separating you two, yet everything still feels so far away.

"Last night," he starts. He clears his throat, fighting against the tremble in his voice and hands. "It was a mess. I was a mess, I know."

You wait, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

"But even in the middle of all of that... I need you to know I meant it. Every word, angel. I still do."

Something swells inside of you, the pain making way for something soft and tender. It's overwhelming, but the good kind. The kind that makes you feel light and free.

"Do you?" Your voice is so quiet, you're not sure if he hears you. But he does, because his gaze softens, eyes never leaving yours.

Hyunjin lowers himself to the ground, situating himself on his knees so the two of you are eye level. He reaches a hand out, his long, slender fingers making their way across the space, gently cupping the curve of your jaw. You close your eyes, holding your breath while you bask in the way his skin makes contact with yours. The air around you feels like it might come alive. As you lean into the warmth of his palm, the ache in your chest begins to fade bit by bit.

"Yeah. I do," he whispers. His voice is thick.

There are a million things you want to say, yet the only thing you can force out is: "Why?"

He brushes his thumb along the rise of your cheekbone, the gesture tender and familiar. It's almost like he never left, like no time has passed between the two of you. He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, like the words are getting stuck in his throat.

"Can I show you?"

The question sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow and nod.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the hunger evident in his gaze. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing you in. His breath tickles your nose, the scent of your toothpaste mixing with the smell of his sweater.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

You answer him by closing the gap.

Unlike the kiss from last night, this one is slow, measured. You pour everything you've wanted to say since he left into it, and he returns it tenfold. He kisses you with a passion that threatens to consume, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly, tongue sweeping out to lick at your bottom lip. You part for him immediately, the taste of him igniting the dormant fire inside you.

Hyunjin kisses you like a starving man. You give him everything he needs, letting him map your mouth with his tongue, moaning into the heat of his kiss. You feel it everywhere, the heat coiling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. It feels like a revelation, and the way his grip tightens tells you that he feels it too.

"Say it, please baby," he breathes. The desperation from last night is creeping back in. His hand leaves your cheek, trailing down the length of your neck to your collarbone. He curls his hand into the neck of your shirt and tugs it down to expose your skin, dipping down to wash his tongue across your collarbones. You're already shaking before he even nips at your skin.

"Hyunjin," you moan. The sound makes him grunt against you, low and needy.

His mouth is on yours again, bruising, like he wants to drown in the taste of you. You sink your fingers into his hair, pulling gently and feeling his body shudder in response. He adjusts his positions on his knees, tugging you closer to him so your hips are flush against his chest. The heat of his feverish skin burns you through the thin fabric of your night clothes.

"Again, angel," he pleads, mouthing his way over your shirt, down to your breasts, hands trailing up your bare thighs and gripping hard. You let out a little whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers in the wisps of his hair, holding on for dear life. He doesn't stop. The mixture of his mouth and his hands has your mind hazy and unfocused.

"Hyunjin. Hyun, please." You feel him shudder at that, his mouth kissing lower, lower, lower. When he reaches the hem of your shit, he grips it in his teeth and pulls it up, tongue darting out to run a stripe across your belly button. You pant and squirm, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin through his sweatshirt.

He nips at your stomach and you cry out his name, the sound breaking through the space like a firecracker. Hyunjin's hips buck up against the bed as his mouth finds your hip bone, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. Your back arches, legs clamping around his torso. His grip is bruising and you really hope he leaves a mark, that there are traces of him on you long after you're finished. You want him to burn himself into your skin so you never forget this again.

He's pressing sloppy kisses over the skin he's just bitten, murmuring a mixture of words you can't decipher. The sound is muffled against your skin, but you don't miss the way he says "angel" over and over again, the way his lips form your name against your body like it's a prayer, and he is the sole saint who has come to worship at your altar.

He shifts his mouth back to the waistband of your shorts, his big, blown out eyes fluttering open to stare at you in question. The look you give him is all he needs to peel off the fabric, slowly, teasingly, tossing them away and letting his fingers trail the newly exposed skin. His touch is hot on your legs, trailing up and down until you're panting for him.

"So perfect for me, pretty girl," he praises, his lips ghosting over your hips. Your brain feels like mush, like his praise is the only thing that exists anymore. You watch his long, perfect fingers slide up the expanse of your thigh until he reaches your heat, pushing your lips apart to reveal your aching cunt to him. His touch is so featherlight that it has your hips bucking up, trying to get more.

"Be still, love." He presses a kiss to your clit. "Be still for me. Let me worship you, yeah? Can you do that?"

You whine, desperately  trying to remain still, to let him explore every inch of your body with his perfect hands, to let him touch and tease you like he needs to.

"That's it, baby," he breathes. His fingers run along the wetness of your cunt. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me, my angel."

He slips his middle finger in with ease, sliding all the way to his knuckle. You barely have a second to adjust to the feeling before he dives down, plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. It sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine so sharp, you can't help the half scream that falls from your lips, your hand shooting out to grab onto his head. He moans in response, letting you grind yourself up into his face. He laps at you like a man possessed, fingers curling deep inside you to press against that one spot he's found countless times before.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt against his eager tongue. His hair is soft under your hand, a contrast to how hard he's fucking his fingers into you. They move with urgency and precision. Each thrust has you panting his name, and in response his moans vibrate through your cunt.

He moves his free hand to grab the one that's gripping his hair and squeezes, fingers curling between yours in a silent show of gratitude for letting him touch you, letting him drown himself in you.

The combination of his touch and the sounds he's making has your stomach coiling, tight like a spring, and your release comes quick and sharp. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, and you call out his name, louder than anything he's ever heard from you before, so loud your voice bounces off the walls. He works you through it, licking up all the wetness that's pouring from you, groaning and growling like a starving man. He slips in a third finger to fuck you through the last of your high and the stretch is so good, so perfect.

His grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you grounded as the last of the pleasure courses through you, leaving you shaking and trembling against his face. Hyunjin keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching you like a predator watches prey, pupils blown so wide only a sliver of dark brown peeks out at you. He only pulls away once you stop shuddering, dragging his fingers out of you with a loud, wet noise, slipping them straight into his mouth.

The sight of his plush, pink lips wrapped around those perfect fingers makes you whine and squirm with want, even though you've just been thoroughly fucked out. Hyunjin crawls his way back up your body and kisses you deeply. His lips are wet with you, and he fucks his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You find yourself gripping at the soft hairs on the back of his neck again in an attempt to press him closer. He pulls away slightly to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your jaw, teeth dragging across the hot skin.

"You drive me crazy, pretty girl," he pants. He sucks a bruise into the junction where your throat meets your shoulder. "Every noise you make, it sizzles in my eyes like fire. I see you everywhere."

You drag your nails down his neck and he groans into you. You can feel the impossibly hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants. He ruts against your body lazily, his movements sluggish. The post orgasm haze still hangs over your body like a heavy fog, slowing everything down to a sluggish, sensual pace. It's hypnotic and delicious, the feeling of his hardness dragging along your thigh while he peppers kisses along your skin. You know this dance, your bodies know the steps so well it feels like your back at the very beginning again, like no time has passed at all between the two of you.

"Let me have you, please." His voice is tight. His desperation is bleeding into everything, tinging the air between you like an intoxicating drug. It makes your head spin and your skin tingle. He shifts his position so his hips are rutting into yours now, slow, deliberate, and grinding right down into you. You're so wet for him still that there's no resistance in his movements. With your eyes fluttering from the sensation, you drag your fingers across the expanse of his broad shoulders and then down to the dip in his spine, trailing your fingertips up under his sweatshirt to drag across his hot skin. It pulls a shaky whine out of him.

