#I do not like the repeated feed of my own art reflected back at me

[voxiiferous]

🌊🌊🌊!!!!

Send me a “🌊” and I’ll put my muses playlist on shuffle and do a deep dive on why I like that song for them. | @heavensxstray

Desire - Meg Myers

...well this might get dark. Consequences of shuffle I suppose. My apologies! And... yeah, I think this whole thing can go under the read more.

I think the best place to start with is the sound: there is a sense of forboding to the initial beat. The clapping is a bit of a sharp sound, and even the music itself does not fall into the light, happy, and airy quality of a lot of romance songs. Even before the lyrics begin, the emotional response is aiming for somewhat ominous. This is not a song that gently lowers you into the darker undercurrents, even if those do become more obvious later on.

Most of my Vox playlist does not revolve heavily around his relationship to Valentino, there's a select few songs, some of which are more fun, like 'We Are Never Getting Back Together'. That, while accurate, reflects the more superficial aspects of their relationship, as presented to the city and on social media. What Desire does, is strips the presentable aspects away.

The first line is "Baby, I wanna touch you", not love, but physical, even if it is couched within the term of endearment, with the intent to soften it. The second line raises more questions-- "I wanna breathe into your will". Here, the seeming affection feels secondary to a much more possessive nature, something only reinforced by the following line, "See, I gotta hunt you". Not only is this possessive, but dangerous. No longer is this the casual want, but a mandatory need-- the intensity of desire belies the more pressing desire.

The specific reference of breathe is incredibly evocative for my version of Vox, something that can be visualized in this art. Valentino has quite literally breathed his way into Vox's entire system. His filtration system, while good, can only do so much about the onslaught of smoke.

Something you see with Vox and Valentino is a sort of mutual worsening. Neither party is saying 'I can make him better', but rather, "I gotta bring you to my hell". This line takes on new connotation when the involved parties are, quite literally, in Hell to start. A recurring them in Vox's relationship with Val is this idea that 'yes it may be bad, but I deserve it', or 'yes it may be bad, but this is Hell, expecting happiness is naive'. Even in a Hell that offers them as much freedom as Pentagram City does, this is not a fulfilling, happy relationship.

The next line in the verse, initially feels like the first line repeated, saying "Baby, I wanna fuck you". In much the same way that abusive relationships tend to get worse, here a similar progression can be noted. Touch is replaced with fuck, more crass, less personal, less affectionate. In fact, the whole second half of the verse feels like a mutated reprisal, as it continues on as:

I wanna feel you in my bones Boy, I'm gonna love you I'm gonna tear into your soul

Love is juxtaposed between these two images, unable to stand alone as something that feels genuine, but more as an afterthought. In Vox's relationship, that rings true. Love, at this point, is secondary to sex, and to appearance. Valentino is as much a part of him as his own circuitry, and nearly as removable.

The chorus, which while longer, I'm only going to focus on the first three lines, because the rest of it repeats the last.

Desire, I'm hungry I hope you feed me How do you want me, how do you want me?

They break up, htey make up, and always, Vox finds himself asking Val that question: "how do you want me?" Apologetic? Pretend like nothing has happened? Expensive? Does Val want a boyfriend or just another bed-partner? The directionality of this song, can, at times, be somewhat vague, with two participants, “you” and “I”, though as the song only has one singer, it could be implied that it is unidirectional, even if the repeated question can feel at odds with the more assertive claims.

The use of “hope” is also interesting, in that it appears in the surface, to be an appeal to the concept of desire itself. For Vox, this plea can be seen in a somewhat desperate light. He can’t eat, he cannot found nourishment in any other place, but at the same time, what he hopes for from each encounter seems largely unavailable. He is, in essence, not being fed.

The second verse delves deeper into these darker impulses, starting with what once again, draws upon the format begin in the first verse, saying “Honey, I wanna break you”. The term of endearment has changed to something seemingly sweeter and more romantic, only as a prelude to the promise of violence. Considering Valentino’s proclivity towards quite literally breaking Vox’s face, this is accurate. The violence is not an act of an enemy, but something rolled into what is supposedly love.

Moving on, we get a slightly more metaphorical use of "I wanna throw you to the hounds"-- rather than literal hounds, it is those of media and public opinion. Vox's broken screen ends up on screen: why? They both have different motivation, Vox does it because he wants to get the narrative under his control, he doesn't want to be seen as weak. So you laugh it off, you post it, you pretend to everyone that sees that it doesn't hurt. It had been better, once. Their fights had been private, not public, and everyone had only seen them at their best. That changed.

The next few lines lean further into the possession and the violence than love.

Yeah, I gotta hurt you I gotta hear it from your mouth Boy, I wanna taste you I wanna skin you with my tongue I'm gonna kill you I'm gonna lay you in the ground

For abusive relationships, they escalate, and in this case, what affection may have existed has seemingly vanished. For Valentino and Vox, this is so much where they are right now. Vox knows, every time, that it won't be the last time Val hurts him. He doesn't even count on an apology anymore. Most of the time, he accepts the blame himself. His fault, he knows what sort of person Val is. He knows, and he keeps going back. He makes Val angry, he knows the risks. And sometimes, he plays the role of loving boyfriend well enough that it does't come to that, but even then, eventually it gives again, and he'll be back in his apartment, trading out, and trading up. Broken glass haunts his dreams nowadays. He also isn't certain that he will survive this relationship.

One of Val's employees, years ago, said to him something about that, and while the specifics have faded with willful ignorance, the theme remains.

The bridge line repeats the conceptual line of the chorus, adding to it, saying "I wanna feel you, I want it all", and for Vox, more than the chorus, this is what he says when he wants to make it better. He takes this 50 year long relationship, unable to wash his hands of it permanently, and goes back, apologizes for the fight, and pretends that he doesn't feel empty more days than not. Much of the song feels fractured in comparison to something with a narrative, in much the same way their relationship has. It's rotating, neither moving forward towards a next step, like marriage, or children, or living together, but just wearing a larger rut in the road.

--

DAMN IT! The next song, because I am going to do it, but this whole post has turned into a Val heavy one:

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together - Taylor Swift

Everyone needs an iconic breakup song, and if Desire is them in the present, then this is them twenty-thirty years ago. Compared to Desire, this song has a much stronger through-line, starting with verse 1.

I remember when we broke up the first time Saying, "This is it, I've had enough," 'cause like We hadn't seen each other in a month When you said you needed space (What?) Then you come around again and say "Baby, I miss you and I swear I'm gonna change, trust me" Remember how that lasted for a day? I say, "I hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you"

From sound alone, this is bouncier, happier. It might not be true love, but there's affection, there's the repeat, falling into a catchy tune. Broken up, not bitter, angry and empty.

In the early 1990s, was the first time they properly broke up. Before that, they had been good. Fifteen years was better than a lot of relationships! And honestly, Vox had thought that would be the end of it. They would keep some business association, but that would be it. They hadn't met Velvette yet, or if they had, then she was still very much new, they weren't close, they weren't really the Triple V's.

And here's the thing, he was upset. Aside from a... two-day affair with Tom Trench in the 1960s, Valentino was his only partner, and certainly the only one long-term. They were a power couple! The argument had been big, but not the largest one they will ever have. It probably came after some big project, and it took up time. Maybe Vox had to reschedule a date, maybe he'd just been too tired to give Val the attention he wanted.

And then they have a business meeting, and end up back together. A mistake, he'll tell himself. They were hasty calling it quits, they still loved each other, every couple has their rough patches. It only made sense that theirs would be a further down the line, because they had longer. A honeymoon period can be a decade or two when you have forever to be together.

And then it's not just the once. They break up again, and again, and Val's always so apologetic after each one. He'll be more understanding, and Vox will stop judging Val's career, and they'll do better.

Combining the pre-chorus and the chorus, you see where the repetition of the romance comes through.

We called it off again last night, but Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh This time, I'm telling you, I'm telling you [Chorus] We are never, ever, ever getting back together We are never, ever, ever getting back together You go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me But we are never, ever, ever, ever getting back together Like, ever

Here is where you begin to see things shift. Voxtagram won't come around for years yet, and to the press, they're as strong as ever. But more people start to see the flaws. Hellaina knows-- Hellaina, who had never liked Valentino, finds him the subject of her acerbic tongue more often. (The other people who would agree with her haven't died yet). On one hand, he has Hellaina saying to leave him, and on the other he has the social expectation of them as a couple on top, and Velvette saying how adorable they are, and how they have to get back together. How, if they stay broken up, that it won't be the same, that the 3V's won't be.

Sometimes they break up, and Vox thinks it was a stupid reason once he as some time to calm down. He'll take val out to dinner, buy him a new gift, some flowers, something, and it'll be right as rain. The public is happy, he's happy.

So what if they break up, and come back together, on repeat? They're two people in high stress positions, sometimes those emotions boil over. It's fine. They're fine. If it were really that bad Val (or him!) would have moved on, found someone else.

Verse two!

I'm really gonna miss you picking fights And me falling for it, screaming that I'm right And you would hide away and find your peace of mind With some indie record that's much cooler than mine

This is how their breakups go in those early days: they break up, Vox goes back to his penthouse, or Val to his. Val releases a new film, Vox throws himself into work. Business comes up, they have a business meeting, and they fuck. Vox says sorry and is genuine, and maybe they don't talk about it as much as they should, or why they were upset, but they get over it.

They make less media engagements, but they still have enough intertwined business. Something else is that Val tends to go outwards: he sleeps with his employees, he shows up at his clubs. He shows that it doesn't matter. Vox goes inwards: he takes more of his control back from Hellaina who gets more freedom when things are going really well. He throws himself into work: movies, tv show, contracts, time to meet and talk to more of his employees-- that one's got this brand new idea that's oh so good. If you want a promotion, now is sort of your best chance at getting it because he's so involved with everything. Micromanagement, thy name is Vox.

By the end of the 1990s, things are starting to fall more towards what they are later on. Vox is less quick to apologize, things are good for slightly less time. Sometimes, when they break up his screen gets broken. Hellaina repairs it, or he does, or the people at the store, bound to secrecy. It starts to spill more two. Arguments in private turn to ones on their dates. It's still not online, because that isn't an option yet, but it will be soon enough. While all this is happening, the boredom is also setting in. There's been nothing new in the same way in years. There's improvement, but nothing major, no fun new innovations.

Flash forward to the bridge:

I used to think that we were forever, ever And I used to say, "Never say never" Ugh, so he calls me up and he's like, "I still love you" And I'm like, "I just, I mean, this is exhausting, you know? Like, we are never getting back together, like, ever"

He reaches this point, when he sort of realizes, without admitting it to himself, or changing anything, that something has gone wrong. He's tired-- he's going to say yes, they're going to break up. Hellaina is still going to hate Val, so he's going to keep going to their meetings. There is never enough space between them for it to last, never enough motivation to cut the ties. By the time that Voxtagram hits, and it all gets worse, he's adjusted. He's learned to ignore what Hellaina says because he doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't want to admit that this relationship is sort of in pieces. And the longer he ignores it, the harder it is to let go, because it stops being fifteen years, and becomes twenty, thirty, forty.

--

And because why not! One more Val song for the road. Same shuffle parameters, in 68 songs and SOMEHOW it gets all the ones related to this ship. What are you trying to tell me universe?

Listen to Your Heart - DHT (Nostalgia gets this video instead of the prettier one from a few years ago, because there is also half a dozen remixes that change up the musical vibe).

Because I chose this particular version of, not out of any overwhelming preference for it, I'm ignoring the sound of it this time around... except no. No it does sort of matter. If We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together is them in the 1990s, when things start going downhill, and Desire is them now, then this is somewhere between, the 2000s, the 2010s.

Let's start, sensibly enough, at the beginning-- "I know there's something in the wake of your smile / I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yeah". There's a familiarity in these lines, a sense that the person singing knows who they're singing too, and for these two, that's true! They've been together now for several decades, whatever flaws, and whatever problems lay between them, that much is fact. There are good times, when they are a united front, and it truly feels like it did when everything was new.

The next two lines, "You've built a love, but that love falls apart / Your little piece of heaven turns too dark" is where they are in this period. It's happy, it's... not. Vox still wants to salvage things, because he honestly thinks that there is something worth saving. Their relationship means he isn't lonely, means he is part of a triumvirate, and in Hell, it's hard to look at that and want to give it up. This period is sort of an unravelling. Vox is more depressed than he was, and it's more solidified too, their relationship is starting to have serious cracks, and those cracks are more public. Not quite online yet, but not hidden either.

The chorus reinforces this theme.

