#than actually feel the panic that i had been feeling episodically for years. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liveontelevision · 11 months ago

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Okay, this started as a rant about Lucifer lore and turned into an argumentative essay on why Lucifer is a bottom. My b.

18+ Smut ahead, lots of angst

•••

Here's the thing about Lucifer. He was an awesome dreamer, fell in love with Lillith, and was banished to Hell. Literally forced to see what the gift of good will can do at its worse. Unless he's made some personal contact with a sinner to get like updates about what the gift of good will did right, he had to be stuck in a depression for centuries, at least until Charlie was born. And while that would've definitely given him a new passion, he'll never feel confident in dreaming again.

With how much he dislikes sinners and what they represent, i wonder if there had to be some strain on their relationship when it came to Lillith taking control? They never really talk about if they had a fallout or if she just disappeared, but i dont think they really got divorced either.

When Lucifer looks at that family picture and winces, does he feel bad about not contacting charlie? About something he did to make lillith leave? Or maybe he feels bad about being upset at lillith for leaving in the first place? There's so much to umpack there i live for the lore.

Love Interests:

But when that comes to potential love interests in the future, Lucifer hasnt had to court anyone before like ever. Not in the circumstances that they live in a big city like Hell. So when he finally ends up catching feelings, he has no idea. People around the hotel literally need to pick up on context clues for him and have an intervention to tell him he's in love again.

Even if he hasnt seen lillith in 7 years, their relationship had to be a drastic change compared to new love. I think that his love interest would also pick it up before he does, and you would let him work at his own pace. Fuck, it is so important that he goes through this process at his own pace.

With so much strain on his past relationships with loved ones, he fully gaslights himself into thinking he doesnt deserves and isnt allowed to feel affection anymore. I hate making characters i love suffer. But i feel like in his state of mind he'd go through depressive episodes and panic attacks, maybe some night terrors. Theyed be about his past and his subconscious would essentially tell him he has feelings again, and he shouldn't act them in case he scares you away and abandons you, like heaven. Or drives you away like lillith. Or purposely blocks you out like charlie. Mans is struggling i swear. He needs some comfort.

After finally coming to terms, hes a nervous wreck about every decision he makes. He'll constantly stare in the mirror in the mornings, making sure he looks his best, would plan mental scripts before even having a conversation with you, and would become a bumbling mess just trying to make jokes out of the situation, some base level actions, like how we saw in the show. He'll manage to finally ask you out, but all he really knows how to do is profess an undying love (i feel like his confession to lillith was hella dramatic) so it was a little awkward, but still cute. And of course you said yes.

So let's say its been 5+ years since he moved into the hotel, met you and finally managed to confess his feelings. When it comes to the actual relationship? You give him reassurance and support him through his mental episodes, and laugh at his jokes and praise him for everything he does. He has such intense imposture syndrome though, that even other demons have to reassure that theres no way you dont love him with all your being. Because it is literally obvious to everyone but him.

He's pretty good at doing the romantic fluff stuff in public, he loves to make a big show out of treating you like royalty and even trying to embarrass you when you become close enough. He's always more charasmatic in public, it seems easier than doing that alone.

Not in a negative way, but Lucifer is so never to be alone with you. You take the lead a bit more in those scenarios, suggesting ideas like movies or just coming up with small talk yourself. He needs someone who'll be patient with him. Being alive for millions of years AND being left or shamed by all your loved ones during that time is literally the definition of Truama.

Of course he's been bottling all that shit up, he has no one to confide with. There's no one who's been alive and witnessed it all the way he has. So bless you for loving and caring for him even without understanding all hes been through.

You'll have some rough patches, where this emotional side locks him away from you and everyone else. It might be a few days before you see him. He'll lock himself in his office, pumping out ducks by the dozen just to keep himself from sleeping, because he's scared he'll have night terrors if he feels asleep. He's in a constant loop;

"what if i fucked up?"

"what if i try to talk about it and then they realize how bad i fucked up?"

"what if that's enough of a reason for them to leave me?"

"what if i scare them away?"

"what if that fucks this up?"

"what if i fucked up.. Again..?"

After he leaves his office, youre excited to see him out and about, but you cant make a big deal out of it. You have to speak to him calmly, make sure he's physically okay before talking to him about his thought process. It might take awhile, but he'll eventually trust you enough to open up. And of course it'll never be bad enough for you to leave him, he's just struggling.

Physical Contact:

It takes him an even longer time to become physical with you. He hasnt been intimate for over a decade at this point, but as soon as he becomes comfortable with little affections like hand holding, cuddling, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing? Hoo boy, he melts after your first kiss. It couldve been even a small peck and he would still become a nervous wreck just trying to ask for more.

He'll ask for physical touch more than provide it at first. You'll give him a quick kiss and he'll look up at you super eager just like, "another?" He'll grow into tastful pda's, linking arms, quick hugs and smooches, holding hands all that.

He becomes putty in your hand when you're alone though. You'll nudge him to lean against your shoulder or even lay his head in your lap while youre lounging or watching movies. He becomes so relaxed in your presence, that you'll want to suddenly peck him just to see his suddenly flustered reaction.

You'd give him massages that he would always be hesistant over. He was always a little nervous that he wasnt giving enough to you, but you were quick to assure him that wasnt the case. You'd straddle his hips while giving him a slowww massage. It starts with light touches, tracing your fingers over his shoulder blades and spine. You'd trace your fingers over his chest when you would cuddle too, depending on the position. Or stroke his back sweetly. It was enough of a distraction to keep his mind occupied, away from any spiraling thoughts he might be having.

He purrs. Convince me that he doesnt purr. (You cant)

Being secluded for so long probably means that he doesnt fly as much as he used to. It was probably a passion of his, and he was especially delighted to share it with lillith and charlie.

So during those 7 years he barely flew, he also didnt take care of his wings. I feel like theyre something to be summoned, so they arent constantly tucked into his back. You'd basically scold him sometimes to just let you clean his wings.

You'd do it in like a spring-type bathhouse that Lucifer would have in his castle somehow. It was one of the first intimate moments he's experienced in years, so he was generally going insane. Feeling your hands and a little comb rake through the feathers on his giant wings? You'd have to tap his shoulder sometimes to keep him from falling asleep to the relaxation alone. After the first time, the water you used was pretty dirty and he had a lot of loose feathets that were combed out. Damn, he needed this.

Intimacy:

After awhile, you sit down and would have a discussion about being intimate in bed. Lucifer would be absolutely nervous about overstepping by asking this, (even though you've been together for about a year at this point). He would use his mental scripts and basically practice what he wanted to say.

It would mainly be him saying he wants to do this because he loves you and youve done so much for him that he wants to give back to you in this way. It would consist of him saying its okay if you dont want to, or if you ever want to stop to just say so. But of course you want to, how could you not?

It would start slow, he actually tries taking the lead in this specific situation. He would kiss you first, his lips trembling at the thought that this is actually happening. Feeling his nerves, you'd cup his face and stroke his cheeks with your thumbs lightly. That will help him ease up enough to start letting the passion take over more.

He'd become more confident in slipping his tongue into your mouth and placing his hands on your hips to pull you closer to him. Lucifer would get lost in the moment, pulling you to straddle his lap as he kissed and licked and bit his way across both your shoulders and down to the softeness of your breast. After leaning back to look at the damage his eyes would become increasingly wide, looking up at you with a flustered expression. Seeing you losing it as much as he was, gave him enough courage to keep up at it.

He would almost hesistantly take a hold of your breasts and would massage them softly, running his thumbs across your nipples and becoming absolutely delighted at the reaction you gave. The adrenaline from the pleasure would make you start grinding against his lap, which would make lucifer's hands on your hips pull away for a moment and make his breath stutter. Lucifer would look you up and down as if he didnt know what to do next, studying your body with darting eyes. You'd press a small kiss on his forehead before guiding his hands back onto your hips with yours, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

"Are you okay, Luci?" He would gulp before nodding his head and turning ridiculously red across his face, maybe from the idea of what was to come, maybe just from your voice alone. You'd keep your hands ontop of his at your hips as you'd keep moving, letting out breathy moans. He would be holding his breath without realizing, an absolute nervous wreck just from the view.

He would already be hard just from the previous make out session, so this would cause him to lean his back against the bed, his strength giving out. You'd keep up at it, feeling his hips jolt up to meet yours at times.

He was a sweaty, twitching mess in front of you and you hated to admit how much that excited you.

His scripted plan was immediately forgotten, but he was quick to remember that he wanted to please you.

He'd snap out of his state of intense pleasure, to carefully switch positions, him looking over you with your back against the bed.

You both discuss it, of course, attempting to set boundaries before hand. Even just the tender discussion would get him riled up. So he'd lean foward and kiss you again, showing off his forked tongue before peppering kisses down your entire body, until he was close enough to let his hot breath heat up your folds.

You'd feel his nervous breath on you before delving in. He would be hesistant of course, but would be quick to get used to your entrance after running his tongue across your entirety multiple times. Lucifer loves providing pleasure this way, so his brain immediately knew what to do once the nerves past. He was quick to take a tight hold onto your thighs to keep you in place as he entered you with his demonic lengthy tongue. He would look up at you as he sort of aimlessly dug around at first, waiting for a reaction. Once he'd see you dip your head back with a muffled moan, he would close his eyes to focus all his attention to that one spot. He'd reach his thumb around to circle and massage your clit that he would find far too quickly. You'd arch your back and try to get more friction against his tongue, but it's easy to forget that he is quite literally the strongest being in Hell. You weren't going anywhere.

He'd love feeling your hands in his hair and would absolutely lose it feeling you pull hard when he'd hit just the right spot. As soon as he set a steady thythm and was hearing your voice become more unhinged, he'd speed up to an extent that you didn't realize was possible after going for so long. You discussed cumming before and he made it very clear that he was okay with you finishing on his face. Fuck, he wanted it. You still warned him, moaning out his name to get his attention, "I-I'm almost there- K-Keep doing that.. like that..! Luci-" you'd almost direct him though the whole process, but were quick to become a moaning mess unable to communicate with words. You'd reach your limit and he would let you buck up into his face this time, loosening his grip on your thighs. He'd pull away after licking you clean, sending overstimulated pleasure across your entire body, with a line of your juices following his tongue as he lifted his head. He would pant with his tongue still sticking out of his mouth, and even through hazy eyes you loved seeing his demonic tongue and thinking about how it just drove you to climax.

Things would switch up again, and you'd sit him against the back of the bedframe. you'd have another quick discussion before seating yourself slowly on his length, which had been throbbing for any contact since the night started. The first few times, he'd do his best not to cum immediately. He hadn't been touched like this in a while, after all. You'd only begin to move once you made sure he was okay since his struggle was written all over his face.

The moment you began to keep a steady space, he would jut his hips upwards, becoming needy to feel this sensation he hadn't felt in over a decade. The first time didn't last long. It was sweet, and he would constantly moan out your name and babble on about how much he loves you. The entire time, you'd be praising him through every move until he was going too fast for you to get a sentence out.

He'd cum inside of you, another previously discussed topic. You essentially had to beg to convince him it was okay. You'd collapse onto his chest, a position he didnt see often. While the two of you always cuddled, you were so focused on making sure he was comfortable, Lucifer realized you didnt often get the chance to just relax on top of him. So after realizing that? Aftercare was amazing.

He'd let you sit with him inside you for a while, before pulling you off and immediately cleaning you up. Some nights, when he felt especially dominant, he would lap up his own cum from your incredibly sensitive cunt. He would swallow some of it, but was mainly pushing anything that dripped out back into your entrance.

After cleaning you up, he would wiggle his way back underneath you and pull you onto his chest, enjoying taking care of you the way you took care of him.

After the first night, lucifer would be much more confident. He'd have that healthy glow, but would be more assertive during meetings, more communicative and wouldnt shut others out as often. It really helped him realize how much you gave to him, and he was determined to give all that and more back to you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel smut #lucifer hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

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utilitycaster · 2 months ago

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Do you think this episode is so boring because they brought back the Nein and reminded us how good they are? I keep thinking about this as I'm absently watching this episode, saw your post and would love to hear your thoughts on it. Because like, at least to me, most villains this campaign are painfully boring. But the Weave Mind are also boring. That was fine, M9 handled it perfectly and I loved it. Ludinus is arguably the only kinda interesting bad guy and a PC's mom is in mortal danger and I can't manage to care.