"God, please angel." His cock throbs against you. "I'll make it good for you, so fucking good. Just please let me have you, please."

You tug at his sweater until he relents, breaking away to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room. You take the opportunity to look at his chest, which is flushed with color and heaving with want. His lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, lust-blown eyes staring down at you like you hold all of the secrets to his universe. He's still getting harder in his pants, the fabric stretching taut over his cock, the shape of his length visible beneath it. The sight alone makes you dizzy, and the wetness that has been slowly building inside you reaches a crescendo, your cunt pulsing at the sight before you.

Your hand drifts down between your legs. Your fingers slide easily over the wetness that's gathered there from the pleasure Hyunjin has been so dutifully dishing out to you, and you don't even think about what you're doing. Hyunjin watches, eyes glassy as you dip two fingers in the wet mess he's made of your cunt. You slide them back up to your clit and moan, hips twitching into your own touch. His lips part a fraction, a breathy gasp spilling from him. He looks so painfully hungry that the thought of denying him crosses your mind for the briefest of moments. The thought disappears the second he opens his mouth.

"Baby, please, I need it." He shifts on his knees, squirming and aching for you. You almost don't recognize his voice— it's so raspy and tight with need, words stumbling out of him with no hesitation, no thought. It makes your skin hot all over again. You circle your fingers around your clit as you watch him watch you, his chest heaving in tandem with the movements of your fingers. 

Then he makes the prettiest little whine you've ever heard in your entire life.

The sound alone is enough to make you remove your hand and offer your wet fingers to him, his mouth falling open obediently to welcome them in. He swirls his tongue around your fingertips, lapping up any of the wetness he's left on you. He groans and shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks and licks and hums around your fingers. Your brain feels like static and your thighs squeeze together to try and ease the ache inside you.

"Fuck, Hyunjin," you moan out, watching him suck your fingers clean. You try desperately to focus on keeping your hips still, the friction from your bodies moving together making you want to chase your pleasure again.

He moans around your fingers before pulling back, catching the hand you had been using to play with your clit and pulling it up to place a gentle kiss on your palm. He keeps eye contact the entire time, looking at you from under those thick lashes and his hooded eyes. His lips part just enough for the tip of his tongue to lick at your skin, his fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. It makes your stomach drop. He has you under a spell and he doesn't even need to try.

He nips at your fingertips once more before speaking again, his voice low. "You make it so impossible to see anything other than you," he says, breathless. "Everywhere I turn, everything I see, there you are."

He shifts again, his body moving downwards and slotting itself between your thighs. He uses his free hand to wrestle himself out of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them to hang low on his hips, cock finally free from their confines and bobbing heavily in the cool air. A shudder runs through him and you can tell it's both from the chill and the feeling of relief that comes from the sudden freedom. Your eyes linger on the head, leaking so prettily for you that it has your cunt squeezing around nothing again.

The hand holding your wrist pushes gently until it has you pinned above your head on the bed, the grip loose enough to not hurt you but strong enough to hold you in place. He reaches down to finally wrap his free hand around himself, stroking the length of his cock as he lets his eyes wander all over your body. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you're transfixed by the way he lets it run along the swell of his mouth. He's such a pretty, pretty picture like this.

You think he might say something again, but the only sound that fills the space is his soft pants and moans. His strokes on himself once, the slick, wet noises making your brain go fuzzy all over again. Then he stops, leaning forward so he's hovering above you, the tip of his nose mere centimeters from yours. His lips brush against your mouth and his fingers twitch around your wrist, like he wants to let go but can't bear to.

You tilt your chin up to catch his lips, a soft whine bubbling in your throat. Want simmers under your skin so badly that you're a shaking, trembling mess under him. He coos at you in the kiss, and you feel him shift over you, lining himself up with your entrance. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, gathering the wetness that has dripped out of your pulsing cunt and onto the sheets, using it as lubrication for the tip of his cock to catch on your entrance. Your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, making him break the kiss with a gasp, and you both look down to watch as pushes the head of his cock into you.

"Shit," he whines. It comes out like a hiss, his eyes slipping closed. The feeling of your body welcoming him home has a shudder running up his spine. He releases your hand and uses his elbows to hold himself up over you, fingers burying themselves in the sheets surrounding your head. The tips of his ears are dusted pink, and his mouth is slack as he lets himself be enveloped by the heat of your body. He rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He feels impossibly large inside of you. It has been so long since you've had him this close, it's almost like you forgot how good he can fill you. He shifts and pushes himself a bit further in and you can't help the whimper that tumbles from your mouth. The stretch is so deliciously good that your hips twitch again, body instinctively trying to grind itself onto his length to get him right where you need him. He curses above you again and his grip in the sheets tighten as he nips at your throat.

"Angel," he chokes out. His breath feels boiling hot against your skin. "Please don't move. Not yet, baby. You feel too fucking good."

His voice is strained, tight in his chest like he's barely holding himself back from pounding into you like his body so obviously wants to. The feeling of being stretched by him has you quivering, cunt pulsing around the intrusion. It feels like it takes him forever, but he finally manages to fully slide into you, letting his hips press against yours so you can take the time to adjust to the fullness. His name is a mantra on your lips, the only coherent word your brain is able to conjure right now. He kisses your neck to calm you down, nuzzles his nose against you, licks at the tender skin that has a pulse beating rapidly underneath it.

"So tight, angel," he grunts. His teeth dig into the skin of your neck, sucking another bruise into your skin. "So fucking tight for me."

Your nails are digging into his back now, scratching angry red lines down his shoulder blades as you struggle to breathe beneath him. It feels so good, the way his weight pushes into you and lets you feel every twitch and pulse of his body, lets you feel him shake and quiver. He slides back a bit before pushing into you again, his entire body shaking with the effort it's taking for him to maintain this languid pace. His forehead is pressed against your skin still and his breath comes out hot and shaky as he fucks himself into you again and again, slow and shallow.

The drag of his cock has your toes curling. Your hands slide from his back to his shoulder, down to his biceps, fingers digging into the skin to leave crescents that you can't bring yourself to feel bad about. The heat is pooling in your stomach again, making the feeling in your toes and fingertips start to fizzle away. All that's left is you and Hyunjin. The artist and his muse.

"Hyunie," you breathe. "Hyun."

"I know baby," he grunts. You can feel the drag of his lips on you, leaving kisses against your feverishly hot skin. "I know. I'm here, I'm here."

He picks up the pace then, hips snapping against you to get his cock as deep as it'll go. Your brain has become static, aware of nothing more than the sound of skin slapping against skin, of the wet noises coming from where Hyunjin has returned to his home inside you. You arch your body into his hold and he slips his hand into the curve of your back, pressing you close so that every thrust brings him as close to your heart as he can get.

When he pounds into you particularly hard and you flutter around him, he grunts, sitting up and on his heels to gain leverage to piston into you deep. 

"So fucking perfect," he groans. He reaches down to thumb at your clit, circling it and grinding it down in time with his thrusts. You whine his name and buck against his hand as his thrusts get harder and faster in response. It has the coil in your belly winding tighter, so tight your body feels rigid against the bed. "Gonna show me that rainbow, right baby? Be good and come for me, yeah?"

You're already nodding frantically, words completely failing you. The sound of your skin meeting is loud, and your own moans are a chorus that's getting lost in his groans, in his pretty little whimpers of your name. It's all too much— you can barely catch your breath.