Listen to your heart When he's calling for you Listen to your heart There's nothing else you can do I don't know where you're going And I don't know why But listen to your heart Before you tell him goodbye

What you see here is this shifting in who weighs in on their relationship. It's more public, which means more people care. Hellaina has more support saying to leave him. Everyone has a penny for their thoughts: leave him, stay with him, they'll never last, they'll last through this like everything else. And in some ways, that's nice to have a thousand people rooting for you... and at their best it is! It helps to push the fact that they feel like they're on top of the world. The problems come, more, when they break up, and suddenly everyone is saying things that contradict.

it's more than just the world online though-- it's Val too. When it's not Vox coming back, with an apology poised and flowers, it's Val with an apology and saying 'I'll never do it again'.

Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yeah They're swept away and nothing is what it seems The feeling of belonging to your dreams

He doesn't really believe it anymore, but fifteen years ago, while the doubt was heavyset, he still wanted more to keep it good. Their fights tended to have less of a hair trigger, and the alternative was being alone, in Hell, as an Overlord. He'd done that before, and it's lonely.

In some ways, Vox gets exactly what he always wanted in death. Ge gets success, respect, love, he's on screens and everyone knows his name. But the problem there is that it's a show. Vox's face is a tv screen, and he might as well be living on it. Voxtagram is carefully curated, his smile on the billboards calculated, tone of voice, how much vulnerability to get people to like him. Voxtagram also, when he breaks and scrolls through, is the record of the good moments, the premiers, the dates, the smiles, the moments that Vox wants to hold onto, because on screen, in those perfect filtered memories, it isn't what comes next.

And there are voices that want to be heard So much to mention, but you can't find the words The scent of magic, the beauty that's been When love was wilder than the wind I don't know where you're going And I don't know why But listen to your heart Before You tell him goodbye

To finish off the song, you get that repeated line again! And it really is so so much of Vox and Val's relationship at this point. The best years are gone, but he's not working on autopilot yet either. He's still got enough emotional investment to want to see it through... through to what? He's not sure but he's certain there has to be something at the end of the tunnel. Like a gambler, convinced that he'll win big the next round.

[bratkook]

almost. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost, right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, baby angst, smut word count. 6.4k warnings. two idiots!!, pining, masturbation (m. and f.), use of vibrator, accidental voyeurism?,  more feelings come to light!! summary. jungkook tries to be the best wingman he could be in your new venture after your breakup. he could do it, right? note. part two of not yet, some more feelings are exposed, please don’t hate oc she is but a pendeja that doesn’t see the obvious feelings jungkook has but she has good intentions i promise<3 there will most likely be a final part,,if you guys are into it lmao okie bye

The cool summer breeze flows around you as you’re sitting under the shade, eyes focused on the chaos of runny yolk and hashbrowns that is your breakfast. Jungkook on the other hand, is focused on you. His signature yellow shades block out the sun reflecting from passing cars, concealing his eyes just enough for you to not see him blatantly staring at you while you stuff your face. 

The charmed smile he has falters slightly when you look directly at him, hashbrown lingering by your lip as you repeat his name. “Sorry, what?”

Your brows come together as you smile at his zoned out state, something you had grown fond of in the years of knowing him, always enjoying the small dazed look that graced his face whenever he was lost in his thoughts. His lips push out slightly in question, curious eyes wondering just what you could have been asking him. 

“I was saying that I think I’m giving up on crushes and love.” You say it so easily, mind made up as you grin at him before continuing to shovel hashbrowns into your mouth, only pausing to take a sip of your iced coffee. 

Jungkook tries his best to seem unaffected, nodding along in interest as he takes a steady bite of his own food. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a look around at the people surrounding you: friends having breakfast together and snapping photos, couples feeding each other food with smiles on their faces, a lone man with his dog perched on the seat across from his while he worked on his computer. You briefly wonder if all of them, even the dog, have better luck with love than you do. 

“I think I’m cursed,” you continue. “All of my exes have been assholes, and I’ve always been too blind to see it until it’s over and I’m left crying over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.”

“Maybe you’re just looking for love in the wrong places,” Jungkook shrugs, internally screaming because he’s who you should be looking at if you wanted love. 

Not to toot his own horn, but Jungkook liked to think he was a good guy, a great boyfriend even. His previous track record of relationships could attest to that, all of them ending on mutual terms, still friendly and civil with each other. He’s almost certain if there was a Yelp page for him it would be at least 4.5 stars with comments raving about how great he is, even little anecdotal touches about how he always gave away his hoodies or offered to cook breakfast. 

He was a god damn catch, why couldn’t you see that?

“Maybe prince charming is a lot closer than you think,” he grumbles out, stabbing his omelette with a little more force than necessary, fork clanking against the plate. And when you gasp in realization he freezes, slowly looking back up at you and seeing the way your eyes widen. 

“Wait, maybe you’re right!” Your hand shoots across the table, gripping onto his forearm and it sends a shock throughout him, skin tingling at your touch. “You know that coffee shop below our building? That cute barista always puts a heart next to my name. Do you think I should ask for his number?”

Jungkook blinks once, slowly twirls his fork in his hand and blinks again before staring up at the sky, mentally asking why he couldn’t just go out and say it. “Hm, I don’t think you should.“

With a defeated sigh you retract your hand, slumping back into your seat and grabbing your iced coffee once more, stirring the straw and ice around as you nod. “True. What if he feels obligated to give it to me just because he doesn’t want to get fired in case I go all Karen on his ass.”

That wasn’t why Jungkook had said not to, but sure, that works too, so he hums along. 

“I bet he draws hearts on all the other girls cups too.” You huff, playfully wiping a tear under your eye with a smile. 

“I’ve actually—“

“You know what I—“

You both freeze mid sentence, Jungkook’s cheeks tinted a light pink as he stutters on his words, wide eyes staring at you as if he had caught himself before you cut him off. But as you’re about to tell him to go on, he waves you off and urges you to speak first. 

“I was just gonna say that maybe I should go through that wild phase people usually go through after breakups.”

He sets his silverware down on the plate and sips his water, giving you an odd look. “Wild phase? Like you wanna dye your hair red and get bangs?”

“No,” you cackle, ruffling a hand through your own hair as you picture yourself with that combination. “I should just go out and hook up with people. I feel like I’ve either been in a relationship or entirely single, so it could be fun right?”

“Uh, maybe...” he trails off, rolling his lips together in thought, not exactly fond of hearing you say that when he had felt the confession about to roll off his tongue. He takes a slow breath, trying to see this from a neutral point, the point of a supportive friend wanting to help you get over a breakup. 

“How do you go about it?”

“Me?” he chokes, pointing at his chest as if there was magically some other person you could be addressing. 

“Yes, you. Need I remind you, we share a wall between our beds.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face shows that you’re speaking of this lightly, not entirely annoyed by the fact that you had heard Jungkook during his own fair share of hook ups. 

He’s not ashamed of it, but considering he never really brought up being able to hear you, he thought you’d pretend to never hear him. It wasn’t too often that he had a girl over, the number of hookups only increasing after you got with Hajoon and loosely cut ties with Jungkook. But from what you had heard—and seen thanks to your nosey self looking through peep holes once they left—it was very rarely the same girl. 

So to you, Jungkook was a pro at the art of hookups. 

“Right, sorry,” he grimaces, a sheepish smile on his lips as he wonders just how many times his activities kept you up at night. 

“It’s fine, consider us even.” A teasing laugh follows your statement, enjoying the flustered look on his face, how his cheeks get even darker in embarrassment. Jungkook was used to the two of you talking like this, neither of you having a filter especially when it came to sexual aspects, but he hadn’t had a conversation like this since before you got with Hajoon. It would take some getting used to again. 

“So, give me the tips. Where do you find people?”

Jungkook leans back into his chair, arms stretching out on either side of him, short sleeves of his black tee bunching up and revealing more of his tattoos and the rippling of his muscles. With a small laugh he rakes his hand through his fluffy hair, giving you a small smile. “Honestly? Anywhere. I’ve gotten girl’s numbers at the gym and at coffee shops, but bars are the best bet for something quick.”

“Ugh, fuck you and your pretty privilege.” 

“What?” he guffaws, smiling wide and showing you his adorable smile as he laughs loudly, not caring about the attention he draws to your table. He doesn’t even realize how the table full of girls is now trying to discreetly stare at him, because his eyes are on you. You see it though, and it further proves your point. “What the hell is pretty privilege?”

Your wild hands gesture towards him, a look of disbelief on your face as you do so. “You! Of course girls line up to hand you their number, have you seen yourself? Pretty privilege,” you jab your fork at him in time with your final words, a smirk on your glossy lips. 

Jungkook feels his confidence grow at your casual compliment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares down at his food, trying not to smile too hard. You thought he was pretty, that was a win in his book. 

“C’mon,” he teases, foot gently nudging your leg underneath the table. “You could totally score someone's number. Plus there's always apps if you just wanna test the water.”

You give your plate a contemplated stare, “Sure, how hard could it be?”

Admittedly, the answer to that question was: not hard at all. You had met all your previous boyfriends in person, through mutual friends or shared classes back in college, never once dipping your toe into the world of Tinder or Bumble. Who knew all it would take was a couple of selfies and the strategic body shot to have boys circling around you like some new-age, slightly filthier version of rapunzel. 

Jungkook knew though, not at all shocked by how quickly you get a match the following day when he’s at your place. His eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, helping you beat a level in your favorite game that you had been stuck on. But the second you gasp as if you’ve won the lottery, he pauses the game entirely and gives you an odd look. 

“What?”

His answer comes in the form of your phone thrusted in his direction, lit up screen displaying your profile picture and the one of the boy you had just matched with. Jung Hoseok. Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he reads the name, trying to remember it in case he somehow had a friend in common that knew all the dirt on him. 

He has a similar pair of yellow shades on his own head, thicker black rims around them and a charming smile on his face. Jungkook chuckles to himself. Yellow shades? How original. 

“What do I say?” you question, eyes looking nervous as you wiggle the phone in his face. The small white bar beneath your match urges you to start a conversation, and coming up with the right words to say makes you overthink it all. 

“Just say hi and tack on some cute emoji. It’s not that hard,” he laughs, pushing the phone back at you. Jungkook knew you could start the message off any way you wanted and this Jung Hoseok would eat it right up. How could he not, the alluring smile in your profile photo would draw anyone in. 

“Okay, I did it.” Your phone is instantly locked and chucked aside in an attempt to be forgotten, choosing to grab the remote out of Jungkook’s hands for another distraction. It only lasts a brief second before you’re killed by the boss Jungkook was trying to defeat. 

“Really?” Jungkook huffs, yanking the remote back into his hands, needing a distraction himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were searching for a fuck buddy while he sat beside you. How crazy would it be if he suggested being your fuck buddy, offered to help you through this so called wild phase you were searching for. 

No. That’s not what he wants. 

Would he enjoy it? Sure. But he could already imagine how much worse his heart would hurt if his feelings came to light and yours were non-existent. That is if you’d even agree to it. 

“Relax, he’s probably thinking of what to reply.”

You make a noise of disagreement, fingers itching to unlock your device to see if it was true, slowly inching towards it until you finally grab it and go back onto the app. Jungkook just chuckles as he goes back to helping you with your game, not wanting to look at you as you giggle at your device. He could already imagine what this guy was telling you for you to turn into a giddy mess not even two minutes in. 

He tunes it all out, eyes focused on the screen, fingers gripping the remote with a little more force than needed. His concentration helps him though, finally passing the level you’ve been stuck on for the past two weeks. 

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, making a show of stretching out and sending you a smile, having it falter slightly when he sees your eyes still focused on the screen of your phone. With a frown he looks back at the television, saving the game before turning it off altogether. 

Once he gets up from the couch, making his way over to the media console to store the remotes, is when you look up at him. “You’re right, this is easy!”

Jungkook doesn’t feel the usual pride that comes with being right, but the cheerful look on your face prevents him from feeling salty. Coming back towards the couch, he sits beside you once more, facing you as he rests his elbow on the back cushion to lean on. “Told you so.”

He keeps that same smile on his face as you mention how quick Hoseok was to ask you out on a date, even as you bring up the fact that this date would be at his place, and Jungkook could decipher netflix and chill any way some greasy boy tried to conceal it. 

“I hope he knows I don’t want anything serious,” you mumble, chewing on your fingernail as you scroll through the messages. 

Jungkook could almost laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of the piranha infested water that was the great sea of Tinder. Of course this yellow sunglass wearing wannabe version of him knows you don’t want anything serious, why else would he be so quick to invite you over with the cheeky excuse to watch movies. 

