#it feels. weirdly out of character and it feels like its ignoring the themes of the game. u know?
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Can you go a bit more in depth about your post about Sokka in the Burning Rock episode? You said that it was basically his suicide mission, which I agree with. I'd really like to hear more of your thoughts on it.
okay yeah i mean i'm sure i've covered all these points before extensively because i love weaving a tapestry of sokka's fucked up psychological landscape more than anything in the world, but every so often someone will comment on one of my posts and be like "i think you're reaching i think sokka is the paragon of mental health actually" and i'm just like um. did we not all watch the boiling rock. did we just ignore the apotheosis of sokka's entire character arc. like katara's apotheosis in "the southern raiders" is both very overt and impactful and also, arguably, subtler than sokka's, because they don't explicitly spell out the themes every five seconds, but like. if you didn't watch the boiling rock then you cannot understand sokka. and weirdly enough i also believe that zuka shippers are the biggest culprit of this despite this episode being thee zucchini episode because they somehow still have the audacity to characterize sokka as "goofy sunshine who exists to comfort zuko" when like. the entire point is that sokka is legitimately suicidal here and zuko is doing everything in his power to support him thru what is quite literally a mental breakdown. like their relationship is legitimately interesting i don't understand how people have taken that and made it deeply boring.....but i digress.
the boiling rock is quite obviously sokka at his lowest. the worst thing that could ever happen to him – fumbling a mission that was squarely his responsibility, from its conception to its execution, due to not being able to sufficiently compartmentalize his emotions, leading to the mass imprisonment of most of his comrades, including the men of his tribe whom he idolized his entire life and felt immense pressure to live up to, including his father who he is deathly afraid of disappointing (for reasons that have nothing to hakoda being malicious or neglectful in any way, fwiw), and thus being directly implicated in the failure and the harm caused by said failure – happened. sokka is someone who is especially bad at dealing with failure, because a) he is exceptionally talented, and thus has less experience dealing with failure in both minor and major ways, and thus lacks the emotional resilience developed through the process of struggle and growth that normal people (such as, incidentally, zuko) go through and b) to sokka, whose primary desire at all times is to protect and provide for others in any way he possibly can, for someone else to sacrifice themselves for him constitutes a fundamental disruption to the order. there is a perverse wrongness to kya or yue or hakoda or suki making sacrifices on their own volition, because it means that sokka has existentially failed to protect them by martyring himself. like, he somehow feels so guilty about suki being imprisoned that when azula reveals this piece of information to him, it literally distracts him from his own mission. and mind you, there's absolutely no way sokka could have known or been responsible for suki's imprisonment. but he still feels guilty nonetheless. and azula knows that, knows exactly how to twist the knife to make him break, because, well, it's honestly pretty obvious.
sokka obviously cannot retroactively save his mother or his first girlfriend, but he can save his father and his current girlfriend. in "the awakening" aang says he has to restore his honor after the guilt and shame of his failure in ba sing se (aang is also an incurable gifted kid perfectionist, btw, as is azula. posts for another time...) and sokka repeats zuko's line again in this episode, after experiencing the guilt and shame of his failure during the eclipse. the driving motivation of zuko's entire character, feeling like he has failed in some ontological way and must therefore redeem himself or die trying, is reinforced through aang and sokka's respective experiences mirroring that drive. aang goes out in a storm and nearly drowns to redeem himself in some vague, nebulous way, because he isn't thinking rationally. and likewise sokka, who usually always has a plan and always thinks things through, feels that caution and foresight is pointless, because he came up with a genuinely brilliant invasion plan and it didn't work, so clearly there's something wrong with him (just as he always suspected) and no amount of planning even matters, because he's a capital F Failure and always will be. and so he vows to save his father, as he promised him he would when they parted on the day of black sun, or die trying, because if he can't even do that then what is he good for; at least he'll die a martyr, which to him, is basically his ideal situation. because to sokka, dying as a martyr is basically the highest form of fulfilling his purpose (being needed, protecting people) and so if he dies a martyr, then maybe his catastrophic failure (that is entirely his fault and rests squarely on his shoulders btw) can be forgiven. so his plan is basically just to sacrifice himself for his father so that he can die "redeemed." very normal, rational, healthy behavior, i would say.
sidenote, i also see people claim that "the boiling rock" makes sokka look stupid because why wouldn't he take any of the insanely talented benders to a prison in a giant volcano surrounded by a boiling lake, and it's like. sokka literally admits that he's not being rational, that he doesn't think he's going to survive this, that this is not a good idea. it would go against sokka's entire modus operandi if he brought the children who he feels a deep, presiding responsibility to protect on a suicide mission that he's lowkey hoping will fail (because he not so secretly loves courting death. it's like she's the moon or something). he only lets zuko come with him because he doesn't actually care whether zuko lives or dies at this point. sokka has absolutely no faith in zuko whatsoever (and frankly, why would he, zuko has yet to actually prove himself to him. he didn't even kill combustion man; sokka did) so he has no idea that zuko is actually going to be helpful and supportive in a meaningful way. and frankly, if he had known that at the beginning, or even remotely liked zuko as a person, he probably wouldn't have caved so easily when zuko invited himself to join. if he didn't think that zuko was objectively worse than him and basically worthless as a human being, i doubt he would have let himself be so vulnerable with zuko in the first place. meanwhile zuko is eating it up bc he's like "omg he's confiding in me he's letting me help him we're basically besties" because he doesn't actually know sokka well enough to realize that sokka doesn't actually do that shit with people he remotely respects. shit like "my first girlfriend turned into the moon" and "i had a feeling this was going to be a one way trip" are simply not things that sokka would say out loud 98% of the time. the fact that he is admitting something real is not a testament to the trust he places in zuko, but rather the opposite. sokka spilling his guts (you know, for him) to his resident collateral damage, sokka bringing his lovingly crafted space sword on this mission, sokka not even confirming whether or not his father is actually there beforehand – he's simply stopped giving a fuck, he doesn't care whether or not he lives to see another day, because to him, he has nothing left to lose.
but of course, that also isn't true at all. i mean, for one thing, zuko still needs to teach aang firebending, so he does serve a pretty important function to the group, and zuko simply telling him to do hot squats in his absence does not qualify as significant tutelage. but also, even more importantly, sokka is integral to the fabric of the group. when he's gone for a day in "sokka's master" they literally all just shut down and start complaining about how much they miss him (we don't actually see any b-roll of the gaang hanging around the western air temple because the episode is simply too busy for that, so who can say whether the same thing occurs twice). sokka cannot afford to simply die just because his first plan failed, he still has a major responsibility to his friends. fucking idiot. i've said before that sokka has the emotional resilience of like. a pathetic wet newborn kitten caught in the rain. but like, come on man. i mean, as someone who has also suffered from debilitating perfectionist issues and never had to be responsible for a failed military invasion that cost my people their freedom, i do get it, but still. not his best moment. although there is something genuinely admirable about the fact that after he finds suki, he decides that saving suki is enough, and genuinely does want to succeed in his mission going forward. like his love for suki is one of the only things that consistently makes him happy and makes him forget that his greatest dream in life is to be murdered, and that's so beautiful to me.
the entire point of this episode, by the way, is that sokka is wrong. if that isn't obvious. sokka's entire worldview, that he only has value insofar as he exists to provide for others, and if he fails to protect people in any capacity, he has fundamentally failed to uphold the one reason he even exists on this earth, and thus he does not deserve to exist unless he is bearing the weight of everyone's suffering or otherwise proving his worth through sacrificing himself for others, is um. fucking stupid???? and incorrect. and stupid. the thing is, unlike zuko, sokka can't really point to any one person who taught him to see himself this way. he can't just face his father and tell him that his abuse was cruel and wrong, because hakoda is a good father who has never not supported and believed in and encouraged him, done everything in his power to protect him, loved him unconditionally. hakoda has inadvertently damaged sokka's psyche in various ways, of course, but never with any intention to hurt him. like, ozai tried to kill zuko, on multiple occasions. it's a pretty obvious indicator of the primary source of harm in his life. but sokka is equally if not more Unwell, and there's no one single figure he can blame, because his complex lies within a tangled web of what my best friend fanon calls the "massive psychoexistential complex" of the colonized subject. he is being dehumanized not through interpersonal abuse, but through the violent logic of imperialism. sokka's formative traumas inform his psychology as he understands that he only has value insofar as he is protecting the people he loves (namely his sister) from being murdered by imperialists, much like his mother did. and that logic is continually reified through the violence he is being subjected to, until he truly absorbs the belief that his life has no value on its own, that he is genuinely Less than [human] in some fundamental way. which is obviously deeply tragic, but also lowkey kind of comical because he also happens to be the specialest boy in the world, who literally did come up with multiple working escape plans at the world's most secure supermax on the fly, mind you! but whenever anyone tries to point that out, including piandao literally saying "you're the most exceptional and worthy person i've ever met in my life" sokka is just like "um. that is incorrect actually." like NO ONE should depersonalize themselves and feel that their only value lies in their ability to serve and sacrifice themselves for others, but it's especially ironic that sokka literally does not think he has any value as a human being, and yet he is also objectively exceptional. like, do you understand why i adore this character so much. do you.
anyway. the point of this episode isn't that sokka has worth because he's exceptional, either. that's lowkey the point of "sokka's master," but also a) sokka doesn't really internalize it and b) the more important part of the episode lies in how much the gaang just misses his company because they miss their neurotic control freak big brother who makes bad jokes. but even if he couldn't come up with multiple working escape plans on the fly, suki and zuko still stay by his side anyway because they care about him. they are demonstrating that they would risk their safety and possibly even their lives, in the exact way that sokka is always trying to for everyone else, for him. that sokka doesn't need to be the one who always protects everyone else, and that he isn't a failure for letting people who care about him help him and protect him. and sokka has to accept their help, because suki and zuko are simply too stubborn not to force him into letting them support him. they are standing in a literal maximum security prison in the middle of a volcano and they are still choosing to prioritize sokka's mental health and wellbeing, which is honestly crazy, but also exactly what he needs in this moment. suki has known sokka for what, 3 days maximum? yes they're soulmates but like, girl get up. and in zuko's case, "girl get up" is magnified tenfold, because he literally risked his life to go with him to the boiling rock (also largely motivated by the guilt of not being able to stage his own prison break with iroh, but still!) and let himself get imprisoned despite being the fire nation's most wanted criminal, stayed by sokka's side no matter what including getting thrown into a literal torture chamber for him, jumped across a gaping boiling chasm with no guarantee that he'd survive except for the implicit expectation that sokka would catch him on the other side. like zuko is so fucking pussywhipped and sokka didn't even value him as a human being until like halfway through their entire mission. insane.
in conclusion: "the boiling rock" is a beautiful story of the most mentally ill boy on the planet (he took first place ever since jet died rip jet forever in our hearts), and his two ride or die bitches who he met like yesterday, and also his dad, and a casual homophobe named chit sang, all working together to demonstrate to him why killing yourself is a bad idea in most cases, probably. it's also the story of the most insane dyke drama of all time, but that's for another post (of which i have of course made multiple, most recently, here). i said it's the apotheosis of sokka's arc, and by that i mean it's the most overt acknowledgement of what his fundamental issue is, and the first steps one must take in actually resolving it (namely, accepting help and support from your peers and loved ones). do i think that sokka is magically cured after returning from the boiling rock? no, probably not (in fact, because i'm somewhat sick & twisted myself, i like to imagine that once the war ends, he actually gets worse). but he does seem genuinely happier after they return. and maybe that's just bc kyoshi warrior pussy hits different, but like. he was able to rely on others for help (including mai my best friend mai) who supported him unconditionally and prevented him from simply giving up, and that's so incredibly important. that kind of support is always important, to everyone, of course, but as we've established, it's especially important to sokka specifically, at his lowest (quite possibly ever), in this situation. no one has an obligation to risk their life for someone else, but sokka is something who thinks that his purpose is to risk his life for other people (namely katara), and so for people who really have nothing to gain and everything to lose in standing by and promising not to leave without him, to actually show that they support him unconditionally is huge. if sokka has no fans then i am dead and so is suki zuko hakoda toph aang piandao iroh the mechanist etc etc etc. perfect episode <3
#suicide /#writergracethepanda#asks#analysis#sokka#sokkaxsuki#cinematic masterpiece the boiling rock part 2#(technically i use that tag to talk about maizulee but swagever)#this post is basically just stream of consciousness unstructured rambling so i hope you find it valuable in some way...#at this point i've given up on trying to do Readings of and make Arguments about sokka#and i'm just rambling. i posted a whole fucking. ACTUAL essay about him yesterday and no one read it#but this is not that. this is. who even knows. it's certainly not an ''essay''#my thesis statement: i love sokka so much#my body paragraphs: hes a weak willed mentally ill fucking IDIOT#just trust me ok. trust the process
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i do not understand the name switching thing... where did that come from?