His hand that isn't playing with your clit finds one of yours and brings it to your stomach, pushing your palm into the skin below your belly button. When you feel it—the subtle bump from the tip of his cock, pressing against his fingers and into the flat of your stomach—you moan and dig your nails into the back of his hand.

"Fuck," he grits. "You like that angel? You like feeling full of me?"

A distant pulsing of your clit is the only warning you get before your orgasm hits you hard. You scream Hyunjin's name, nails digging into his skin for something to tether to. Your orgasm washes over you like an electric current, shooting up your spine and down to your toes. It whites your vision out, each pulse of Hyunjin's thrust translating into faded bursts of colors behind your eyes. The force of it makes your cunt squeeze down hard, so hard that you feel him stutter in his rhythm above you. You feel him drop forward to grip onto the pillow behind your head and bury his face into your chest, fingers digging in tight, hips bucking up into you. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting hard down on the fabric of your shirt, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You don't need to look to know he's coming inside of you, filling you up and painting you white.

It feels like the two of you ride through the aftershocks for years before he comes back down enough to gently slip his cock out of you, hissing from the sensitivity. You barely even feel him roll off of you, the world still tilted on it's axis significantly. Your vision takes a second to focus as your chest heaves. It takes even longer to realize that Hyunjin is staring at you from where he's lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow and an expression on his face you haven't seen in months. The thought that he could still look at you with a mixture of reverence and wonder after all this time is overwhelming.

But exhaustion is the prevailing emotion, and you only manage a small, sleepy smile before you pass out, lulled to sleep by the soft kiss he presses to your shoulder.

—

When you wake up a few hours later, you’re not panicked to find that you’re by yourself. The sheets are still warm, the shower is running, and there is still a dull, pleasant ache between your legs. You stretch, muscles nicely liquid and pliant, before patting around for your phone on your nightstand.

You do not find your phone. You find, instead, a piece of paper.

It takes a moment of sleepy shuffling, but once you get the lamp on, you see that it’s a pencil sketch of your sleeping form. There’s a cloud of colors surrounding you, beautifully rich blues and pinks that overlap to create equally vibrant purples. The colors feather out around the paper, swirling into soft, delicate hearts.

There is a single word on the bottom of the drawing:

Reconciliation.

[inside-lees-mind]

Is multiple characters(separate) allowed? I was thinking a NSFW with a reader that gets flustered easily for Gen, Senku, and Ukyo!

Hi! Yes, multiple characters is allowed! Also, sorry, I only half assed listened to the request because Senku's felt so much more natural to write sfw.

WARNINGS: NSFW (only in Gen and Ukyo's)

Gen Asagiri

Once this man notices that you easily get flustered, he is wielding that knowledge like a weapon.

He'd be good with his words to be able to fluster you without even having to resort to close proximity.

Just silly compliments can fluster you, so soon he's taking it a step closer.

He likes to say things that take you a second to comprehend the meaning of. He'll tell you something that could mean 2 things, one more innocent, one not so much, in passing. By the time you realize, he's not even in the room anymore.

You're usually super embarrassed, but he just finds it cute and endearing.

The times that he stays after flustering you with a suggestive comment, he'll wait until you get it, then use close proximity to fluster you next.

He goes from verbally teasing you, to tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. He'll get so close you can feel his breath on your face, and from here, these interactions could go one of two ways: he may say you have something on your face, dust it off, and walk away as if he's done nothing, or the latter would be he FINALLY kisses you.

Definitely the type to tease you by pushing your legs apart with his knee, keeping it there. Don't question me on that.

Most likely character to tease you in public, but refuse to do the real thing. That's a private matter, he's just sneaky enough to tease you.

Praise or degrading in bed, whatever you'd prefer, he's using it to tease you. The blush on your face spreads down your body and that drives him crazy (or the heat if the blush wouldn't be visible)

"use your words" makes you say things you don't really wanna say out loud even if he understands what you mean.

(this man can make you cum without touching you and nobody can convince me otherwise. I don't accept critique.)

Senku Ishigami

Accidentally flusters you half of the time.

He thinks nothing of getting right in your face for something or touching you to measure you or something like that. He's unbothered because he's simply not worried about that right now.

And honestly, most of the time he won't bother to go out of his way to fluster you.

Eventually he'd realize from time to time

Like the time he pulled you out to stargaze with him.

Sure, he'd intended for it to be a date of sorts, but he doesn't really swoon at the idea of how romantic it is. He enjoys stargazing and space and all that, and its time he could be spending with you so why not just combine the things he loves into one activity?

You, on the other hand, were super nervous to speak or anything. The still of the night made it romantic, but also terrifying. It's just you, him, and the moon and stars.

He's probably talking your ear off about space and what you're looking at, not that you mind, but eventually he turns onto his side to fully face you.

You get super flustered, and for once he can't help but notice and honestly, now that he's thinking about it, you make him little nervous.

He feels that it's illogical to feel like some giddy, hopelessly in love teenager when he looks at you, but he can't help it.

Now he's just as flustered.

He struggles with initiating physical contact, but he's direct with it. He'll scoot closer and kiss you.

Then you'll both just stare in silence, occasionally opening your mouths to say something and getting nothing out.

He'd take your hand and let you both fall into a comfortable silence where you both almost drift off in each other's company.

Ukyo Saionji

It's easy to forget this man was pretty cocky.

I think at first in a relationship, he'd just be sweet and very humble, but now you've been with him for quite sometime and he won't let you forget how much he turns you on.

He's soft whispers and gentle touches to send your mind in a spiral right into the gutter and your stomach to a butterfly farm.

His favorite thing would be a back hug where he breathes in your scent and whispers against the shell of your ear, his hands running up your hips, gradually rising higher with each pass as he begins to move under your shirt.

He knows the power he has over you, but he's going to drive you crazy with whispered sweet nothings and gentle gestures.

He's an honest flirt, and that naturally flusters you. He's aware of that.

Eventually, the gentle touches get a bit more obvious and brass.

Those hands on your hips would pull you back against him.

Flusters you by insisting you be vocal in bed and then moaning about how pretty your noises are.

You'll never meet a man more in love with you. He'll fluster you by never letting you forget this.

He praises every part of your body, every noise you make, anything really.

Not related, but Ukyo would send you love letters if he had to go away on a trip and you couldn't go (pretend that's possible in the New Stone Age)

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 27 <3

Ushijima x dirtytalk

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 2,3 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"Here, Wakatoshi-kun! Look at this!"

A phone gets shoved into his face, the brightness level way too high for comfort, but he squints to take a look at the screen. A small grunt leaves his lips at the lack of greeting from his red-haired friend, but he chooses to focus on the screen instead.

It's an Instagram post with a picture of him, one taken during the Olympics. He looks at the picture, confused, but then Tendou starts scrolling through the comments

"I'd combust if he called me 'baby' with that deep voice."

"Do you think he's vocal in bed?" Reply: "He doesn't talk much in interviews, so I doubt it." Reply: "What a waste. His voice is so hot."

"LOOK AT HIS ABS *drools*"

"The world is going crazy ever since you said 'baby' in that one interview!" Tendou wildly gestures with his phone still in his hand, his grin almost smug when he elbows Ushijima. A frown appears on the spiker's face as he tries to recall the interview. It was one that he wasn't too fond of, due to the number of personal questions that had been asked. Way too personal questions for his liking.