All he can do is shrug as he stares at you, lips pressed together in an effort to not say something that would totally ruin everything. Instead, Jungkook does everything he can to be the best version of a wingman you could get. He tells you the ins and outs of hookups, how you should definitely not text him the minute you leave his place and tell him you had fun, don’t talk about anything super personal involving family or your work, and if he doesn’t offer to go down on you but expects a blowjob he’s a loser. 

It’s solid advice that you mentally jot down, subjecting him to further questions your mind comes up with and even asking him for help on an outfit via text the night of your hangout with Jung Hoseok. 

Jungkook stares at the photos for a little too long if he’s being honest. They weren’t spectacular selfies that you had taken much effort for, their sole purpose being showing off the outfit, but the way you look so focused as you snapped the shot had him zooming into your face and smiling like an idiot. When you double text him with a long line of question marks he snaps out of it, deciding on the second option you picked of mom jeans and a cropped shirt. Cute and casual, and definitely something Jungkook preferred, but he’d never tell you that. 

When you finally text him a thumbs up and tell him you’re on your way out he just hearts the message before locking his device and trudging to the living room. It’s not often that he wallows in self pity, spacing those days out so far he barely remembers them. But they usually went exactly like this, ordering a large meat lovers pizza with extra cheese, drinking far too many Mike’s hard lemonade—because despite how much they made his stomach hurt they were tasty so he didn’t care—and binge watching his comfort show: Modern Family. 

But even as he sulks on his couch, practically sinking into the cushions with horrible posture and a slice of pizza resting on his chest, he can’t find it in himself to chuckle at Cam and Mitch’s usual banter. He’s too busy thinking about which movie you’re currently watching, if you were watching it. Who’s Jungkook kidding though, you were totally getting your guts rearranged right now. 

Taking an aggressive bite out of the crust he frowns and raises the volume up on his television, attempting to drown the mocking voice in his head calling him a loser for not admitting to his feelings. He knew this, knew he should have said something when he wanted to at breakfast, but Jungkook was afraid that if he confessed as you were talking about hooking up, that you’d see him as taking advantage of a situation instead of being genuine. I mean who wouldn’t? You say you want something casual and suddenly he’s spilling his heart out and you’re supposed to believe he’s not some pig trying to butter you up. He didn’t want to get labeled as a creepy neighbor after the good times you’ve had. 

“So stupid,” he grumbles to himself as he takes another swig, the last drops of the alcohol hitting his tongue with a tangy aftertaste. As he sits up to place the empty bottle onto his coffee table his muscles ache, neck stiff from the unfortunate position it had been subjected to for the last three hours. With a small huff he’s rolling his shoulders, reaching for his discarded phone to see the time—and also check if you’d sent him some SOS text—but he finds nothing besides the bright numbers indicating that it was nearing midnight.

In true pity party day fashion, he doesn’t even bother cleaning up after his mess, just tossing the dirty dishes into the sink to be washed tomorrow when he would force himself to be in a better mood. Instead, he grabs a water and his phone and waddles into his bedroom. 

The moonlight illuminates the space enough for him to keep the light switch off, undressing from his crumb covered sweats and shirt, choosing to remain in his boxers as he slipped under the cold duvet. The sheets feel fresh against his hot cheeks, flush from the alcohol, cooling him down and making his body relax. 

Jungkook knows he should sleep, needing to be up early tomorrow for work, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. His buzzed brain has no qualms imagining exactly what you were doing right now, wondering if you’d be the type to act shy at a guy’s house for the first time, if you’d initiate the first move or not. Jungkook had only seen it up close once under the flash of strobe lights and the haze of alcohol, but he can still picture the soft smile on your face before you go in for a kiss, and he grumbles under his breath when he realizes that he wouldn’t be the one kissing you tonight. 

What he doesn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be the one getting kissed tonight either. The Jung Hoseok you had perceived through Tinder, assuming he was all casual and DTF with his netflix and chill suggestion, had been anything but. What you thought would be a steamy night, ended up becoming a nice dinner and comedy watched, morphing into some version of game night where you discovered he was a little too competitive than you were used to. The only action you got was a kiss to your cheek as he walked you to your car and a promise for another date. A promise you would not be keeping. 

So as Jungkook lays in bed while his thoughts turn into some fantasy of you moaning out his name, you shuffle into your bedroom and slip into your pajamas with a defeated sigh. You had already texted your best friend telling her what a bust tonight had been, deciding to just tell Jungkook all about it tomorrow because you knew he was most likely fast asleep now. And as you settle under your own covers, inches away from Jungkook with only a wall seperating you, you decide to just call it a night and pretend it never happened. 

Just as you shut your eyes, nuzzling into your pillow, you hear the first moan come from behind the wall. A small cry of despair escapes you as you bury your face into your sheets, tugging them up and over your head to block the sound of Jungkook getting some action the same night you had been left high and dry. Of course he would, assuming you’d be getting the same treatment at your date's place, why wouldn’t he take advantage of your absence and not have to muffle his partner’s moans the way he usually did. 

You’re just going to ignore it, until you hear a moan that sounds strangely like your own name. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part, your horny brain deciding to pretend that Jungkook was calling for you instead of whoever he was with. It might be a little wrong for you to have that fantasy of your neighbor, but you aren’t blind. He’s hot, and adorably sweet, the perfect package for any girl he tried to swoon. And judging by the cries you’ve heard of lucky girls prior, you know he was good in bed. 

You’re just desperate now. That’s the excuse you tell yourself as you slowly settle onto your back, feeling your body warm up when you focus on his muffled groans, desperate and needy. As your hand slowly slides down your shirt, you shut your eyes, biting down onto your lip to muffle any sound you could make when your fingers slip underneath your pants and past your underwear. 

Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t care about his volume. His boxers are tugged down his thighs, knees bent as he slowly ruts into his sticky palm. His hand is tacky with the lube he had messily squirted on, thick cock glistening in the light coming in from his window. He can’t look away from it, mouth dropped open as he groans, imagining it was your hand tightly wrapped around him, your spit covering his cock instead of that strawberry flavored lube. 

“Ah fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back onto his soft pillows when his thumb rubs along his slit. It continues to leak beads of precum, quickly wiped away to join the mess on his cock when his hand slides back down and squeezes along his base. 

You hear that loud and clear, and when the female voice you’re expecting never follows, you realize he must be taking care of himself. It makes you feel a little less guilty now as your fingers trail along your slit, collecting the slick coating your folds before you softly circle your clit. A choked gasp fills the air at the small sensation, your body already wired after having expected to get some action tonight; it totally had nothing to do with your hot neighbor jacking off inches away from you. 

With your eyes fluttering shut, you strain your ears to make out any other noise, muffling your own groans with a hand pressed against your mouth. The bed creaks lightly underneath you as you roll your hips into your hand, getting into a smooth rhythm that makes your body buzz. 

Slowly, your imagination runs wild, and you wonder just what Jungkook was thinking of as he did this. Was he watching some porn as he did it, using his own filthy thoughts to push himself to ecstacy, or was this just something he needed to do to be able to sleep? 

“Shit, so good,” he groans out, voice raspy, but you can sense his desperation through the drywall. It’s what has you sinking a single digit into your drenched entrance, biting down onto your lower lip when you feel the glide of your walls as you start to thrust into yourself, easing in another and mewling at the slight stretch. 

Jungkook would absolutely give his left leg to know what your pussy felt like, he didn’t even care how disgusting he sounded by admitting that to himself, it was true. Blame it on the hard lemonade that made his stomach ache and his mind unfiltered, but he could almost visualize how you’d look above him, could practically feel the warmth of your core wrapped around him, dripping down his length as he fucked into you. 

He knows you’re loud in bed, never being one to conceal your cries of pleasure and he would die happy to hear his name come out of your mouth as you creamed his cock. But for now, his hand would have to do. 

His lids feel too heavy, jaw slack as the pleasure flows through his body. The wet squelch of his palm fills the room, mingling with his pants and groans, air growing thick around him. It’s been a while since Jungkook had jacked off, and even longer since he’d been able to do it shamelessly in bed without the fear of you hearing him, but now that he thought you were gone he can’t find it in himself to cover his mouth or groan into his pillows like he usually did. 

The pent up frustration fogs up his mind, cranks the lust up to 11 until his free hand is gripping his sheets beside him, bed frame creaking as his thrusts speed up. The thuds of his headboard hitting the wall come from behind you, a choked moan blending in with it, and it has you scrambling for your bedside drawer. 

The pajamas you wear get yanked off your legs and tossed aside after you grab your trusty vibrator, settling onto your back once more with huff. All it takes is a press of a button for the device to come to life, buzzing in your hand as you trail it up your thighs. A gasp escapes you when you pass it over your mound, brushing against your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you finally press the vibrating head directly onto your sensitive clit, legs spreading further apart as you increase the intensity. You could clearly hear the raise in Jungkook’s moans, and that's when the first irrational thought pops into your mind. 

How easy would it be for you to head over to his place and deal with both of your problems. Surely Jungkook wouldn’t have an issue with you offering to suck his dick, wouldn’t mind letting you sink down onto him if it was just a friendly favor. 

The little devil on your shoulder tells you it would be mutually beneficial, urging you to get up and walk to Jungkook’s with the vibrator still in your hand, but you can’t. This alone felt like enough of a dirty secret, a secret you’d have absolutely no problem keeping because although you feel slightly ashamed, you couldn’t deny how turned on you are. 

The flashes of all the times you’ve heard Jungkook with other people play in your mind, the screams of his name that he tried to muffle, pleas for him to go faster, the resounding smack of his palm on flesh that always left you wide eyed when you heard it. And you start to wonder if maybe you’d be into that, the feeling of his large tattooed hand connecting with your ass, gently tapping against your cheek for you to open up for his cock. 

That fantasy is like the first ember needed to start the fire inside of you, spreading uncontrollably until you’re bucking into your vibrator, teeth biting down on your lip to keep any potential moans of his name from slipping out. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, the same fire burning within him. Maybe your minds are linked telepathically, his thoughts gravitating to the same filthy fantasy you had. Jungkook was very much an ass man, knowing very well how good your butt looked in jeans from how often he stared at it, he could only imagine how good it would look as he fucked you from behind. Picturing the way it would bounce back from the force of his thrusts, eyes glued to the way you’d soak his cock, mimicking the tightness of your walls with a firm grip of his palm. 

Jungkook can sense his orgasm approaching, leaves his chest feeling tight as he pants, legs gliding along his sheets for leverage to continue fucking into his hand. You’re not far off either, vibrator set to the highest setting you can practically feel your bones rattling, free hand slipped under your shirt as you pinch at your pebbled nipples. You’re both on the brink of falling over the edge, the same question playing in your mind: where would you want Jungkook to cum?

As his moans get breathier, whiny in a way you’d never imagine them to be, you mentally decide that you’d want him to cum inside of you, wanting to see the way his cute face would twist up in pleasure as he filled you up. Jungkook hopes you would, throwing all responsible thinking aside for that sweet moment of ecstasy and the mental picture is enough to finally push him over. 

“Ah shit, baby,” he cries out in his room—thankfully having half the mind to not cry out your name as he came—eyes rolling back as his cock twitches in his palm, ribbons of cum splashing onto his stomach and chest. The warmth hits his skin, more droplets continuing to leak out as his palm milks his orgasm, stomach hiccuping and back arching from the stimulation. 

The choked moan is what has your own orgasm washing over you, your palm slapping over your mouth so hard you know you’ll feel the ache later but you don’t care. A muffled gasp blends with the buzzing of your toy, thighs tensing up as your body tingles and writhes around on your sheets. 

The only thing you can think of is Jungkook, the charming smile he’d give you when he listened to you rant about anything, his annoying habit of rolling up his sleeves to show off his muscles, the cute scowl on his face whenever you managed to beat him at Mario Kart, and the soft feeling of his alcohol coated lips on yours. It leaves you feeling warm as your orgasm flows through you, lying limp on the bed as you mewl at the sensitivity. 

When you realize your thoughts have strayed from ‘pure sexy Jungkook fantasyland’, and switched over to ‘Jeon Jungkook your adorable neighbor’, your eyes go wide, finger immediately going to turn off the vibrator. In your haste to shut it off, you click the wrong button, changing the pulsing settings and nearly screaming when the device starts to buzz erratically against your overly sensitive clit. 

With a strained gasp you yank it away from yourself, turn it off and throw it aside, horribly miscalculating the size of your bed and watching in horror as it lands on the floor with a loud thud. The complete silence from both sides makes the noise sound deafening, and all you can do is sit on your bed, half naked, and hope Jungkook is still too busy basking in his post orgasm bliss to hear the bang. 