I don't find Ludinus and the Weave Mind boring! I don't find Liliana boring either! And I found Ozo Cruth and Otohan Thull DREADFULLY boring but actually, the fights with them are pretty fucking great. I mean, I have a LOT of criticism about the first Otohan fight that boils down to "this was EXCEPTIONALLY poorly signaled and I'd be PISSED if my character was killed for someone else's arc at this point in the story" but Otohan being boring is about the non-combat elements; she felt very real and compelling as a THREAT, just, she could have been a giant blender of magic knives that the party was going to be dumped in for all she had an impact on the story as a person. But I do think it is because we've seen the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina recently and remembered that they're orders of magnitude more compelling.

I think it's really like...I don't even want to say Bells Hells isn't bonded, but they lack something. I think I alluded to it in the tags of one of my posts but there's no banter between party members or sense of urgency. Like, I enjoyed the whole All-Minds-Burn/Myceit scenes a lot, actually, but after Imogen's initial (justified) panic the pacing felt unbelievably slow until we got to combat. I have found that really, for a good deal of the campaign, you have to kind of take things episode by episode and enjoy the good set pieces and scenes because it simply does not make for a pleasing and rewarding whole. The reason I didn't care about Liliana is, to be fair, partly because I think having her die would be an interesting development, but also because there wasn't a sense of "we can't stop and fuck around with mushrooms, LILIANA IS DYING" within the episode itself. No one was comforting Imogen as they ran through the tunnels. The Mighty Nein showed more personality and investment in the lead up to a fight that really, they had no more stake in other than the broad world-ending ones. As someone who's been playing a LOT of Veilguard which is all about building a close-knit team, and who's had VM and the Nein the past month to compare Bells Hells with, that lack is immediately apparent.

I said, over a year ago (possibly over two, I don't recall) now about one of the relationships in the campaign that it felt like when I see a single episode from a soap opera I don't follow. The actors are imbuing lines with emotion, but everything feels kind of disconnected. Like, this is all in a deeply subjective realm, I cannot give you a strong argument based on logic here as it's very much vibes-based, but I feel like when I watched this, my thought process was "BAFTA-winning Actor Laura Bailey is doing an excellent job of conveying the emotions 'terror and anguish over a dying relative' in this line read, and not "Imogen Temult, a character I've been familiar with since October 2021, is devastated over the potential demise of her mother.' " And I never had that issue with C1 and C2. Like, you can call it je ne sais quoi or the juice or the sauce or chemistry or the spark or whatever the fuck but Campaign 3/Bells Hells simply doesn't seem to have it for a huge number of people who have adored pretty much every other Critical Role work, and that means something. My personal thought is that it's because this has been such a plot-focused campaign without strong DM prepping of what kind of characters would be appropriately invested that we've had the problems we did (rampant indecision, lack of party chemistry due to lack of early opportunities to mingle and meld, lack of investment in each others' lives due to insufficient time focused on backstory-related plotlines), but I could be wrong, and ultimately the root cause isn't super important to this question, which is just. they don't have the it factor.

#cr spoilers #cr tag

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daechwitatamic · 8 months ago

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Vice;Grip || chapter 3 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out. Section Specific Warnings: penetrative sex, language, reader on top, angst, depictions of depression/depressive episodes, edging, dirty talk, emotional constipation, bar scenes and recreational drinking, brief mention that reader had a sick (unspecified illness) parent in the past, sexual acts in a technically public place but they are not discovered, arguments and hurt feelings

wc: 6200

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

11 months ago

Vernon was afraid of drowning. All those rocks he carried - they weighed him down, pulled him under. He considered this as rain beat against the windshield of his car, ran down the windows so thickly that he struggled to see the front door of your building through the onslaught, didn’t even see it open and close, had no idea you were already outside until his passenger side door opened and you threw yourself into the car, squealing, wiping rain out of your eyes.

“Can you drive in this?” you asked breathlessly. Above you, the clouds lit up and went dark again. Vernon didn’t answer you; instead he silently counted the seconds until thunder cracked, sharp and insistent, somewhere behind them. Eleven seconds.

“Buckle up,” he said, no irony in it.

Stopped at a red light, he glanced over at you. Watched as you turned to trace a raindrop down your window with your fingertip as it worked its way through fragmented droplets, cast red by the stoplight, by the brake lights of the car ahead of him. Another flash; Vernon didn’t catch the bolt this time, either.

One, two, three…

Eight seconds until the thunder broke.

“Were you scared of storms when you were little?”

You turned to look at him, something quizzical on your face. He kept his eyes on the road, embarrassed. You and him - you didn’t ask personal questions. You didn’t talk about things. Even now, over a year since you’d started hooking up, you kept things strictly business, but for a few hiccups.

It was starting to wear on him, weigh on him. Neither of you had been with anyone else in a year - so what were you doing? Just spinning your wheels?

It was the first time Vernon realized he was angry. With you.

Lightning flashed as he slowed to turn into his building’s lot, the bolt snaking down so quickly he could have imagined it.

Vernon knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you for not giving him something he’d never asked for.

Thunder cracked again, above the car. Five seconds.

“Actually, yeah,” you said finally, and Vernon startled a little; he’d already forgotten he’d asked the question. “My sister and I used to hide under the bed.”

He didn’t know you had a sister. He bet you didn’t know that he had one, too.

What are you doing?

Inside, his window flashed white, the whole room going greyscale, and then darkened again. The thunder snapped, furious and louder than before, and you screamed a little, then covered your mouth with your hand to hide your self-conscious giggles.

Vernon laughed, then lowered his body over yours and murmured, “Let me help you calm down.”

Three seconds.

The rain beat against the windows in waves, the sound coming from beside his bed and the ceiling in tandem, nature’s surround sound. Vernon slid his fingers through the mess between your legs, sinking two of them deep into your heat just in time for a roll of thunder to drown out your wavering moan. He fucked you steadily, the way he knew you liked, then shifted to rub circles on that place on your front wall. Your breath caught, your back bowed, your hands fisted his comforter, your head tilted back to expose your throat. The room went white and dark again in a single second, and the silhouette of your pleasure burned into Vernon’s brain like a photo on film.

He moved to replace his fingers with his cock before the thunder could answer.

Two seconds.

You wrapped around him - your cunt squeezing around his length, your arms looping around his neck, your legs wrapping around the backs of his thighs, trying to bring him closer.

He gripped your hips and rolled, giving you the chance to ride him, his hands caressing the backs of your calves as they flexed.

His eyes squeezed shut when he came, teeth gritted as he groaned out his own answer to the clouds’ cacophony. Your hands, gentle in his hair, guided him back down.

He found your hoodie near the foot of his bed, after. He carried it wordlessly to you, holding it out like an offering.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice tiny. Like you were accepting something bigger than clothing.

“You could stay,” Vernon heard himself say, and something inside him started kicking and screaming, panicked and trying to grab the words and pull them back in.

You looked at him sharply, your eyes a little wide. You didn’t do that, you didn’t sleep over.

“Why?” you asked, the word leaving your body with all your breath, almost a gasp.

Vernon felt his lips part, felt his stomach clench. “I -”

The syllable stretched, loomed, filled the room so completely that it crowded out the flash of lightning and the immediate rumbles. Zero seconds. The pounding rain drowned out the roaring in Vernon’s ears.

Maybe he’ll drown, too. Maybe he’ll let himself.

I want you to. I want to sleep next to you.

I need to know what this is. I need to be closer.

I need to kiss you and mean it.

His stomach sank as he watched the way you waited, breath held, for his answer.

“I just meant, because of the weather,” he said, his voice ringing hollow and flat even to his own ears. “If you don’t want to go back out in this - you don’t have to.”

“Oh,” you said, and he wished he could read it, wished he could translate that single sound. Was it disappointed? Relieved?

He couldn’t fucking tell.

“No, it’s okay,” you said, and you were already moving towards the door. “I think the worst has passed us already.”

Vernon thought that was bullshit; the worst hadn’t passed - he was standing in the middle of it, wind-whipped and drenched to the bone, watching the sky alight again and again, unable to make himself move.

10 months ago

whats up for tonight

idk

want me to come there?

i dont think i want anything

sorry. shouldnt have sent that one. door’s open if you decide to.

Vernon came into the apartment so quietly, you didn’t even hear him until he was shuffling into your bedroom. The cat leapt from the foot of your bed and wove itself around his ankles twice before darting into the living room.

“You good?” he asked, eyeing how you were curled on your side, watching him in the doorway with a small frown.

“Mhm,” you said, nodding a little, even though it was only a little true. “Just. One of those days, I think.”

He laid behind you first, one arm crossing your torso and pulling you tight against his chest, pressing kisses to the bare skin above your shirt collar at the nape of your neck. The sensation tickled just enough that goosebumps rippled down your arms.

“I can make you want something,” he offered. Or threatened. Or promised.

“Cheesy,” you accused, but a smile played on your lips, and you felt his own smile curve against your neck.

“Watch me,” he said, reaching for your hem. He worked you up with teasing touches and kisses until you were squirming, fucked you on his tongue and fingers until you were panting, then pulled away, letting the building crescendo quiet into silence again.

“Vernon,” you threatened, sitting up on your elbows and narrowing your eyes at him.

He cocked his head to the side, all innocence. “Is there something you want?”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” you growled.

He smiled beatifically, then went back to kissing your collarbones, starting at the very beginning again. That time when he stopped, you let out an exasperated shout.

He cocked an eyebrow, as if to ask, yes? but didn’t speak. He waited for you to say it.

It took three more rounds of this - getting you close, waiting you out - before you caved, admitting what he wanted you to admit:

That you wanted it. That you wanted him.

“Please, fine, you menace,” you cried, so frustrated that your chest was hot with it. “I want you to fuck me - I want you, I want to cum, please, Vernon -”

When he gave you what you asked for, pushing into you in one easy motion that made you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut, your tongue tripped up, telling him a truth you hadn’t meant to.

Instead of I want it, as he set a quick pace, burying himself inside you again and again, you babbled, I want you, I want you, I want you.

The sideways glances he sent you while he got dressed had the question all over them. He may as well have just asked - did you mean it? Did you?

In his absence, you pulled the blankets over your head and pressed your face into your mattress, trying to drown out the question in his eyes, trying to forget the feeling of his lips on your neck, the sound of his sighs in your ears, the taste of his kiss. Your bed retaliated, assaulting you with his smell on your sheets.

I want you.

Kicking at the blankets in frustration, you got up and slept on the couch, instead.

9 months ago

wyd?

ah, going out with some friends tonight. sorry.

come over after?

i would, but my friend is here from out of town and shes staying with me

bring her

you’re so gross.

next time then. have fun :)

dont smiley face at me chwe hansol

oh god the government name. fine, i take it back

You hadn’t done a girls’ night in over a year; your friends made sure to remind you of this frequently as the night wore on, as if it was singularly your fault. It was different from a night out with Chan and Soonyoung and Seungkwan - different because the shots being pressed into your hands were pink instead of clear; different because no one was handing you beer bottles; different because they wanted to dance, not talk shit around a table in the corner.

But you leaned into it, sneaking to the bar between songs to order shots that didn’t taste good, dancing with your friends until your feet ached, until your ears rang, until the colored lights bled together above you, until you forgot that you were annoyed about all of this.

When the lights flashed in warning - the overhead lights, the go away now it’s 2 am lights — you went to close out your card, casting a glance over your shoulder to make sure your friends were all accounted for. They were - mostly still dancing, but a few headed to the table to gather coats.

You were heading back across the dancefloor when you saw them. You spotted Mingyu first - one of Chan’s friends, one of those cross-over friends that knew both Chan and Vernon.

Your stupid heart jumped. Had he come out? Had he somehow ended up at the same club as you? You wouldn’t be able to leave with him, but you’d see him.

That wasn’t something you should want. It shouldn’t excite you that you might get to smile at him across a crowded dance floor. You didn’t like him, this wasn’t a crush.

Besides, crushes happened at the beginning; you’d been hooking up with Vernon for over a year now.

You scanned the crowd near where Mingyu was standing, waiting for the moment that your gaze snagged on a spark of familiarity. It didn’t come, so you pressed into the crowd; at this point in the night everyone was pretty faded, dancing with abandon, unaware and uncaring that anyone could see them - you’d all be leaving in minutes anyway. This one last song should matter, this one last song should seal the envelope on the night with a lipstick kiss.