"Ushijima-san, do you have any plans to start a family soon? When can we expect a baby, a little Ushijima junior?" "Baby?" he had echoed, clearly taken aback by this question, something that the interviewer probably failed to notice, but to the people close to him, it was fairly obvious. The silence after this question lead to speculation on the internet about his relationship status, something that he has kept private so far.

"It wasn't in a sexual way." Ushijima states after skimming through more comments, raising his eyebrows when the messages get more explicit and vulgar. "I was surprised when he asked the question."

"Doesn't matter! The world is going feral now, everybody wants to be Wakatoshi's baby! And even I have to admit that I got butterflies when I heard you say that. Y/n is really lucky~" Tendou hums, mischief clear in his eyes, but Ushijima fails to follow his train of thoughts with this.

"Why is she lucky?"

"Because she gets you to say sweet and dirty things to her all day long. You can't fool me, Wakatoshi-kun; I'm not only your best but also your oldest friend." Tendou winks and strolls ahead, oblivious to the way Wakatoshi is left standing there with a frown on his face, still.

xxxxx

"Y/n?"

You rub your arms dry with a fluffy towel when his voice comes from the other side of the door.

"Hmm?" you hum, smiling excitedly because he is finally back home. "I'll be out in a second."

"Yes, please. We need to talk." You hear him lean against the door frame, clearly waiting for you to come out.

You freeze at his words, eyes growing wide when realization settles in and you fully comprehend his words. "Talk? Talk about what?" you know that you sound shrill and loud, but you can't help yourself but to feel nervous at his serious tone- even more serious than normally.

"About us." Your jaw drops, and you quickly reach for your bathrobe, hastily unfolding the fabric to its full length.

"What do you mean about us? Is there a problem with us?" You finally manage to pull your arms through the fabric, quickly wrapping the fabric along your body before you open the door. You're met with Ushijima's broad chest as he quickly straightens to his full posture. His olive eyes roam over your body, lingering for a short moment on your exposed cleavage before they return back to your face. He looks nervous, there is no other way to put it. "I'm not sure. I think there could might be a problem."

"And what would that be?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes boring into his face as if you could find answers for his unusual behavior there. You've never seen him like this before. His usual warm eyes are clouded with worry, his hands fidgeting with his phone in his hands. "Toshi? What is it? Please, talk to me." You're tempted to take the phone out of his hands, but you refrain from touching him, not when you don't know what's going on.

"Are you happy with our sex life?" His eyes don't leave your face, not for even the slightest second to see your reaction, and your jaw drops at the sudden question- you expected a lot, but definitely not this.

"I'm- I mean, yes I am? Shouldn't I be? Are you unhappy?" You take a slight step back, creating distance between the two of you, baffled by the sudden implication that he thinks that you're not satisfied. Or that he might not be. Sex with Wakatoshi is great- hard, rough, and passionate. He knows how to fuck you, that is for sure, but he also knows how to be gentle and sweet, how to take care of you and spoil you, especially during aftercare. You lack nothing in your sex life with him- and you hope that he feels the same.

"I am happy. Very. I enjoy sex with you very much much," he states firmly, but that only confuses you more.

"Why are you asking me then? What made you think that I could be unhappy?" You move closer to him, worry etched in your features when you finally take his phone and put it aside to grab his hands.

"Do you want me to talk more? To be more vocal? I saw a video and people kept on commenting how they want me to call them 'baby' and some more things. Would you like that too?" The way he asks nonchalantly like he was just talking about dinner made this even more embarrassing somehow.

"For you to call me 'baby' during sex?"

"Hmm." He nods and looks expectantly at you, his hands squeezing yours while his gaze seems somewhat calmer now that he is convinced that you're satisfied.

"You... you can call me whatever you want. I'm fine with it." You try to sound unbothered and calm, but the slightly shaking note shows how the thought of him calling you "baby" or "his pretty girl" while he thrusts into you does something to you. He nods, hesitating for a second, but then his hands suddenly drop yours to pull you in by the waist, his other hand coming to your chin while he leans down until his lips are close to your ear.

"My baby. Or would you rather be my babygirl?" His honey-like voice almost puts a spell on you, and you find yourself shivering in his arms, thighs involuntarily clenching together. "S-sounds good, Toshi." You bring your hands up to his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt and his slow and steady heartbeat.

"And what would my babygirl like me to do? Does my babygirl want to be touched?" He lowly mumbles against the shell of your ear, your heart now beating faster when his hands start to roam over your body. "Yes," you breathlessly answer, hands slightly clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Definitely not what you had expected as the outcome of the conversation, but vocal Wakatoshi makes your pussy throb with every single word.

"My babygirl needs me to touch her, huh? I will take care of that pretty little princess cunt." He kisses your cheek, and your legs feel like jelly at this point. You cling to him, hanging on every single one of his words. You feel your arousal growing, feel how you start to get wet the more his hands keep touching you.

"More," you whisper, feeling hot and bothered while he keeps on touching you and pressing kisses to your neck. "More? Is my babygirl needy? That pretty princess cunny needs me to touch her?" He lifts the bathrobe just enough to place one hand on your thigh, and you feel like your body is on fire when he touches you there.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands now finding purchase on his shoulders while you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "What does that little princess cunny want? My fingers?" He grazes his fingertips along your thigh, moving dangerously close to your pussy under the bathrobe- bare, and basically creaming for him the longer he keeps playing with your body.

"Or my tongue?" he licks along the column of your neck, and you gasp at his words, the sensation hot and forbidden god. "I want to taste you, baby. You always taste so sweet. Do you want my tongue between your legs? Licking at your pretty pussy?" His fingers reach your throbbing pussy, slightly parting your folds and dipping in your wetness.

"Do it, do it, Toshi, please," you press your legs together around his hand, effectively caging him right where you need it. "Hmm, but you have to cum on my fingers first." He pecks your cheek and pulls his hand away from your legs, just to place it on your hips to guide you towards the bed. "Lay down for me, baby. Open that bathrobe for me."

His baritone echoes through the room, and you feel yourself doing everything like you're in a haze, full of need for him. "Hmm, that's my good girl." He hums apporvingly when you discard the bathrobe on the floor. Your body is trembling in the cool air of the room, but Ushijima is quick to join you on the bed and to hover above you, radiating so much heat that you instantly feel warm.

"Baby, spread your legs for me. Show me everything." You take a deep breath and slowly part your legs, revealing your glistening folds to him. A shiver runs down his body, and he clears his throat before he speaks again, his voice now lower when he is obviously bothered and turned on by the situation. "Look at how wet you are for me. All for me."

You frantically nod, anticipation rushing through your body while you wait for him to touch you. His fingers finally roam over your thighs, and your head falls back into the pillow at the way he touches you, the way he knows exactly where and how to touch you.

"So impatient. I can't wait to be inside of you, to feel you around me." Your gaze falls to the tent in his pants, the thought of him fucking you making your head spin and your pussy throb with need. His fingers move between your legs, moving along your folds and pressing against your clit. You moan at the sensation, your hands fisting the sheets when his thumb prods on your entrance.