Although the blood is still pumping in his ears, he heard the thud clearly. His heart stops in his chest as he lays there, too scared to breathe in case he’d somehow make too much noise, suddenly afraid of being too loud after he had just made a show of himself. Jungkook slowly sits himself up, grimacing at the stickiness on his stomach before pressing his ear against his headboard to try to hear anything else. 

All you want to do is yank the covers over yourself and go to sleep, pretend your horrendous date and your dirty thoughts about your friend never happened. The sobering mentality that comes after an orgasm settles into you, leaving you staring at the floor with a crease between your brows as you wonder what the hell came over you. 

When Jungkook hears nothing else, he sighs in relief, hauling himself out of bed to grab another pair of underwear before entering his bathroom to clean up. As he stares at his own reflection in the mirror, he frowns at how pathetic he feels. The throbbing headache of his earlier drinks is already starting to kick in, body now sweaty from exertion, stomach covered in his cum. 

“Such a loser,” he grumbles out, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe away the mess on his skin before walking back out. Here he was, getting off to the thought of you, while you were out having your post-breakup wild phase. 

His hands grab his phone as he reaches his nightstand, flopping back onto the bed and unlocking the device. It’s now one in the morning, and you still hadn’t text him, which either meant you were having the time of your life, or Jungkook had to track down this Jung Hoseok. The slightly protective side of him won’t allow him to sleep until he hears back from you, fingers already typing out a message and hitting send. 

Jungkook 1:23am : you safe or am i gonna have to go all Liam Neeson on this guy?

When your phone vibrates on your nightstand you gasp, grabbing it before it could make any more noise. Seeing Jungkook’s name flash on the screen makes your blood run cold, already imagining what the text could be: calling you dirty for getting off on him, making fun of you, telling you to come ove—no stop that. 

Finally mustering up the courage, you open it up, a small laugh spilling out as you read his message, relief flooding through you as you realize that meant he thought you were still with Hoseok. 

Y/N 1:26am : oh yeah, you gonna show him your very particular set of skills? lol

Y/N 1:26am : i just got home though

Y/N 1:26am : like right now

Y/N 1:26am : still sitting in my living room

Y/N 1:27am : haha

He laughs at your string of texts, something you hear as he settles into bed. Jungkook ebbs away the small feeling of jealousy in his chest, trying to see the silver lining of this. You weren’t rushing to tell him anything about your date which meant it either went so good you wanted to keep it to yourself, or it was subpar and you wouldn’t be seeing this yellow sunglass wearing copycat again. 

Jungkook 1:29am : glad you got home safe, goodnight y/n!

Sending back a goodnight text, you lock your phone and slide deeper into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you stare at the ceiling. You already know the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is your cute neighbor with a bunny smile and body proportions that contradicted it. And as Jungkook lays in bed, wondering if he’ll have to push the crush aside, you’re barely coming to terms with the fact that the small glowing feeling that came with being around him might be something else. 

Every single one of your interactions gets rewinded and played back like a seamless montage, remembering just how many almost moments there was between you. The way his eyes would flash down to your lips whenever you playfully argued on your couch, hands yanking the remotes from his in a game of tug of war that left you way too close in the heat of the moment. How he’d let you braid his hair anytime you found a new youtube tutorial, his starry eyes staring at you with so much adoration it made your stomach flip, brushing it off as love for a friend. 

Then came the jokes from your friends, constantly teasing you about Jungkook, playfully saying they would try to sleep with him just because they liked the scowl on your face, and how quickly you tried to play it off. How the sweet old lady from the convenience store downstairs always assumed you were dating when you came in together, the low jab she sent when you walked in with Hajoon and she said she preferred you with Jungkook. That argument had been one of the ones that left him bolting out of your apartment with a nasty slam of the door, spewing nasty words at you, calling you blind for not seeing it and dumb for acting like you had no idea what he was talking about. 

And for the first time, you come to the sudden realization that Hajoon was right. His deep set insecurities about Jungkook had stemmed from scraps of the truth, not just from him but from you too. The amount of times you’d find a way to slide Jungkook’s name into a conversation about anything, telling him funny stories about him, too lost in thought to see that while you were giggling as you reminisce, he was staring at you in disbelief. 

The final thought that makes you want a blackhole to swallow you up, comes in the form of you, grabbing Jungkook’s face before planting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips at the club. You want to scream into your pillow as you recall it, how he had almost leaned back in to kiss you again before you had sobered him up with your dumb question rooted in revenge. 

“Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.” you whimper. Subjecting Jungkook to be your wingman, jokingly telling him he should be your fake boyfriend more often, asking him for tips with hook ups. If everyone else could see it but you, he probably thought you were purposely friendzoning him. 

The guilt piles on top of you as you start to piece together every moment that flew over your head, only making you bury yourself deeper into your sheets. It makes your heart twist, taking note of how Jungkook was always so quick to put a smile on his face despite how naive you were to it all, wondering if maybe it was too late to try to make something of this now. How many times could you call Jungkook ‘bro’ and treat him like you didn’t see him romantically, before he decided there was no hope for him anymore. 

So as you force yourself to sleep, nerves and uncertainty weighing heavy on your mind, Jungkook snores away as he dreams of the almost moments that could have been.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

NY TIMES: St. Vincent Is Trying to Understand People

As she releases her sixth album, “Daddy’s Home,” the musician expounds on the lengthy documentaries, Janet Jackson bust and Joni Mitchell album that feed her creativity.

By Olivia Horn

May 4, 2021, 10:00 a.m. ET

Despite the hardships of the past year, Annie Clark’s sixth studio album came together with remarkable ease. “Maybe I earned a fun one,” Clark, who records under the name St. Vincent, mused. “Usually there’s some kind of ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ moment. And there just wasn’t.”

Clark, 38, spent much of 2020 shuttling between her home in Los Angeles and her family’s in Texas. But the record (“Daddy’s Home,” due May 14) was born at Electric Lady Studios in Manhattan, where she and her repeat collaborator Jack Antonoff landed on 1970s New York as their lodestar. The resulting songs ease away from the angular art-pop of “Masseduction” from 2017, opting for gentler, slouchier rock. The relative softness corresponds to Clark’s effort to treat the troubled, complicated characters that populate her record with care. Among them are the broke and lovelorn protagonist of the lead single “Pay Your Way in Pain,” Nina Simone, Marilyn Monroe and her own father, whose release from prison in 2019 inspired the title track.

Clark confessed that she did not meet her quarantine goals of learning conversational Italian or writing a tour bus cookbook, but she did read some books about the gulag. Calling from her “utilitarian” Los Angeles studio, she detailed 10 of her favorite things to watch, read and hear — many of her picks reflecting a fascination with history and an eagerness to unpack social and aesthetic violence. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

1. William Scott Sculptures

I discovered William Scott’s work through David Byrne, at his place in New York. And when we were on tour with “Love This Giant,” we went to Creative Growth in Oakland [a nonprofit that supports artists with disabilities]. I had my eye on this bust of Janet Jackson. And then when I was back, I went and bought a bust of CeCe Winans. So I have these busts in my library.

A lot of the artists whose work I collect are people who are marginalized from society in one way or another. What I like about it is that the expression feels very pure. These are people who might not have all of the tools at their disposal or the education, or any of that, but they are compelled to make work. That kind of irrepressible urge in people — that I just find so inspiring and heartening and cool. And it’s completely divorced from any of the status of the quote, unquote, “art world.”

2. Adam Curtis’s Documentary Series “Century of the Self”

The way his work has been described is as emotional history or impressionistic history. The lines that he draws between events and trends are not exactly “A plus B equals C,” but the general thesis is like, “the collective consciousness is saying this.” As a writer, I’m always trying to understand systems and understand people.

3. Ric Burns’s “New York: A Documentary Film”

I used to live in a rent-controlled place in the East Village. But it was shady how I lived there, so I was never able to get utilities in my name. I lived there for 10 years and I didn’t have the internet, so I had DVDs. I used to go to Kim’s Video all the time and buy DVDs so when I would wake up hung over and be like, “Oh, just can’t quite make it out of bed today,” I would have something to put on. If I wanted to watch something it wasn’t like “Netflix and chill.” I associate that Ric Burns documentary with being either hung over or tired or both, and watching it in my bed.

4. Joni Mitchell’s “Hejira”

This is one of those Joni Mitchell records that I didn’t hear until I was in my early 20s. Everybody knows “Blue” and “Ladies of the Canyon,” but this is when I became a Joni Mitchell fan, with a capital F. This record’s just so deep. Her lyrics are … Cubist. I’m thinking of the one where she’s like, “In the mirrors of a modern bank/From the window of a hotel room.” And it’s all wiggles, you know? It’s like water, that record. And I don’t mean to make it about me, but I feel like I can understand some of the things that Joni talks about, like the refuge of the road, or watching the world from an airplane or being in a hotel room.

5. Maggie Nelson’s “The Art of Cruelty”

This is one of those books that I picked up six times and would get through a few pages and be like, “This is really brilliant,” but it felt impenetrable at first. Then I had this one weekend where the clouds parted, and I just could see it and plowed through it. It talks about the ethics of being an artist in a way that is so brilliant, and so not orthodox or finger wagging. I think it’s one of those books you can revisit at various points of your life.

6. Her Own STV Signature Series Guitar

Part of it was inspired by Klaus Nomi’s tuxedo. And I wanted it to hit my sternum in a particular way. I am cis female, so the way that it hits the sternum and then has a little bit of a cutaway, it makes room for my breast. But just one of them. There’s only room for one! I love it. It’s the only electric that I play, with very rare exception.

I saw people’s pictures of it from the Met [in the exhibition “Play It Loud: Instruments of Rock & Roll”], because I never got a chance to go and see it in real life. Most of the time, I just kind of like quietly put my head down and work — and then every once in a while, I look up and see something that I’ve made, and it’s mysterious that it’s in the world.

7. Wim Wenders’s “Pina”

I love Pina Bausch’s work. I was really inspired by “The Rite of Spring,” where the virgin dances herself to death. There’s this one particular movement that was like, drawing your hand above your head, and then when you pull it down, your elbow goes into your stomach — sort of like you’re open and then you’re impaling yourself. It just moved me to tears. So when I worked with my friend Annie-B Parson to choreograph the Digital Witness Tour, I was like, “Can we please incorporate this?” Another big thing: I was obsessed with falling. That was another big part of the Bausch work. How do you fall and make it look violent but not hurt yourself? I’d get a rehearsal room with Annie-B and just practice falling.

8. Vintage RCA 77-D Microphone

It’s an old ribbon mic, and it just sounds so good and warm. I know these are words that might not mean that much — when people describe sound as warm, it’s reductive. But it makes things sound and feel true. I don’t mean that it has perfect fidelity. What I mean is that when you sing into this microphone, what comes back at you feels honest. My friend Cian Riordan, who mixed “Daddy’s Home,” hipped me to this mic.

9. “Hidden Brain” Podcast

There was one recently about the idea of honor culture. You know, if someone is insulting someone’s masculinity and masculinity is tied up with honor, you have to avenge that insult. A lot of these “honor societies” end up with more violence because you have to save face and there’s less ways to assimilate conflict. The premise of so much of “Hidden Brain” is that we live by the stories we tell ourselves. And as a storyteller, that idea is very liberating to me, because if we live by the stories we tell ourselves, it means that when we get new information, we can assimilate that information and tell ourselves new stories.

10. Piazza della Signoria in Florence

The first time I was there was with my mom and sisters. I remember just walking through this piazza and having a wonderful time and wonderful conversation, and really being awe-struck by the architecture and the history, and just that life was beautiful. Another time, a number of years later, I was on tour with David Byrne and we had our last show in Florence, and I remember walking through with band members and then having the best dinner of my life after. It’s one of those places where, at very pivotal points of my life, I’ve been there and only beautiful things have happened to me.

[ausp-ice]

The second part of the story of Malice and Val's meeting! You can see the art/story for the first part here.

The story is also on Toyhouse.

Hearts of (No) Malice, Chapter 2: Intersection

The last thing Malice expects is for the human to return the next day, with their bag of devices and sustenance. They do the same thing as the day before—greet Malice, sit down, and retrieve what Malice assumes is their drawing device.

The human does not return the following day, but they do return the day after that.

At this point, Malice finds themself… curious. Most humans who face them are fearful and wise enough to heed their warnings, or otherwise Malice can manipulate the malice in their hearts to get them to leave. But this… Valence. They do not understand why the human chooses to stay here for extended periods of time, especially given Malice's presence.

So, of course, they observe. While they can see without the use of their eyes, visual perception of the human while Malice is looking away from them is suboptimal. On a whim, then, they slip into an abstract energy form before shifting back into their more solid form behind the human, looking over his shoulder.