The spark of familiarity eventually struck, but it came with a flash of warning. It wasn’t Vernon’s big smile or his conversely stoic expression that you recognized, it was his jawline - snapback twisted around, his lips close to some girl’s ear as he leaned in to talk to her.

You looked away quickly, as if he’d feel your gaze and you’d be caught staring, but you couldn’t help but peek again as you kept walking. The girl was laughing, tucking dark hair behind her ear, her eyes eagerly on Vernon’s face.

Your stomach heaved. You wanted to go over there - to slide an arm behind him where it belonged, to smile in this girl’s face because Vernon was yours. Because he was going to text you before he texted her and she needed to know it. Because he let you in when he shut everyone else out and she was everyone else.

Your friends found you then, saved you from yourself, pulled you back to the table to gather your shit, trouped outside to find the Uber home.

In the car you all fell quiet, tiredness creeping up on you. Your thumbs tapped anxiously on the dark screen of your phone, and then you opened your messages.

you gonna leave with her?

The lack of response radiated through you, and you felt sick as you wondered why - because he was pissed that you’d even asked? Because he was already busy with her?

Then -

lmao were u at dark horse?

You didn’t answer, too embarrassed, the shame flying overhead to catch up to you for the first time in a while, its wings spread and claws stretched as it prepared to land.

Your phone lit up again.

i honestly wasnt gonna but now youve got me curious

would it be a problem if i did?

No, you thought defensively, a reflex. But he didn’t give you the chance to answer.

and if it IS a problem… why?

“Who are you texting?” your friend asked, craning her neck to peek at your phone. You turned off the screen.

“Chan,” you lied.

Then why?

Because he was yours and he belonged with you - not with whatever random girl he found at the club. Because you wanted to be enough for him, wanted him to be impervious to anyone else’s advances because you were all he wanted.

Because you did like him. Because you felt something for him - something that might have been a crush eight months ago, but was certainly a bigger beast now.

Fuck. Fuck!

Your feet felt like they were plunged in ice, and you closed your eyes, swallowing back panic and nausea.

At home, you lay across your bed while your friend used your shower, turning your phone screen on and off, typing and erasing, your mind dizzy with the war it was waging against itself.

Vernon was a wildfire, catching and migrating, drawing closer and closer. Something in you screamed to take action - start digging a trench, start running if nothing else, just get away get away get away before you’re not just burned but reduced entirely to ash. Something else argued that Vernon’s fire was the only thing that kept you warm, vital for survival against the icy nights that overtook you at their whim.

How to protect your dignity, deny that you need him, deny that you’re trying to keep him all to yourself, without losing him completely?

You imagined him at his place, rereading these messages. You wondered if he was mad, frustrated. You wondered if he felt suffocated by your display of possessiveness.

You’d never answered his why.

You never did. You left it unanswered, and his next three wyd’s went unanswered as well.

Then he stopped trying.

8 months ago

sorry. i - - can we just go back to normal - - wyd later? - - i’m sorry - - hey - - it’s not a problem, you can do what you want - - it is a problem because i - - sorry for not answering, hru? - -

Unsent, each. Deleted.

You had Bestie Night with Chan during a deep freeze, your radiator working overtime as you split a bottle of red.

You sketched absently on your napkin as you caught up.

“I dunno, Chan, the co-worker thing always scared me a little. Mom always says don’t shit where you eat and I think she’s right.”

Chan, who was head over ass in love with Jinseo in marketing, scoffed at you heavily.

“A romantic situation scaring you means nothing to me,” he said, dead serious. “I think someone asking for your number would scare you.”

You scowled at him, defensive. “We haven’t had enough wine to start the personal attacks.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying. You spook easy. It’s not a secret.”

You stuck out your tongue, went back to your doodle.

“It’s nice to see you drawing,” he said, casually, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Are you intent on being a busybody tonight?” you asked, and he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just saying!” he cried, still chuckling a little. “It’s nice to see! It’s a healthy outlet for you!”

“I’m kicking you out,” you deadpanned, then reached to refill your glass, because if he was in this kind of mood, you were going to need it.

In all honesty, sketching wasn’t really your thing - you weren’t drawn to pencil or charcoal or ink or even digital sketches the way you were drawn to painting. But you hadn’t in so long now you felt almost stubborn about it, like starting again would be the same as admitting something. Like starting again would mean admitting that you were dumb to quit in the first place. It would mean admitting that you’d fucked away every good opportunity you’d had, and for nothing.

Nothing had even happened - that was the part that kept you up at night, gave you a stomachache. You’d fumbled your entire future, a few years ago, and you didn’t even have a good reason for it - no major trauma, no life-altering crisis. Just your own worthless brain doing everything in its power to bring you low.

You’d graduated from undergrad already knowing you’d been accepted to a great visual arts school - prestigious, even. You’d had to submit a portfolio, had forgone sleep for months trying to make it perfect. But every time you’d tried to move on it - send in paperwork to register or officially enroll, forms for financial aid, any of it - you’d frozen like a rabbit in headlights, too scared to push a single button unless it was the X in the corner of the screen.

Your dad had been sick at the time, that was true. But he’d been okay in the end - just a few touch-and-go months, some hospital stays, nothing worse than that. He was fine now. You weren’t even living at home, didn’t have to deal with it - it didn’t factor in. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t enough to take the blame from you.

And, true, you’d just come out of an episode right before graduating, and found yourself standing among the rubble of what your life had been before the episode started noticing that your two best friends were no longer present - hadn’t waited around for you. But that wasn’t a good excuse either. Friendships faded all the time. Life went on.

“So, are you gonna ask her out?” you asked, hoping to turn the conversation.

“I would love to, but I think if I tried, I would throw up right there in front of her,” he said, and you were pretty sure he wasn’t kidding.

“Text her,” you suggested.

“That seems… so sad,” Chan admitted. “I’ve got to have the balls to just do it. Right? Aish, Lee Chan.” He buried his face in his hands, frustrated with his own cowardice, and you reached out to give his arm a reassuring pat-pat.

“Did you talk to her this week?”

“Yes,” Chan said emphatically. “We took our breaks at the same time on Thursday, and we talked about the cold snap!”

You leveled him with a look. “Have you talked to her about anything besides the weather?”

He pointed at you, expression darkening. “I will not be judged by the likes of you. When was your last date? What year?”

“Wow,” you said flatly, and he began cackling, delighted with himself. “Wow. Just… wow. I truly have nothing else to say to you.”

“Ask her if she’s watched any good shows lately,” you offered. “Then you have something you know she likes to talk to her about.”

“Eeeehhh,” Chan said, which meant I don’t think I like your idea.

You shrugged. “Stay lonely, then, I guess.”

You should have enrolled in the grad program. You should have pursued painting.

Instead, you’d convinced yourself it was stupid - not lucrative for a real career, just hobby-chasing, and you weren’t good enough anyway.

The deadline had passed. You got a job in an office, an apartment, the cat. Life went on. Your bunny-rabbit brain had said hide scared hide scared hide scared and you’d listened, had pushed away the scary thing until it was too late to grapple with it at all.

It was the parallel to now, and maybe the wine, that pushed you to look steadfastly at your kitchen wall and admit, “Actually, there’s something I haven’t been telling you.”

Chan’s smile dropped quickly, and he leaned a little closer, ready to listen.

“I’ve been hooking up with this guy,” you admitted. “For a while.”

Chan’s gaze sharpened and you wanted to flinch. “Only him?” he asked. And then, “How long is a while?”

Shame beat on the window, scratched its nails down the panes line a chalkboard, the screeching sending shivers down to your toes.

“A little over a year,” you mumbled.

Chan’s silence rippled out like you’d thrown a stone into the quarry. He said nothing, just watched you carefully, swirling his wine around in his glass just for something to do.

“That’s a long time,” he said. A long time to keep the secret from me, he meant. A long time to be with one person, you heard behind it.

“I know,” you said, deflating. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just… I knew you’d romanticize it, try to talk about it like it was a thing - and I… I really, really wanted it to stay just hooking up. None of the other stuff.”

He very nearly grimaced when you said this, and it made your stomach sink even further. You knew you were broken, unable to connect, unable to give or receive anything close to love - but to see your best friend react like he knew it too? It sucked the breath out of you.

“And he’s okay with that?” Chan asked, instead of addressing your allergy to feelings. “For a year, just sex?”

You shrugged. You were the one who’d gotten possessive. Vernon had never asked you for more, had never indicated that he might want to shift your boundaries. “Seems like it.”

Chan shifted in his seat, frowning a little. “Well, if you’re on the same page, then I guess… I’m happy for you?”

“Eh,” you said. “Don’t be. I screwed it up. As usual.”

He gives you a look that says don’t do that. You drink the rest of the wine in the glass and reach for the bottle again, but it’s empty.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I haven’t tried.”

“Okay,” Chan said easily. “So try.”

When Chan left, you stayed at the kitchen island, pulling out a notebook and pen. You sketched across four pages - flowers, faces, the clock on the wall, the frost patterns on the window.

It wasn’t a paintbrush, sliding through a shade you’d worked to make just right. But it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t terrible.

You picked up your phone.

hey. sorry for the silence - really. that was shitty of me. you been okay?

You passed your fingers back over the last page of sketches, feeling the tiny ridges where the pen had pressed. You traced back over a flower - hyacinths, just like your mother used to grow under your bedroom window.

You were prepared to receive no answer; you would have deserved a taste of your own medicine, and you knew it. But it wasn’t much later when an answer came through.

no worries. my place is freezing, our boiler broke. can i warm up there?

You thanked every star in the whole sky that Chan wasn’t there to see your smile at Vernon’s answer. You could never have denied it - the smile said I am feeling something, allergy be damned.

And just after the smile came the bunny-rabbit instincts: hide scared hide scared hide scared.

of course. i’ll be here.

7 months ago

“I think I’d be happier as a cicada,” Vernon mused, squinting at Seungkwan through the half an inch of vodka rolling like a sea in the glass he held aloft.

Seungkwan’s face dropped into a frown. “Is this, like, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

They were on opposite sides of the tiny, wooden table he usually ate at, the bottle open between them and sweating a circle onto the wood. Vernon dragged a finger through the condensation until the streak ran dry.

“Nuh-uh. I just think I’d be happier.”

The frown deepened. “I can’t tell if you’re being ironic or if I need to be concerned about you.”

Vernon dodged, said something that might make more sense outside of his own head. “What if I dropped out of grad school?”

The vodka in the glass did nothing to blur the flat expression Seungkwan leveled at him. “Now what in the fuck would you do that for with only four months left? That’s just financially stupid. It’d be like running a marathon and giving up on mile twenty-two.”

“Counter-point,” Vernon said, lowering the glass as far as his mouth, teeth clicking on the rim of the glass, “I fucking hate it and I don’t see the point in finishing.”

“Money down the drain,” Seungkwan intoned.

“Years of my life down the drain,” Vernon grumbled.

“That actually adds to my point. You’ve invested time and money. Might as well see it through.”

“But for what?” Vernon demanded, finally getting closer to the truth he’s been circling.

“The job opportunities?”

Vernon drained his glass, waited for things to soften just a little around the edges. “I don’t know if I want them anymore,” he mumbled, then made an escape into the kitchen to put another few ice cubes in his glass, to get away from the way Seungkwan’s gaze sharpened as he caught on to how much Vernon meant what he was saying.

The problem was that he had to leave the kitchen eventually, and Seungkwan was waiting, his face carefully blank.

“You don’t want to -?”

“I don’t know,” Vernon interrupted with a grumble. And that was the truth - he just didn’t know. He didn’t know if he’d like his field, didn’t know if he’d be good at it or if he’d find it fulfilling or if he’d hate it and regret his choices and wake up every day feeling just as bored and - frankly - unenthused about his life as he did these days.

And he was tired. He woke up tired every day, fought exhaustion the whole time he was awake, went to bed tired. His eyes ached from wanting to close, his heart screamed for a chance to rest. He was tired of it - of fighting the exhaustion, the apathy. He wanted sometimes (often) to just give in - sleep however long it took. Months, maybe.

“Gonna have to pay your bills somehow,” Seungkwan reasoned. “See? Cicadas don’t have bills,” Vernon argued, and Seungkwan rolled his eyes so hard that Vernon couldn’t help but laugh, leaning sideways against the kitchen’s doorframe as his body shook with it.