#.text#yes. this IS about asch and luke.#i know i havent even scratched the bottom of the barrel in terms of whats out there for this game bc. it did come out in like 2006#im almost 20 years behind. but still. ive seen a few people talk & write about the two switching their names n u know. no.#it feels. weirdly out of character and it feels like its ignoring the themes of the game. u know?#luke is luke. he is not Luke but he is luke. that is His name. and asch is asch. he was Luke but he isnt Luke anymore.#i dont think names mean much to luke. he knows who he is and who he wants to be. it wouldnt matter to him what name he goes by#because he would still be himself. he knows that. but i think it Would matter to asch. everything is in a name to him. and his name#is asch because he isnt luke anymore. luke is the little boy who was kidnapped and replaced at the age of 10. he was the little boy#who was to weak to stop van from manipulating him and he was the little boy who could do nothing to tell his mom that he hadnt#come home yet. he is asch and asch is Stronger. more defined and more himself. even if he doesnt really know who He is yet#theyre different like that. mirrors. just like so much else.#if its about asch calling himself 'luke fon fabre' before his final fight... its still wrong sorry. i dont think he'd have any desire to be#luke again because he isnt luke and now to him luke is this annoying replica who keeps trying his damn best to make sure asch lives#and keeps dragging him home even though asch doesnt understand any of it. at this point to asch luke is this stupid#7 year old boy who is weak and too fucking pathetic to be HIS replica.#and i think luke would think taking asch's name is. invasive. its not Right. because thats asch's name. he isnt stupif enough not to be#aware that the name 'asch' is symbolic. the charred remains of the sacred flame. taking that name would be like. forsaking#everything asch had gone through. does this make sense.#i think about them too much. i have essays written for hypothetical situations nobody will ask me about.#when in all honesty this phenomenon is few and far between on this site and ao3 and is more likely more prevelant on ff net#which i do not frequent. yet.#tho. i do think. if luke ever offered or asked asch if he wanted to go by luke again. asch would appreciate the gesture a lot.#like u know. he is standoff-ish and mean and especially to luke. but it would be like. positive relationship points in luke's favor.#wow im so right. i should put that in my time travel fic.#tales of the abyss
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I had a long argument with someone on whether or not stomping Belos before he dies was better than letting him die pathetically, and I asked myself if that is what fans really believe in... or if they would hail any Belos' death as the perfect one if Dana choose a different one?
They also justify the stomping as being part of horror-comedy genre and that Belos should not have any dignity what so ever because apparently letting him die in despair with no stomping is running the risk of making the audience feel "sorry" for him.
Honestly, these justifications make The Owl House feel more shallow. Like, why shouldn't the audience be allowed to feel sorry for Belos? What is the danger? That people would agree with Belos' views?
Or are we supposed to develop a black and white view of the world akin to a conservative view but inverted? And then hide behind the horror comedy genre to justify less drama? I hate to say it, but Nostalgia Critic is right about Belos being this strange outlier. The show seems to be afraid of actually doing a complex, tragic and yet irredeemable villain.
It doesn't make any sense to argue that Belos' death fits because of toh's genre as a horror comedy because the scene was neither played for horror nor laughs. At best, you have the image of Philip slowly being dissolved by the rain and then Raine's smug "that was satisfying" line. The overall tone of the scene is one of contempt as Philip tries one last plea to Luz only to be snuffed out (and weirdly validated) by the heroes. Its intent is to be cathartic for both audience (though as you know doubt know, YMMV) and the characters.
Frankly, despite its marketing, I don't see toh as either a horror or a comedy because it spends more time on slice of life stuff and high school teen drama and romance. And even when it does go for the horror and comedy, both are rather tepid. You want a real example of a horror-comedy for kids, then go watch Courage the Cowardly Dog or Invader Zim.
The reason why I argue the heroes validated Belos is because in the moment of his death, he clings to the idea that as humans, "we're better than this!" It's a moment of pathetic delusion that is appropriately met with silence but then it's ruined with Eda and Co. barging in with "Well, we ain't!" only to then prove his point by mercilessly stomping an already dying man to death. There's a reason why kid shows usually end with either the villain being imprisoned or not outright being murdered by the heroes. Evil has to die by its own hubris, not get killed by the heroes after the Big Battle when they're no longer a threat. I made a post about the importance of defeating a major antagonist twice.
Belos' death also doesn't work with a "Kill your oppressors" theme because the show isn't about that. The show barely spends any time showing why the EC is bad for the Boiling Isles and Eda is the only named wild witch we see getting harassed by them and even then, it's mostly played for laughs given how inept the coven scouts are (seriously, they're able to quit without fear of repercussions).
I think a reason fans are split on Belos' death is because of differing expectations; the fans who paid attention to Belos and the implication of his backstory and waited for every lie to come crashing down on him since that's what the show seemed to be building up to only to be unceremoniously ignored in the end were no doubt disappointed. Then you have the other fans who hated the character to the point that any gruesome death will do, regardless whether it made narrative or thematic sense or not.
Ultimately, I think the biggest reason his death doesn't work is because Belos fails as a villain.
Belos' status as a colonial puritan only works on a meta-level; it serves a cathartic release for marginialized people to see a representative of real world oppression beaten by queer characters as it fulfills the fantasy of finally overthrowing an oppressive system. The fatal flaw though is that none of this works on a narrative level because the coven system is either treated as a joke or simply a career path one must choose and we never see the disenfranchisement of wild witches. People largely get off scot-free opposing Belos, which undermines his credibility as both a dictator and a villain because no one cares about him until the plot needs them to. Luz doesn't even care about proving he's evil until Hollow Mind, which is halfway through season 2.
Belos as a villain only works if you project your own feelings and desires in wanting to see the Evil Christian/Evil Parent destroyed. While this is extremely satisfying emotionally, it does not make a sound story.
All the reasons why people like his death ("it's great the evil colonizer died so pathetically!" "omg, the white christian colonizer was killed by two queer people and their adopted son!" etc) are all meta reasons. And to be clear, it's totally fine if you thought his death was satisfying. But for many people, it did not work for a variety of reasons, including narrative ones. And that differing opinion should be respected instead of arguing some nonsense like "we have to make our villain as stupid/evil as possible or run the risk of people liking/sympathizing with him."
Belos should have died in a manner that connected back to his original sin: the murder of his brother. All of his lies and delusions and fear of being wrong should have played a part in the finale. He should have not died thinking he was right. He should have died realizing that all he did was for nothing. And that he is to blame. And that there is no one waiting for him back home.
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Hello! I hope you are doing well. I have been following your concepts on [cursed bird app] for a while now and find your stance on the totk rewrite intruiging. Since twitter ofc is never a good place to elaborate on anything lmao, I figured I would ask on here after finding out about your tumblr.
You are welcome to take as much time as you need for this, but I was very curious to hear more about why you feel totk 'fails as a sequel' in terms of writing. I can agree that the whole zonai thing did come out of left field a little, and I never did like the whole "zelda is once again separated from you for 90% of the game," bit (bc c'mon Nintendo again? Really??) but I was curious about what else you found dissatisfaction in and sought to redo
If your plan though is to do so gradually as you go with the new rewrite concepts you piece together and post, that is fine too. I just get more curious about your opinion bc you always seem to have a *lot* you want to say outside of just tag ramblings xD
Thank you for your time, ik this is a rather long ask, but your view is very vast and different, and I wish to understand the development of it more as I find it on my timeline
Thank you for this ask!
i have talked alot about the things i dislike about totk, all my general talking (not just about totk tho) is tagged with "ganondoodles talks" and all my longer rants should be tagged with "ganondoodles rants" (tho that tag is new idk if i remembered to put it everywhere) so i think it might be easier if you searched for these on my blog bc thats were all my ramblings go and, with no ill intent, have talked about it so much already i kinda dont want to spend hours writing out something that just ends up repeating myself really
somethign i can say that the main thing on why it fails as a sequel to me is .. bc its not .. a sequel really, it reuses map and models but doesnt elaborate on anything from botw (the zonau were barely even a thing in botw and now in totk their stuff looks way different and they have been here all along actually(tm) ) the shiekah stuff is basically erased despite it having been so build into the world of botw (and you could have just .. explored them more bc theres lots of cool stuff to do with them still), characters act weirdly off, stuff that was seemingly build up and was a perfect slide into a sequel either gets ignored or just straight up erased, themes dont match up at all and more
it just feels like they tested the glue mechanic for 3 years and everything else was an afterthought, i felt empty at the end, in a bad way, it felt like the game was actively mocking me for caring so much about botw at times and totk actively hurts botw too imo (with some reveals etc)
they should have just called it an alternative dimension thing like majora and half my complaints could be dismissed, but its not so im super frustrated bc i love botw a ton
if there are more specific questions you are free to ask about it again of course!
this is not meant to sound dismissive but me typing out stuff can take a long time and im behind on so much work already qnq
also all development both visual and writing concepts for my rewrite are tagged with "ganondoodles rewrites totk" so you can find everything with that too :D
#ganondoodles answers#ganondoodles talks#i am ... very frustrated about alot of stuff both nitpicky and huge problems#so i could spent hours talking about just one thing if it bothers me enough#but do note that all of this is coming from a place of love#i love this franchise#and i was so let down despite my low expecations out of fear of being let down#and yet here i am#and do note that when im passioantely talking about sth i both misstype and sound agressive at times#but im as dangerous as a limp salad leaf lol
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A Very, Very Unfinished Pile of Theory of Everything Headcanons (Ayreon)
Last semester, my English final was a presentation relating the overall theme of the Forever saga to that of the more popular works of H.G. Wells. Details of that argument aside, the thesis was that Ayreon’s emotional core was the presence of small-scale acts of love juxtaposed against large-scale existential tragedy, balanced in their individual power. That we are messy and self-destructive, and in the grand scheme of things we mean very little in the universe, but we are resilient and alive and human and that has to be worth something.
I really like this aspect of the main story, and it got me a perfect score on that assignment. It had a ten minute time limit and I was fighting for my life to stay under it. While I was downsizing the script, I couldn’t help but think of an earlier idea I had drafted about how The Theory of Everything on its own was a really incredible example of the mad scientist archetype turned completely on its head (it was a science-fiction analysis class). Specifically how that script was almost three times longer than the original H.G. Wells one, that took me a solid twenty minutes to read aloud.
I literally wrote an hour long lecture about The Theory of Everything. No headcanons. No extra theories. Literally just picking apart its canon plot.
I think this is why I have so little extra writing for it. The story as its given is airtight and just…fucking incredible. Arjen wrote it with a very clear theme in mind like he did with Transitus, but TToE isn’t missing half of its story because he couldn’t pull in the cash to make a movie out of it. You can feel the intention behind every single character, they feel like real people, it has so many layers to it and it is literally, objectively, the greatest prog album ever made. Fight me.
But anyways: For lack of better phrasing, there isn’t much to “fix” in that sense. Almost all the headcanons I have for The Source or Transitus boil down to a few things:
I was being self-indulgent with a favorite character and it snowballed into a genuinely informative trait/subplot that informs the main story (a certain hc I have where Henry just fucking shoots Daniel in the back by mistake sometime between Two Worlds and Talk of the Town, turning into this weirdly effective commentary of how Daniel is conditioned to his brother’s shitty behavior and Abby hauling ass to get him out of that headspace)
I am curious about aspects of an album’s worldbuilding and get a little excited while filling in the blanks that were perfectly fine being left alone (doing mental gymnastics trying to build a version of The Source where these five academics, three politicians, two religious figures, one robot and one random spaceman viably know each other)
The rarer option that I am genuinely disappointed by how a part of the story was handled and completely ignore this small part of canon to make the overall story be more effective. Or attempt it, at least (Lavinia’s entire character undermining Transitus’ themes and her contradicting her own motivations, and me, in turn, just writing her character from scratch while keeping with the basic story beats [her seeing ghosts, doing shady shit with Henry, etc.])
But with TToE I’ve felt very little need to do any of these. If I were to really dive into it with intention I think I would start building off of the whole bank robbery plot in Phase III (just a slightly weirdly framed plot point for me), but I haven’t thought about it. It’s not that glaring of an issue and there’s few other places in the story where I think adding anything would make it more effective.
This isn’t to say that Transitus and The Source are objectively worse in any sense, but they leave a lot more up to interpretation, allowing me to write so many add ons that they become structured and essential to each other’s function.
It’s fun with those two albums. With TToE I really have to look for cracks to fill and it’s kind of useless.
Not entirely, though. I’ve got a few hcs, and maybe they’ll warrant dozens of google doc pages of context one day like the other two albums:
Two central things sparked curiosity. Setting, and how the parent characters came to hate each other that much. Naturally.
This started four-ish years ago when I was pacing around my parents’ house with TToE on the mind (as it often is), and my brother put on this show called His Dark Materials. I watched the intro to it all of one time and just…knew this was the aesthetic TToE should have.🔗 At least combined with dark academia. It’s an album about physics and ghosts, that seems reasonable enough.
…funnily enough, as I later found out, His Dark Materials itself has a very dark-academia-esque vibe, and the plot is entirely based upon the intersectionality between science and mysticism and trivial human attempts to make sense of it.
So. Pretty fitting.
This really stuck with me, and a handful of the characteristics of the show and books became the basis for the way I picture The Theory of Everything. Mainly the visual aesthetic, like I said, but also the fact that the story starts at a parallel version of Oxford University. I don’t have some giant case study for this like with Transitus/New England. I just think it’d be a cool and vibey setting. Maybe it’s the American in me but there’s something about a thousand-year-old college with a campus made of literal goddamn castles that borders on the fantastic.
From there, you have a decent excuse for The Prodigy to run off to Ireland, where you can choose from one of like 200 different pretty little isolated lighthouses for him to lose his mind in, far enough away for him not to be found as long as he did. Not to mention it lowkey matches with the overt Celtic influence of the music. Or Scotland, if you want some weather symbolism from the North Sea.