Only to be surprised by the sight of itself—rather, a rendition of itself. "You are drawing me," they note, and the human jumps violently, pressing his tablet to his chest and looking up at Malice with widened eyes.

"I, a-ah, well…" they stammer, eyes flicking off to the side. A faint pink tints his cheeks. "S-sorry. I wasn't going to show anyone. You're just," he gestures vaguely at Malice, "very pretty."

"Pretty," Malice repeats, blinking all their eyes.

Valence nods. "You're just…" They hold out a hand and gesture down its body and then vaguely to its wings. "You know?"

"That is horrendously vague, Valence," they say.

The human hides his face in his hands. "It's, you know, the aesthetic? Black and blue are pretty, you're super tall and elegant but also sharp?"

Hmm. "Thank you, I suppose." Malice slips away, returning to the edge of the cliff in a shift of smoky movement.

"You…" Valence starts, "are you going to stop me?"

Malice hums. "What you do is none of my concern."

"O… kay. Neat. Very neat." Their voice gradually peters to a mumble.

Malice lets the time slip away. Valence remains, drawing and occasionally snacking, until eventually—there. That spark of malice, around the same time every day.

They chase the thread of it, shifting to an energy nearly imperceptible to nonmagical individuals. In mere moments, they are at an apartment.

Malice does not particularly care about the details of the situation they discover, but they do note two individuals, one with long dark hair and a slender form, the other with light short hair and a broader build.

Both of their malevolent feelings have been growing exponentially for the past few days. Towards each other both, but the long-haired one—toward the situation, the world, everything.

It festers and grows, now to the point that it has called Malice itself to the scene.

It plays out just as they expect. A physical altercation, escalating emotionally and physically, until finally—a knife in the long-haired individual's hand, buried in the chest of the other.

The malice fluctuates—suddenly gone, before roaring back. Malice approaches, phasing through the walls of the building as if they were nonexistent. They approach the individual from behind and set their fingers lightly on the individual's shoulders, a ghostly touch, and knowledge about them—no, her—seeps into Malice's awareness. Her name, her reasons, the suffering she accepted until pain turned to malevolence.

But Malice does not care for such details. "Will you allow the malice to consume you?" they ask, and she stiffens, gaze flicking to Malice's claws.

She scoffs. "They always say that welcoming evil will invite demons to your home."

Demons. One of the many sorts of beings humanity created to explain Edeia, though inherently such a label and its associations are often improper reflections of the nature of Edeia. Despite the offer of Edeia knowledge to the world, some still rely on their existing conceptions of supernatural entities.

Malice does not bother explaining this. "I can pull you back," it says, instead. "If you wish to let go. Will you?"

She clenches her fists. "No. He… no one ever helped me, even when I tried reaching out." She lowers her head. "Humans are selfish, even if they seem nice on the surface. When they have to risk their own self… ha. They won't."

"Perhaps so," Malice says.

"I don't care what happens to me. Whatever you want from me. I just want the world to burn and be free of it once I'm done."

"I see." They lean in closer. "Then… I shall give you just the slightest push."

Malice pulls at the thread within her, just slightly. Changing the weave. There would be no change now, but it will grow more and more uncontrollably as she feeds it.

As they pull away, she turns her head slightly to look at them. "What are you?" she murmurs.

"Malice," they answer, and leave.

-

The next day, Malice returns to the cliff. And of course, Valence is there. The human comes to sit and draw and occasionally talk, and they've become more bold the more Malice answers.

Malice… finds that it does not mind, however. There are not many situations where they would speak to anyone normally, so they indulge the human.

"How long have you been an Edeia?" Val eventually asks.

How long? "I… am not sure." They look to the city. "It was long before humanity reunited with magic."

"So at least a hundred years," Val murmurs.

Malice hums, crossing their hands behind their back. "I would say… twice as long would seem reasonable."

"That's… a really long time." A pause. "Do you… have any other friends?"

Malice scoffs at that. "What use does malice have for friends? I am ill will. Harmful intentions. All that calls to me is the malice festering within the hearts of humanity."

"Just humanity?"

"No. But humanity's malice often burns the fiercest. As Edeia, we are," Malice waves a hand, "embodiments of our Idea. Fewer of us tend to harbor ill will towards others when they cannot threaten us. When such emotions are trivial in the face of being the very concept itself."

Valence hums. Without turning around, Malice sees them frown and put down their tablet. "You mean like… Edeia don't need emotions?"

"Need? No. Those who have fully embraced their identity as a concept are just that—sentient representations of a concept. Consciousness and Concept, for instance."

If Valence is familiar with them. Judging by the way Valence's brow furrows, Malice is not certain.

"But," the human says, "you all do have emotions, right?"

"Most retain their emotions, yes. In one way or another."

"Do you?"

Malice turns their head slightly towards Valence. They consider his question. "They are unnecessary," Malice decides, and turns back.

Valence takes a breath. Lets it out, and sets down their tablet. They stand up and walk closer, closer, until, "Can I hug you?"

Malice blinks. They turn their head, looking over their shoulder at the human, who has his eyes on his fidgeting fingers. "Um… I'm going to hug you. Yell or something if you want me to stop."

Valence then proceeds to lift themself on their toes and wrap their arms around Malice's hips—they are far too tall for him. It is almost amusing. They then rest their head on the small of Malice's back.

It is… soft. The human's clothing is soft, his hair, his embrace. It is not something Malice has experienced since… since…

A long time ago, regardless.

They do not move, but eventually the human lets go. The loss of warmth is stark in the chill of the air.

Malice turns around fully to look at Valence, and the human cranes his neck up to meet their eyes. His hands are now tucked in the sleeves of his white sweatshirt, and his arms are folded.

Malice hums, lifting a claw near his arm. Valence stiffens slightly as his gaze follows it, but Malice does not touch. Instead, they vanish into smoky darkness once more.

[taetaespeaches]

“What was that one move you did? The kick one?”

seokjin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.4K

a/n: hi, lovelies! Here’s s cute little Jin fic that shows how Jin/Poopsie easily help each other out when frustrations are growing. Jin is practicing the Dynamite choreo and Poopsie shuts down his self-doubt. I think it shows the easy understanding they have of each other. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy!! 

YOUR arms were full as you made your way through the hallway, dodging an employee every once in a while.

During your shift at work, you received a text from your boyfriend saying he was going to be pulling a late night at the dance studio and to not wait up for him. But the thing was, you missed him, and not seeing him that night was just unacceptable.

That’s how you found yourself carrying a couple bags of takeout through the BigHit studios, on a mission to see your man, even if just to watch him dance all night. As you got closer to the room, the sound of their new song humming through the hallway got louder.

Arriving at the studio door, you quietly shoved it open, peeking your head inside to see Hoseok and Jin going over a move. Hoseok saw your reflection in the mirror first, smiling widely as he turned to greet you.

“Ayyy it’s Poopsie!” He shouted as you stepped inside, giggling in return. Jin turned to see you, a wide smile immediately taking over his face.

“Ahhh my Poopsie!” Jin shouted out happily, jogging over to help you with the bags of takeout as Hoseok went to pause the music.

“Is this the disco?” You lamely joked, Jin smiling fondly as Hoseok smiled but shook his head in second-hand embarrassment. “Are we in the stars tonight?” You continued as Jin took the bags from you. He set them on the table next to you as you cheered, “Are we lighting it up like dynamite, fellas?” 

Jin chuckled fondly as he placed himself in front of you. “Hi, Sugar Plum,” he greeted just before the music cut out.

“Hi, my love,” you grinned before puckering your lips, Jin leaning in to give you a sweet kiss.

“What are you doing here? You should be home relaxing,” he told you, looking down at your frame to see you were still dressed in your work clothes. “Long day?”

“Not as long as yours,” you told him, pushing his sweat-dampened fringe off his forehead. “Do you mind if I hang out for a while?”

Jin gave you a soft tired smile, shaking his head. “Of course, I don’t mind,” he told you quietly, pressing his lips to yours gently before placing them on your forehead. Wrapping his arms around you, he swayed you side to side cutely as he spun you around to face the other man in the room. “How long were you planning on sticking around? I don’t want to take up your whole night.”

When you tried to pull out of Jin’s hold to look at Hoseok, he held you to him tighter, you straining against him with a groan making your boyfriend giggle. “Shhh,” he shushed, you, “I’m not done hugging you yet.”

Your arms tightened around his waist as you smiled against his body.

“If you think you’ve got it from here, I’ll probably head out to see the missus,” Hoseok said, his voice closer as he approached you both.

“I’m good,” Jin told him, “go ahead.”

You heard rustling as Hoseok must have been packing up his things, shoving them all into his bag. Turning your face to spot the younger man, you saw him come toward you with a wide smile.

“You two take care,” he grinned, bringing his hands to tousle both your hair, you giggling as Jin let out a yell of complaint through a smile. “Don’t let him practice too hard,” he pointed at you, shooting Jin a look as your boyfriend shooed him off.

“I won’t,” you promised, looking at Jin with a smile. “Wait, Hobi,” you called out, your eyes widening, Jin mimicking the expression. In retaliation against his light teasing, you playfully headbutted his shoulder, Jin letting out a laugh of amusement. “Do you want some chicken for the road?”

“Really?” You heard Hoseok ask, making you peer around your boyfriend’s body to nod at him. He broke out into a giddy little dance, wiggling his hips in excitement. You laughed at him as you pulled out of your boyfriend’s hold, this time Jin letting you. Making your way to the bag of food, you pulled out a container of chicken and handed it to Hoseok.

“The whole thing?” He asked, eyes wide in surprise. “That’s too much.”

“I got plenty,” you waved him off. “Take them home to the missus.”  

“She’s gonna feel bad,” he told you, already tucking the container under his arm.

“She can pay me back with breakfast next week,” you told him, Hoseok smiling widely as he nodded.

“I’ll tell her that,” he assured you as he started backing away. “Thank you, you’re the best,” he said sincerely as he opened the door, sending you a wave. Exiting the room, he shouted, “Don’t stay here all night!” from the hallway just before the door closed.  

Arms suddenly wrapped around your middle from behind, Jin’s chin plopping on your shoulder. “You’re so sweet, love,” he told you, you looking over to see his pouted lips. Bringing a hand to his head, you brushed your fingers through his hair a few times as he leaned in to kiss your neck sweetly. “There better actually be plenty,” he joked, you scoffing.  

“You think I’d give all our dinner away?” He asked in mock offense, Jin standing up straight and dragging you closer to the table so he could inspect the food without having to let you go.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I do actually, you’re too nice.” With one arm still wrapped around your waist, he used to other to sift through the food containers, making sure there was indeed enough. “Wah, it looks amazing,” he commented enthusiastically.

Lifting his arm from you, you left a kiss to the inside of his wrist before raising his forearm above your head, spinning yourself under it as Jin watched you fondly. “So,” you started, holding his hand, swinging it back and forth. “Food now or later?”

He took a breath in, thinking as he looked from the vacant wooden floor to the food, repeating the movement of his eyes a few times. With a sigh, he placed his free hand at the back of your head, pulling you to him so he could kiss your forehead quickly.

“I should practice a bit more first, but you can eat, love,” he told you, letting go of your hand as he started toward the speaker. Your gaze followed him across the room, a tinge of sadness making itself known as he started the music up again.

You always admired how much work he put into his job, but it always left you feeling a bit sorrowful as you knew the extra effort was due to his insecurity in his abilities. It seemed he was often the first one in and the last one out. The look on his face upon returning home late from the dance studio or the recording booth always pulled on your heart a bit, because no matter how hard he worked, he himself never felt it was enough.

You took a seat on one of the chairs and watched as your boyfriend got into position for the choreography. Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you shot him a wink sending a shy smile across Jin’s face as he covered his mouth in embarrassed giggling.

“Occupy yourself with something,” he yelled out to you, you shaking your head.

“If you think I’m going to sit here and not watch you, you’re insane,” you told him, leaning forward to further show your interest in his dancing. He let out a groan of complaint but got back into position anyway, shaking his head lightly as his ears tinted with red.

How a person could be as confident as your boyfriend was while still being a big shy cutie was beyond you, but you absolutely adored it. As he started performing the dance, you watched the way his body moved through the steps, appreciating the precision in his transitions from one move to the next. Nobody was claiming that your boyfriend was the best dancer in his group, but you didn’t understand how he could think he wasn’t any good at the art form.

“Ah fuck,” Jin let out in aggravation, going to stop the music. He must have messed a move up, but you didn’t notice it. You stared but didn’t speak as he cut the song off and turned to look in the mirror. He didn’t move, he simply stood there looking at himself.