Later, after Seungkwan left for the night, Vernon squinted at his phone until the letters held still.

wanna be a cicada with me?

vernon what the fuck

its a serious question

i mean, maybe??? sleep for seven years, come out and scream for three months, then die? i could get behind this plan

i knew you’d get it. seven years of sleep? bet.

personally i think screaming for three months straight would fix me

exactly.

[ ]

wanna come over?

yeah. omw

“You’re so drunk.”

Vernon squinted at you, unsure if he was hearing judgement in your tone (which would be rich) or if he was projecting (much more likely). “‘S ‘Kwan’s fault,” he muttered, still squinting, even though it really wasn’t Seungkwan’s fault. In fact, Seungkwan had been the one to twist the top back on the vodka bottle and walk it gingerly to Vernon’s freezer, claiming he was just helping tidy up when they both knew he’d thought Vernon had had enough.

Vernon was still seated at his little table, body turned so the wall behind him held him up as he leaned back against it. When you dropped into his lap, his arms came around you automatically, pulling you in tight. You leaned into him, brushing your lips gently across his cheekbones, down his jaw, and then resting your head against his shoulder so that you were almost burrowed in the nape of his neck.

The room swam around him a little, but Vernon flexed his hands against your waist every time it spun too much and it helped him ground himself, helped him remember that if you weren’t spinning then he couldn’t be either.

“They molt, too,” you said, and for a long minute Vernon thought he’d blacked out and missed part of the conversation. But then you ran a hand down his chest, letting it land on his forearm, and clarified, “Cicadas. They shed their skin. I like that part, too. Getting to step out of a self that doesn’t fit now, leave it behind - leave behind physical proof that you aren’t that, now.”

Vernon’s hands flexed around you for a different reason.

He liked that, too - the idea of leaving himself behind, a self he didn’t want to be anymore.

His eyes slipped shut, but he heard himself say, “So, it’s settled, then. We’ll be bugs.”

Your giggle, the light sound of it as well as the feeling of your body moving against his, brought him back a little, and he cracked his eyes open to see you smile.

“Yeah,” you told him, sitting back up and smiling lightly. “We’ll be bugs.”

6 months ago

going out with seungcheol-hyung later. u gonna be out?

yeah - going to maestro with some friends

i dont think hyung would step foot into maestro but i’ll try

Vernon is sharp. Sharp wit, sharp eyes, sharp angles, sharp smile twisting into something leering.

You were chasing lights, trying to track pink beams as they carved paths across the club’s dark walls, when you caught his gaze across the crowded dance floor. He leaned against the bar, watching you, still and jagged, a serrated edge.

You held his gaze long enough for him to know it was a message, then you began pushing your way through the mass of people around you - not towards him, but away, towards the barely lit back hallway that led to the bathrooms.

You knew he’d follow. You didn’t have to check.

When he pressed you into a dark corner, you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck for stability and let your eyes slip closed, let the colors you’d been chasing flow around you as you floated.

“Where’d your hyung go?” you breathed as Vernon traced your silhouette with heavy hands.

“Don’t care,” he muttered.

He tucked his chin low, focused, slid one hand up the trembling inside of your thighs, slipped his fingers past the thin layer of your panties, pushed two fingers deep inside you and sucked in a breath when you moaned out loud, your head falling back against the wall.

“Already fucking wet for me, so wet for me,” he growled, fingers working you in even, steady pumps that made your walls flutter and your legs shake. “Didn’t even do anything yet.”

You whimpered his name, the muted bass from the club’s main room settling around you like a fog, syncing up with your pounding pulse. You said it again, a little louder, desperate. Somewhere in your mind, you were aware that you could be found, and that piece of you urged him to be quick.

“Hurry -” you gasped, “-before -”

“Hurry?” he laughed, the sound almost mocking. “Why would I hurry? Want to stay knuckles deep in this pussy all night -”

You gasped, your hips bucking, and he groaned out loud, unashamed.

“Fuck, you fucking gushed when I said that, christ,” he whined, voice suddenly thinner, like it might crack. Like he might shatter, leave more sharp pieces behind.

You shattered before him, trying desperately to keep the long, keening noise buried in your throat as he pushed the pads of his fingers against your front wall, urging out every last shudder.

When he slipped his fingers from you, he paused, face freezing with his mouth stretched into an exaggerated grimace as he tried to work out where to wipe them. It surprised both of you when you surged forward and grabbed his wrist, bringing his sticky fingers to your mouth and licking a stripe from the edge of his palm to his fingertips before taking them between your lips.

You thrilled when his eyes rolled back, when he slapped his spare hand against the wall next to your head to brace himself, when he rutted against you furiously as if you weren’t in plain view of anyone who decided they had to pee right now. He pressed against you, so hard you could feel the heat of him even through his pants, as you laved his fingers with your tongue, mimicking what you’d be doing on your knees if you were in private.

“If I cum in my pants in the fucking club, I’m going to be so mad at you,” he gasped, and it made you laugh, giving him the chance to pull his hand away, to back away from you desperately, chest heaving. You laughed again, feeling a little victorious.

You straightened yourselves up and made your way back to the bar; you ordered shots and took them in succession. Then, one eyebrow raised, you asked him, “So - want to finish what you started?”

He laughed, teeth flashing. You ordered a ride on your phone. You stood and he trailed you closely as you made your way unsteadily through the crowd. A group of girls tried to pass the opposite way and you had to pause, stopping short as they wiggled past you, sending you grateful smiles. Vernon bumped into your back, his hands finding your waist.

You stayed there, even when the path cleared, feeling his body solid against yours, his hands tight on you, losing yourself in the tidal pulsing of the room, as if the whole club inhaled and exhaled each time the beat changed up.

“What?” Vernon asked behind you. “What is it?”

Everything in your bloodstream - from alcohol to adrenaline to oxytocin to you weren’t even sure what else - spoke for you. Turning just slightly, you asked him something you’d kept caged for months on end.

“When are you gonna leave?”

Shock crossed his face before he could school it. Then, confusion, or something like it, his brows furrowing. “You want me to go?”

“No,” you said quickly, knowing what you’d already said was a mistake, knowing anything else you said could only make it worse, but unable to stop the words that your mouth provided. “No, I didn’t mean tonight. I just. I meant… in general.”

Something cold slid over his face. “That’s not better,” he said, his voice suddenly so even that it sent shivers down your arms. You turned to face him fully; around you, bodies moved, voices shouted, and the music was almost deafening.

You barely noticed any of it.

“I meant -”

“I know what you meant,” he interrupted, angry. You could see it all over him - his shoulders tight, his mouth turned down. “You meant you’re just riding out your sentence with me until I inevitably leave you. Right?”

“I -” No, you meant to say, but he was kind of right, and it was confusing.

He shook his head, took a step away from you. Miraculously, the crowd let him. “This is bullshit,” he told you, his voice low and brittle with hurt. “You don’t get to fucking put that on me - you’re the one who runs in this - in whatever this is.”

He took another step back, shaking his head, obviously disgusted.

“Vernon, that’s not - I do not run -” You couldn’t choose what to argue first; your head swam, and you pressed a hand to your eyes for a second, hoping to clear them. “Why are you so mad?” you asked plaintively, looking at him again.

He laughed, just as mocking as he’d been when he was toying with you in the back hallway. “Why am I mad?” he repeated. “Go fuck yourself.”

Vernon was always sharp. He left you standing there, bleeding on the dancefloor.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'll update again next friday :)

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months ago

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AITA for asking my partner not to be around me when she has panic attacks?

Probably sounds bad, but please read first. I (28FTM) have been with my partner (25MTF) for just over two years. We’ve lived together just over a year. We both have significant mental health issues, although her symptoms have always been more severe/uncontrolled than mine.

I have always been extremely supportive of my partner’s mental health issues. About 6 months after we started dating she had a mental health crisis that resulted in her being hospitalized for severe suicidal ideation; I helped her get support with her college, find a psychiatrist, therapist, and an HRT provider (since she was extremely dysphoric at the time and hadn’t started).

Around 6 months ago she had another suicidal episode where she actually attempted in front of me. I helped her receive medical help again, supported her throughout and after the hospitalization process, helped her find accommodations for university classes, and find and start alternate treatment (ketamine). I’ve also been supporting her in between her crises by attending some of her therapy with her at her request so I can learn what grounding exercises and such her therapist recommends when she’s panicking or suicidal, since she often forgets her coping mechanisms when in a crisis, and just listening to her and being there when she wants help.

All that is to say, I believe I’ve been extremely supportive in helping her find ways to sustain a healthy life while having mental health issues. However, one of her diagnoses is tourette’s (which I’m aware is neurological and not necessarily psychological) and this results in her having compulsive verbal tics that worsen especially when she’s stressed.

One of these tics is her saying “I’m going to kill myself” repeatedly when distressed (along with other severely hateful statements toward herself). This has always been extremely distressing for me to hear, even when I talk to her to make sure it’s a tic moment and not actual suicidal ideation.

I have been working with my personal therapist so that I don’t immediately go into my own damage-control type crisis when I hear her ticcing. However it’s still been extremely anxiety inducing for me to deal with this, to the point where I’m starting to either dissociate or panic when I even notice that she’s having a panic attack, because I expect to start hearing her say really awful things again. It’s even to the point where I think it’s affecting my overall mental health because I’ve been hearing these distressing tics so often I feel like I’ve started to internalize them (like, me more often having intrusive suicidal thoughts when depressed) although I certainly don’t blame her for how I’ve been feeling or my own thoughts that I’m having when depressed.

I talked to her about this recently and explained how I think it’s been effecting my mental health, especially as I work from home and her panicking often interrupts my work when she comes into our shared office to talk to me while panicking - which then makes me get behind on my work, since I feel like I can’t ignore her and want to help when she’s having a panic attack.

My mental health has also been extremely poor lately as I’m dealing with a lot of work and a sudden diagnosis of (benign) kidney adrenal tumors that I’m starting treatment for. I’ve been doing things to try to improve how I’m feeling but I’m still in a very difficult place right now.

Even though I feel extremely bad for asking I asked her to please try grounding herself at least to the point she’s not loudly saying that she wants to kill her self and hates herself when she’s panicking and wants to talk to me. I emphasized that she should always come talk to me if she is actually feeling like she’s going to do something harmful. But I’m seriously starting to feel like these verbal tics are affecting my functioning day to day, and I don’t know what else to do. And of course I still love her and want to be with her, I don’t even feel like that needs to be said but I want to emphasize it. I just feel like I need to make sure that I am safe and taking care of my basic mental health needs, like not having extreme panic attacks when she’s panicking, to even begin to try and help her out when she’s struggling.

So AITA for asking my partner to stop coming to me when she’s having these extreme panic attacks?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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tangents-within-tangents · 5 months ago

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As much as I love sweet headcanons and found family fics about the Batch accepting Echo and supporting him through his adjustment and PTSD/trauma, gotta remember that what we were actually given in canon is this:

Hunter: Me and the boys will tag along anyway, if only to say I told you so. Crosshair: I would have left him for dead too. Besides, he's just another reg.

(his rescue was just a mission for them, wouldn't have done it otherwise)

Tech: To be blunt his mind belonged to the Separatists until we unplugged him. We don't really know where his loyalties lie. Rex: Yeah? Well I know. Hunter: Alright Echo what are you trying to pull? Tech: How do we know that's what you're really going to do? Hunter: Well I guess you actually are on our side.

(They openly doubt his loyalty even though they saw what he went through, and he already fought alongside them on Skako. Feels kinda victim-blamey to me, and it's odd that it goes straight from this to him joining them, like he had to prove himself worthy first? It's just the opposite of fanon which usually has the Batch be immediately sympathetic/protective and assume the regs would distrust him)

Tech: You are more machine than man, percentage wise at least. Echo, a triple amputee: *sigh* lucky me...

Palpatine: ...the attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed Wrecker: You can say that again! Echo, a physically disabled person:

Echo, who was medically experimented on: *injured and having a panic attack in the medbay* The Batch: *off somewhere joking/betting about if he’s dead*

Tech: -from the Citadel rescue when you... how shall I put this? Wrecker: Blew up!! :D Crosshair: And turned into that Echo: *sigh* yes

Random stranger: *mistakes Echofor a droid* Hunter: *smiles and goes along with it for the credits* Echo, who was SOLD and dehumanized as a pow: *visibly uncomfortable* Hunter: Echo, go to your new owner.