Solid setting, if I say so myself, and it actually influenced the family’s whole situation. Here, The Father (Mike) is a physics professor at Oxford, and The Mother (Cristina) is the director of the Bodleian Library. It’s how and where they meet in 1991 (though the mother is in an attendant position at the time), as shown by the only part of this I have drawn out:
They hit it off, and marry in 1993. Their first and only child is born two years later and they love him half to death. Everything is more or less nice and normal.
In 1996, Mike stumbles into “proof,” more or less, of the theory of everything being a singular, solvable equation through his work, practically by accident, and begins focused work on it with enthusiastic support from his wife. Life is going great, Cristina is promoted and the two are balancing things well enough.
The boy shows little to no social development into his toddler years, but his parents don’t think much of it. His father was similar at his age; they’re not worried. They even go as far to say he’ll turn out just as ambitious and smart as his dad and relatives, coworkers and family friends go along with it, setting insanely high expectations for this literal three year old. Mike keeps working on his theory.
The boy enters preschool at age four; still no improvement. Just isolates himself and draws indiscernible patterns on everything you put in front of him. His parents finally try to intervene to some degree, hiring private instructors and talking with some other psych/child development people they know through the university, to no avail. Nothing changes. He just stares off into space, doesn’t interact with any of them and supposedly doesn’t pay attention to lessons. He still isn’t speaking. Cristina is finally concerned
Around the same time, Mike makes a significant breakthrough in his work, gaining worldwide attention. He receives massive grants from in and outside of Oxford to continue his work, and quits his teaching job to make more time for the endeavor. Cristina is left as the family’s sole provider. She understands and is in agreement on that decision, that’s not the problem yet. The problem is that Mike is becoming more or less indifferent to their son hits five, not seeing any previously projected greatness he was supposed to have in his father’s footsteps. Cristina, much more conscious of balance in her life and how having kids works, isn’t sure what to make of that. Their relationship starts to strain.
From there, as Mike keeps working, Cristina takes the kid to all sorts of specialists around England but none of them can pinpoint what’s “wrong” with him. She tries much more actively to connect with him like they’re telling her to (though she still enrolls him in the university’s affiliated primary school program, against their suggestions), bringing him everywhere. Buys him little memory games since that’s all that seems to hold his attention. She’s past any belief of him being some secret genius like his dad, not that her opinion of her husband is super positive at this point anyway. She’s just dead-set on her son having some sense of normal in his life.
By 2002, Mike has completely secluded himself and works nearly constantly. He has made no progress on his theory since 1999 and the fame garnered from his breakthrough has faded. The family is running out of money and Cristina is exhausted. The boy is ostracized at school and still (almost) totally nonverbal. Her coworkers keep suggesting these weird holistic remedies that she refuses. She knows better than to fall for all that new age, pyramid scheme bullshit.
The son’s condition, whatever it is, worsens until mom, desperate, puts her foot down in 2008 (or “gives up,” if you wanna put it like that) and drags her husband and son to this private practice in Scotland she was told about by a friend, suspicious but ready to put up with anything at this point.
😐👍
#ayreon#the theory of everything#this is all I got for ttoe yall#Just...so little main plot stuff#I really think I could come up with more stuff but again it's never come up#literally why would you mess with perfection sdkfjshs#anyways what do else do you want me infodumping about#I have some ttoe character design ideas i could sketch but its not very solid yet#but ive got source and transitus stuff for days so#fanfiction#arjen lucassen#mike mills#toehider#cristina scabbia#lacuna coil#tommy karevik#concept album#rock opera#prog metal#folk metal#progressive waves art
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Just kind of a general plot question bcs I feel like I’m blanking here. I know that within the story one of the huge themes are cycles of abuse (specifically among the port mafia characters) like the whole mori-> dazai -> akutagawa-> kyouka(?) situation but for the life of me I can’t remember what exactly the dazai mori catalyst beginning of the cycle event was. Obviously odas death was the big betrayal of trust that broke dazai away from the mafia, and there was that whole killing the former pm leader deal(was that it though??) because Ik fandom has a tendency of portraying mori as this cartoonishly evil abuser when he’s more complex then that (even if I don’t personally like him lol) but I feel like I’m completely forgetting everything about that whole dynamic lol. I hope you have a great day!
honestly i dont think there really exists a catalyst like that. i think the discussion about mori and dazai's relationship tends to get really weird bc it's always treated as a singular abusive situation between the 2 of them, completely taken out of context. as in, "mori's an abusive creep and everyone around him actually hates him for it", with disregard for the context of his interactions with dazai.
they are both mafia members, their relationship cannot be a healthy and supportive one specifically because of that. mori's manipulation and grooming isn't out of place, it's what funtioning in that system requires of him, the same way it's what was later required of dazai with akutagawa. it's less about mori being someone who's personally irredeemable and more that mafia needs to continually raise its new members to continue to exist, the abuse is systematic and will never cease to be treated as a tool as long as the organization is still in place. i'd argue it's the reason why beast mori manages to change and become a much more sympathetic version of himself. his relationship with yosano is similar, the abuse takes place because the military allows it. obviously mori is still very much complicit, but his utalitarian approach can only go so far due to the lack of institutional response
and i think this perception of abuse as something that only exists, and is perpetrated on, on a personal level is also what leads to this weird mischaracterization of mori's relationship with chuuya and kouyou. you see this in fanfics a lot, when they both secretly hate him because he's a pedo and abused dazai, which is absolute bullshit. they don't hate him, they seem to enjoy spending time with him even when they don't need to. they are both extremely loyal and strive to keep as him the pm boss, neither ever raises concerns to how he treats dazai, and elise also never gets commented on. fundamentally, they are no better than him. they are a part of this same organisation and it is in their interest to keep the power structure as it is. kouyou tries to groom and manipulate kyouka, projecting onto her, similarly how mori does with dazai. chuuya talks about wanting q dead (despite the weirdly popular hc that they're close and familiar). and im not saying this because i think anyone should hate them, or that people need to love mori all of a sudden, but because ignoring this flattens all of them as characters. they are meant to be bad people, in huge part because they choose to be (they could all leave the mafia the way dazai did lmao)
mori (i think) gets the most hate also because of his perceived sexual deviancy. you see this a lot, where people will make non stop jokes about characters being murderers/war criminals and how it's actually fun and cool (it is), but the moment the crimes go into a territory of sexual offense (sometimes real and sometimes perceived), those crimes can no longer be excused, and everything else about the character is forgotten. the lolicon gag with mori and elise is. weird yeah and it's perfectly fine to be uncomfortable with it, but as far as we know, there is nothing to indicate mori has ever sexually abused a child, the deal with elise is unclear, even if there are some questionable comments. and again, im not saying this to make him more likable or to make him less of a creep, it's just that i dont think this characterizaton leads anywhere, other than a twisted perception of like. half of the cast
sorry for going off asdgsafhdf ive been meaning to talk about this and you have unfortunately given me space to do so </3
#ask#also this has been sitting in my askbox.. im so sorry im awful at anwsering things#should i put this in the tag................................no i shan't......................................
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Midnight in Everwood
⭐⭐; reading this book is like letting a kid explain their drawing to you - 'this is the cotton candy castle with a prince and princess and their 29 dogs and cats', they say, pointing to a wobbly blue squiggle and a patch of snot. all you can do is smile and nod and let it happen
Oh?? 👌😉😏
the narration, while over the top, fit the atmosphere the book wanted to create (confectionary sugar world). its probably annoying to listen to as the descriptions dont let up but im good at skimming so i could swim my way through the syrup just fine
i liked the beginning, before the author's hand became too glaringly obvious to ignore later in the plot - while marietta was never entertaining as a main character to follow, she felt more 'real' in her home environment, more believable as a character. i liked her relationship with her brother
I'll say this: finishing this book made me want to rewatch Barbie in the Nutcracker, just to feel something. what a classic! unlike this book 😭
No.. ❌🤢🤮
oversaturated with metaphors and flowery language - enough synonyms, hoity-toity French vocabularié and verbiage to rot your teeth out. it's also an 'oh?? 👌😉😏' point because i do think the author did it on purpose to create a certain tone, but it's A LOT.
i get the distinct sense that the author understands on a surface level that her character is a privileged whiny baby, but doesn't have the writing prowess to make her compelling OR put her through her paces of a satisfying character arc.
#girlboss #modernfeminism #womenarejustasstrongasmen played completely straight. a main female character who stays entirely, pretentiously convinced of their own girlbossery the whole time, despite doing NOTHING to earn it, and an author who reshapes the story to meet those expectations. anything for her #slay #girlboss #queen!!!!!
stuff constantly gets introduced just to not add anything to the story - the mouse king equivalent has in his castle a captured FAIRY and WARRIOR PRINCESS as part of his menagerie of women marietta finds herself a part of, and we just leave it at that. the guard captain is revealed as part of a SECRET REBELLION and all that happens is marietta gets weirdly horny about it.
the romance develops at the most annoying moments - they even decide to fuck in the snow (their bare asses!! in the SNOW!!! and not even a hint of pneumonia to show for it 🥶) before marietta returns to her world. i expected her to be hornt up, but the guy?? my brother in butterscotch we have got to get you better standards in women
Summary:
Marietta Stelle wants to dance but she's too damn privileged to be allowed to pursue it as a viable career - she needs to get married to some creepy old man for the sake of her family's ambition, damnit! As her last performance draws near, Marietta is pushed into accepting the marriage proposal of the creepiest man in town, a mysterious toymaker named Dr. Drosselmeier. Of course, she's a #strongfemalecharacter, so she vehemently rejects him - only to fall victim to his (very heavy-handedly hidden) magic, which transports her in a magical world made of sugar, full of hidden dangers.
Concept: 💭💭💭
The Nutcracker isn't my favourite story ever, but I'm a sucker for a good fairytale - and for good music! I think it's a story that lends itself very heavily to a specific kind of whimsical, airy aesthetic - while allowing for darker themes or storytelling aspects to lurk in the shadows. A friend whose taste I trust recommended this book to me, and while I was skeptical that the summary (mostly because the blurb included a list of #tropes, which is a bookish red flag for me) would really deliver on its vague promises, I've done more for less.
Execution: 💥
This book should come with a 'NO DIVING! THIS POOL IS ONLY LESS THAN 1M DEEP' warning - it's so shallow I was encouraging my own reflection to keep going after every chapter. Bafflingly, this issue actually worsens when Marietta gets to the magical isekai world of Everwood - which is the OPPOSITE of what is supposed to happen! You would think a world governed by an evil mouse king (who is not a mouse, just a guy. he has enchanted mice running up and down his coat, ooh scary) and literally made of sweets would be fun, but we only get TOLD the names of its stories and legends and then the book is like 'next chapter! marietta felt more at home because her new friends told her stuff!' Plus, in the latter half of the book you really chafe against the author's lack of skill - like watching a puppet show while clearly being able to see the fingers / hands of the puppeteers, her characters are angry, awestruck, and miserable in the most wooden of ways as the author stomps on the next bullet point in her outline with all the subtlety of an elephant.
Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤
I can't say I enjoyed reading this book, because I really didn't - at one point I had to put the book down after SIX PAGES because marietta was getting on my nerves with her badly timed horniness (which she didn't know was horniness, because that builds ~~tension~~). But I had a LOT of fun recounting this book to my friend (the one who recommended it to me, who then gave up less than 20% in) and my sister. Everything that happened WAS frustrating, but in a way that made me laugh - which is the reason why I kept reading. It was like watching a collision in slow-mo - I had to know where it ended.
Favourite Moment:
this entire book was painful but i had a good laugh when marietta and the captain fuck in the snow - and i do mean fuck. ass fully out behaviour. everwood is supposed to be stuck in a forever winter and they were all 'we'll just lay our coats down, it'll be fine'. like, i am absolutely sure it will NOT be fine, but you do you! it's not like marietta 'damn this feminism shit is easy' stelle is gonna listen to anyone anyway. that would be non-feminist! a ho never gets cold!
Favourite Character:
Dellara, AKA the remains of a Sugar Plum Fairy equivalent stripped of every possible interesting thing and left on the floor to bleed out as a 'mean girl'. Don't get me wrong, Pirlipata was a fascinatingly underused character too, but Dellara actually snapped at Marietta multiple times (didn't amount to anything, but A+ for effort) and we simply have to stan her for that. Also she endures torture for the sake of others and is an otherworldly immortal being who becomes Queen at the end. I would gladly have thrown Marietta into the path of an oncoming bus to follow Dellara's storyline instead.
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The bbeg of the Never After is Homogenization.
~beware my ramble~
The erasure and sanitization of stories that then get commodidified and distributed on mass to be the "right version" of the story that then become almost the "only version" of the story. Erasing centuries of culture and influence, beliefs and experiences, real world problems that these stories portray, and replacing them with the most marketable version.
And in a way, the stories themselves end up cannibalizing their different versions to fit in as the "right version" or just the nature of time combining and losing stories over time.
Like all of the worlds and groups are from folklore. Stories that have been told over and over again, that change to fit the world and the message that needs to be conveyed. Folklore isn't supposed to have a "right version". Much like weaving, the basics of cloth weaving are very similar all over the world but what is made with those techniques, the styles and additional learned cultural practices, can be so very different or so weirdly similar you wouldn't believe they came from different places across the globe from one another.