When he brought his hand to the back of his head, scratching the spot before shaking the hair out, you knew he was getting a little too frustrated. He wouldn’t get mad at you or anything if you spoke up in that moment, but you also didn’t really know what to say. You just knew you wanted to give him a break from his growing stress.

As he started going through the troublesome move at a slower pace without the music, you stood up, reaching into the food containers to grab out a cookie. Sweets fix everything, right? Holding it in your hand you started toward your boyfriend, Jin standing up straight as he watched you approach in the mirror’s reflection. And when you started waving your arm around to flash the cookie at him, he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips.

“Hello my very own World Wide Handsome,” you greeted with a smile.

“Dessert first?” He teased, facing you as you nodded happily.

“Of course, why not? Care to spare me a moment of your time to enjoy this delicious cookie with me?”

“How do you know it’s delicious? You haven’t eaten anything yet,” he pointed out, stepping closer to you.

“And what a travesty that is, you wouldn’t make me wait any longer to eat this, would you, my love?” Jin let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Here,” you gestured to the cookie by holding your hand toward him, Jin stretching his neck and opening his mouth. You smiled, taking the cue as you brought the food up to his mouth, allowing Jin to take a bite.

“Mmmm,” he moaned out, nodding as he chewed the piece.

“Delicious?” You asked with a smile.

“Delicious,” he confirmed through a mumble, his mouth full of the treat. Taking your wrist in his hands, he rotated your hand toward you, guiding you to feed yourself. You continued to take turns eating the cookie, giggling and making sounds in response to its tastiness. Breaking off one last piece, you fed it to your boyfriend as you finished the bit that was still between your fingers.

“You know, I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” you gently told your boyfriend as he finished chewing, wiping your hand on your pants to rid yourself of any crumbs.

Jin sighed, rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder. “I’m not moving fast enough from one move to the next,” he complained with a sigh. “I just want it to look good,” he said, finally meeting your gaze again.

“It will,” you assured him with a nod. “It already does, it’s just,” you shrugged, a small knowing smile causing Jin’s lips to curve upward. “You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, you rolling your eyes.

“It’s frustrating!” You yelled through a giggle, Jin nodding.

“Right, and I’m the only one in this room right now who has that problem, right?” He teased, pointing out your habit of doing the same thing he was doing in that moment.

Looking around the otherwise empty room, exaggerating your movements, Jin’s smile grew bigger, his eyes crinkling adorably. “Well yeah, it wouldn’t be me,” you smiled, Jin’s squeaky laughter resounding through the studio. The laugh lifted a weight off your shoulders, allowing you to fall against him, Jin easily wrapping his arms around your back. “You’re an amazing dancer, stop being an asshole to yourself,” you told him.

Kissing the top of your head, he nodded. “Ok, love,” he agreed, soothing a hand over the top of your back. “Should we grab our food and head home?”

“Wait,” you protested, pushing yourself out of his arms, going to the stereo to start the song, scanning through it to find the first chorus. He watched you curiously as he sported a fond but confused smile. “What was that one move you did? The kick one?” You asked, a small laugh leaving Jin’s mouth.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, love.” You shot him a glare, knowing what he was doing, and he shot you a mischievous grin right back. “You might need to show me.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you laughed, starting the music a minute and twenty-some odd seconds into the song. “This part.”

“Still not ringing any bells,” he shrugged, you setting the phone down with a shake of your head.

“Ok, you know what,” you started, pulling your sleeves up your arms, holding a hand up to him. “Now, don’t get jealous of my sick moves, I’m just a natural.” Jin’s laughter sounded through the studio once more just before you bent your knee and snapped your leg in a side kicking motion, absolutely butchering the move, Jin’s laughter only increasing in gasps and squeaks.

Through your own amusement, you managed a lame ending pose and asked, “Well?”

“I still have no idea what move you’re talking about,” he teased you further, you screaming out in embarrassment and frustration, your body moving like a child throwing a tantrum, stomps and all. Jin got his wheezing under control just enough to wave you over and telling you, “get over here, I’ll teach you the move.”

You dragged your feet over to him, a wide smile still stretched across your face. Jin grabbed your hips, pulling you to stand in front of him. As he prepared to show you the dance move, he leaned toward the side of your face.

“I knew what move you were talking about the whole time,” he whispered a teasing admission, his lips brushing against your ear.  

“Oh you don’t say,” you said sarcastically, Jin laughing hard again as his hand slid down your thigh, preparing to lift your limb into the right position. “Just teach me the move so I can brag to Hobi later that I got a dance lesson from the best dancer in Bangtan.”

“Wow,” he shook his head in proud astonishment. “That’s my Poopsie.”

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 4-1 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 4 – Heart’s Fire: 4-1 / 4-3 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-8 / 4-9 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-15 / 4-17 / 4-18

I originally did not translate this part when translating Chapter 4, but for the sake of completion, I’m putting this here now! I am also planning to go through the rest of the Ch.4 translation to revise and check it again, in coming days.

--

Café

While I was sorting out Gong Cheng’s experiment notes with Zuo Ran, I suddenly received a call from Lu Jinghe.

--

[Flashback]

Lu Jinghe: Hey, you busy right now? Could you come out for a bit? I’m right at the café downstairs from your law firm.

MC: What is it that’s this urgent?

Lu Jinghe: I’d like to entrust you with a case, and I can’t talk about it clearly over phone. Otherwise, I wouldn’t specially come over.

Lu Jinghe: Have I impeded your work? My apologies, if it really isn’t convenient, could I meet up with you after work tonight?

Lu Jinghe: Taking up your rest time doesn’t seem to be that good either, but I…

What would trouble Lu Jinghe to this extent? My curious heart was hooked on by him.

MC: I’ve got time right now. Wait for me for a bit – I’ll go let Lawyer Zuo know.

Hearing that Lu Jinghe was looking for me, Zuo Ran furrowed his eyebrows, but he didn’t hold me back.

I hurriedly cleaned up and rushed straight to the café downstairs.

As soon as I came in, I heard the sound of Lu Jinghe’s fingers snapping. He was sitting at a booth by the window, waving at me.

MC: Since this thing has made you so anxious, could it be that you’ve noticed a clue about that fake Artist Z?

After the case where Lu Jinghe was framed for murder, he and I went to see an art exhibition again, yet we unexpectedly encountered an Artist Z counterfeit case.

To artist Lu Jinghe, the nature of this case was extremely vile. We recently have been looking for related clues nonstop, but there were no developments for now.

Lu Jinghe: It’s not related to Artist Z. What’s up, have you been concerned about that case the whole time?

Lu Jinghe: Thank you, I hope it didn’t add extra burdens onto you.

Without silver-tongued smooth talking or playful teasing, Lu Jinghe actually thanked me in complete earnestness?!

MC: You’re a bit different from usual today – exactly what issue did you run into?

Lu Jinghe: Have you heard of the person named Huang Haochu?

MC: Is it that famous appraiser and Leinster Auction House’s partner, Huang Haochu?

Lu Jinghe: Right, that’s him. He counts as the one who enlightened me on the path of art, and I’ve always respected him deeply.

MC: But I remember that last year, Huang Haochu… was murdered?

Lu Jinghe: Yes, Teacher Huang is no longer here.

Lu Jinghe: Last year, a scandal on Leinster counterfeited auction goods was exposed, and public opinion pointed towards Teacher Huang as the one behind it.

Lu Jinghe: The media claimed that Cui Yuan, Leinster’s boss, got into conflict with Teacher Huang due to accountability questions about the counterfeit case.

Lu Jinghe: In their fight, Cui Yuan used his own tie to suffocate Teacher Huang to death.

The alleged counterfeit goods scandal stated that, after a deal was reached on Leinster’s auctions, they would use fakes to replace the authentic goods, handing them to the purchasers.

The replaced authentic goods appeared on the artwork black market. Leinster sold them twice, exploiting this for large profit.

After this matter occurred, Leinster Auctions’ reputation took a nosedive, verging on bankruptcy.

Boss Cui Yuan found appraiser and partner Huang Haochu, requesting that he come forward and bear the responsibility, and to cut ties with the company, but he was rejected by Huang Haochu.

Due to this, the two fought, which led up to a murder.

MC: I saw a related report online, but my impression was… there still hasn’t been a judgement on this murder case?

Lu Jinghe: There is indeed no judgement. Plus, the true circumstances of the case is as different as can be from what the media reported.

Lu Jinghe: In their investigation, the police noticed that the police did not murder Huang Haochu maliciously. Instead, he assisted Teacher Huang, who had depression, commit suicide.

MC: Assisted suicide?! Does Cui Yuan not know that this is illegal?

Lu Jinghe: The police speculated that Teacher Huang had started considering death due to depression, to begin with.

Lu Jinghe: With Cui Yuan assisting his suicide, it would be perfect timing to use this tragedy to counter the unfavourable public opinions brought by the counterfeit auction goods, thus saving Leinster.

MC: These methods sound…

Lu Jinghe: Hah, I also don’t agree with the police’s conclusion. Plus, Cui Yuan himself has remained firm in not pleading guilty.

Lu Jinghe: After Cui Yuan was arrested, he said the whole time that he had nothing to do with Teacher Huang’s murder, and he knew nothing of the murder.

Lu Jinghe: He wants to plead innocence for himself, and has gone through several lawyers due to this, resulting in the repeated postponement of trial time.

Lu Jinghe: The day before yesterday, the court decided that a trial would be held for this case next Thursday, and they would not extend the time period again.

MC: It was probably the Public Prosecution that raised a lawsuit for this case. It couldn’t be that you’re looking for me to defend Cui Yuan?

Lu Jinghe: In name, you would be defending Cui Yuan, but in reality, I want to request you to help me find out Teacher Huang’s real murderer.

MC: Huh? You believe that Cui Yuan was not the murderer?

Lu Jinghe: No. To me, he is still one of this case’s suspects.

Lu Jinghe: It’s just that the emotional pain and guilt he’s displayed towards Teacher Huang doesn’t look at all like he’s putting on an act to be exonerated.

Lu Jinghe: I suspect that this case truly does have another, hidden story, and I can’t just sit and watch without doing anything.

MC: It’s already been nearly a year since this case, and few clues are left. Hopes of this case being reversed are very weak.

MC: Plus, it’s already Friday today, and there’s only five whole days of time. I’m afraid that there’s not enough time…

Lu Jinghe: I apologize, I know I’m troubling you…

Lu Jinghe: I also just found out about this inside info on the case. Otherwise, I wouldn’t think about investigating so long after the case happened.

Lu Jinghe: If the Lu family’s lawyers appear in this case, it would only hype up and feed into the media, and it would be incredibly unfavourable to the investigation. So…

MC: You’ve misunderstood, I’m not finding excuses to evade this. I just didn’t want to let you down. Plus, there are some things I must say upfront.

MC: If it’s just investigating the truth, of course there’s no problem. But I cannot lightly agree to being the defense lawyer, with regards to the suspect’s vital interests.

MC: I require that I meet with Cui Yuan first. Only after getting an understanding of the details of the case can I decide whether to defend him.

Lu Jinghe: We’ll do as you say. I’m already very grateful that you’re willing to try, and I naturally won’t make you accomplish anything.

MC: In a moment, I’ll go look up the files on this case to understand the details of the police’s investigation.

Lu Jinghe: Thank you for your hard work. I still ended up bringing trouble to you.

Lu Jinghe lowered his head and lifted the coffee cup, revealing a sliver of sadness as he spoke.

Lu Jinghe: People on the outside often think that the Pax Group is enormously powerful, and there is nothing that the heir to Pax can’t do.

Lu Jinghe: But it’s actually the exact opposite. I have a lot more instances of “no other alternatives” and “no way out” compared to typical people, due to my identity.

Lu Jinghe: Around me, the friends that I can speak truthfully with are very few.

Seeming like his own words induced some state of mind on him, he sank into silence, turning to look out the window.

The sun shone on his slim ears, and the gemstone studs reflected a dazzling light, but there was no way to disperse of the desolation in his appearance.

MC: Don’t you still have me? I’m your friend.

Lu Jinghe: Yes, I still have you. Good thing I have you.

[kustovshik]

Talking.

This post is informative in connection with a dispute that one of the parties decided to make absurd. If you don't want to get involved, just skip it. I don't force anyone to look into it or read it.

Kust is in touch. As many people have noticed, there was a small(not small now) conflict between me and a couple of other people, which could have already been eliminated, but was brought to total clowning. Names/nicknames named in this post will not be in order to avoid any negative towards those people. Also, no correspondence will be shown here, although they will be mentioned. If someone asks , I'm ready to go and personally collect all the screenshots of the two conversations, without losing any moments.