"You look so pretty like this. Just waiting for me to touch you, to fuck you. And you feel so good around my fingers." He pushes his thumb inside of you, and you almost close your legs around him. "I will make you feel so good. I will make you cum on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock." You clench around the digit at his words, your eyes focused on his handsome face while he keeps on rubbing your clit. "More, please more," you whine your body shaking underneath his. "Shhh, I'll give you more. I'll give you what you need, baby." His eyes roam down your body and you almost protest when he pulls his thumb out, just to quickly replace it with three of his fingers. "Oh, Toshi," you whine, your hips arching into him, and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. He keeps the fast rhythm, pulling his fingers out, and pushing them back inside, curling them pulling them out again. "You feel so good. You're is creaming for me, look at that." His words only add fuel to your desire, and you grab his shoulders to push him down to you to connect your lips in a needy kiss. He groans into your mouth, his movements slowing down for a few moments before he sets his rhythm again, a fast and punishing pace now.

Your nails rake along his bare shoulders, leaving red marks, and he groans at the sensation. "Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you clench around me. Cream on my fingers, make a mess for me," his voice sends you over the edge, and you moan his name when you cum, your walls pulsing and clenching softly around his fingers. He groans your name, sweet praises of how you're his good girl, how pretty you look under him, how much he loves you, leave his lips and your body arches from the bed into his while your face contorts in pure bliss.

He prolongs your high, making sure to keep his pace and to curl his fingers just the right way, and your body goes limp when he finally slows down. His lips meet yours, pressing chaste and loving kisses to your face. "Was that okay?" The slight frown on his face is back, a clear sign of him being deep in thoughts when he pulls back after a few more kisses.

"More than okay. I think I could cum from your voice alone." You smile up at him and cup his cheek, the afterglow making you feel so good while you lay under him.

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity now sparkling in his eyes at your words, and you are quick to explain further. "I- I didn't mean that literally. Like- I just wanted to say that your voice is hot. And you are hot." Your cheeks heat up when he simply nods and hums, a mild smile on his lips.

"I want to test that out. Let's see if I can make you cum with my voice alone, baby."

[leidensygdom]

Generative AI is such a dystopian concept in ways I can't even really fully comprehend. It would make for a fantastic premise for a sci fi novel I think, and yet, it is sadly not just fiction.

Like, let me explain. It was initially a sort of novelty toy. Many people had seen these sites that could create abstract pictures out of few words, but it never amounted to much. It didn't take long before these tools were quickly repurposed to serve the new cryptocurrency fad, the latest pyramid scheme to enrich a few while catering to these more technologically-inclined people who were delighted at the idea of getting involved with investing. Investing in a new way, away from a government's scrutiny. And before we all knew, the Internet was filled with them pretending that what was a major scale scam, was actually the future. The initial generative AI served them as a replacement to artists, which mostly saw through the truth of NFTs as a scam and did not wish to get involved with that.

Now, we could also talk about cryptocurrencies being dystopian on their own. A fabricated idea of virtual money obtained through what I had seen described "the pollution machine that produces metaphorical money". You turn on an infinite amount of computers to do a senseless talk that does not benefit society in any way, but in turn, it does contaminate more than small countries. But generative AI isn't just that.

NFTs did not last long and many tech bros, who had invested in them largely, found their pockets much emptier. But generative AI was still there, and people saw a new use to it. And then, with technological investors desperate to find the new thing to shove money in, after years of nothing being particularly profitable for them, generative AI started to really evolve. It went from an useless novelty toy to what we have today. And the way it got there is simply horrifying.

It is a machine that, essentially, feeds on an amalgamation of millions of creative and artistic work, chopped down and inserted into a dataset with no consent from its creators, which is then regurgitated into a soulless porridge. It is a machine powered by art, used to ultimately, remove actual art from the equation. The generated sludge can only barely manage to repeat the same bias and tropes already present in what was it fed, and they only become more and more reinforced with each update to the dataset. Suddenly, a sea of smooth, childish anime girls became the main ideation of what a woman is, amidst other things. It is a machine built on prejudices, incapable of critical thinking, repeating the same mistakes humanity already made, over and over.

And the process of blending people's entire life of work also happens to be polluting. So much more than cryptos ever managed to be. Soon enough, major companies also got involved and collectively decided to trash any sort of sustainability goal in order to invest in the new fad. When asked, some of them even mentioned that they were fully aware it was unsustainable, but that they believed that generative AI could simply give them a solution to the ever-growing energy needs. Surely it will be generative AI that will find the long-awaited answer to nuclear fusion. It has to. The power grid cannot handle it as it is.

And now, these same tech bros, maybe vindicated by how artists refused to collaborate in their latest crypto scam, or maybe just eager to have a few extra bucks, decided to put their new technology into use. Replace the same artists whose work they had stolen with generative AI. Take the artist out of the equation, remove the humanity out of creativity. It is late capitalism and massified consumerism at its worse. People do love their media, everyone enjoys a show or a videogame every now and then. But what if we could now remove any sort of actual human touch in there? What if we managed to, instead, make a machine churn out content over and over, to keep the audiences fed, to keep money rolling in, at the simple cost of removing humankind from artistic creation?

We have now these same artists that provided us with our childhood favorites unemployed, striking, making noise, as a last attempt to recover the jobs they are quickly losing. We have artists that devoted their entire careers into honing their craft seeing how people replicated it by stealing every single piece of art they had created. We have mocking echoes replicating the art of people already gone, their life's work taken and reproduced long after their death.

Science fiction has covered a lot, and there are plenty of stories about robots being made in order to replace human labor. Many of these stories humanize the robots, who develop dredges of sentience and revolve against their forced labor. But generative AI is a different story. It is a completely insentient program, owned and developed by large corporations, that is here to steal and replace what is one of the most important human virtues. Creativity is one of the major aspects of humanity. We have dug out pieces from millenia ago, small decorated pottery and painted caves, that evidence that we already had that in common with our oldest ancestors. We have been drawing and telling each other stories ever since we could paint with our fingers and communicate with each other.

And now we have developed a machine that takes that from us. It isn't here to help us carry groceries, take out the trash or do any of these mundane tasks. It is here to take away our hobbies and creative jobs, take away our amusement, and replace whatever art we once consumed with whatever slop it managed to vomit. And it is such a deeply disturbing concept that directly competes with some of the most horrifying dystopian ideations ever written.

[ardbar]

You! You get it!! They keep the Pros mad and the Noobs, not because they hate the Noobs too, but because they need the Pros to Fear What Could Be. I wonder how often a Pro falls and their former neighbors look at them with terror, thinking, "that could have been me." But it comes out as angry words towards their once friend. Their friend knows that it is fear they speak with, not anger, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

As for the Masters, I wonder if they even Know beyond Theory. Like yeah, they know it isn't great on the Noob level. But they don't ever go down that far. They don't know that they're only given raw meat to eat and they have to risk their lives to do so, they don't know that the education system is Literally Nonexistent, they don't know that a Noob's life span is not counted in decades like theirs, or years like the Pros, or even in months, but in weeks. In days. They don't know that the average life span for them is only a few weeks.

This is not willful ignorance, not fully. They have never been down that far. They have never even considered the possibility that something could be that wrong, because surely the Champion wouldn't ever allow anything to get that bad, right? After all, he says that the Noobs are fine and it's dangerous to go down that far anyways. They don't have the safety blanket of the Pro Level if they miss a jump.

Just like with Evbo, how can they possible ask for an answer to a question they do not know exists?

But Evbo is the champion now and even when he was only a master, he shone light on what was happening down there. He claims that when he left he was considered not just an elder, but *ancient*. They ask how old he is, thinking he must be nearing 100 or 200, but he simply replies, "I am five years old."

OOO it would have been really cool to see people actually rank down and see how others view that. I wonder if there would be any sympathy, or if they would blame the fallen person. If they had been good enough they would never have fallen, they should have just done better.