But in our more modern era where all of our stories feel factory made, we know where they come from, they aren't "folk" in so so many ways. The closest we get to folk media these days are MEMES. They are passed around and shared, often the original poster gets lost or is not common knowledge, have real world effect and meaning, and exist mainly in a specific group culture (internet culture, tumblr culture, etc) To quote my old professor "All folklore are memes, but not all memes are folklore" Think Creepy pasta vs horror movie. Internet legends, "send to 10 friends or blank will happen to you". BLORBO is a folk term. Slang in general I believe is counted as folk based. FANFICTION IN MANY CASES IS CONSIDERED FOLKORE BTW and I find that sooo delightful.
And whats kills memes faster than anything? The commodification of it! When companies go "ooo that'll make us some money" and take it and sell it back to us for profit. Often these days it feels choc full of advertisements and versions of propaganda.
In this era of Disney overlords defining the genre of fairytales to the point that they have set the standard for what is cannon for certain stories they tell. Like the first time I found REAL fairytales I was like 9 and cried myself to sleep because they got so dark, and how were we (me and my mom) to know with how we expected the disneyfied version of the story. Ironically it could be said that the Grimm's Brothers are guilty of the exact same thing in their era, commodifying and centralizing their versions of the stories.
I could also get into the demonization of tropes (lookin at you cinema sins) because tropes are the building blocks of story telling. Common themes and elements that we recognize because they MEAN something to us.
But, and I know what site I'm on, fanfiction is a great example of taking those stories and in some ways turning them into folklore. Its not because we believe we can tell the stories better, in most cases at least, but rather that we take the elements, characters, ideas that we connect to that we love and mean something to us, and make play with it because we have our own stories to tell.
The Homogenization and restricting of what counts and what doesn't ignores the importance of the differences in the stories.
Ylfa's "right" version is a lot like how the animals describe being part of Aesop's fables. There's no nuance. There's no room for change and adaptation. And in a world ever changing, even in bad ways, you have to change to make it work. Even Gerard's "Sometimes you have to be scary in a scary world" touches on this. The barebones basic Little Red Ridinghood is unrealistic in its simplicity. And also kinda blocks out how that whole experience would still be heavily traumatic for anyone (being attacked by a wolf and seeing your granny crawl out of the wolf's destroyed body ain't pretty) , even if it is better than the experience in this life. Meanwhile the more they die, the more versions of their stories get cannibalized and lost to time. Much like how folklore and stories die when culture dies.
Also Stepmom literally consumes story elements into non existence.
Nom Nom
#istg if the Grimm's Brothers don't show up at some point I will send Brennan a strongly worded folklore obsessed letter#thank you very much#dimension 20#d20#d20 spoilers#d20 nva#d20 neverafter#dimension 20 neverafter
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As a Figarohead and met hater I'd love to know your opinion on 'The Ghosts of Versailles'
realized i never got around to this, sorry!! the TLDR is that i think ghosts of versailles has some interesting ideas but i wish it hadn't applied those ideas to the 'third figaro opera' that it wants to be.
to start this at the root, i am Aware of the third figaro play beaumarchais wrote. i have Read the third figaro play. it isn't good. i can't really fault beaumarchais for it, because... well it was written in 1791 in france and it isn't hard to imagine why there might have been a noted downturn in quality during that particular time, but the thing is it lacks any sort of dramatic through-line with the other figaro plays. i GUESS it continues the shitshow that is the almavivas' marriage, but otherwise half the characters are straight up gone and figaro and susanna themselves are afterthoughts. the villain is like, a weirdly one dimensional hatesink. this isn't even getting into the absolutely bizarre and uncomfortable idea of the countess and cherubino becoming a relationship, because.... well, you know, Everything about that. so in short the 'official' third figaro play kind of blows chunks and, for the most part, people ignore it for good reason.
(also, while beaumarchais authorized performances of it he did not authorize its publication- do with that information what you will.)
however, because people like things that come in threes, people still try to make third figaro operas. but instead of taking only very loose elements from the third figaro play and then setting out to write something better- which feels like the logical solution here- people instead try to make the third figaro play work. which i don't really think it can, because you're essentially trying to stage what is a 1am ventpost with characters, but you know.
the ghosts of versailles does have some really interesting ideas. i like the idea of commentating on how we treat opera characters, and i like the 4th wall bending opera-in-an-opera idea because i love metatheatre. and i think this would have worked if this were another opera, or even if this opera didn't try to set itself up as the third figaro opera and instead was an opera that happened to have figaro in it... but it designates itself as the third figaro opera, and this is where this idea sort of backfires. the first two figaro operas are silly and fantastically slapstick, but they are also grounded in realism- we as an audience comprehend them as occurring in a 'real' world. to make the third figaro opera a more surreal metatheatre thing doesn't make sense considering the rules already established.
there's many other problems with it too. the very uncomfortable countess almaviva/cherubino thing still persists, and while beaumarchais's third figaro play had the semi-justification of 'is set in the 17th century and was written in the 18th century so ideas about minor consent weren't really there the way they are now', this opera was finished in 1991 and also takes place outside of reality so there isn't really an excuse to keep that in. why is marie antoinette there- she feels lazily tacked on as the figure of 18th century france that we are most likely to recognize, and her being there does not add any dramaturgical value to the work. (and also it becomes really weird given the Themes of the first two works- like, why are we trying to sympathize with the rich people suddenly, helloooo!). i think it leans too much on its predecessors at times instead of trying to do its own thing. the problem of the villain in the play making little dramaturgical sense is not addressed. it doesn't even really do anything interesting with the dynamic between beaumarchais and figaro, given figaro was a loose caricature of beaumarchais himself. but more than anything, the opera does not really justify its own existence, and it doesn't answer why there needs to be a third figaro opera.
why should there be a third figaro opera, actually? it's so, so hard to do. figaro himself is very hard to tackle given how he needs to be distanced from the audience yet already has opened himself up to them in marriage (see my earlier figaro audience proximity analysis). the count, who feels as though he should be the 'last' villain, has already been the villain. the third play beaumarchais wrote is an absolute mess. i think there's directions you could take a new take on it in, but you'd have to spend so much time figuring it out- and then there's the pressure of the other two parts being written by mozart and rossini. and then... well, it would be so final, wouldn't it. figaro is a trickster. tricksters aren't final. imagine trying to write a sendoff for bugs bunny- how do you do it? the trickster always lives on. i'd rather pull something along the lines of what massenet did with the cherubino opera and keep making spin offs- figaro on all sorts of adventures, because figaro by design cannot 'stop'.
(that being said, if you want a third figaro play for whatever reason and you need somebody to write it- hire me!)
but the ghosts of versailles is still the best attempt at a 'third figaro opera', given that the other 'third figaro operas' range from completely forgettable to 'genuinely one of the worst operas i've ever heard of', so i'll give it that.
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"what modern persona game should I play?"
Play both p3 and p5r eventually. P3 had better thematic execution and story, P5R is out right now, both are good games. I've been seeing P5R for half price over the last few months. I suppose it depends on how much you care about hype and trends, I don't and I've played P3 so I don't mind waiting a couple years until Reload is on sale. Between P3 FES and P5 Royal P3 is the better game, P5 has a bad habit of thematically shooting itself in the face constantly it doesn't know what it wants to say, P3 is much more coherent and has one of my favorite stories. Both have good casts, who you will like depends on you. P3 in tone is more somber and mature and that shows in the characters like even the jokey characters have something going on. P5 is more lively comparatively (though really I'd say P4 is the liveliest and youngest feeling). I like the character arcs of the P3 cast more as they are more integrated into the main plot. For p5 overall the writing quality is high and I found the story to be compelling so it has that going for it, but 3rd semester fleshes out Maruki, Akechi, and Yoshizawa so if you hate those 3 you might be annoyed at seeing them on screen.
On a note for P3, don't play Portable. If you are only going to play 1 version of P3, Portable is the worst one to choose. It has valuable content if you are already a p3 fan, but it cuts out the animated cutscenes which are the best directed cutscenes I have ever seen as well as removing the overworld which really takes away form the immersion and intractability of the world (it's replaced with a point and click image), it also makes some other changes that weaken the story and themes of p3. The animation direction of the og and FES cutscenes is a godly high tier art form and worth seeing. As of right now FES is the best version if you are only going to play P3 once. We will see about Reload but so far it looks to be promising for being the best version, for you I'd probably wait for Reload to play P3. (P3P makes sense for a switch port since it was designed for mobile platforms and the PSP but for a pc port i would have chosen FES. While i like the option for friendships on the female route, P3P also makes several changes that weaken the themes of P3.)
P4 is also a good game. I don't think Golden is that much better than vanilla since there's parts added I didn't like but it's not worse. P4 is my least favorite of the recent 3 main games. It hasn't aged well but if you look at it as a period piece for the culture of the mid-late 2000s it can be pretty interesting. P4 like P5 also has a habit of tripping over it's own themes and face planting into the ground.
The side games in general tend to be a step down from the main games (Arena, Strikers, Answer, Dancing etc. not sure about PQ just starting them). The Arena games and Persona Q both have spoilers for P3 so I'd advise playing P3 and P4 first. The stories to the Arena games were ok I guess but I didn't find them particularly compelling. The main concepts are fine but it takes a while to get to the juicy part. Arena is a split storyline visual novel sot hat's part of it. Really the draw to Arena is seeing the P3/4 characters which is a shame because they did some bizarre characterization choices, in general flattening/simplifying down their personalities, or like drastically changing characters personalities. Its enough that a good chunk of us ignore it as canon. The Arena games aren't that great storywise and some of the character writing is weirdly different than in the main games, like it is flat out bad. Strikers is good for a spinoff and is a good extension of p5 but it's not as good as and doesn't have nearly as much content as the main games.
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Viddying the Nasties | The Funhouse (Hooper, 1981)
The Criterion Channel was nice enough to put up a bunch of ‘80s horror movies this October, so I’ve been spending the last few days working my way through the collection. Rather than prioritizing the closing of blind spots as I normally do early in the month (although I did finally get around to The Keep, and...eh, it was fine), I’ve tackled a few movies I’ve been meaning to rewatch. Inferno went up significantly in my esteem, the wisdom I’ve accumulated in the years since my initial viewing having primed me for greater appreciation of its merits. The House by the Cemetery also went up quite a bit, although this was more of a Stockholm Syndrome situation where I’ve just spent enough time with the movie to embrace what it does well and ignore its shortcomings (in the case of Stockholm Syndrome, that you’re being held hostage; in this case, that it’s dumb as hell and makes no sense). I will say that in those cases, I could at least recognize some of the films’ merits even on my first viewing, even if I didn’t gel to them entirely.
The Funhouse is one that I also saw back in the day and didn’t gel to at all. I don’t have an old review to look back on and figure out what my criticisms were, but my vague memory is that I thought it was boring and nothing happened. This was before I pushed myself to write about what I saw and as such hadn’t developed much of a vocabulary to articulate my feelings. I will say that I did have some fond associations with the movie, as I’d watched it back then on Scream, the now defunct horror-themed cable channel that used to give free previews every October during my high school years until they closed up shop. That channel was a pretty big influence on my horror movie fandom and cinephilia in general, so revisiting this movie did provide some nostalgia for that reason. I also vaguely remember discussing this on the now defunct Rotten Tomatoes forums. I’m pretty sure I said something to the effect of “this is boring and nothing happens”, which may or may not have exasperated some of the horror fans on there. But those horror fans were and still are good people and I consider them some of my oldest internet friends. For those of them reading this, let me reach out and offer a warm hug, preferably in a darkly lit environment with lots of fog while tense music plays in the background.
But yeah, on a rewatch I can confirm that this is boring and nothing happens. Okay, that was a little harsh, but this is not at all heavy on incident. The movie opens with a Psycho fake-out, not unlike the one in Neon Nights the same year, although it makes more sense here as this is a horror movie and that one’s a weirdly dreamlike porno. I vaguely remember being really put off by the nudity in this scene when I first watched this, but the reason behind my reaction has been lost to time. Then the characters go to the carnival, and basically walk around for over half the movie. There is some nice, gaudy carnival atmosphere, and at least one good gag (involving a magic trick conducted by William Finley), and a pretty weird one (one of the carnival barkers promotes a striptease act by telling people to check out his hot sister), but none of this accumulates to actual dread. (Also, there’s a tent of deformed animals, with the centerpiece being a probably fake two-headed fetus, but the two-headed cow they have readily on display is way cooler, in my humble opinion.)
The supposed dread kicks in after the halfway point, when the protagonists spy one of the carnival freaks (in tights and a Frankenstein mask) getting a handy from the psychic, for which she charges him a hundred bucks in 1981 US Dollars. I don’t know what the going rate for a handjob is, but considering that the act lasts like barely a minute and taking inflation into account, a hundred bucks seems pretty steep. Anyway, the freak kills her and then along with his father (who is not a freak but still unsavoury), goes after the protagonists in classic slasher movie fashion. Some of this uses the darkened, depopulated carnival setting to good effect (although one kill blatantly borrows from Alien), but I dunno, I would have enjoyed this more if it had been spread out better across the movie instead of being saved for the end. I normally like when movies build to the good stuff, but this never actually does. I didn’t hate hanging out in this movie, I just wish it did more with what it had.