As a person in some way responsible for the current situation, I have a desire to illuminate everything from the side of my vision of things.

The conflict conditionally began three days ago. Let's call the person who initially had a small argument with me a certain person "A".

Well. in March. March 24th. We can assume that almost 5 months ago I published a post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/613504425335586816/i-want-to-be-in-fiars-stomach-he-looks-like-a

Many people remember it, I hope. I'll attach an old screenshot here just in case.

The whole conflict initially started because of the double meaning of the context behind the work itself. The problem, I was told, was the tags. Namely, in the tag highlighted in the screenshot above: ‘safe vore(or is it?)’.

This tag was originally put up there not because I didn't know what type of vore to call it, but specifically so that people themselves would sit and think: what do they want to see in my drawing. Simply put, a drawing with an open context. And it seems like no one has had any problems with it for few months.

That's what person A didn't like. I was told in a very unpleasant way for me personally that the person was very offended by this use of tags. And other problems with how they don't like 'fatal vore'. It was also suggested to me that I don't know about how fatal can be quite a painful experience for some.

I admit. My answer was quite abrupt. I can't deny it, and I won't, because that's the kind of person I am. My language is harsh on words and expressions. Instead of a thousand words and a selection of expressions, I usually tell people everything openly, or I am ready to openly indicate that something is wrong. Also, I fully admit that I have problems controlling my emotions, which makes it difficult for me to establish contact with strangers. I grew up in a different mindset, which is why I have a different view of many things. It's like putting two people who know the same language, but from different parts of the world, next to each other and forcing them to express their position on some moral principles or other things, and then wonder why their answers are different. A very exaggerated and crude comparison, but that how it looks like.

Why did I respond harshly? I am a rather rude person, and I do not like when people come to me in private messages, starting to talk about how bad they are feeling, because of things that can be safely ignored or blocked by them, so that there are no problems.

My first fatal mistake was when I decided to answer to "A". Afterwards, I talked to a couple of my friends and got cold feet. And then I apologized, trying to come to some compromise, adding the tag 'open ending' so that no one would be confused. But it seems that this was not enough, because “A” continued to say how it’s bad from what she found, even if not quite fatal stuff. Refusing to compromise in any way, as I suggested.

After that, we parted with apologies to each other, and neither of us wrote to each other again. I honestly thought it was over.

Now, before I go on to the man who has been driving me mad for the past two days, I will make a pure assumption and try to explain my indignation in a different way...

Out of human interest, I went through the 'safe vore' tag. Noted an interesting feature. Both tags had quite a lot of posts there. Namely, tags are 'safe vore' AND 'fatal vore'. Why did my post cause the problem? Have no idea.

Then another point became incomprehensible to me. How did a person get to this post at all? It would be difficult to find it through search, but you can: there is a lot of content by tag. I flipped the feed down from the second account for a long time and didn't come across my own post.

Then, in my little investigation, I looked into Tumblr's alerts. Likes, reblogs, well, you understand in short. And noticed it.

This is the first appearance of "A" in my notifications.

Hence, I dare to assume that "A" came across one of the reblogs of this post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/616227708116025344/a-new-player-has-joined-the-game And then "A" went to my blog, along the way ignoring the description specially written for such people at the very top of the blog, and came across my two-meaning post.

But after that, I had a rhetorical question: Why go to the blog of a person who has this written in the description, and hope that there will not be a fatal vore?

Of course, this theory is based only on my assumptions. But I think this scenario is quite real.

Thus, we can say that I have every right to be angry at the indignation expressed in my direction, because it is not my fault that the person ignored my preferences, scrolled down my blog page and started complaining.

Back to reality.

As you can understand, " A " shared our conversation with their friend, who the next day suddenly came to me with a long message about his position, offering help that was not needed.

Even then, I began to suspect that this person(let's call him "B") was somehow connected with "A". Moreover, the reason for the visit was the same for both of them.

I have already mentioned that I am an irritable and rather rude person. I was already stressed enough by the appearance of "A" and the consequences of my reflections that occurred after what I thought was an end to the conflict. And the repeated mention of the situation has already infuriated me.

I fully admit that I reacted very sharply to the "B" message. I had reasons for this that the other side chose not to consider.

Well. After receiving the message I gave sharp response expressing extreme dissatisfaction, but without insults to "B". Was there passive-aggressive speech? Yes. Were words said that I am not obliged to monitor the health of people who do not concern me? Yes. Do I have the right to think so? Yes. Does this fall under the moral code? It depends on the person's personal worldview.

Yes, I was rude due to the fact that on the second day I was exhausted and angry about this situation. I wanted to end this conflict and repeatedly asked both of them to block me and remain neutral. In addition, I tried to somehow explain that we are people of different mentalities and grew up with different life standards, so in this situation we see this conflict differently. Yes, in a rough way, but I tried to explain it.

I received a ton of direct insults, was accused of narcissism and high self-esteem, as well as refusing to take care of other people's problems. In addition, I received lines like, quote: "...but let me see you talk like you did to me or anyone else simply trying to converse with you over a serious topic and I will not hesitate to have your content and eventually your account removed from this site.".

Isn't this a direct threat?

I understand that passive-aggressive speech itself can offend someone. But you can't call it an insult. Passive-aggression is a hidden way of expressing negative feelings and emotions to a person. This is not an insult. But, Yes, I admit that this is a very harsh and rude way of communicating.

That's just after such an exchange of pleasantries, I snapped. 3 days of unquenchable conflict, when one side refused to listen to the other, at the same time. There were attempts on my part to end the conflict. There was one repeated request to block and disperse, so as not to inflame everything to the point of absurdity.

"Want to stay safe with your own preferences? "Please, God, don't touch me, that's all. Block me already and we will live in peace. "- This was the message of my answers. It's sad, but instead of just ending the conflict, I got the brand of a person with a capitalist mindset, the brand of a bitch-whiner, and other other charms.

And I swear that I was ready to just leave all this and stop responding to such outbursts in my direction, banal blocking "B", if they can’t themselves do it.

As here I get a notification with a post where this person changed my art / tags and basically uploaded the changed image to his blog, hiding behind good intentions. "B" did not receive permission for such actions. Even with an indication of authorship. I am most outraged by such actions at the moment.

Better look on the two images compared to each other. 

And after that, everyone wants me to try to understand how bad I was and how poor they are, that from a simple argument that could have ended without even starting, it turned into an absurd clowning with offended people, insults and changing someone else's drawings and whole character reaction. Just a note. Fiar is not so nice, he’s a wild monster leech and he just grumbles about everything as much as he don’t understands why some people willing to let him eat them. He’ll never say something as “I’ll keep you safe”.  

There it is. The comedy of a three days.

This post is for informational purposes only. Namely, how I see this situation.

All I want now is for "B" to delete the post, and for both sides to banal block each other, so that we never meet again.

I refuse to apologize to "B" for their latest act of outraging my drawing by completely distorting the meaning from a neutral drawing to something that only "B" and their friend like. In conclusion I can say, that I do not call myself a good one in that confrontation. I did some terrible mistakes while talking to both of those people. But it’s not only I’m here being on the bad side. People are not black and white. 

After this I’ll not respond to any of the continuation of that conflict anymore. I’m tired of this.

[anerdquemoraaolado]

Beyond a Chance

The great news

Over time, in her conflicting and somewhat unbalanced career, Yasmim learned to deal with anxiety and waiting. Sometimes it was easier, sometimes more difficult. As she came out of the audition, she felt her heart flutter and considered the possibility that she had passed, but she also thought that she might not get the part. In the present moment, taking a deep breath, he decided to focus on the relief she felt at having done her best and the worst being over. It was part of her job to be watched, but to be evaluated, it never felt good, knowing you had someone there in front of you judging you. She was part of the job, but still an uncomfortable part. Arriving home, she decided to rest, just wait for what would come next.

 Nervousness drove her to exhaustion, which made her take a nap, right there on her couch, curled up in her own arms, her mouth slightly open and covered in drool. What woke her up was her cell phone ringing, waking her up immediately, right after startling her.

 Hello? Hello? “ she answered while blinking several times, her attempt to be more awake.

 “Hi, Yasmim, it's me “ Howard introduced himself when he saw that it seemed that the client didn't recognize him “ I wanted to know how the test went and also give you some recommendations about it.

 “Oh yes, the test... “ she tuned back to the present, looking at her wristwatch to check how long she'd been home “ it's been about two hours since I arrived, I think I went well, Howie, just not I know if I have that much of a chance, from what I've seen, it's an audition for a role in Marvel, it's just... the biggest franchise today and they only hire real stars, I'd be lucky if I passed, being just an actress of theater.

 “Well, you need to trust your talents more “ Howard encouraged her “ but yes, you're right, I got confirmation today that yes, this is something from Marvel, so you can't tell anyone about it, got it?

 “Yes, of course, I know how discreet they are about new projects “ Yasmim understood.

 “And then? I thought you weren't into hero movies very much “ her agent pointed out.

 “I mean, more or less, they are my brother's favorites and he insists I watch so I know what we're talking about “ Yasmim said with some joy at the sudden memory “ I was even going to comment with him, but there was no time, I'm glad you warned me.

 “Yeah, that would be a big problem if it leaked “ replied Howard “ anyway, that's what I had to tell you, as to the result, they'll get in touch with me and I'll let you know as soon as possible.

 “Of course, thanks Howard “ she already understood the whole process.

 They ended the conversation and Yasmim felt hungry, sighed deeply, trying to feed her patience more and more, it wouldn't be today that she would know if she had passed or not. She decided to order a pizza, slowly eating the meal alone, something that accentuated the loneliness.

 Ever since she had turned thirty, living away from her family, she had been worried that she still didn't have a family of her own. It was an old dream she'd put off, career”focused, but now, she was beginning to doubt if she'd even find a nice guy she'd share a life with and raising children with.

 Looking for possible candidates, she was unsuccessful while in Brazil, she had already dated three times and none of them seemed to have wanted to stay. Alison was indecisive, and ended up seeing her only as a friend over time, Marcos was quite absent, not paying much attention to her, and Guilherme had certainly been the worst. She had made quite a fuss when Yasmim had decided to live abroad, not understanding her side at all. She tried to reconcile her will, tried to convince him that he could also grow up beside her, but as she argued more vehemently, he became violent, even slapping her across the face, which was the only one Yasmim took it. Without more to say, she severed ties with him, blocking his number and social networks. Since then, she has never had a relationship again.

 She tried to stop thinking about loneliness, focusing on her routine. She still had small parts contracts and so she worked to hold the ends together until, after three months, Howard called to bring up a different subject, demanding, with great excitement, that they meet in person.

 “So, Howie, to what do I owe so much joy? “ She said when meeting him in a small cafe in the city center.

 “Well, Yasmim, you passed the Marvel test! “ he told at once.

 “Me what? No, no kidding, what do you mean? Speak again, repeat, I... I'm dreaming! “ She lit up completely, feeling her eyes water with emotion.

 “No, you're not, my friend, the role is yours “ Howard confirmed.

 “Yes, of course, but the role, what role will I play? I need to know, I need to prepare myself and everything else... “ Yasmim continued excited.

 "You will be Sigyn, a master of the magical arts of Asgard," he described.

 “Wait, Asgard, it's  where Thor comes from, interesting, Norse mythology “ she reflected “ I'm going to study mythology and comics of course, my brother, I can ask my brother for help, Bruno will love to hear about it.

 "Unfortunately, as you remember, we have a nondisclosure agreement about to be signed and you can't tell anyone until Marvel announces your role," the agent advised.

 “Yes, okay, I know, but I'll be able to have someone, like an expert, to build the character, right? “ she wanted to know.

 "Surely you know how careful they are with this issue," he confirmed.

 “Very well then, Sigyn, here we go! “ Yasmim said determinedly, with all the excitement and willingness to work.

 The following days were marked by more contracts and a meeting with Kevin Feige, giving her the first instructions on the character. Thus, Yasmine began her journey to become the best Sigyn she could be.

[rpbetter]

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I will run the blog largely on a queue, and will not be following many people back. This is not personal! I just like to try to provide content at many different times, have a life elsewhere, and I am so happy that you love your fandom, but it might not be something I’ve enough interest in to have on my dash.

Don’t tumblr message me. Use the inbox or submit.