Also your point about the master's I think is very interesting. It is personally not something I have given too much thought to until now so please forgive me if my points aren't as thought out as they could be. I really like how you describe the master's just being ignorant of the life in the noob level, they only have passing knowledge of it. But I also think this would be true of their knowledge of the pro level as well. While we don't know exactly how long the champion before Evbo had taken over for we can assume it's a decent amount of time because the system seems pretty set in stone with very few people fighting against it. What this means is a majority of the people on the master level were probably placed there by Seawatt and his whole memory lab thing. It was also mentioned that Master's almost never go down to the pro level. I think they would create an ignorance of not only the noob level but of the entire system. I think this would also really parallel how out of touch rich people but specifically how people born into the with wealthy are.

I think this adds an extra layer of it because it would make it so the masters are just as much a victim of this system even if it does benefit them. Many of them may look down on the pros, and noobs but they still do believe that through hard work it is possible for new members to join their ranks. Their actions aren't malicious they have just never been given a reason to not trust the system. Its the same reason old people say oh if you set aside x amount of money you can buy a house easily. That is there lived experience they can't comprehend this changing. At best masters have a basic understanding of the pro level and since everything is relatively normal there they have no reason to wonder what the noob level is like.

Also I love the whole, "I'm 5" line that would be super intertesing to see someone do something with that.

[handweavers]

if there's one thing about being an adult and living in and going to other people's houses that ive discovered it's that i'm actually really clean and organized as a person my mom is just mentally unwell (←says with immense affection) and expects everything to be perfectly pristine and in its place constantly forever or she gets anxiety attacks and can't rest until everything is clean to her satisfaction. and i got some of that from her but she is convinced her standard is normal, and i get why because my grandma was the same way and she was the perfect "house wife" in terms of her domestic capabilities with everything always in its place in a way that appeared effortless and she'd get massive anxiety if it wasn't. and it's because they both have/had this thing where cleaning and organizing soothes them, they self soothe by doing house chores, when they are frustrated or upset about something they reorganize the kitchen or bathroom or deep clean the whole house. and i got that too of course i was raised with both of them as my primary caregivers but i got it most strongly when it comes to my body and feeling clean like at my worst i would shower 5 times a day because i never felt clean enough and it would calm me. but i'm also trans and since i medically transitioned that compulsion has eased to a more manageable level lol i wonder why. but it's one of those things where these compulsions are so normalized that my mom doesn't fully comprehend that most other people are not as clean and organized as she is so in her mind i'm the messiest person on the planet and doesn't understand why most people come away from knowing me thinking that i'm a really clean person shrjwidjarbhwdiajfnsjdk

[angels-heap]

Asides from the whole age gap valhoun discourse, why do you actually ship them? Like whats their dynamic im genuinely curious,,, i probably dont see it bc i cant see it as a cannon thing bc when I get interested in smth i often find myself sticking close to cannon unless its an AU

Oh yeah, valhoun's about as canon as freehoun (which is to say, Valve 100% did not intend for anyone to ship these two), but I'm a multishipper at heart despite being a canon stickler elsewhere. I think it's fun to imagine how Barney and Alyx would interact if they were put into Situations or if they spent more time together in canon. I've talked about the appeal of valhoun before (specifically here, here, and here that I could find), and other folks have also shared their thoughts. To summarize:

Unlike Gordon, Alyx and Barney are both (relatively) fleshed-out characters with known voices, mannerisms, personalities, and motivations. They don't seem to know each other well in canon, but this is never stated outright, so there's lots of room for interpretation. They're both a bit goofy/snarky, so there's potential for some excellent banter between them, and I personally find it easier to get into their heads (relative to Gordon's) and imagine them interacting for writing purposes, since I don't have to start from scratch.

Despite their age gap, Barney and Alyx have a lot in common and a lot to bond over (arguably more than other popular pairings; see the "none of us are free of sin" venn diagram). They've spent the same amount of time living on Combine-occupied earth and lost a significant chunk of their lives (Alyx's childhood; Barney's young adulthood) under Combine rule. They're both uniquely connected to Black Mesa and the resonance cascade. Perhaps most importantly, they're both involved with the Resistance, albeit in very different capacities, which entails shared goals and loyalties.

Because of their age gap, they're bound to encounter situational or interpersonal conflicts, which are an essential component of any compelling story. For instance, Barney remembers things and people from the Before Times that Alyx doesn't, but probably desperately wants to — possibly including her late mother. Alyx is optimistic and resilient in a way that Barney never will be but may find refreshing, because despite her best efforts, she can't fully comprehend what was lost and thus has not developed the same bitterness. I can also see her canonical empathy and naivete coming into play in a relationship with Barney (or anyone else, for that matter). I've said before that she approaches him like he's a stray dog she wants to rescue, and he regards her like a gift he doesn't deserve (that might also be a ticking time bomb). While I could go on for hours, I think that about sums it up.

There's potential for a whole "star-crossed lovers" dynamic here, if you squint. Whether they're just friends, or they're in love, or they're just hooking up to try and feel something, the fact remains that they can't develop any sort of meaningful relationship while Barney's undercover and Alyx is such a valuable Combine target. Any interactions between them are likely to be fleeting and dangerous and/or public. I like to imagine they're mutually attracted to one another, and they try to make it work for a while, but they end up taking one too many risks and someone (probably Barney) calls it off after a close call. Maybe they rekindle things post-canon, or maybe they don't. It's a choose your own adventure where the adventure is delicious angst. And on that note...

Valhoun can exist between HL1 and HL2 canon. Honestly, a big part of the appeal of valhoun to me as a writer is that it gives me an excuse to explore what all our favorite characters were up to while Gordon was in stasis. What was the Resistance working on in the years leading up to Gordon's return? How did Barney seemingly become Dr. Kleiner's personal bodyguard? How's he holding up mentally in such a miserable situation, and what does his job actually entail? What was it like for Alyx to come of age as one of the youngest people alive, surrounded by middle-aged scientists? How did those experiences shape her into the person we meet in HL2? Sure, we don't necessarily need a shipping angle to explore these things, but interpersonal relationships are a big part of the human experience, so a little sprinkle of valhoun adds some extra flavor.

Alyx and Barney are both hot. That's not the whole appeal, or even the main appeal, but it's worth mentioning. I am a filthy bisexual and I want to make the hot dolls kiss. So sue me.

I'm not arguing that valhoun is the "best" HL ship or even my favorite ship, but it's got plenty of room for humor, angst, and character development and hot people kissing. I hope this post helps other folks see my/our vision and get on board. A little variety is good for any fandom ecosystem. :)

[myfandomrealitea]

ok I’ll be honest, I was one of the people who approached your safe space post with the mindset “yeah, but…” like, I now whole-heartedly agree that there should absolutely be fandom spaces devoid of real world issues. We all need our spaces to rest and relax. I think I just felt weird about your post because previously ive been in fandom spaces which did operate on the (perfectly fine) rule of ‘no politics’…but ‘politics’ would also include talking about a gay ship or any queer headcannons.

That obviously wasn’t fair to you because you obviously didn’t mean that w/ your post, but I can personally see as to why some people would feel that way if they were in similar fandom spaces. I do still want to reiterate I do agree with your post and I think some of the rebloggers took it…a bit far? Like Jesus Christ some of y’all need to eat a snickers. I also think some of the wording like “bitching about world issues” and “whining about their shitty parents” might’ve thrown me off but that’s not your fault and really a non-issue 🤷🏽‍♀️

you can delete this ask if you want I really won’t mind, I think I can just see as to why there were so many ‘yeah, but…’ rebloggers.