I do think this is interesting to consider in the context of Tobe Hooper’s career. There are similarities with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, in their similar level of cacophony and the family dynamics of the killers, but the comparisons do not work in this one’s favour. In the earlier movie, the assaultive approach and sheer level of noise really puts you through the ringer, where in this one, it does not. In the other movie, Leatherface, thanks to Gunnar Hansen’s unsettling physical performance, has pretty distinct body language, one which the movie mines for horror and pitch black humour. Here, when the freak is startled or wounded, he flails around, but I don’t sense the same intelligence in how he’s portrayed. (Also, I’m definitely in the minority here, but I think the freak’s appearance is pretty lame, like a kid who dressed up for Halloween in black tights and threw on an ugly mask at the last minute.) This is also closer to the more concretely defined slasher dynamics of the early ‘80s than the prototypical form of Massacre, in that it explicitly defines the heroine as a virgin and frames that against the freak’s sexual troubles. I will also note that I was aware that Rob Zombie is a big fan of Hooper and you can readily see the influence of Massacre and Eaten Alive in his movies, but revisiting this, with its colourful carnival aesthetic, provided another piece of the puzzle.
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Ghostrunner (2020) Review
Ghostrunner is an amazing movement shooter when it's at its best. The moments where you clear an entire room with lighting fast movement while perfectly reacting to every enemy attack and properly using every skill at your disposal. You're constantly completing challenges that feel really hard at first glance and thinking "Wow, how did I do that". That being said, there are a few things that sadly hold this game back from being truly great.
But first, I have to praise the movement, its obviously the best part of the game. It is so fast and fluid, you always have a lot of control over your character-wall running, sliding, dashing, grappling-always at your disposal to get away from a tough situation. But it truly becomes great when you learn to Slide Cancel (which I still don't know if its intentional), by sliding and jumping quickly after you can preserve the momentum of the slide. This simple mechanic opens the game up to so much more, it allows you to outspeed a lot of enemies that you couldn't otherwise. Sections designed to be beaten by using skills or parrying can now be cleared by precise preservation of speed, the shield guys, sword guys, and at-at's, all have a new more fun way to be killed with this. But more importantly it allows for more creative routing as new ways to approach the enemies are at your disposal, a lot of times I would clear sections in different but obviously harder ways just for the joy of breaking the intended routes and challenge of it.
So why don't I like this game more? first off, the story is shit. Most of it is delivered through short dialogues between the main characters at the start and end of each room, which isn't completely bad as it can be largely ignored in favour of gameplay as its not intrusive, but makes for generally expository and lifeless dialogue. That and generally underexploration of its theme of free will (where you're ironically forced into asserting the character's free will at the climax of the story) makes for a largelly ignorable story. Another big problem are the bosses, they try to be grand fights, but ultimatelly sacrifice the main gameplay loop for small gimmicks, like the almost no combat sequence of the reactor, or the waiting game that is the final boss, which undermine a lot of the potential expression of skill they could be. Also, its kind of hard to justify that without bringing up a lot of examples, but the level design feels uninspired sometimes, many rooms feel very similar or have weirdly easy difficulty in comparison to the others close to it, although it has a lot of gems and great ones mixed in between.
Ok, I delayed this enough, I have to get this out of my chest. I fucking hate the sword enemies, the greatest part of the game is the fast movement and combat, and they undermine that so much, their gimmick is that they cant be killed by using the sword directly like most other enemies, instead you need to use one of the skills later available as you progress, or by parrying them, which is fucking stupid. It has little to no skill expression but most importantly they take so long to attack you, it becomes common to just stop where you would be moving really quickly to play a small timing minigame, breaking completly the flow of some sections.
Ghostrunner feels like missed potential to me, its movement is amazing, and makes for a lot of fun moments, but ultimately falls short by subpar level and boss design. And without a fulfilling story or characters, it kind of only has the moment-to-moment gameplay to carry itself. Go play Titanfall 2 instead.
★★★☆☆ 3/5
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BORN SINNER III
→ MASTERLIST
summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.
warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3
rating; m (18+)
wc; 9.5k
banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons !! ty ty ty!! <3333
notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3
in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series
He gets your text the following Tuesday morning.
Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver.
It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else.
From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work.
He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone.
[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰
[❤️]: after my last class of course
Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow.
Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again.
He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?
The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears.
You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”
And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—
And of course, he had felt… something afterwards.
This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning.
First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?
But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good.
(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)
From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life.
He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you.
It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands.
You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word.
You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him.
But still.
Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.
He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess.
If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning.
But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience.
Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned.
Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants.
He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet.
But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord.
But he’s scared.
Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you.
And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character.
But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t.
His phone buzzes in his hand—
[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️
—and his decision is made.
Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors.
Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs.
“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up.
In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—
“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.”
You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”
By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you.
He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease.
As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“
“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.
It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”
You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean.
“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes.
It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead.
A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness.
And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there.
And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything.
“__?” he says before he can stop himself.
You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you.
You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin.
Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?”
Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained.
It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind.
Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words.
You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before.
Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.
Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch.
His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”
It sounds flimsy, even to you.
“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”
You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it���s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.
His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.
Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him. With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.)
“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”
“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh.
His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.
He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed.
Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.”
It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that?
Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”
In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so.
But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not.
Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.”
It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.”
If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place.
In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion.
It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later.
Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car.
What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.
Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his.
But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?
“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“
“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.”
And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly.
Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out.
There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different.
It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you.
Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you.
And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity.
The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up.
By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his.
Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content.
All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you.
By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that.
But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long.
You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm.
It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back.
“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”
Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open.
He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat.
When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again.
A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?”
Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips.
Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again.
You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now.
Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once.
Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”
And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in.
He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t.
Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms.
“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?”
Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough.
By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”
Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist.
He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him.
But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl.
The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple.
Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror.
The sight of him is… weird to say the least.
Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface.
That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down.
In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side.
Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck.
Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day.
Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close.
You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday.
It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips.
It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself.
“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him.
His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?”
It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him.
The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”
And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.”
His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space.
Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“
His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin.
You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you.
But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it.
It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress.
It felt good.
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
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Avatar: Cultural Appreciation or Appropriation?
I love Avatar: the Last Airbender. Obviously I do, because I run a fan blog on it. But make no mistake: it is a show built upon cultural appropriation. And you know what? For the longest time, as an Asian-American kid, I never saw it that way.
There are plenty of reasons why I never realized this as a kid, but I’ve narrowed it down to a few reasons. One is that I was desperate to watch a show with characters that looked like me in it that wasn’t anime (nothing wrong with anime, it’s just not my thing). Another is that I am East Asian (I have Taiwanese and Korean ancestry) and in general, despite being the outward “bad guys”, the East Asian cultural aspects of Avatar are respected far more than South Asian, Middle Eastern, and other influences. A third is that it’s easy to dismiss the negative parts of a show you really like, so I kind of ignored the issue for a while. I’m going to explain my own perspective on these reasons, and why I think we need to have a nuanced discussion about it. This is pretty long, so if you want to keep reading, it’s under the cut.
Obviously, the leadership behind ATLA was mostly white. We all know the co-creators Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino (colloquially known as Bryke) are white. So were most of the other episodic directors and writers, like Aaron Ehasz, Lauren Montgomery, and Joaquim Dos Santos. This does not mean they were unable to treat Asian cultures with respect, and I honestly do believe that they tried their best! But it does mean they have certain blinders, certain perceptions of what is interesting and enjoyable to watch. Avatar was applauded in its time for being based mostly on Asian and Native American cultures, but one has to wonder: how much of that choice was based on actual respect for these people, and how much was based on what they considered to be “interesting”, “quirky”, or “exotic”?
The aesthetic of the show, with its bending styles based on various martial arts forms, written language all in Chinese text, and characters all decked out in the latest Han dynasty fashions, is obviously directly derivative of Asian cultures. Fine. That’s great! They hired real martial artists to copy the bending styles accurately, had an actual Chinese calligrapher do all the lettering, and clearly did their research on what clothing, hair, and makeup looked like. The animation studios were in South Korea, so Korean animators were the ones who did the work. Overall, this is looking more like appreciation for a beautiful culture, and that’s exactly what we want in a rapidly diversifying world of media.
But there’s always going to be some cherry-picking, because it’s inevitable. What’s easy to animate, what appeals to modern American audiences, and what is practical for the world all come to mind as reasons. It’s just that… they kinda lump cultures together weirdly. Song from Book 2 (that girl whose ostrich-horse Zuko steals) wears a hanbok, a traditionally Korean outfit. It’s immediately recognizable as a hanbok, and these dresses are exclusive to Korea. Are we meant to assume that this little corner of the mostly Chinese Earth Kingdom is Korea? Because otherwise, it’s just treated as another little corner of the Earth Kingdom. Korea isn’t part of China. It’s its own country with its own culture, history, and language. Other aspects of Korean culture are ignored, possibly because there wasn’t time for it, but also probably because the creators thought the hanbok was cute and therefore they could just stick it in somewhere. But this is a pretty minor issue in the grand scheme of things (super minor, compared to some other things which I will discuss later on).
It’s not the lack of research that’s the issue. It’s not even the lack of consideration. But any Asian-American can tell you: it’s all too easy for the Asian kids to get lumped together, to become pan-Asian. To become the equivalent of the Earth Kingdom, a mass of Asians without specific borders or national identities. It’s just sort of uncomfortable for someone with that experience to watch a show that does that and then gets praised for being so sensitive about it. I don’t want you to think I’m from China or Vietnam or Japan; not because there’s anything wrong with them, but because I’m not! How would a French person like to be called British? It would really piss them off. Yet this happens all the time to Asian-Americans and we are expected to go along with it. And… we kind of do, because we’ve been taught to.
1. Growing Up Asian-American
I grew up in the early to mid-2000s, the era of High School Musical and Hannah Montana and iCarly, the era of Spongebob and The Amazing World of Gumball and Fairly Odd Parents. So I didn’t really see a ton of Asian characters onscreen in popular shows (not anime) that I could talk about with my white friends at school. One exception I recall was London from Suite Life, who was hardly a role model and was mostly played up for laughs more than actual nuance. Shows for adults weren’t exactly up to par back then either, with characters like the painfully stereotypical Raj from Big Bang Theory being one of the era that comes to mind.
So I was so grateful, so happy, to see characters that looked like me in Avatar when I first watched it. Look! I could dress up as Azula for Halloween and not Mulan for the third time! Nice! I didn’t question it. These were Asian characters who actually looked Asian and did cool stuff like shoot fireballs and throw knives and were allowed to have depth and character development. This was the first reason why I never questioned this cultural appropriation. I was simply happy to get any representation at all. This is not the same for others, though.
2. My Own Biases
Obviously, one can only truly speak for what they experience in their own life. I am East Asian and that is arguably the only culture that is treated with great depth in Avatar.
I don’t speak for South Asians, but I’ve certainly seen many people criticize Guru Pathik, the only character who is explicitly South Asian (and rightly so. He’s a stereotype played up for laughs and the whole thing with chakras is in my opinion one of the biggest plotholes in the show). They’ve also discussed how Avatar: The Last Airbender lifts heavily from Hinduism (with chakras, the word Avatar itself, and the Eye of Shiva used by Combustion Man to blow things up). Others have expressed how they feel the sandbenders, who are portrayed as immoral thieves who deviously kidnap Appa for money, are a direct insult to Middle Eastern and North African cultures. People have noted that it makes no sense that a culture based on Inuit and other Native groups like the Water Tribe would become industrialized as they did in the North & South comics, since these are people that historically (and in modern day!) opposed extreme industrialization. The Air Nomads, based on the Tibetan people, are weirdly homogeneous in their Buddhist-inspired orange robes and hyperspiritual lifestyle. So too have Southeast Asians commented on the Foggy Swamp characters, whose lifestyles are made fun of as being dirty and somehow inferior. The list goes on.
These things, unlike the elaborate and highly researched elements of East Asian culture, were not treated with respect and are therefore cultural appropriation. As a kid, I had the privilege of not noticing these things. Now I do.
White privilege is real, but every person has privileges of some kind, and in this case, I was in the wrong for not realizing that. Yes, I was a kid; but it took a long time for me to see that not everyone’s culture was respected the way mine was. They weren’t considered *aesthetic* enough, and therefore weren’t worth researching and accurately portraying to the creators. It’s easy for a lot of East Asians to argue, “No! I’ve experienced racism! I’m not privileged!” News flash: I’ve experienced racism too. But I’ve also experienced privilege. If white people can take their privilege for granted, so too can other races. Shocking, I know. And I know now how my privilege blinded me to the fact that not everybody felt the same euphoria I did seeing characters that looked like them onscreen. Not if they were a narrow and offensive portrayal of their race. There are enough good-guy Asian characters that Fire Lord Ozai is allowed to be evil; but can you imagine if he was the only one?
3. What It Does Right
This is sounding really down on Avatar, which I don’t want to do. It’s a great show with a lot of fantastic themes that don’t show up a lot in kids’ media. It isn’t superficial or sugarcoating in its portrayal of the impacts of war, imperialism, colonialism, disability, and sexism, just to name a few. There are characters like Katara, a brown girl allowed to get angry but is not defined by it. There are characters like Aang, who is the complete opposite of toxic masculinity. There are characters like Toph, who is widely known as a great example of how to write a disabled character.
But all of these good things sort of masked the issues with the show. It’s easy to sweep an issue under the rug when there’s so many great things to stack on top and keep it down. Alternatively, one little problem in a show seems to make-or-break media for some people. Cancel culture is the most obvious example of this gone too far. Celebrity says one ignorant thing? Boom, cancelled. But… kind of not really, and also, they’re now terrified of saying anything at all because their apologies are mocked and their future decisions are scrutinized. It encourages a closed system of creators writing only what they know for fear of straying too far out of their lane. Avatar does do a lot of great things, and I think it would be silly and immature to say that its cultural appropriation invalidates all of these things. At the same time, this issue is an issue that should be addressed. Criticizing one part of the show doesn’t mean that the other parts of it aren’t good, or that you shouldn’t be a fan.