Echo, who was treated like property by the Techno Union: *explains why slavery is wrong* And we are gonna stop it from happening to that kid. Tech: As well as earn a decent amount of credits once the job is complete. Echo: (bitterly) yeah, that too *leaves the room*

Tech: The client being a Separatist is not relevant. Echo, who was imprisoned and tortured by Separatists for over a year: It is to me! Hunter: Forget politics! We're here to do a job.

Tech: This squad existed before Echo was a part of it, and it will exist after.

For the record, yes people can and do joke about their trauma and disabilities

But look at Echo’s reactions/tone/body language in these scenes. It’s downcast sighs and discomfort, while the others are smiling, sneering, or dismissive. And because it's animated that means that every facial expression was intentionally designed.

What really clinches it for me is this moment:

Omega, a child who he just met, comforts him and helps him through his panic attack. But when the Batch, his squad who he's been living with for at least ~6 months, comes into the room he visibly closes himself off and hides his vulnerability :(

There are good moments too (though tbh i can't think of many)

I don't wanna discount that, but that doesn't discount this either. And it's just really weird when you think about it. Like half of these were in the first episode, which is the first time we are actually seeing how these characters interact together as a squad. And this is coming from the "defective" clones who supposedly know what it's like to not fit in? Who offered Echo a place with them specifically because they thought he wouldn't be accepted by others?

As with anything, there are ways we can read into or explain these moments (like honestly 'selling' your brother or betting that your brother died by lunch tray is very accurate sibling energy (And my personal headcanon (to reconcile it for myself bc the show didn't) is that Wrecker was worried about Echo so Crosshair jokingly exaggerated that he was dead and turned it into an argument/bet to distract him (which is also why I think he turns battles into a game/competition with Wrecker)) but Echo is very traumatized and there's a complete lack of consideration there). But that doesn't excuse it nor does it change the fact that this is what was presented to us in the writing. Characters aren't actually people (shocking I know lol), so any of their 'choices' are actually made by a real-life writer. And whether the implications of these moments were fully considered/intended or not, it still portrays the characters and their attitudes/relationships in a certain way.

#as usual the fanfic was better #oof making this post *hurt*#no wonder he left #fun fact if you say that Tech *can't* know that he can hurt Echo's feelings bc he's ND that is also kinda ableist actually #the bad batch #tbb #tcw #tbb echo #arc trooper echo #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb tech #disability representation #ableism #captain rex #canon bad batch dismisses echo's trauma so much and they were never called outttttt #the bad batch are the bullies not the regs change my mind #oh god all those parenthesis has she reached peak tangent within tangent?!

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receivedhope · 1 month ago

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I feel like it's pretty undeniable that from Season 3 onwards, there seemed to have been a shift in Blaine's character from how he was in Season 2. While I am not the first to point this out, I do think there are some greatly underutilized traits of Blaine present in S2 that get phased out as he receives more screen time and are not usually brought up in such conversations.

This will unfortunately get long because I love Blaine meta.

There was always some half attempt at making Blaine out to be bossy and while Puppet Master is an episode that aims to address this, I did think it fell a little flat in selling this side of him. He was more whiny than anything lol. This bossy side of him that always wants to be in control of the room and the people around him was... given a better set up, I'd say, while he was in the Warblers. It was more subtly showing than outright telling, though unfortunately we spend so little time in Dalton that it was hard to gauge the inner hierarchy and dynamics of the group accurately since they always presented a united front to outsiders - Trent's betrayal in S4 is a big deal. But I always did find it interesting how hung up they were on Blaine, who at the very most attended Dalton only for two years, as well as that he had no actual title such as a captain or head Warbler, yet was the decided leader of the group not just star performer. (See: Will shakes Blaine's hand after their Sectionals tie. Based on just the Warbler court scenes, you'd assume Wes stepping up here to do so make more sense.)

Though it was not lost completely and I always have been of the opinion that most conflict Kurt and Blaine have stem from their respective control issues. Kurt needs schedules, sufficient space to move on his own and he exercises his need for boundaries freely (see: retreating to his room in Home and asking Burt to leave as well, not allowing Finn to touch him in Theatricality and Grilled Cheesus, scheduling Friday night dinners with Burt, scheduling make outs with Blaine in DWS) while Blaine enjoys being the protector and ultimately having the last word (see: the entire plot of Tested and NNY). It makes a stupid amount of sense that the times they butt heads the core issue stems from an external force limiting their movement, like how in TFT Blaine sees the opening night closing in on him as a deadline and makes him panic, or when Blaine cheats in TBU to gain some control over how to identify their long distance relationship, or how Kurt feels their impending wedding more suffocating than anything pre S6.

However something that unfortunately did seem to get entirely lost from Blaine's character as time went on, that I do think miss from him entirely in latter seasons, is his conformist attitude from S2.

Blaine is almost Kurt's foil during his Dalton arc. While Kurt hates having to fit in (and has never quite succeeded in it at all), Blaine likes moving as one with other people. He likes being a part of a team, being depended on and being liked. And this attitude ultimately is why he is stuck in a rut before he meets Kurt - he retreats to Dalton when real life gets complicated and messy, because he is never challenged by it. Dalton is how Blaine ultimately sabotages himself.

Even his wardrobe in S2 was telling this story - a completely normal guy who likes being only that. The very few times we see him in everyday clothes, they are average with nothing outstanding to note. Dark colors, jeans, simple shirts. A far cry from "I am the center of attention and this primary colors proves it" and wacky bowties. While I always liked that Kurt is most likely the one picking out his clothes, I did enjoy this side of Blaine more, the subdued, regular everyday guy who wears only what his peers do - even if the costume department would have found it painfully boring to stick with in the long run lol.

Why he got so worked up about and increasingly frustrated with Finn actively excluding him from the ND in early S3 also makes sense. While Kurt, as a true individualist with no real desire to fit in is not easily phased by not being included, Blaine takes it to heart.

(I always thought Blaine views having a significant other is like always being in the same team with someone and is why he desires a relationship so much.)

I like this aligned with his hesitance and slight uncomfortableness over Kurt's prom outfit in PQ as well. (Though, I'm sorry to grasp as straws, I also enjoy the thought of Blaine deciding to side with Burt as a way to impress him - if you look closely, Blaine is more impressed and smitten with Kurt's outfit at first... But you are free to disregard this point because this is just me being insane.)

A natural conclusion of his bossy and conformist personality would ultimately result in him also leaning towards being authoritarian, which I think makes great sense for someone who likes being part of a team, knowing where they all stand and making sure he fits in but also preferring to take charge and be the head. I really like that! And I think this all being contrasted with Kurt, who can't blend in, even if he tries (see: Preggers, Laryngitis, his entire dalton arc, I'd argue that even his senior class president campaign as well as starting in NYADA qualify a bit) and always makes his own path to follow is just sooo interesting and can really sell the whole opposites attract thing! Because I do believe that Kurt found it particularly nice that there is this outstanding, well mannered guy who is respected by all his peers and is ready to go to bat for him, helping him push Kurt's ideas as well as using his influence to help him - I think somthing very similar attracted Kurt to Finn as well in S1 - and it is pretty much canon that Blaine finds Kurt's fighting spirit inspiring and something hopeful (I think he was inspired by Kurt to transfer to McKinley, which is why "I did this for me" and "I even switched schools for him" can simultaneously be true), as well as attractive that Kurt is a one of a kind (cut to 'youre the only one...' in DCT). Also put a pin in that last part, because I have so much to say about the consistent bird allegories and imagery associated with their relationship, but maybe at a later date since this is already getting long.

Other times, I also think that S3+ Blaine is not that out of left field if you pay attention to him in S2. Something that gets pretty early established is that Blaine is a rash and impulsive person. When he is hurt, he lashes out. You can see this in NoN when Karofsky picks a fight with them, it gets physical pretty quickly, however you can see Kurt being just... disappointed? Resigned, almost?

Blaine is also quick to react to Sandy's heckling that Kurt shuts down asap.

We later learn that Blaine is also entirely capable of doing things with the intent of hurting Kurt - he sings a Whitney Houston song at him that implies Kurt much less ambigiously cheated than in reality, in front of all his friends, because at the core of it is his anxiety about Kurt leaving him. He cheats on Kurt when he feels neglected.

And I think it is a bit naive to think he dated Karofsky entirely because of a supposed mutual attraction, ignoring the Kurt of it all. The history them three share is undeniable and he did want Kurt to feel like shit about it - which, for the record, I think is understandable since Kurt broke off their engagement rather ungracefully and it pushed Blaine into a depressive state, to the point of getting cut from NYADA and having to move back to Ohio.

All that to say - I always found all of the above very in line with the S2 Blaine who was quick to compare Kurt to Karofsky in BIOTA, just because Kurt said something mildly offensive in a moment where he was also hurt!

I guess this is also the time to quickly, as a sidenote, talk about Kurt's biphobic comment. I think the ultimate, intended purpose of the scene was more comedic. A mean, off color joke, but a joke RIB wanted to make nonetheless. However I do not find it out of character. Firstly: that is a seventeen year old boy who was told his whole life that he is disgusting and sick for liking men by the entirety of the conservative town he lives in. He is sexually assaulted by his closeted bully and has to transfer schools and he was never afforded to be "in" the closet either, because everyone around him assumes his sexuality. How right or wrong that is to do, is another topic. He has a crush on the only other out and proud gay kid in Ohio - who would rather give it a shot with a girl before Kurt. And to add insult to injury, Kurt already lost a crush of his to Rachel!

Of course he is hurt, of course he will say something less than gracious!

And Blaine in the only other person who is fully aware of Kurt's situation - for him to compare Kurt saying something mean and a bit offensive to Karofsky's actions is out of pocket, in my opinion.

I'm not sure how to end this neatly, but I will say this: I do like all of the above about Blaine and would have loved to see these traits more consistently. I do not think this darker side of his negates the good parts of him. If anything, understanding his lows helps me appreciate his highs even more.

#blaine anderson #glee meta #sorry for liking BLAINE sorry for having THOUGHTS about him #mymeta

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lily-s-world · 6 months ago

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Julie and the Phantoms vs. Julie e os Fantasmas

I had recently been practicing my Portuguese and listening to music in that language, which lead me to the soundtrack of Julie e os Fantasmas. The original Brazilian version of the show. Funny how music works, because the more I listened to the songs the more I remembered about the show. Which is why I decided to make a list about the main differences between the shows.

First, the Brazilian cast and the name of their counterparts so you know who am I referring to:

Side note before we start, their music is also pretty cool. My favorite one is Essa noite somos um so (Tonight we are one). You can find it on Spotify:

The Brazilian show lasted 1 season with 26 episodes, which were divided in two parts from 2011 to 2012. However, the show was always planned with one season only, so it had a proper closure.

In the original version, Julie isn’t dealing with the loss of her mother. Her mother is alive but decided to take a job far away from them, which leads to Julie resenting her because she feels that her mother doesn’t care about them and only shows when it is convenient for her. This makes Julie feel invisible across her life.

Both shows revolve around music and how much Julie loves it. Julie (BR) suffers from stage panic, one of the reasons she had never sing in front of people. The phantoms help her with this. Also, her preferred instrument is the guitar.

The phantoms had a more tragic death on the BR version. They were trying to replicate The Beatles’ Abbey Road cover, but where hit by a truck and died instantly. One member was alive, but he retired from the music industry after the accident. They had been dead for over 30 years and were trapped on a vinyl record instead of a CD.

The phantoms don’t have their instruments like the new version. After they help Julie with her stage panic, she buys them new instruments and decides to form the band.

The name of the band on the show is Os Insólitos (The Unusuals). They play in different venues and parties across the season. Unlike the new version, they sing the same songs repeatedly across the episodes. There are some special episodes where they reveal a new song.

The Julies share basically the same personality on both shows. Martim and Reggie are also really similar, being a flirt and a little bit clueless. Felix is way more anxious and fearful than Alex, he was scared of ghosts since he was a kid and being turned into one didn’t help with that. Daniel and Luke are probably the ones with different personalities, while Luke is this cutie that falls for Julie almost immediately; Daniel is egocentric and cold at the beginning of the show. It takes a long time for him to warm up to Julie and is resentful against the world for what happened to them. He had a lot of character development during the season.