I actually really appreciate asks like this. For a multitude of reasons, but also because it gives really good insight and outer perspective for both me and other people who are aware of or involved in the discussion.

I think what a lot of people don't yet grasp about me is that while I may hold an opposing view to yours (general, not directed), in the vast majority of cases I still very much understand why people would think the way they do and where that thought process comes from and goes.

Its very, very easy to fall into the mindset of thinking that not helping when you have the ability to makes you a bad person or however in/directly causes suffering. Its very easy to be in the mindset of one single individual making a magnitude of difference.

I fully and genuinely understand and comprehend a lot of the points being brought up.

I just don't agree with them and hold a different outlook on those issues.

For example:

Talking about enjoying a queer ship to me is not 'political' in the sense that, personally, if you're a homophobe and upset by generic conversations about queer people, I really could not give a fuck. And if you raise objections to me talking about two dudes kissing, I'm simply going to remove you from my space because clearly it is not beneficial for either of us to share it. And I made it.

Its obviously very very much down to personal discretion to decide where that line is and what that bracket encompasses, but I think the most universal aspect of that safe space post was trying to get people to understand that forcing others to suffer in solidarity isn't activism and that strangers are not obligated to allow you to use them as support and a dumping ground for your needs.

Spreading around videos of people's dead loved ones isn't activism.

Spamming taglines and buzzwords on completely unrelated posts and videos isn't activism.

Relying on complete strangers for emotional and mental support and regulation while dumping vulnerable, graphic, personal information on them is neither safe nor healthy.

People are not obligated to smother or confine their happiness because of your misery. If you're having a bad day you have no right to tell other people they can't be happy in front of you.

A lot of people, mostly white knighters and people of color took the post as "a white privileged pig saying its okay to let racism slide because you want to play your video games" (actual hate mail I received) and that's so laughably and wildly far from the actual basis of the post.

I've had bigots in my servers before. Homophobes or racists who've slipped through the cracks.

You know what happens when they say something homophobic or racist?

They're immediately removed, blocked and reported, and their information is placed in a private document I keep. I issue an apology to the members of the server for their actions, and life goes on.

People are, of course, entitled to take the post as they see fit. They're entitled to their own perspectives and opinions. I'm more than happy to simply focus on the people who have taken support, guidance and solace in the post.

[pain-indeed]

I really need more enemies to lover Metadedede. I like them when people make 'em aquainted before the vents of the games... But...

Immagine 'em not knowing eachther during adventure and only allying for practical reasons only. Them both going "This guy is weird", thinking of the other with disdain. Then RoMK happens.

Dedede considers MK as an ennemy of Dreamland and a threat to his reign. Meta Knight considers D3 a lazy parasite that can't do anyting to defend the kingdom.

Dedede is more relaxed and selfish, whereas Meta Knight is strict and always put others before him.

They both want to protect Dreamland and are fairly competent in it, but their prejudices are keeping them from seein the other as anything else than a menace. They both have their flaws and refuse to look at anything other than that.

Then when they're forced to work together (like in RtDL, or somewhere before) they're also forced to acknowledge the qualities eachother posseses ;

Dedede's determination to do seemingly impossible stuff, his caringness for his subjects and his ability to lighten the mood with his humor...

Meta Knight's willpower, his strategies that always go accordig to plan, and his more compassionate side he rarely shows...

They both feel akward for misjudging the other, and as time passes they start to consider eachother allies, albeit with a bit of mistrust that fades away over time. Eventually they may trust eachother just a smidge, maybe joke a bit together... After a while, maybe they start realising how much in common they have beside their motivations ; their pride, their perseverance, their caring nature... And finally, at some point, they would consider eachother friends.

The thing is, they're the only people on this planet that are:

-1, powerfull enough to combat galaxy scaled crisises to some extent

-2, concerned by it and fully aware of its scale

-3, knows how to lead people

So in a way, they are kind of drawn to eachother. They're the only ones who would fully comprehend eachothers struggles at this rate, because they have a similar role in society and thus similar experiences.

Like, maybe D3 would talk about traumatic experiences to MK instead of, say, Bandee, because he's a kid and Dedede probably feels like he can't put that kind of burden on a semi-innocent child. Maybe, they ask eachother for leadership tips or smth ?

The point is, eventually the king and his knight would become eachothers most trusted friend, somebody that can confort and support them better than anyoe else.....

And finaly... there would arrive a time where maybe, just maybe their relationship would evolve into something more .

...You get me ?

[ettsblessings]

And i have one more doubt ik it's dumb but i can't help it. Ik its real, shifting and stuff but there's a part of me which is not able to trust fully. Like i think that if its real why not it's popular or many people talk about shifting outside of this community.

Humans tend to want to remain in their carefully built bubble of illusions, they don't want to comprehend the possibility of other realities and different possibilities, because in all these generations they gave down the knowledge that to get something, you have to do something. Which is actually just not true. To get something you simply have to assume that once you decide you have it, you have it.

That's why many people like to believe that this reality is it, they don't want to think that they actually are just a teeny tiny part of the whole universe and that their lives are actually insignificant.

Also shifting/ manifesting wasn't just suddenly made up on social media. Many people used it way before us. As an example Neville Goddard, who believed that when you visualise the desire you want when you're going to sleep and live in this desire, that you get your desire. Also a lot of celebrities use manifestation / shifting, like Marilyn Monroe or Ariana Grande.

(Also if you wonder why I always write shifting/ manifestation, it's because in my believe shifting and manifestation are the exact same, you want a desire and you get aware of a reality where you have this desire - in both cases.)

You can even see manifesting in different religions, as an example Christianity, islam and also paganism. Christians pray to God for hope or things they want in their life, which is their way to manifest and get the things they desire. Pagans do rituals to get their desire and also pray to different gods.

So you see, shifting/ manifestation isn't just some made up thing. It was used way before we were born into this reality and will continue after we die in this reality.

I hope I could ease your nerves a little :)

[velvet-vox]

All of the points that go in favour/against Doll coming back to life.

So, originally, I wanted to make a post of theory/analysis on Cyn and the possibility of her being redeemed at the end of the show; one of the points that I was going to make for said redemption was that Doll's death was meant as a cautionary tale, the main team of the series is abuse and how trauma affects us into becoming the worst version of ourselves, Doll was a trauma victim who was so dead set in her unhealthy coping mechanism that she ended screwing over her entire life, granted said redemption for Doll wasn't unreachable as showcased by her last living moments, but by then the damage was done; Cyn, on the other hand, could have potentially realised all of the harm she was doing even as far back as before the gala massacre, but then, it kind of reminded me why I ended up never making that post.

You see, the thing is, I don't understand Cyn.

At all.

Like, I also for the longest time couldn't understand Doll despite being hyper obsessed with her, and took over a year, countless analyses done by other people and (unfortunately) episode 7 until I could finally come to understand her to the deep, narrative level that I do now, and I still don't know if I truly got everything.

But with Cyn, not only do I not understand her like I do with other characters, but..... I also kind of feel left out.

To me, it seems like the fanbase at large is obsessed with this little gremlin; I'm autistic as well, since that's the main head canon floating around, yet I don't really relate to a word she says, to me, the hype surrounding Cyn feels similar to the hype surrounding Nori pre episode 7: we have this almost blank slate character that is characterized enough to not be an head canon dump, she is super relevant to both the plot and to one of the protagonist backstory, it's one of the main antagonistic forces, and is generally super important.... Yet I still don't get her nor do I get her surrounding hype. I've read a couple of analyses, and would gladly accept if someone sent me some more, since just a single Murder Drones character requires a lot of digging to fully comprehend in its entirety.