If Avatar’s cultural appropriation does make you uncomfortable enough to stop watching, go for it. Stop watching. No single show appeals to every single person. At the same time, if you’re a massive fan, take a sec (honestly, if you’ve made it this far, you’ve taken many secs) to check your own privilege, and think about how the blurred line between cultural appreciation (of East Asia) and appropriation (basically everybody else) formed. Is it because we as viewers were also captivated by the aesthetic and overall story, and so forgive the more problematic aspects? Is it because we’ve been conditioned so fully into never expecting rep that when we get it, we cling to it?
I’m no media critic or expert on race, cultural appropriation, or anything of the sort. I’m just an Asian-American teenager who hopes that her own opinion can be put out there into the world, and maybe resonate with someone else. I hope that it’s given you new insight into why Avatar: The Last Airbender is a show with both cultural appropriation and appreciation, and why these things coexist. Thank you for reading!
#this deleted idk why#so here is me reposting it#atla#avatar#avatar the last airbender#cultural appropriation#meta#atla meta#racism
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DEBRIS AND MISERY
DOUBT MAKES THE STRONG WEAK ; PART 8 / ?
PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader
WORD COUNT: 3.5k
SUMMARY: From concussions to destruction, you find yourself developing an odd trust in the last two people you would even begin to have faith in and when the apocalypse seems unavoidable, you discover that there may be more to the mystery of the universe.
A/N: Well, this chapter is long. And mainly pertains around the theme of 'doubt'. A lot more of Sylvie stuff and Loki just having heart eyes the whole time. I love this chapter and I can’t wait to write more as the story ends. Please tell me what you love, hate, anything (maybe theories lol). Thank you for showing so much love. gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans
WARNINGS: Swearing. Apocalypse. Injuries. Blood.
support my writing through ko-fi💖
MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST
You were once a fighter.
Hunter E-87 was the name you once knew, hollered through different fields and dimensions in time and space. You fought for what you thought was right, pledging allegiance to a cosmic establishment that held all power to a single timeline and never questioned the works of the Time-Keepers. The Sacred Timeline is indeed sacrosanct, too important, too valuable to interfere. You fight in the name of the single thread of time, the bark of a tree, forbidden to bare branches of a potential multiverse. You fight because the thought of alternate timelines used to scare you. Yet, if alternate universes were meant to be, the lives you took and destroyed are now in the grasp of your bloody hands. You hold the responsibility of the death of the innocent, taking part in mass genocide.
But promises must be kept.
The thought constantly haunts you in your sleep. You have dreams of death, war, destruction, and famine from across the universe. People seem to glide like specters in the world built by your imagination and mind. You have seen a lot, more than any being in the universe should, but no one talks about the aftermath of witnessing the tragedy of the universe as time goes on and on. No one talks about what it does to the mind. Music from cassettes and the wonder of human space exploration were distractions to cope with the grinding hole in you and the fact you might be turning truly crazy.
Sometimes, you would like to be human—Fewer problems and less time to live.
You blame the sickening and bizarre vivid images that come and go whenever you close your eyes as a symptom of being a hunter. The others are stronger than you. Well, they act like they are. Becoming an analyst made you sleep better but there was always doubt. Sakaar made you doubt.
Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.
“You startin’ to have doubts?”
Green eyes. They watch you with curiosity with a hint of amusement. You hear yourself hum. “Would it be bad if I said yes?”
He laughs. It’s mighty. “Yeah. Definitely bad.”
A beat of silence. You feel your eyes start to sting. “I couldn’t even tell my mom.” A laugh escapes your lips despite the hurt you feel in your chest. “Did you tell anyone? Your wife?”
You see him now, blonde hair slicked back and deep-set eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. Not even my wife.”
“She’ll be proud, you know.”
“I know...So will your mom. Jesus, you’re gonna be the first woman on—”
Wake up.
“—Is she dead?”
The voice is familiar. It pulls you back to reality but right now, your eyes are too heavy. Doubt is the first emotion that waves through your brain before the process of pain can even occur—uncertain if you are dead or alive.
You can’t feel your limbs, they are too weak.
Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.
Maybe, you are dead.
“This is your fault! You’re the one who swung that sword of yours to her head! You’re careless—”
Sword...Sword...Careless? You remember a train, a fight.
“Oh, I’m the one who’s careless? You’re the one who’s drunk!”
Drunk...Who was drunk?
Then, your voice echoes in your head, images of a certain brunette with a deep frown. He called you a mewling quim. You quoted Hávamál. You then left him and wandered through the other cabins of the train. He blew his cover. He got you into a fight.
Loki. Loki Laufeyson.
Son of a bitch.
Your eyes are wide open now. All you see are the faces of Loki and Sylvie, looming over you. Just two floating heads. Then, the pain arrives, coursing through the entire back of your head. You wince in immediate reaction and the floating heads turn to you in an instant.
What a way to wake up from a concussion.
You remember everything now, but you certainly don’t recall being on the outside of the train. Must have gotten thrown out. The thought angers you, irritation practically boiling to the brim. Yet, it’s your fault. You hadn't thought to babysit the very person you wish were dead. As your palm grips onto the dirt beneath, muscling all strength left to lift yourself. Your head feels light and heavy all at once. Not good.
“Are you alright?” is the question that flies from Loki’s lips, tinged with an emotion you never knew he had for another but himself—worry. Whether selfless or selfish, you wish to ignore the complexity of Loki’s reactions and possible change in character, especially towards you. Ever since you stepped foot on Lamentis, all you felt was pain. You have never been injured so much within the last few hours than in your entire life and weirdly, you feel fine.
Sylvie is quick to stand, watching the two of you work in tandem. His grip finds the curve of your shoulders as you stick your hand out to grip him by the bicep. At your touch, you notice how his arm stiffens ever so slightly. You don’t say anything.
Some things about Loki are best left unknown and unanswered.
Today is filled with a lot of getting off the ground in the most unceremonious way possible.
A deep exhale leaves your lips, wisps of your hair drifting with the brutal breeze from your nostrils. Beads of sweat trail along the curve of your forehead and the back of your neck. Some entangled with the strands of your hair. Your hands feel clammy and dirty but you run them to push your hair back and away from your face anyway.
“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself away from his touch.
You finally get a good look at the two. Loki looks like complete shit but Sylvie manages to maintain the regalness to the locks of her hair despite her opposing overall behavior. It’s the Asgardian blood coursing through her veins. You cannot hide your ancestors' blood. It’s hard to believe the two are the same—one being. Yet, it's believable when you’re angry at the two of them.
The two messed up your career, that’s why.
Unbothered and uncivilized. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.
As your eyes shift along the train tracks that meander along a gorge with steep rocky walls that leer above it, you catch sight of a spark by your feet, glinting under the iridescent sky.
It’s the TemPad, shattered into pieces; you recognize the color gold of its border.
Your eyes grow wide, mouth agape. You don’t even feel angry anymore, it’s more than that. You stick out your hand to gesture towards the destroyed device, “Is that—Is that the TemPad?” you ask as your other hand lifts to hold the side of your head. “Or am I just seeing things from the concussion?”
Sylvie is the one to speak. “It’s not the concussion.”
You suddenly feel like you’re burning.
If it were possible, you could have instantly killed him with a look.
“You. You killed us!” you step closer to him and for a moment, Loki doesn’t exactly know what to do. “So, it’s my fault then? You were the one who left me alone in the lounge.” are the words that leave his lips. Completely useless. Trying to diffuse the tension is the exact opposite of what he does.
His silver tongue isn’t so shiny and silver anymore.
You don’t pull your blow this time. Your palm strikes his cheek, rocking his head to the side. Your hand is oddly soft. Loki winces and you stand your ground. “You’re a jerk and an asshole. You’ve probably been called that for all your life and yet, here you are. Still, the most insensitive and pathetic man I’ve ever met,” you articulate your words with frustration and rage. You don’t raise your voice like before, it’s low and frightfully intimidating. “And I’m not your babysitter.”
—
Battles, ruination, and fracas gave a sense of familiarity to Sylvie in a time of an impending apocalypse. When worlds end, benevolence is resolute. The tragedy of the end of lost souls—afraid to die. But as daunting as the apocalypse is, the beauty of their souls finally returning to the universe protrudes amongst the debris and misery.
She sees herself in the two of you, as much as she doesn’t identify as a Loki anymore, and her hatred towards the TVA. You have a temper and he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.
You’re mysterious in an almost enchanting way and possibly significant as you seemed to be at first glance. Sylvie is highly curious about you.
You don’t stray too far from the group, only to find rest by the edge of a pit made by a crashing meteor. You sit with your back turned against the very two beings you distrust as you watch the border where the bustling city of Shuroo is based. Your guard is down and you don’t care at this point. Everyone is about to die anyway.
Sylvie’s gaze finds Loki who seems to be only watching the back of your still figure, eyes glinting with an emotion unknown to her. Possibly regret? Sylvie doesn’t know what regret looks like. But fear and anger, she feels it radiating from you. She knows it. Something tells her you’re not solely angry at her and Loki.
She finds herself drifting closer to you. You don’t move. She cautiously settles beside you. “You’re not hiding a knife somewhere, aren’t you?”
You merely scoff, caressing your head, “You’re the one to say.”
Sylvie blinks. Fair enough.
Silence. Sylvie’s eyes shift to the handkerchief tied around your arm, stained with blood. “How’s the arm?”
You hum. “Surprisingly, fine.”
Oh, Sylvie knows it’s fine. She knows what Loki did. She decides not to mention the scratch she made across your cheek.
“Did the slap make you feel better?”
The question is hinted at near sarcasm, but genuinely, she wants to know.
“Yes, it did. You should try it sometime.”
She simply hums. “I would have but you beat me to it.”
A turn of your lips as they curve into a small smile. Sylvie watches with an odd sense of satisfaction. “You know, I’m still mad at you. For what you did to me.” Your words are slow. You find yourself swallowing. “But it’s nothing compared to what the TVA did to you.”
Empathy. Is this what empathy feels like? The moment when someone finally understands what it’s like to be alone for so long. Your lives are different but they reflect in certain ways. You have had your fair share of living in constant fear and constantly running. Sylvie finds herself wanting to tell you that she hadn’t simply pushed you into Sakaar. When it’s a mission, things are never accidental. She always has a plan.
Yet, she chooses not to say anything.
You speak again but merely whisper, fidgeting with your fingers, “Before Sakaar—did you enchant me?”
It's as if you're reading her mind.
“Are you seeing things?”
After a pause, the fidgeting stops.
“I’ve seen things all my life, images. Brief and insignificant. But ever since I was in Sakaar, it’s gotten a lot harder to differentiate a dream and a memory.”
“That’s because they aren’t dreams.”
Your hardened gaze finds hers for a brief moment, nearly growing wide at her words but in an instant, your guard is up once you hear the shuffling of feet behind you where Loki lingers. The subject is dropped immediately. He meets Sylvie’s gaze, the two share a knowing look.
Your anger is provoked and well deserved and yet, the last thing he wants is to be your enemy. Loki doesn’t know why. He has lived a life full of them.
You’re different.
He stills, wondering if you’re going to lash out at him again but when he notices your slow breaths, he decides to sit next to you anyway, awkward glances to you in his periphery. A deep sigh escapes his lips, fiddling with his fingers. “What now?”
Sylvie is the one to answer. “I don’t know. You broke the TemPad.”
“Well—”
“And that planet is about to crash into us.”
Loki looks up at the nearing planet of Lamentis. He blinks. “Well, yes, but—”
“Yes, but what?”
“Well, the entire moon is destroyed, right?”
Sylvie is trying to suppress your growing annoyance. “Yep. And everyone on it is killed.”
But Loki pesters on. “Including us.”
She raises her voice. “Yes, including us.” Loki glances at you momentarily. A pause. He furrows his brows in thought.
“What about the ark?”
“The ark never leaves because it's destroyed.”
Suddenly, an epiphany, his eyes light up. He turns to you and Sylvie, “Never had us on it.”
You suddenly scoff at his words. “Are you suggesting we hijack the ark and make sure it gets off this moon?” You turn to him to only spot a vague smile playing upon his lips. He nods in return. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Agent.”
You merely blink, watching the way his eyes shift across your face. First, you’re struck with uncertainty. It’s a risk, a huge one but you know, risks are meant to be uncertain. Risks are also vital in success. Hesitation, doubt—they make you weak. This time, you want to be strong. Strong enough for one last push to save your life.
“Okay.” is what you say, your expression reflecting his.
For the first time, since he took your hand in Sakaar, you’re starting to trust him.
—
The walk to Shuroo seemed endless. You trail behind the two, feeling like you’re about to suffocate.
“—To preserve the connection, I have to create a fantasy from their memories.”
Loki and Sylvie had been conversing about the science and functions of enchantment in a rather surprisingly calm manner. Loki hums, amused by her elucidation. “And you call me a magician.”
Her expression is unchanged as she continues to trudge alongside Loki, ignoring his previous statement. “That young soldier from the TVA, her mind was messed up. Everything clouded. I had to pull a memory from hundreds of years prior...before she even fought for them.”
Loki halts abruptly in his step, hand flying to grab Sylvie’s arm. “What? What'd you say? Before she joined the TVA?”
Sylvie blinks. “Yeah. She was just a regular person on Earth.”
His mind starts to reel, face muddled with confusion. “I was told that everyone who works for the TVA was created by the Time-Keepers.”