Pedro (Carlos) and Bia (Flynn) learn about the ghost right after Julie does. Pedro and Martim develop a friendship based on pranks and jokes.

Julie, Pedro and Bia are the only ones that can actually see the phantoms. Whenever they play in the band, they hide behind masks and keep the idea as a mystery to attract followers.

Julie and Thalita (Carrie) were also friends when they were younger. The reason their friendship didn’t lasted, was because Julie realized that Thalita was a bully that picked up on other girls. Julie cut out all communication with her, which Thalita didn’t took well and continued to antagonize her until they were teens.

The main difference is that Caleb doesn’t exist in this original version, there is an agent of the Ghost Police that looks for the boys because he is convinced they escaped the rules of death. They should have crossed over, but never did. There also some kind of ghostbuster that is looking for them.

At the end of the first part of the season, the boy say goodbye to Julie because they are planning to cross over; however it is later revealed that the ghostbuster capture them. They manage to escape and return with Julie.

Daniel develops feelings for Julie in the second part of the season, Julie also starts liking him, but she also likes Nicolas who had been her crush for years. Nicolas and Julie start spending more time together after he broke up with Thalita, and he develops feelings for Julie. At the end of the show Julie ends up choosing Nicolas, because she had liked him longer and he makes this grand gesture for her at school. She has a talk with Daniel about what they feel, and they both decide to still be friends and continue with the band.

Some fun facts: The show was sponsored by Monster High, so you can see a lot of merchandise in the show; Julie even dresses up as Frankie Stein for a Halloween party. The show was super popular, earning nominations for Kids Awards in LATAM.

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blackberrybuds · 1 month ago

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mini essay about tsutsujio tamemichi & the use of dr. kan's hands as a metaphor for rape

ive been thinking a lot about tsu and kan recently so i wanted to dump some thoughts lol. cw for things involved with their stories like medical trauma and sexual assault and such

i think tsu is a masterclass in writing a metaphorical rape scene. i know that he genuinely faced sexual assault by kan, but i wanna focus on the idea that his heart surgery was a metaphorical rape in and of itself.

for background, during tsu's first year working at KFTI, he got in an altercation with dr. kan that lead to dr. kan beating him so badly he broke four bones, including his pelvis and almost every bone in his arm. we're told that he needed a lot of recovery time, and that during this recovery time, dr. kan pulled him for an experiment that involved performing open heart surgery on him.

we're told that the anaesthesia used was localized and not general, meaning he was awake for the surgery. we're told it was for the expressed purpose of seeing how he would mentally cope with the experience of being awake for something like that. that's the background we're going with. we then see how that affects tsutsujio and how he describes it.

tsu has chronic arrhythmia and heart palpitations. when he gets worked up, his body starts shutting down, which makes him panic and makes the entire thing worse. every day hes having these little spirals where he thinks hes gonna die. this is why he refuses to leave the office and head to OMS - he's afraid that if he does, he'll have an episode that requires kan's intervention, and kan won't be there to save him.

we also see him describe the process in a very specific way: the use of kan's hands.

[416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] Actually no im pretty sure nobody here understands me at all because I keep getting stupid fucking advice and critique from people who havent had his hands in their open fucking chest

he says that nobody can understand how he feels because they haven't had kan's hands in their chest. kan's hands are inside his body. his wording here is very important, because it's going to come up again in this thread, and then again further in the future. for now, let's focus on how it comes up in this thread.

[416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I feel like his hands are on my shoulders all the time [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I feel like no matter what I do or where i go his hands are always on my shoulders [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I feel like if i look down im just going to have handprints all over me [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I dont know why he makes me feel like that [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I cant leave because his hands are always on my shoulders and i cant ever be comfortable because his hands are always on my shoulders and nobody cares or questions it because oh its not that big of a deal its just his hands on my shoulders [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] my body feels wrong how the hell am i supposed to just live like that forever i dont want to [434334633/ Dr. Suga] You feel violated. [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] Right like i do but like fucking why should i [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] God this is so stupid why do i always sound so stupid [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] I just dont want his fucking hands in my body he fucking hurt me

he describes kan as always having his hands on his shoulders. he describes this as a feeling that's incredibly distressing, and says that nobody questions it because it seems so innocuous - just a hand on his shoulders. suga points out that he feels violated, and tsu agrees, but can't explain why. he then describes the feeling in a much more visceral way - "I just dont want his fucking hands in my body".

the language tsu uses alludes to much more than surgery. this isnt how people describe surgery in a normal context. the idea of someone putting their hands inside of your body holds connotations that feel much more intimate than medical. the descriptions of being covered in handprints corroborate this - he's not talking about medical feelings. he's talking about feelings of having his body violated, feelings that are intimately tied to the idea of sexual assault. this is further emphasized by the presence of his conversation partner - suga.

suga is the absolute picture of sexual violation within staffside. the way suga is described is the picture perfect image of purity. he was young and naive and eager to help. he was almost ethereally beautiful. he was pretty and weak and vulnerable. he was a virgin. the interesting framing device in tetro is that we don't learn any of this until after we've known him for some time. when we're introduced to suga, he's sick and vomiting and exhausted and on the brink of death. we meet him as his story is nearing its climax. only a short while after meeting him, he's put under anaesthesia and raped by dr. kan. this became one of our first central plot points of staffside.

suga's entire arc is about the trauma of sexual assault and how it eventually kills him, for all intents and purposes. we follow him as he's completely devoured by his trauma and his feelings of utter violation. pairing him with tsu in this scene is meant to show the connection between the two. staffside is drawing a comparison between suga's experience and tsu's experience. you're meant to associate them. they both feel horribly violated.

and then we find out that tsutsujio was molested during a medical exam.

it would be easy to take this information and write off the metaphorical rape that was tsu's surgery. it would be easy to dismiss it as no longer important or relevant now that we know tsu was genuinely molested and not just metaphorically assaulted. however, if anything, i think tsu's recount of being molested actually serves to greatly strengthen the connections between his surgery and the idea of rape. let's look again at how he describes the assault.

[416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] Again seriously its not that serious its not like what happened to Suga [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] Stuff with his hands I guess [416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] Which again is stupid because obviously the Suga thing is worse so please dont get hung up on this like seriously

another mention of kan's hands. he describes his molestation as something that took place with kan's hands.

[416276122/ Dr. Tsutsujio] And it was just one time and it was just with hands like it not like that

his hands again. tsu's focus often comes back to kan's hands. it's the only way he describes his molestation in any capacity. we don't get any details beyond the fact that it was done with kan's hands. kan's hands themselves in this case are portrayed as a weapon of assault. the hands that molested him are the hands he claims to be constantly all over his body and on his shoulders and inside his chest. the connections drawn between the use of kan's hands for sexual assault and the use of kan's hands for tsu's surgery are incredibly clear and further drive home the point of tsu's surgery being used as a metaphor for rape.

let's take a look at other mentions of kan's hands in similar contexts. this is the first time we ever get a mention of kan's hands.

[840070420/ Dr. Tatematsu] Out of curiosity, was it DURING that event that you told her you were getting handsy with her husband? Before? After?

tatematsu uses very specific phrasing to describe the sexual relationship between kan and seki. she refers to kan assaulting him as getting handsy.

[154314147/ Dr. Toranosuke] Hence why I'm reaching out to you two! I'd like to borrow Minase. [796285914/ Dr. Hattori] Me? [840070420/ Dr. Tatematsu] Absolutely out of the question. Keep your grubby hands in your own department.

kan claims to want to "borrow" minase. minase is someone kan has expressed lust for in the past - he's pretty, he's blonde, he's got the same borderline ethereal beauty that kan assigns to suga. when he says he wants to borrow minase, tatematsu tells him to keep his grubby hands in his own department. another mention of kan's hands.

[155402844/ Monomoko] He has other methods as well. Ones you might be familiar with by now. Dr. Kan is at his most content when others are entirely reliant on his hands.

this is one of the more prominent uses of the metaphor of dr. kan's hands. monomoko doesn't just say kan needs people to be entirely reliant on him; she says he needs them to be entirely reliant on his hands. his hands are almost given a sense of being their own character in the way people describe them. consider the people we know are reliant on kan to survive: tsutsujio, seki, suga, genki and zenjaku. if he didn't care for tsu's heart, tsu would die. if he didn't medicate seki, seki would die. if he didn't continue to care for suga through his coma, suga would die. i have no idea what he does for genki, but we've been told that without his support, genki would die as well. if he didn't provide zenjaku with the BMS box, he would die. every single person reliant on kan for survival is someone he has sexually assaulted. tsutsujio is the only one of the four who wasn't outright raped, which is where his surgical metaphor becomes even more prominent. it acts as a rape. it feels like rape. to him, it is rape. and here, we see monomoko describing these four people he has raped as entirely reliant on his hands. its another association between kan's hands and rape.

now, we get into the most blatant evidence for the idea that kans hands represent rape.

WHERE KAN. KAN KAN KAN KAN. i kNOW iT wAs HIM. HE LOOKED AT HER, HE DID. WITH HIS. HIS GROSS HANDS!!! HE DOES THINGS!!! HE DOES THINGS TO THINGS!!! hE. HE TOOk her, I KNOW HE DID. WHERE IS SHE?!?! wHERE IS SHE?!?!?! DID HE - NO!!! no. he WOULDN’T - wOULDN’T HE?!?!??!?!? OH GOD!!!!!!! WHERE SHES COLD!!! SHE’S COLD AND I CAN’T FIND HER!!!!!!! HE HAS HER I KNOW IT!!! I KNoW IT. HE TOUCHES EVERYTHING AND HE RUINS EVERYTHING AND NOW SHE’S GONE. hER FuR. HER fur…soft, soFT, and NOW SHE’S GONE!!!!! SHE’S GONE!!! HE TOOK HER. WHY. WHY. WHY?!?! WHY?!?!?!?!?!! WHERE HES HURTING HER. I KNOW HE IS. hES - hE'S DOING THINGS TO HER!!! THINGS. HE DOES THINGS AND SHE’S GONE AND I CAN’T STOP IT!!!!!!! hIS HANDS. hIS FILTHY HANDS. ON HER!!! ON HER!!! I CAN HEAR HER CRYING. sHE’S CRYING. SHE’S CRYING AND I CAN’T STOP IT!!! OH GOD I CAN’T STOP IT!!! WHERE wHy. why hE DO THIS. Why HE. tOUCH eVERYTHING THATS MINE!!! hE ALWAYS TAKES MY THINGS, ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS!!!! hIS EYES. HIS EYES WERE LOOKING. ALWAYS LOOKING!!! I CANT. i CAN’T DO THIS. WHERE IS SHE. WHERE IS SHE. WHERE It’s darK. sHE’S nEVER QuiEt. ShE’S never THIS QUIET. He MUFFLED HER, I KNOW HE DID. he DOESNT WANT ME TO HEAR HER CRYING!!!!!!! BUT I CAN. I CAN HEAR HER ANYWAY!!! hE THINKS I CAN’T. BUT I CAN!!!!!!! HE DOESNT WANT HER TO BE MINE!!! BUT SHE’S MINE. MINE!!!!!!! WHERE wHEre IS shE. IS sHE SAFE?!?! IS SHE STILL SAFE???!?!?!? DID I LEAVE HER HERE?!?! WAS IT ME??? DID I DO THIS?!?! no. No. IT WASN’T ME. IT WAS KAN. IT’S ALWAYS KAN. IT’S ALWAYS HIM AND HIS HANDS AND HIS EYES AND HIS SMILE!!! HE TOOK HER. HE TOOK HER AND HE’S RUINING HER!!!!

the maru logs contain an incredibly chilling description of kan's hands used as a metaphor for rape once again. in my mind, this is one of the most nauseating depictions of kan's inflicted trauma in tetro. in the maru logs, we see the jumbled thoughts of nemoto genki depicted as a terminal. throughout the staffside story, we are repeatedly nudged towards the fact that during genki's deterioration, he was raped by kan. it's something that many people seem to understand and that genki himself seems to still carry the pain of even after losing his memory.

here we see genki in a state of extreme distress after dr. kan took away his comfort item as a form of sadistic punishment - a stuffed sheep. sheep and lambs have extremely strong connotations when it comes to symbolism - they're purity, innocence, gentleness and youth. we see that literally ripped away from genki by kan's hands, and genki immediately begins to violently spiral into hysterics.

kan taking the sheep is, in my opinion, a direct metaphor for rape once again. he is literally ripping a symbol of innocence away from genki, and genki reacts accordingly. he completely melts down, insisting that kan is "doing things" to this symbol of his innocence, and that he's ruining her with his gross, filthy hands. "it's always him and his hands". another case of dr. kan's hands being treated as a separate concept to himself. his hands are a weapon, and we see genki completely lose it as kan uses that weapon to rip away his innocence once again. this isn't a connection that the reader needs to force - it's incredibly clear. genki reacts to this as if it was a rape. he cries about violation and filth and ruining. genki seems to go as far as genuinely thinking that kan would violate the sheep itself - directly violating the symbol of his innocence and purity. directly raping his innocence. he reacts with appropriate horror and distress. kan's hands are once again used in this disgusting, violating context.

but kan's hands continue to come up.