But finally going back to Doll, I want to make a short list of all the points in favour and against a possible resurrection of her character, starting with the pros.

Pros:

- Doll is definitely a big selling point for the russian audience of Murder drones, as I have seen various people lament her death on the fact that she was russian alone; funnily enough, this was also my main reasoning to not kill her off as I and other people started learning russian all because of her.

- Gonna reiterate the fact that Doll is, currently, peak russian representation, and it just feels rather insensitive from Liam to kill her off permanently when there's already Yeva and her dad, two russians, whose death is much more acceptable.

- Doll, unlike Alice, Beau, Rebecca or others, had so much potential as a character, being Uzi's foil and all, and to not capitalize on that would be a huge waste.

- Her death, although very impactful, was not, per se, as narratively satisfying as it could have been (see Nox from Wakfu), so it might've been a mislead, and if V comes back, there's a chance Doll might come back too since Doll x V is the parallel dynamic to Uzi x N.

- Gonna mention personal bias. It's not important nor is it a valid point but it had to be mentioned.

- Doll parents are already dead but we had a whole Yeva flashback in episode 7 that I can't explain in ways other than she'll be relevant in the future, and if she turns out to be alive, even if mind controlled, Doll's death is inevitably going to lose a lot of impact because, as it stands, it's balanced, but with the twist, it could retroactively feel like drama porn.

- She wasn't unreademable, just unreachable and deeply hurt, if she had a second chance to make up for her mistakes I believe she would take it in a heartbeat, I can only imagine the immense amount of guilt she was feeling while dying, she must've realised she only caused more damage in the long run and couldn't do anything to fix it, so if she could help Uzi out even as a digital ghost, it might just give her the sense of closure she so desperately needed.

- If Nori can come back as a core, so can Doll, they just need to cut Cyn stomach in a non lethal way.

And now, for the sadly more probable cons:

- This is Liam Vickers we are talking about.

- Even with all of her potential, hers and her family backstory feel rather.... disconnected from everything else going on right now? Like, Yeva might have been this important figure into Nori's past, but as of right now, aside from her impact, she really doesn't seem too relevant to the main plot; same thing with Doll, in fact, it was Doll's own insistence to be relevant that led to her demise, because, despite everything, the story revolves around N and Uzi manages to survive because she is important to N, and even then, she still sacrifices her own life for him.

- The narrative has always been pretty disrespectful to her? Like, I'm not talking about her sad backstory, sad development, and even sadder death, (this master guide over here realistically had no end in sight as you could just go on and on forever) I mean in general there was a clear lack of commitment to her side of things from the writing team, I think I've read somewhere else that in the original animation Uzi even walked on Doll's body as she was running to N; many theorised that they only came up with her story only after the pilot dropped, and I can't help but think that it has to be true because she had this air of mystery that in my opinion went anywhere and in the pilot she's a background character. I don't know, from a supposedly sympathetic villain the writing was rather unsympathetic towards her whole situation and she felt more like your average b##ch in the episodes following the prom.

- She still fulfilled her limited narrative role, so changing it back could alter future developments and remove impact from the tragedy of this cautionary tale, since, in all honesty, Doll's side story would require the show to switch off the plot too much and unfortunately that's never been a priority for the writing team. Also bringing back up Nox from Wakfu (still gonna make that comparison post) whose Doll shares some themes with, even though his personal story was extremely tragic, it was extremely disconnected from all of the main characters as he was more of a warmup baddie for Yugo to get in the groove, and he never returned physically aside from passive mentions and an illusion.

- I don't think they went out of the way to showcase Cyn eating Doll's core just for it to be a fake out.

- Even with all of my personal biases, aside from her starring episode she never had a real purpose in the grand scheme of things so her death was probably just a way to cut off loose ends.

- She isn't a protagonist despite what she deluded herself into, so plot armour applies even less to her than it does with the main trio (spoiler: it doesn't).

Ultimately, in my heart and mind, despite what I really want, I know Doll's not coming back.

She was disrespected, screwed over by both the writing and her own twisted mind, and since this is a somewhat heavy horror show despite the comedy, I really don't think we are going to see her reunited with her parents as a ghost nor will she be in robot hell or heaven, I really think she is just dead.

That's so sad. What a shame.

Farewell, comrade.

Want more?

[greghatecrimes]

hey!! ive been thinking about this but if cameron was canonically lesbian, how do you think she would find out? like im thinking something to do with thirteens openness in her sexuality but its an interesting thing to think about :33

ouh I love this question. I so agree with you, I definitely think Thirteen's openness would be a big part of what prompts Cameron to look at her own sexuality.

In my opinion, Cameron probably hasn't even really considered dating women as something that was even an option before, so I can see her having a LOT to think about in that regard post Lucky Thirteen/when Thirteen's in her 'hooking up with different girls every night' era. Once she's actually fully comprehended that it's something SHE could do if she really wanted to, then I picture her looking back all the way back to childhood/adolescence. Analyzing her relationships, trying to figure out if the way she was with friends and other girls was just platonic, or if she had a crush and didn't realize it...

I can also picture her, after a lot of thought and a sleepless night or two because of it, going up to Thirteen and asking her in private how she knew she was bi. And then they have a little bit of a talk about it, and Cameron admits, "I'm attracted to men, but God, it's such a hassle... some days I just think it would be so much easier to marry a woman platonically and just live together as friends/life-partners", and I think Thirteen would laugh and tell her that's the gayest thing she's ever heard a "straight" woman say.

Your ask also reminded me of a headcanon that my friend Sage (@howdoyouwhiskit) has about a modern version of House. When "Good Luck, Babe!" came out last year, they said they think Cameron would totally have her lesbian crisis after hearing the song, and I sooo agree. THAT thought then led me to imagining a whole modern AU slash one shot scenario unfolding in my head, inspired by this ask lol-- Cameron finds out about Chappell Roan in the first place bc Kutner offers to go in with everyone and get group tickets to a music festival to go see her.

THEN I pictured Cameron listening to "Good Luck, Babe!" after hearing about Chappell from Kutner. And, of course, completely panicking after hearing that bridge. Good God. "When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night, with your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife".... the MOST Cameron line EVER, I'm telling y'all. So then either that same day or the next day, she ends up at a bar and Thirteen is there. Cameron ends up very drunk in her "am I gay" panic, and she ends up kissing Thirteen because she's internally thinking "I have to know if i'm gay or not!!!"

Thirteen's like "what the hell?!" and pulls away.

Cameron's desperate. She's fully begging Thirteen, like, "I have to know, I can't live with myself and marry Chase if I don't know if I'm attracted to women or not."

Then Thirteen is like, "You really wanna do this?"

and Cameron says "Yes, I have to know!" optimistically thinking she won't feel anything.

but then they start fully making out and Thirteen's like "oh, we're doing this, doing this??" and Cameron's like YES. So they end up in Thirteen's apartment and it goes a la Lucky Thirteen's beginning from there on, and at the end of it they're lying in the afterglow realizing they both just cheated on their boyfriends accidentally (and Cameron asking desperately, maybe slightly panicking, "Was it really cheating if i asked you to kiss me for science?").

Thank you for the ask, I hope you enjoyed my long winded response and both the canon thoughts and the modern au ones! :3