“That's ridiculous. They're all variants, just like us. Including her.” Sylvie gestures discreetly to you who has stopped to take a breather, hands on your hips as you blink up to the sky.
You, Mobius, all of them. All variants.
“They don't know that. She doesn’t know that.” he breathes a terrified expression.
Sylvie looks at you from afar. You’re now looking at them with a bewildered expression. “What?” you call out, voice echoing through the wide area, in a somewhat defensive tone.
She turns to Loki once more, voice nearly faltering. “I have a feeling she already knows it.”
—
Loki doesn’t realize the unfamiliarity of hopelessness. Throughout his life, he was constantly surrounded by those with unfaltering determination—His brother, family, friends who were warriors, The Avengers.
Never was it known that he would see it burning in your eyes as they reflect the growing fire of the Ark, crumbling down, tongues of fire engulfing it whole before you. His heart burns with it as Shuroo falls quiet—only the sounds of the metallic crashing of the disintegrating parts of the ship falling from above and the screams of the rich and deemed worthy to live. Every Lamentian still alive held their breath, a moment's silence for their lives must end. Everything must end.
So close yet so far.
Sylvie is gone by the minute as the city starts to descend in terror and panic. He stands behind your still form, just watching your only chance of making it out, swallowed by its own billowing smoke. He reaches out for you, tugging you by the sleeve. “We should leave,” he says with a sudden sense to protect you. There isn’t much to do at this point. It doesn't matter if you are hit by the falling pieces of the Ark because you are all going to die anyway.
But he considers it a gesture, as insignificant and small it is. The least he could do is to distract you from the end, whether for a mere second or minutes.
“I know things haven’t been the best between us and I concede I bring out the worst in you, but I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
You turn to Loki with his sudden words. He watches the way your expression softens so gracefully, face adorned with gashes and wounds. Your mouth twitches as you respond with a gentle voice. “I forgive you.”
Three words. Very powerful words.
His heart skips a beat.
You find Sylvie at the brink of the city, sitting on a stretched slab of rock amongst the dirt, watching the horizon where the planet starts to meet the moon. Loki still has his hand around your arm, but you don’t complain. It’s your only source of support at the moment. It’s an unconscious move, but everything about it feels right when the two of you settle beside her, shoulders brushing against each other. It only makes sense to want to feel the nearness, the closeness of another as the light at the end of the tunnel begins to dim.
It’s impending. It’s scary.
“I remember Asgard.”
Sylvie’s voice trembles, her eyes are somber.
“Not much, but I remember. My home, my people, my life. Then, the TVA showed up, erased my reality, and took me, prisoner. I was just a child.”
You turn to her, guilt bubbling in your chest, but you don’t say anything. You let her speak. It’s only right.
“I escaped.” she breathes, blinking the brimming tears in her eyes away. ”Stole a TemPad and I ran for a long, long time, which really sucked. Everywhere and every-when I went, it caused a Nexus event.”
Sylvie turns to you with a melancholic gaze. “The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. Like me being born the Goddess of Mischief. But to you and the TVA, I’m not supposed to exist.”
For so long, you hadn’t realized the consequences of your work at the TVA. You believed you were right. That erasing, resetting realities were meant to be. You cannot comprehend how it only occurred to you to question the authority of the Time-Keepers over time itself after Sakaar. All those years of being ignorant and selfish. You hadn’t realized. You never did.
But now you know.
Sylvie continues, gaze shifting away from you. “I figured out where to hide. And so that's where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds. Now...that's where I'll die.”
Then, silence. It sits heavily between the three of you.
“The universe—isn’t she beautiful?” Your voice is soft, eyes trained on the horizon—a fleet of asteroids, they reflect the end. But they seem to dance to the silence of the apocalypse, drifting across the stratosphere, lining the firmament. Loki’s gaze shifts to you, training on every curve of your face and the tears slipping down your cheeks. He agrees, the universe is beautiful.
You’re beautiful.
“She brings turmoil, agony, and destruction but in all her flaws, there’s beauty in her very existence.”
Your hands find Sylvie and Loki’s hands, holding on to them tightly as you fight the wavering of your voice.
“You...Both of you might be the epitome of chaos but you must know that you have such beautiful souls. All of us, we're her children...and if she is beautiful, so are we. And the Universe is always right. If she created you then we are wrong.”
Sylvie’s face is soft. Loki squeezes your hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I should have known from the start...that the TVA was lying to all of us. I should have questioned. I should have doubted—”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she says, smiling with saddened eyes.
You laugh. You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe, it’s because you know you are a part of the problem anyway, even if you were just doing your job.
You find Loki’s gaze that’s already on you. You sigh and speak through a whisper. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”
His lips curve into a grin, eyes crinkling like your own. “It was well deserved, but I forgive you.”
Fingers entangled with the hands of two unlikely people, you finally realize what it truly feels like to not be alone. To be in the company of someone you want to be with.
“Now long now.” Those three words leave the very lips of Sylvie and your chest feels like it’s about to collapse.
You never knew you were afraid of death, yet here you are—terrified.
The ground shakes beneath you. It’s dark and there’s fire everywhere. A meteor collides to the ground just across the way, it sends smoke billowing to its surroundings faster than you can blink.
Even in the last seconds of your life, you have doubts remaining. What if the universe isn’t always right?
Then, through the growing dust, you see a spark, like lightning. A glint of a figure, standing before you. White, pure, and serene. You’re standing now, staring ahead. Sylvie and Loki cease to exist in your mind as they gaze at you with bewilderment. They anxiously call you by your name but you don’t hear it. There’s only silence now, you don’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears.
A voice, she speaks with dignity. A voice so familiar.
“Doubt makes the strong weak, my child.”
Then, you hear it. A soft hum—a Time Door glows warmth amid your impending death.
Suddenly, she’s gone.
TAGLIST:
@lareinedususpense
@poubxlle
@mystoragehatesme
@the-maroon-panda
@kashasenpai
@nyxrae
@johnmurphys-sass
#loki#loki x reader#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson x reader#loki imagine#loki laufeyson imagine#loki laufeyson oneshot#loki oneshot#loki x you#loki laufeyson x you#loki series#loki spoilers#sylvie#sylvie laufeyson
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It’s all timing - pjm
– If you’re searching for a light and fluffy read well, this won’t be your cup of tea so continue with caution darlings! –
Title – It’s all timing
Pairing – cold husband! Jimin x clocksmith! OC
Genre – fantasy, romance, extreme amount of angst, time travel, smut, marriage, established relationship, Ceo, exes to lovers
Summary – I learnt the hard way that marriage can change a person. I would have never thought that an old watch will let me have a glimpse of my ex-husband’s world but don’t be mistaken I’m not here to fix things. I’m here to change it.
Warning(s) – Jimin is not a loveable character here (until way way later), cheating, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, falling in and out of love, the past and present clash a lot, different timelines that may be confusing, this is going to be a wild ride girls and boys, themes of depression and sadness, feeling of worthlessness, and self-image distortion, numbness, discussion of not wanting to have children. Unedited.
Word Count – (5.2k)
[21st March 2021]
Things between us were not always complicated. Our friendship was always exceptional even when friends fought and sought different ways after freshman year at the local Community College, Jimin and I were glued to each other’s side and maybe that’s why no one was surprised as we announced our plans to get married after we graduated.
The new world that greeted us after we finished high school only seemed meaningful because I had Jimin by my side. At that time I had no idea I’ll fall for him this hard, he literally became the extension of myself, my arms and limbs and the lungs that kept me alive. He was my first serious boyfriend even though I dated a few guys here and there before him but none of those relationships seemed to work out either because of me or the guy. Jimin is someone who could easily have his ways with words so when he decided to show interest in me as in more than friends, it was inevitable that I would give in. He was a wonderful lover in the beginning. Passionate and loving, we had many movie nights that ended up with his hands down my pants as his thick fingers rubbed my clit. He bought me flowers and comforted me when I had a bad day.
His cunning smile could get him out of a lot of trouble. Maybe that’s why I never saw the other side of him that sometimes peeked through his carefully crafted mask. I decided to ignore all the red flags until I found myself in a loveless marriage with a man that I couldn’t recognise anymore. Once I realised what had happened it was already too late.
[12nd November 2018]
Jimin hated the fact that I was a heavy sleeper. He even threatened me once that he’ll sleep in the guest room if he had to wake up one more time to my alarm relentlessly ringing while I showed no signs of waking up any time soon.
My workspace was on the other side of town. The rent was cheap so it was worth the extra miles and the full tank of gas in my car but because of it I had to wake up extra early so I could finish showering then I would go to the kitchen to make lunch for Jimin to take with him to work and still have enough time to get ready with a freshly brewed coffee in one hand and toast in the other. Even after our first year in marriage passed by like a flash, Jimin continued to be his affectionate self, he showered me with kisses and felt needy for my touch.
It was one of our best years together. Jimin started to get more involved with his father’s company and my workshop began to gain more popularity to my greatest surprise. While I was working on an old clock that was brought into my shop by an old married couple a few hours ago my focus kept wandering back to this morning. Smiling under my nose as I thought back to why I was late to open up my little workshop this particular morning.
Jimin likes to be spontaneous he always calls me a bore when I hesitate to try out new things but this time he did not have to do much convincing before I agreed. It was weirdly satisfying to wake up to Jimin’s head buried between the juncture of my thighs, shaking and aroused even though I couldn’t feel or hear him do all those sinful things to me while I was asleep. I didn’t feel him take off my panties or lift the covers to expose my bare centre to his hungry eyes and when our gazes met he proudly told me how well I took his fingers even while I was unconscious.
Experimenting was not something I was willing to do before Jimin showed me the appeal of trying out new things. With him by my side, I felt invincible like I could conquer the world if he stays next to me holding my hand tight.
We outlived all expectations. They said high school sweethearts don’t last, well, we did. Even though both of our parents were against the idea of us marrying each other so young we ended up doing just that. Jimin proposed after we got our diploma and I said yes. We lived together as roommates throughout all those years we spent together studying and we moved in together after both of us got our first jobs as postgrads.
I was happy it felt like we were at the top of the world but if I had known that after that year everything will go downhill I would have tried to be happier.
[24th December 2019]
Do you know what are the telltales of cheaters? Well, it starts with subtle changes in his behaviour, you begin to see him less he makes up excuses of having too much work to do or stress so that he could avoid your advances.
He tries to make it up to you with expensive gifts but they mean nothing after the tenth impersonal present because all you would ever want is his attention and love instead of those pathetic attempts of showing their devotion with empty words. The last and most important one on the list is the new anonymous contact on his phone that shows several phone calls and text messages back and forth for hours.
Jimin did all of those.
He stopped experimenting with me. He would fuck me from behind even when I told him I want to see his face. No foreplay, no more cute nose kisses and breathless laughs between the acts of lust and playful wandering fingers.
He no longer cared if I finished first or not at all because after he was done it meant it was over. Jimin took a shower and crawled into bed facing away from me now that this task was taken care of. After the fifth time that he left me hanging, I gathered all the courage that’s left in me to stop his hands from dipping under my pants. I felt disgusted and used he made me think I’m a mere fucktoy that he can discard once it lost its appeal.
I had one of the worst days at work. The clock I was working on was missing a crucial part that I could only import from abroad and the man who wanted it fixed told me to don’t bother because he can’t afford such an expensive repair. It was not something that I could control, the clock was antique for fucks sake. He left without paying for my services even though I told him it was not the only part that I needed to change.
On my way home, a drunk man almost crashed into me with his Sedan and it left me a little shaken up, it was justified to feel the way I was and when Jimin tried to make a move on me by groping my breasts without asking permission first I just snapped.
Not one to back up he snapped right back and it led to one of our ugliest fights. I couldn’t believe the words he so carelessly let out from between those poisonous lips. We had quarrels before every couple has that, it’s normal to disagree to some extents but he went too far this time around. It’s not just the words that left me a crying mess on our bedroom floor with snot stuffing my nostrils, sniffing and rubbing the tears from my swollen eyes. I broke down once I heard the front door shut with a force that made the windows shake. It was past midnight when I heard shuffling and muffled voices, I knew Jimin was back so I cracked the door open just enough to peek into the dark living room.
It was not just Jimin, the smell of alcohol penetrated my nostrils as I watched my husband with disgust, making out with a girl in our shared apartment. I couldn’t believe the audacity he had to bring this chick back where we’re supposed to live together, it was just too much. Hearing him ram into her from the guest bedroom while I cried in our shared bedroom with just one wall separating us. I bet he didn’t even hear the front door closing while I dialled my friend’s number to pick me up. He couldn’t have heard that over that girl’s loud moaning.
I don’t remember when I finally stopped crying in my friend’s arms. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened. It was enough humiliation to witness my once loving husband come home with a quick fuck after a fight, it doesn’t matter that he was reeking of expensive shots of alcohol. It didn’t make his actions any less painful.
My heart broke into a million more pieces when I saw him calling me the next day. I didn’t have the guts to pick up, all I could see was him kissing another girl. I bet he was so drunk that he couldn’t remember anything, I wonder if he yelled at the girl in the morning to get the fuck out once he realised it’s not me who lays beside him. Wishful thinking on my part, he probably fucked her in the morning too just before he called me.
Somi finds my body doubled over her toilet throwing up water since it’s been a while I last ate. She helps me through it and gently gathers my hair into a loose ponytail so I won’t get any in my hair as beads of sweat and tears are rolling down my face. My body works on autopilot going through the cleaning motions as I take a burning hot shower and then lay down to get some rest. My body aches and the fatigue is evident in every lazy flutter of my lashes.