Hibari visibly tensed and vocalized his pain throughout the process, but Kan appeared unfazed. He made several inappropriate comments, including, “You should appreciate that I’m being hands-on. Many would leave you to suffer with less care.”

kan describes himself as being hands-on with zenjaku, and says zenjaku should appreciate it. kan has repeatedly stressed a perverse interest in zenjaku and his body up to this point, and would later go on to physically rape him during a moment alone. having this treatment associated with kan being "hands-on" is another glowing example of the metaphor of his hands.

i think tetro is incredibly effective at not only depicting kan's hands themselves as a metaphor for rape and violation, but then also successfully executing an incredibly poignant metaphor for rape in the form of tsutsujio's surgery. kan's hands are rape. by putting them into tsu's body, he violated him and left him with a trauma that tsu describes in an extremely intimate context. anyone affected by kan's hands is violated, because kan's hands represent violation.

im not sure how much more of this we'll get in the future but i just wanted to get my thoughts out - let me know if you see any other interesting examples of this in staffside or let me know if you disagree completely and think im reading way too far into this LMAO. i just wanna hear peoples thoughts

#tetro danganronpa #tetro danganronpa pink #tetro pink #tetro #tdrp #blackberry rambling #tsutsujio tamemichi #toranosuke kan #cw sa #cw medical

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happylikeasadsong · 7 months ago

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syd x carmy in season three

i’m back here cause i have way too much to say than it can fit on thread on twt

this is just what i could come up after sitting on s3 for the past few days, i was spiralling, it was bad.

this will be a long one, so settle in!

for me, regardless if this season was supposed to be a two parter or not, one thing that’s clear to me is that we were meant to watch this rupture in their relationship develop throughout the season.

listen, he was locked in that freezer for hours, and in those hours he spiraled beyond control. we can’t expect sydcarmy to have the same dynamic as the past seasons cause they’re not in the same place they were before. Carmy locked in the walk-in changed him and therefore, changed their dynamic too.

he promised syd in the first episode that he was never gonna leave her alone again, but in his fucked up mind, this means never let her make a solo decision when is comes to the menu, is having him make all the decisions himself and have the last say and change her every input. For him, this is how he honours his promise and for syd is how he makes her feel under appreciated and undermined.

he makes it look like it doesn’t matter what she does, as great as it is, he’ll always change it and make it about him. the decision of having her as a partner takes her by surprise cause they have never discussed it, he dumps all of these things on her, first thing in the morning, she can wrap her mind around the fact that’s that same guy she left a few hours before. He’s completely changed.

And though she tries to at least get on board and support his non-negotiables list and the menu changing every day and all the bullshit with richie, by “doors” she’s already exhausted of trying to keep up with him, tired of being his babysitter.

so when that new opportunity is presented to her, she actually considers it because it’s a way out of working in a stress free environment where she has full creative control to shape the new place as she sees fit (also the pay and benefits?? I’d be signing that shit right there lmao). It really is an incredible opportunity.

so yeah, i feel like we were meant to see how they crack under pressure and this was something chris storer had said in interviews before when talking about s2 on how hard it is to open a restaurant and keep it running once you do. he always wanted to explore the gritty stuff and I felt like he accomplished that in this season.

from a narrative standpoint, at some point we had to see syd and carmy’s partnership is put to test, we need to see what falling out to the point of almost no return looks for them in order to see how they are gonna find their way back to each other. and i can’t see a better time to do it than now.

it can feel hopeless, yes, and feel like they’re not gonna make it to the finish line, but let’s remember this is a story about finding new ways to reconnect to the things/ people you love, found family and generational trauma.

we see carmy is at his lowest, sydney is at her lowest, so logically the only way we can get to is up.

i believe that after carmy confronted his abusive boss, he had some sort of breakthrough from the way he sighed after their talk. i took it as his way of beginning to process his trauma.

as for sydney, we saw how deeply the idea of leaving has affected her, even though she knows is for a better place where her ideas will be respected and appreciated they way she knows it deserves. hopefully her panic attack will be enough to make her realize she needs help making the decision (if she can’t have her best friend and partner for this, then she’ll have her dad).

all of this to say that i am hopeful and excited to see what’s coming next year, and i truly believe sydcarmy is on the right path (this is a slow burn doing slow burn things ffs). We can’t let go just when things gets interesting. im dying to see their big fight, it’s something I’ve been needing since s2.

they’re still soulmates (after we saw the invisible string scene, there’s no going back) and they had significant scenes this season too, just not the way ppl thought it would be.

let’s have them work it out on the remix

#sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #the bear season 3 #sydney x carmy #the bear #spoilers #the bear spoilers

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libraryofneith · 5 months ago

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Hiding Place (Frankie Morales x GN! Reader)

Summary: a reunion between you and the guys goes south when you have a panic attack, but your friend Frankie is there for you

Tags: frankie morales x gender neutral! reader, platonic relationship between frankie and reader but it could be read romantically, hurt/comfort, fluff, wholesome

Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks, bullet wounds, very mild cussing

This was written for @punkshort AU August Writing Challenge! Thanks for this prompt, it was so much fun! Be sure to check out my joel miller x reader fic Out of Mind.

A champagne cork.

Or rather, a sparkling cider cork.

That was what started it.

It had flown off the bottle with a pop and gone whizzing past your ear as you were cleaning dishes. You'd tried to laugh it off with the others. It was just a stupid accident. Everyone was there to celebrate Benny winning one of the biggest fights of his life and you weren't going to spoil everything with another one of your stupid panic attacks. But the pop and the feeling of the cork flying past you had made time stand still.

Suddenly you weren't in Will's kitchen anymore; you were in a trench, a rifle in your hands, trying to find a fix on your target as bullets fired around you. Your hand went to your shoulder as if it had a mind of its own, grazing over the point where a bullet had shot through five years ago. It was throbbing as if it had only been five minutes ago. You could hear a voice far off. It sounded like it was a million miles away, barely getting through over the pounding in your ears.

"You ok?" You jumped. Frankie was standing beside you looking concerned. When did he get here?

"Yeah, fine. Just gotta take a leak." You pushed past him into the hallway, completely blundering past the bathroom.

Fuck fuck. Where were you? What were you doing? Your chest felt like it was tying itself in knots. You couldn't breathe. You blindly grasped a door handle and stumbled into what you realised too late was Willy's bedroom. As if the flashbacks weren't bad enough now you had to deal with the anxiety of going into someone's room without their permission. But you couldn't deal with that now. Alone, desperate and completely out of breath, you did the only thing you knew you make you feel better.

---

Frankie closed the bathroom door. Nope, not in there. There were three other doors on that floor - one opened to a study, one to a cupboard, and the third a bedroom. It seemed empty but he had this strange feeling of being watched, like someone else was waiting to exhale.

"Hello?" No answer. "You in here?"

"Down here." The voice came from underneath the bed.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you're under a bed?"

"I… I just… It was just too much."

"Ok, I get it." He paused. He didn't want to intrude but he didn't feel he could leave it like that. "You want some company?" There was a lengthy silence before you replied: "Alright."

He shuffled while you scooched until you were lying side by side staring up at the graying mattress poking through the timber slides. It was a while before he plucked up the courage to break the silence.

"This takes me back."

You snorted. Depressing as it was, you'd spent more than one occasion huddled in a bunker or trench together avoiding bullets, drones or bombs.

"Everyone Ok out there?"

"They're fine, just worried about you." You groaned.

"Now I feel bad, I didn't want to make a whole thing out of it."

"No one holds it against you, we all have… stuff." Stuff. That was one way to put it. You started absentmindedly rubbing the bullet hole on your shoulder again.

"Still hurt?" Your hand flew back to your side.

"Sometimes, when I have these… episodes. Therapist tells me it's not actually the wound, just the trauma."

"Is there a difference?" You shrugged then winced. It was weird, sometimes you hardly felt it, sometimes - like today - it felt so painful you could hardly think straight.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you."

"It's OK, you had your own stuff to deal with."

"By stuff, you mean a pile of snow?" You weren't looking at him but you could still hear the self-loathing in his voice.

"Christ Frankie you know I don't blame you for that. After I got shot, I couldn't sleep without polishing off a bottle of whisky."

"You had a good reason."

"And you didn't?" you said, turning to look at him. It was dark under that bed but you could see those big brown eyes filled with regret.

"Not the same." Maybe not but Frankie still had wounds that couldn't be seen on his body. "I know after I just… disappeared."

"You were there when it mattered." You meant that in more ways than one. He'd been the one who dragged you back to his chopper, you screaming with every inch, him muttering "you're gonna make it, you're gonna make it" over and over. After, Pope told you he'd flown like a bat outta hell while you drifted in and out of consciousness. Everyone agreed that if anyone else had been the pilot on that mission, you'd have bled out before you got back to base. Not that it made a difference to Frankie. Something had changed in him after that. Then came the suspension for drug abuse and after that you both felt like animals used up then put out to pasture.

Your hand found his in the dark. He glanced down in surprise. You had always been close, the others always called him your work husband, only partly joking, and there had been times when it felt as though there was… something, like a line neither of you were daring to cross. But that had been a long time ago. You had lost touch after you came home and now he had a wife and a baby on the way and you had… your therapist? You didn't mind, honestly. Just, right now you needed him, his presence, his touch. Neither of you made any other movement. You just lay there under the bed, side by side, fingers interlocking.

"Hey if you assholes are fucking you can use someone else's goddamn bedroom" Will called out, having finally found you both.

"Fuck you William" you responded.

"What're you doing under the bed?"

"Hiding from you" Frankie replied. "Now piss off."

"Fine, not like it's my fucking house or anything." He slinked off muttering.

"We should probably head back out there." You started to crawl out but you were stopped by Frankie's hand on your shoulder.

"Can we… can we not?" You gave him a long look, then nestled back in next to him.

"Ok, whenever you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You bring a book?" You both snorted. "But seriously, we can't stay here forever. You least of all, you have a life."

"And you don't?" You resisted the urge to face him.

"Honestly, not really. Maybe I should get one." Frankie didn't seem to have any response to that, so you lay next to each other in silence, counting the boards on the mattress frame. Finally, you asked, "do you think it's gonna be a boy or girl."

"No clue. We wanted to be surprised." At length, he added "hope it's a girl."

"Why?"

"Less chance it'll turn out like me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"You tell me." You found his hand and squeezed.

"I hope it's like you. World needs more Catfish Moraleses." His expression was inscrutable, until his voice finally husked out with all the fear, heartbreak and salvation of the past years,

"I really fucking missed you."

#shortieswritingchallenge #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader

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mirai-e-jump · 2 months ago

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TV Life, 11/29/2024 Issue (No.23) ft. Miyabe Nozomi & Miyazawa Yu (translations below)

Publication: November 13, 2024

GavvPare! Vol.6 (Miyabe Nozomi)

-The main episodes that gave me confidence-

Let's backtrack abit and go over episode 7 and 8, which focus on Sachika. When I first read the script, I felt the difficulty of having to express a completely different side of Sachika's usual self through her past troubles and the problems she still faces. I'm not the type of person who shows alot of emotion on a daily basis, so I've never been angry like that in real life. I wasn't sure how to act it out, but Director Sugihara gave me the advice to "put more power into my eyes," and so I tried to play the role while being conscious of both the impression being conveyed through my eyes, and the gap between Sachika's typical smiling face and her enraged expressions. I was happy to receive tons of messages after the broadcast from viewers on SNS saying, "I cried" and "It was really good," and Director Sugihara also praised me. I gained confidence in my performance through these episodes, and it also motivated me.