I hear his voice, pleading to my friend to let him see me. Now it’s dark outside, it must be hours that I slept through. Somi denies that I’m here and I’m thankful for her quick understanding, the last thing I want right now is to face him. Even though I never told her what happened between us she could sense that it’s more than just a little lovers quarrel.
Our second anniversary would have been next month but instead of roses and kisses next to a dimly lit dinner table, there’s only a big envelope with papers. Divorce papers. The first time he sees me after a month of silence is to have his signature that would end this relationship for good. Today should have been a nice memory filled with laughter and passionate lovemaking. Maybe we were never meant to find each other. Better off as friends, these simple yet powerful words might have saved our future back then if one of us were brave enough to say it.
Jimin looks worn out, it’s obvious he rushed here from his office once you called, he wears his formal attire. He didn’t think you would show up even though it’s supposed to be the day that you should celebrate another year of marriage.
The papers lay heavy on his side of the table as he skims through the content he sees that you already signed your part. He picks up the pen that I prepared in advance, his hands are shaking almost crushing the poor stationery in half with the strength that he holds it.
”I don’t want to d-divorce.” It’s the first sentence that he says to me. His lips are quivering and fat tears are rolling down his cheeks by the time he dares to look into my eyes. I’m however are past the point of shedding crocodile tears. I cried over him enough times to make my face feel numb and puffy with the amount of sadness that poured out of my body in pathetic waves. I can’t keep eye contact for long as his face keeps reminding me of that night I tried so hard to erase from my memory this past month. A part of me is furious seeing him cry, he was the one who sealed out fate. He has no right to feel sad or plead with me to give him another chance.
”If you ever loved me, you will sign it. I give you a week to do the right thing.” With those last words, our anniversary ended.
[13rd October 2020]
”It’s been a whole year after your divorce, don’t you think it’s time to get yourself out there again?” So this is why she wanted to see me I realise.
I know Somi means well, but I dread those words coming out of her mouth every once in a while. If I think about it she was always good at choosing the worst timing to bring the subject up. She’s not aware that this particular day holds a lot of those sour memories that I once cherished. This day was once one of the most important days to me, to us.
Today is Jimin’s Birthday, it’s the first time since we became friends and then later lovers that we don’t spend this day together anymore. I don’t know how to feel about it yet. I used this new year to heal from my wounds that the love of my life left behind. Getting used to living alone after living with someone for so long was tough. I caught myself making more food than I needed or when I was shopping I got those yoghurts that Jimin loves so much even though I’ve always hated the taste of those. I end up throwing them out at home. I blocked his number and any kind of social media that I could think of from the top of my head. The silence between us was crushing at first, I thought that there are no more tears left to shed but when I got our divorce papers from my attorney I couldn’t stop the new waves of tears from escaping.
Yet all my efforts seem to be in vain as my mind keeps going back to him. I catch myself wondering how he’s doing. If he feels as shitty as me even after a full year apart. If he ever wished things would have been different between us. I just wanted to know if he ever regretted destroying our marriage because of another girl. I don’t know if they are together or not or if he dates her now that I’m out of the picture but it’s better left this way. I’m already heartbroken, seeing him again would just open up my barely healed wounds.
”Can we not talk about this today? I’m feeling kinda low right now.” I sigh, shaking my head habitually if only it would make me stop thinking about him. There’s an old fashioned watch with a silver-coated socket in front of me, it’s pretty. A middle-aged woman brought it to me today telling me that it was a gift from his grandfather but it was never in working condition. She went to several locksmiths over the years but no one could fix it so she asked at last that I would be willing to pay for it. I found it interesting so I agreed to buy it from her. I started working on the old watch and at the beginning, it didn’t want to tick even when I made the necessary changes. I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it when seemingly it didn’t have anything that needed to be fixed.
On my way home after a rough day at work, I bought some soju from the corner convenience store so I could at least get drunk enough to sleep through the whole night. The pills my therapist prescribed for me doesn’t seem to work at all nowadays.
I placed the watch down onto my bedside table and pulled the comforter over my drunk head. I heard the loud ticking of a clock but I don’t remember having one on the wall. I thought that my drunk mind probably was still hung up on the fact that I couldn’t even fix a simple watch so I shrugged the noises off and closed my eyes until red dots filled my vision.
I just need some sleep.
[13rd November 2018]
”Wake up, baby. You’ll be late again.” There’s a kiss on my shoulder then on my temple as warm hands turn me around in bed. It feels oddly familiar to have two hands around my waist that pulls me into a hard chest, blond fluffy hair fills my vision once my eyelashes flutter open.
I’m back in our shared bedroom at his lavish apartment that’s a lot better than the shitty apartment that I was able to afford after our messy divorce. Divorce? Wait. A. Fucking. Minute. What is Jimin doing here holding me? It’s been too long that I saw him but he looks oddly young here, the Jimin I last saw started to get wrinkles and lost a bit of weight but this man reminds me of the boy I fell in love with. I remember getting drunk last night but I’m sure even at the state I was in I couldn’t get here on my own and I don’t remember getting a taxi or even getting up from my bed last night. I frantically search for my phone that I conveniently find on the nightstand, speechless as I watch Jimin stretch like we just didn’t share a bed together after one year of not seeing each other. He shouldn’t look so relaxed while I panic internally.
Then I see the date as my phone screen activates with my touch. I don’t use this phone anymore, I got another one after I blocked Jimin’s number because this device was a birthday present from him that kept reminding me of, well, him so I decided to change it even though I couldn’t afford a similar model like this with my single salary. I remember this day like it only happened yesterday it was around the time that he got a good position at his father’s company and we were both invited to a found raiser event. I bought this beautiful red dress that he eagerly ripped off of me once we were back at home slightly buzzed on the champagne.
It doesn’t make sense though. The only explanation that I can come up with is that I might be still drunk and I’m hallucinating of some sort after all it was just yesterday that Jimin’s birthday made me think about us again.
I lock myself into the bathroom. Sighing in relief once I am able to get away from Jimin’s inquiring eyes. He looked so confused when I refused to kiss him on the lips. I always kissed him goodbye before I went to work when things were still good between us. I just don’t know what to make of things right now, I’m so confused. It doesn’t feel like a dream at all and Jimin acts like he’s my husband rather than my ex-husband who cheated on me.
I splash some water on my face to calm down my nerves and I gasp when I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair, it’s long. I got rid of those long locks after our divorce was done, Jimin liked my hair like this, long and curly, so I decided to cut it short.
”Baby, did you bring your work home? I don’t remember seeing this old thing on our nightstand when we went to sleep.” Eyes widening I rip open the bathroom door startling Jimin as I grab the old watch out of his hands. The digits are frozen one at eight and the other at one. 18. 2018? Jimin catches my hand mid-air as I try to slap myself so I could make sure this is not a dream.
”Baby say something. You’re scaring me. Are you alright?” Jimin holds my hand gently thumbs rubbing my skin as his eyes express his worry. It’s been a while since he was so affectionate. He stopped caring for me after he found that girl. I let him pull me into a hug, I missed this. I missed him but this moment doesn’t change the fact that the Jimin I loved so much cheated on me.
I left to go to work earlier than I used to around this time and I know Jimin noticed. I told him to get some takeout for lunch too.
I worked on the clocks hoping that it will distract me but it just made me think of what happened this morning more. Doing it the second time around made the process easier, I knew what was wrong with the clocks before I get them into pieces. I even remembered the young couple who brought an expensive watch to get it more fitted to his arms and he accidentally left his bracelet on my working bench after trying on the watch to see it fits after the adjustments.
Jimin sulked a little after I denied his kisses but he didn’t force me and for that I was thankful. He nagged me even when we were surrounded by his father’s workers at the found raising event to tell him what made me ’mad’ at him because he wants to apologize properly if he did something wrong. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t just tell him he should apologize for something he will do in the future, it will just make me the weird one.
I was nervous to go home after the event because I remember how this night was supposed to end. My hand tightens around his arm when I see her approach us. I feel my stomach sink when she smiles at the both of us, introducing herself as Jimin’s coworker. I didn’t remember meeting her here but at that time I had no idea she’ll be the one who my husband cheats on me with. It was dark that day but I remember her blonde hair and her voice. I remember her moaning Jimin’s name.
”Y/N?” I snap my head towards the sound of his voice. He looks concerned it’s not the first time tonight that he had to repeat what he said. I feel sick, my body subconsciously leans on him to get a grip of reality.
I realised this is when it began. Her smile is anything but genuine as she fakes her concern, I can see the jealousy in her dark orbs as she watches my hand around my husband’s arm. She wanted him for herself all this time. She just doesn’t know yet that she succeeded a year after. A tear slid down my cheeks but I aggressively got rid of it before it could reach my chin. Jimin caged me between his strong arms drawing soothing circles onto my back but it doesn’t affect my body positively how it used to I cried harder inside his arms.
Jimin excused us and she relented even though it was clear as day that she wanted to send me daggers through her stare rather than her wishes for me to get better. The car ride was silent, he didn’t let go of my hand and I let him. I let this version of Jimin comfort me because he didn’t do anything wrong, not yet. He had no idea that this was our last happy years spent together before everything went downhill after that.
He held me in his arms.
[5th March 2019]
After my revisit of 2018, I realised a few things. Firstly, I can travel between time with that old watch that only seem to works for a short period of time until it stops at the year I want to visit. The second thing I learnt is that Jimin can be manipulated with the right words. I decided after that night I saw her face raging with malice and jealousy that I’ll find out what really had happened between them. I know Jimin loved me even though I had doubts about it after our divorce. I knew him well we spend so much time together as friends even before we started dating. However, I never thought he would go so low as to cheat on his wife.
He was always gentle and understanding with me. Accepting the fact that I didn’t want to have children. He loved them but accepted me for who I was and never questioned why I felt this way. He was a good man, a good husband.
So I decided to watch him from afar and when she thought no one was looking, she showed her teeth like a venomous snake planting ideas into Jimin’s head talking shit about me, twisting my actions and words; going as far as telling him she thinks I am cheating on him! I know those pictures were fake as I did no such thing. I was so in love with him I would never betray him like that.
Then I remembered his odd change in behaviour, how he treated our once lovemaking sessions as fucking. How he couldn’t look into my eyes while he buried his dick inside my cunt made sense in a way now.
He thought I was the one who played him. He let himself believe that I was late from our dinners because I was fucking someone behind his back and when I told him I’m not in the mood to have sex. He got even angrier he thought that if I lied to his face he will show me what pain feels like by fucking that snake in our guest bedroom. My head was swimming overwhelmed with this information.
The truth hurt like hell.
I thought I will feel somewhat better once I discovered the truth but I feel even shitter. Jimin believed her, he didn’t bother to ask me if I was indeed cheating on him but can I really blame him? I didn’t ask either when I suspected it. We let our insecurities and that jealous bitch stand in between our marriage making it crumble down to pieces. I was angry, raging as my hand shook with it and it led me back to that day it happened. It felt too late to fix things so I closed my eyes and turned the clock. Leaving everything behind. Once and for all.
There’s nothing left for me to change in our past, I can’t fix our past mistakes but maybe I could change things in the future. Starting with exposing that snake. I wasn’t even surprised to see her as the head of the newly developed department.
[11st April 2021]
Jimin took over the firm after his father fell ill as I got to know from her assistant. I could tell she was surprised to see my face but even more surprised to realise it’s not Jimin’s whereabouts that I want to know but rather hers.
I shouldn’t be this smug about the fact that he cut all ties with her after our divorce. Deep down he was still a good man who couldn’t believe the fact that he fucked someone else while his wife cried next door with just one thin wall separating them.
I pictured this moment in my head a lot after I came back from the past. I’m way past the hurt and anger that settled in my bones for a full year and even before that. Instead, I felt eerily calm for someone who’s here to put up a show for the employees. I don’t even care if they think I’m crazy because once I locate her in her cubicles and dig my hair into her scalp pulling her hair hard with my iron grip all I could feel is utter satisfaction.
”I hope you enjoyed your good fuck. Was it satisfying to make my husband a cheater? I bet it was. Did you think I will never find out that you fed him lies and spread rumours about me sleeping around with men?”
Even the security watched as I pulled her by the hair the commotion around us almost drowned out the crying noises she made because of the pain. I didn’t pull that hard though, I hate her with every fibre of my being but I’m not a malicious person like her. She would deserve worse than what I’m doing but I never want to go down to her level ever again so I let her go.
”How did you found out?” She looked pale as a ghost. I know she was scared she had every right to be because I’m sure I have that crazy look in my eyes.
”It doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is that now I know what you did to him. All for what? Just to have him all to yourself? Look how that turned out for you.” The people around us fell silent that’s how I knew Jimin is here. So I took a step closer to her and smiled.
”I never cheated on him but you know this well. This is not even why I feel so angry. The reason why I want to rip your hair out right this instant is not because you spread lies and badmouthed me but because you made him a cheater.”
It’s his first time seeing me after our divorce but I’ve been seeing him these past weeks thanks to the old watch. This time around I was able to look into his eyes and see that boy I fell in love with. We went through so much together, maybe.
Maybe we can overcome this too.
©️ helenazbmrskai (Like and Reblog don’t repost!)
#jimin angst#btsghostie#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts fanfiction#bts angst#jimin fic#jimin fanfic#jimin fanfiction#jimin x oc#jimin#bts
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