Also, the scene with the paint being thrown on me was a valuable experience. In actuality, the paint wasn't real paint, but a mixture of dyes and flour, so it was alittle heavy, but during practice we used water, so the sensation was different. I think Tsujioka-san, who played Egawa, had a difficult time managing to do it. Still, I feel that the tension in the air, combined with the urgency and anxiety we both had, made for a scene that left an impact.

In episode 11, Shouma, Hanto, and Sachika finally work together. I personally enjoyed Hanto being pushed around by Shouma and Sachika (laughs). Hino-kun's comical performance really drew us in. Since there's been a series of episodes with more serious elements, I'd be happy if you could watch episode 11 while giggling.

Q: Tell us an unexpected side of Chinen-kun!

A: My first impression was that he was such a reliable person, that I couldn't believe he was younger than me, but right after filming started, I began to think that he "might just be an airhead." Recently, after the Director told him, "Next, we're going to shoot a close up of Shouma," for some reason he replied with, "Thank you very much" (laughs). I keep a close eye on him while thinking how adorable he is.

Off Shot: Nails that look like corn! I'm sure "Shouma" will say they look tasty. I also change my nails every time to match my outfits! _

BakuDAYS Vol.18 (Miyazawa Yu)

-I'm acting while being conscious of Sakito's growth-

Recently, the scene in episode 32 where Genba and Sakito clashed was particularly memorable for me, especially the sumo wrestling scene. From episode 35, in which Bundorio's past is revealed, as Byundi's partner, he had alot of feelings about it. I think it's only because Sakito's shared many experiences with Byundi up until now that he's able to understand both the joy of reuniting with Bundorio and the shock of learning about Bundorio's past. Although he understands Byundi's feelings better than anyone else, Sakito's very clumsy, so I was conscious of portraying the clumsy way he approaches Byundi, as well as the kindness he shows to him.

Sakito's been living in space since he was 10 years old, so there probably wasn't an environment for him to attend elementary or middle school to learn anything. Because of this past, my interpretation is that Sakito's a character that has trouble keeping his distance from others, is strangely calm in situations where others would normally be in a panic, and that he has an incredibly childish side to him. The experience he's gained as a Cleaner is an important part of Sakito, but there's also alot he's learned since encountering the Boonboomgers. He's always lived in space, so naturally, I'm sure he was confused and anxious about the sudden increase of friends. However, as a member of Boonboomger, Sakito has definitely grown. I'm conscious of acting in a way that brings out such perfect characterization.

Things will continue to rage on from here on out! Spindo, the final boss, has appeared, but I wonder what'll happen to the Boonboomgers from here. And then, how will the ISA play into the story? It'd make me happy if you'd look forward to the conclusion!

Q: Something you want cleaned up by the "Cleaner"

A: I've been filming Boonboomger for over half a year now, so I want to get my clothes in order. I'd like to get rid of things that need to be thrown away, so I'd like to have this cleaned up by the end of the year. I don't wanna have to drag this into the coming year! (laughs).

BakuageSHOT: A photo that was taken after filming the final scene in episode 37. Filming has entered the climax, and developments are going to continue to rage on from here on out, but as the Boonboomgers, we'll continue to overcome these "raging waves" until the very end! I don't want it to be over, but the six of us are going to push forward until the very end!

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drama-glob · 1 year ago

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SPOILERS FOR HELLUVA BOSS SEASON 2 EPISODE 7!!!!

Let me start off by saying F*CK YOU MAMMON!!!! >:( >:( >:(

Okay now, I LOVED THIS EPISODE because as much at it broke my heart with how much of a gut punch it was that Fizz has been putting up with Mammon for years, the fact that he got his freedom at the end with the constant support of Blitz and Ozzie, who genuinely care about him melted my heart as well. ^_^

I knew going in I was going to hate Mammon (because with how he runs his ring, I couldn't see how he could have any redeeming qualities), but he seriously was a bigger abusive d*ck and was way more blatant about than I expected. >:( Poor Fizz right off the bat with his unhealthy work ethic that he's not good enough and that his value is tied into his work, something that many of us (me included) have been guilty of. I blame Cash for being the most likely factor in why Fizz thinks that way, along with his idol worship of Mammon playing into it. >:( Also, that creep getting in Fizz's head was so messed up because we come to see how genuinely nice Fizz is and he sadly let what that guy said get into his head. ;_;

I'm so glad that Ozzie from the start is looking out for Fizz's well being and mental health, which is also really sad because he has no doubt had this conversation many times with Fizz about not needing to please Mammon and that he is good enough, only for Fizz to insist everything's fine when it's not. ;_; I also had a feeling Ozzie wouldn't be a fan of the Robo Fizzes given that he loves Fizz so much and knows what people use them for, so most likely it's part of the whole blackmail deal/Ozzie can't break out of making them so long as Fizz doesn't call it quits. ;_; I'm also happy that Ozzie clearly harbors no ill-will towards Blitz (which we already saw in "Oops," but it's nice that he knows Blitz wouldn't like the state Fizz is in and needs to cut ties with Mammon). :)

Fizz is just so talented with his craft, but the further pressure that he had actual competition from Glitz and Glam just made things so much worse, but of course Mammon don't care. >:( One of the absolute best moments though had to be the sweet little deaf kid signing to Fizz and Fizz signing back as well as sign his picture, so it was sweet and it helped Fizz's mental state temporarily. It was unfortunate that flipping creep came back and messed with Fizz once again, only adding to Fizz's panic attack that goes into overdrive once he sees Glitz and Glam perform. ;_;

My sadness only built as Fizz spiraled and tried to make himself "fine," but my man Ozzie being there as soon as he hears (from Blitz no doubt) that Fizz is not okay and him not leaving until he can get to the bottom of way Fizz is so adamant about doing this while trying to comfort him was wonderful. I legit cried, as I'm sure many of you did, when poor Fizz admits that he feels like practically nothing next to Ozzie and that without his job and the fame, he'd eventually leave Fizz despite how many years they've known each other and how much Ozzie does to remind Fizz that he loves him for who he is. ;_; ;_; ;_; It's sad too that Fizz has put up with the year of abuse because he felt he owed Mammon for leading him Ozzie, even though that's certainly not true. It really brought it in home just how much trauma Fizz has suffered and affected his mental state. I can only imagine how bad it'd be if he really didn't have Ozzie in his life. O_O The sweet, honest words from Ozzie afterward just reinforced my belief that Ozzie is the best boyfriend and their song "Crooked" was so saturated with lovey-dovey sentiment, I went awwww so many times and shows how lucky they are to have each other. ^_^<3<3<3

Fizz's "2-Minutes Notice" was absolutely incredible, (especially considering this was improv ;) ) and the fact Mammon didn't realize it was about him until the end was hilarious! XD But Fizz certainly proved how amazing he is and I'm sure Ozzie was more than happy to provide the magical backup to really stick it to Mammon. ;) ^_^ <3 It was really cool getting to see full demon Mammon and Ozzie, but it was especially amazing that Ozzie announced he loved Fizz to everyone so that he could no longer be blackmailed by Mammon and so Fizz could be free of that asshole; plus, he already seemed tired of hiding it. ^_^<3<3<3 Although Mammon will definitely come back for revenge on this sweet couple, Fizz and Ozzie get to at least have their peace for now and will face the future of their relationship being outed to all of Hell together. Also, those giant nuzzles from Ozzie are everything to me! ^_^<3<3<3<3<3

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liminalmemories21 · 1 month ago

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2024 Fic Round Up

tagged by .... many people. Thank you!

73K of Lonestar 197K of 911 with @cecilyv

Prolific year.

January

To be at home in fragments (911: Lonestar, TK/Carlos) tumblr ficlets

April

The Knave of Clubs .... swears he'll take her part (911: Lonestar, TK, Carlos, Art Thief!AU, aka Knave IV)

There’s a way that panic can make you feel nauseous, and he has to swallow hard before he can get the words out. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Trudie gives him an approving smile, like a teacher with a student who’s given the right answer. “You’re going to help me steal a statue.”

(I'm in love) but i do not speak the language (911, Buck/Tommy, aka @cecilyv and I start down a rabbit hole from which we have not yet emerged)

What he does tell Maddie (and Chim) is that he’s never going to push Evan; that whatever this turns out to be, it’s between the two of them.

She laughs in his face and Chim chuckles, and Tommy wonders what he really got himself into.

May

Awful quiet here since love fell asleep (911, Buck/Tommy)

A Buck/Tommy break up/make up fic that back in May @cecilyv thought no one was asking for. And then the show said, hold my beer. Our take was better.

Things don’t always work out, the first time around.

Baggage that goes with mine (911, Buck/Tommy, What Binds the Fabric Together I)

Our take on a Tommy Begins episode.

June

I'll cover you (911, Buck/Tommy, What Binds the Fabric Together II)

Gerrard comes back. The 118 tries to adjust and Buck and Tommy accidently acquire a dog.

Leave the past behind (911, Buck/Tommy, What Binds the Fabric Together III)

A funeral and too many text messages. Tommy’s dad dies and everyone...adjusts.

July

Your love is better than ice cream (911, Buck/Tommy)

An alternative meet-cute, where-in Tommy doesn’t know the 118 and decides Buck is worth it anyway. Buck is confused but figures some things out.

I hear there are great restaurants out west (911, Buck/Tommy, What Binds the Fabric Together IV)

Tommy and Buck and an open road. AKA Roadtrip fic.

August

Atlas (bound) (911, Buck/Tommy)

A behind the scenes look at how you speedrun a relationship, and what happens when the pieces of yourself that you try to hide, embarrassed and afraid, come to the surface.

Tags: The Buckley siblings have bad parents

What's with today, today? (911, Buck/Tommy)

The 118 is a library and Buck is the children’s librarian; Tommy’s the man behind on Stuffie Day at the local fire station. No stuffed animals were harmed in the writing of this fic.

September

Inside, You've Got Heaven and Earth (911, Buck/Tommy)

Tommy and Buck’s world changes in an instant. How do they recover and find their way back home?

We all want to break Tommy (at least a little), right? There is a car accident discussed herein. We’d started this months ago, but came back to it after @alchemistc asked, “What kind of patient is Tommy Kinard?” and we realized we still had a lot to say. Recovery is a personal experience and this is not intended to be medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. So much hand-waving.

Tumblr mini-fics (911, Buck/Tommy)

what it says on the package

October

Star Baker (911, Buck/Tommy)

Tommy’s down bad for every version of Buck.

Absolutely no baked goods are made in the course of this fic.

Just a bit outside (911, Buck/Tommy)

Who wants to see Tommy in baseball pants?

@cecilyv wrote anything about actual baseball, I contributed bad baseball sex puns. This is the usual division of labor.

Napoleon's Battle Plan (911, Buck/Tommy)

First you show up, then you see what happens. Tommy reevaluates his priorities, one interaction at a time. AKA 5+1 Tommy and the 118 kids(fic).

November

In a Yellow Wood (911, Buck/Tommy)

It’s been three years since the break-up when Tommy saves a family and it upends his life. AKA actual kid!fic

Every song has a you (911, Buck/Tommy)

Buck and Tommy talk but do they listen? A fix-it fic that goes AU after 8.06.

Everyone gets to be angry for a while, and then talk it out.

December

A comet's misfortune (911, Buck/Tommy)

One day, Buck and Maddie’s past shows up at her door. Buck should have realized that if they’d been able to hide a kid, they could jettison an entire family, too.

Note: This took us so long to write, and had about three different versions that existed before we got to this one.

The chain I forged (911, Buck/Tommy)

Tommy gets visited by the Ghost of Christmas (or possibly hallucinates as a result of whatever was in those shots Lucy handed him last night). Either way, he’s too old for this shit.

tagging anyone who wants to play.

#tarlos #911 lonestar #911 #buck/tommy #2024 writing round up

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daechwitatamic · 9 months ago

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Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless.

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea.

is it bad??

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words.

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right.

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes.

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor.

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill.

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness.

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes.

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game.

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly.

“Not you, too,” you groused.

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased.

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in.

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there.

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches.

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas.

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence.

Still nothing.

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night.

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good.

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems.

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot.

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after??

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink.

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try?

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment.

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly.

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought.

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best.

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn��t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill.

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering.

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification.

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again.

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips.

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for?

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

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