Due to recent events, I am changing this rule. It’s hard for me to receive messages unexpectedly, and I hate to imply that I’ll be able to get to these quicker because it isn’t the truth. Quicker, better responses come from the inbox. However, there have been too many incidents lately in which people needed to speak privately and had to make that a request. If you’re having a problem and need to vent, request sensitive advice, etc.? It’s alright, go ahead and drop me a PM, y’all. I’ll get back to you as soon as I am able. Please, do not be angry with me if I respond to inbox things or my queue is running! You’re important to me, I just might not have the requisite social cognition and energy you deserve at that time.

Aggressive inbox messages will be responded to in kind. I don’t care if you are on anon or not, if you haven’t an ounce of polite communication skills, I won’t have them either. This is not a “we don’t publish anon hate” blog.

I highly encourage asks and submissions on any and all RP topics, and it’s perfectly alright to be salty as fuck in them, you can totally vent here, but don’t take out your frustration on me or be demanding of me. I am always happy to help with information, advice, or just a response to your venting-it’s important to know someone is listening. However, it may take me a few days to a week to get to you, be patient. 

If you are going to vent, leave out usernames. This isn’t a callout or burnbook blog. It’s fine to state characters and fandoms, but if this becomes a problem, it’ll have to change. I don’t want this becoming a salt blog for one or two fandoms I very likely can’t even stand. Practice the fine art of alluding to things, its good experience for your writing! Besides, RPC problems are RPC problems, I promise. It might feel like it’s just your fandom, but there is something relatable in all corners.

I will not overly police comments. Keep the slurs and shit out of it, though. If there is an issue going on pertaining to a serious instance of hate speech, or behavior I, personally, deem as too inappropriate and/or immature to be taking place on my post, I will step in. Otherwise, I expect everyone to be adults in the comments and reblogs too. If you want to argue with each other, that’s your business. If you want to argue with me, I’m not sorry in advance.

Addition to the above: this is not a blog in which it will be tolerated that commentators or those submitting with the URLS are targeted for callouts, shaming, or other instances of bullying. No, I cannot make those people stop bothering you by blocking them, but the least I can do is address that by shutting down their access to this blog and it’s posts by blocking on the URLs I have for them. And I will. Fuck that “we can’t be responsible for” shit. It’s my blog, it’s my content I’m putting out there, I’m not going to just ignore shit like what went down over on COAR, thanks. Not. Cool.

This is definitely not a place for:

people who think giving muses labels, including top/bottom “dynamics,” is a good substitute for character traits, personality, and development

those with no reading comprehension skills

folks dependent upon aesthetics and aesthetics-based purple prose as filler for actual writing

anti-original character/just wants to fuck a FC or canon character club, get the fuck out immediately

y’all who see writing as an obstacle to getting down to action, be that smut, drama, or fight scenes...it’s literally a writing hobby

politics, any manner of phobe or ism, violent/non-inclusive feminists, purity/rpc/fandom/content police of any manner, and exactly any manner of racism, sexism, or religious intolerance - I give not a shit if it’s popular to hate the straights, for example, I neither believe in nor tolerate reactionary classifying of any group as blanket-statement evil

people who are going to tack onto my posts shit like, “it’s okay, OP, you can say x character.” Trust me, if I were talking about one character, I fucking would name drop them, don’t bring me into your fandom drama, I doubt I know or want to know who that anime guy is who looks like 12 other anime guys to me.

About Vespertine

You can call me that, Vespertine. I’d rather you didn’t go with Vesper, but as it is unfortunately so likely to happen, I won’t feed you to the dogs over it either. RPB Mun is also acceptable.

I’m alright with either she/her or he/him, they/them is also fine. Apparently, that was big enough clue-in for the poor reading comp crowd, so while I feel it is not of importance, I’m nonbinary, yes.

Late 30′s, chronically ill but still working adult with neurodivergence. I’m both busy and Busy, and always sick. This limits my brain power and ability to be here. I have an active RP blog that I won’t be sharing to keep responsible distance. That is always going to be my priority, it is my primary hobby.

Please, don’t tumblr message me totally random things if we don’t have that kind of relationship! I’m too ill and busy, and it really fucks my nerves to have a bunch of messages/have to suddenly interact socially with people. Don’t do it. Use my inbox, use the submit, comment on posts. I cannot do random messages of “hey” and so forth.

I only do written RP, don’t expect me to understand much of anything from tabletop. I’ve RPed for the last 23 years consistently, on every platform from AOL chats to forums to messengers and here. I also don’t do RP in discord, so I’m sorry, but I can’t advise you much on anything with a word count, except to stop it for serious RP. Other than that, I promise you that I’ve seen the trends, the drama, the fandoms. I can give a lot of advice and perspective on a wide range of topics, situations, and characters! When I don’t have a clue at all, I’ll try to do enough research to give you an answer.

Do I come off as a horrible, strict asshole? I do! I’m not going to say that I am just a shy bean who is more scared of you than you are me. I’m not. I’m honestly feral, but have common decency, compassion, and sense. All of which are lacking in the general RPC. So, if you can inbox/common/otherwise interact with anyone else on this site, you can totally handle me!

Honesty and openness are policies.

And in the spirit of that, I repeat; you can fucking do better, tumblr RPC!

[arcticdementor]

A reader writes:

I’m writing to you today because I have some information to share with you (and your readers) who may still be skeptical that this LGBTQIA+ gender-identity craze is coming for their kids.  Some recent interactions online have made me more aware than ever that the movement is spreading in wild and unpredictable ways, and also made me reflect on how, in my own life, even someone like me could have fallen victim to it.

I want to start off by saying that recently, (and ironically, in an attempt to try not to be sucked into the internet as purely a source for doom and gloom: you will see how this backfires on me) I decided to rejoin a fan community surrounding one of my favorite franchises on Twitter. I won’t go into too much detail about which community and the exact specifics, but just know that it’s a popular franchise that’s appropriate for older kids, teens and adults (nothing 18+, nothing for really little ones).  As a teen myself I was fairly active in a similar branch of this community on another social media platform (Facebook), and enjoyed it immensely before the platform eventually went more or less defunct as a hot-spot for fan content. Most of the content was fan-created work (like fan-art or fan-fiction) with a little interaction and lots of “DID YOU SEE THE LATEST” kinds of posts.

…

Anyway, to keep it to a minimum, that was then. If you’ve been on the internet any time in the last five years you know that spaces where people just talk about an interest and don’t mix it with politics and activism are becoming few and far between. Even though I knew this, and knew that I wasn’t going to have the same experience in a different place, something sparked an interest in me to go try to reconnect with my internet roots in a different setting.  So, I followed some hashtags, quickly found some new followers and settled back to enjoy at least marginally some discussions online that didn’t have to do with Covid and All The Ways We Are All Going To Die.

Then came the teenagers.

Much like when I was a kid, this franchise attracts a lot of younger people.  So it was hardly surprising to me to find that many of my new followers were in the 14-18 age range and that people like myself (mid-older 20s) were a sort of senior majority. That was fine- Twitter’s rules after all are 13+, so it’s not unreasonable to assume if you’re part of a popular group that you’ll interact on occasion with minors. That wasn’t the part I found strange. The part I found strange was that all of them, and I repeat, all of them were fans of two things- the franchise, and gender identities.

You can actually almost pinpoint the age range of the 18 and under crowd by how many of them have the following: 1. Pronouns in bio and in username.  2. Gender identity or lack thereof displayed in bio or username. 3. LGBTQ+ sexual orientation displayed in bio or username. etc. etc. etc. I’m not going to dive into it too much, because some might be saying “isn’t that just normal nowadays? Even politicians do that?” Well, you’re not wrong if that’s what you’re thinking. And that’s not the part that disturbs me.

What disturbed me was that, a few weeks after I joined the group, I started noticing an unsettling pattern among many of these teenage users (and many over-teen users, but I’m trying to make a point about the young ones specifically). For a few days, after an interesting bit of news or a trailer or some other thing that unites franchises, the posts in my feed would be primarily things like what I remembered from past experiences: posts about the franchises, theories, speculations, fanart, etc.  But, every time things would settle back down into a quiet, normal week, the feeds in my post became almost entirely about one thing: Gender and LGBTQ talking points.  I’m going to diverge for one second and say that many people in this group aren’t using a personal, front-facing account for their interactions in this fan-group. They’re mostly using alt-accounts with no real names and faces attached (myself included).  And yet, every time the discussion in the feeds died down to where there was just no new stuff about the franchise to talk about, all the conversation slowly but surely shifted back to sexual orientation and gender.  From fan-ships of perfect LGB couples to ‘hey I drew this person but as a trans-female!’ to even forgoing pretending to talk about their interests and just discussing their own gender and sex presentation with their other online friends, it became quickly very clear to me that A. I no longer really belonged here and B. Every single one of these kids was obsessed. Every. Single. One.

…

I’m going to digress and talk about myself for a minute to explain just why these examples, particularly that last one, burn a hole in my soul.  From the minute I was old enough to remember, I’ve never been one of those typically presenting females. When my sisters and I played dress-up as kids, they played princesses and I played a prince or a witch or whatever was more interesting. In addition to the dolls and barbies I had being one of three girls, I also had an assortment of boy-oriented toys, including action figures, a remote control car and this really cool nerf bow-and-arrow set that I still secretly wish had survived my playing with it because man, my kids are gonna miss out someday. My hair was short because I hated wearing it up and the solution was a bob, and when we spent time with relatives I could be found as far away from my female cousins as possible, hanging out with my male cousins and talking about Legos and Lord of The Rings. I spent 90% of my time reading books and ignoring reality, and didn’t put much effort into my appearance until probably age 13 or later.

And I wished I was a boy.

It wasn’t an all-consuming thought, but I thought it. I wished, many times, when my parents would fuss at me to please stop attempting to climb trees in your Sunday clothes and when my sisters never talked about anything but dolls and tea-parties around their friends that I could be one of the boys. I had always liked the boys and their world better, and I fit into better, and yet there was that little problem (that I was still a girl) that kept me from being accepted into the boy group.  The reality was, I was already probably very intelligent for my age (too-well read children can relate) and I took that big-headedness a little too far at times. I was also a very emotional person (still am) and just passionately felt that being a girl and being expected to do girl things was hideous and unfair.

The saving grace? My mom was the same. She’s never been a typical female either, and though as adults we have some clear differences (ironically, I have more stereotypical female interests/talents than her- like a hidden passion for interior decorating and a love of baking and so on) she was there for me, to be able to tell me that no- I didn’t really want to be a boy, I was just a girl who liked sword fights and grass-stains more than ballgowns and tea parties, and that was okay!!! She was proof that there were other girls like me, and that I would find more of them eventually (I did) and, even though we never said so in so many words, that stereotypes and how we fit into them has nothing to do with our innate female and male selves. And so, reassured that I could be female and still be however I wanted, I eventually grew out of those thoughts, and as I matured, found that there were ‘female things’ I connected with that my past self was too young to appreciate.

But, think about all this in a modern context. I’m a happy adult female now, and I was never truly gender-questioning. I just thought, for a while, that boys had more fun than I did, so I wanted to be one.  But that, in it of itself, is a thought that’s deep enough for modern gender activists to insist I be transitioned immediately and put on life-altering hormones, never given a chance to grow up or grow out of questioning, and affirmed in my presentation instantly! If I, like that young girl online, had been handed a ‘gender-affirming’ flag and an identity that ‘made sense’ out of why I was different from my peers, I might have jumped on it, especially without the presence of a wise older person to tell me I wasn’t anything different than what she’d been as a child. This is the problem, this is why this kind of thing is so dangerous and toxic and wrong.

[ralexsol]

On the Subject of Underverse S2

You read that correctly: this is a post about one of the greatest shows ever created, the Undertale animated series Underverse, written/animated by @jakei95​. I have a lot of theories that I’ve been pulling together ever since I watched both Underverse and Xtale (the Underverse prequel series). Maybe one or two have no basis in anything, but for some reason they popped into my head and I’ll stick by them until they’re proven incorrect. I will discuss the possibility of a Geno/Ink fight, Fresh!Ink, XI (you’ll definitely want to read their section!), and the fates of many different characters. This is quite the long post, so buckle up for a long ride.

Let’s begin!

GENO/INK FIGHT:

I’m putting this theory first because it is the least important. At some point in time, I somehow got it into my head that there is supposedly going to be a fight between Geno and Ink. I have no idea where I heard about this, and when I searched for any specific videos or posts about the subject, I found nothing. But I personally think a fight scene between Geno and Ink would be pretty cool, so I’m adding this in here.

FRESK!INK’S EXISTANCE:

This is a more relevant theory. Ever since Jakei announced that Fresh!Ink would be a part of Underverse, I have wondered how he would be incorporated. I don’t know if she means for him to be in the future “Beach Episode” or something more serious. (Of course, I know almost nothing about this supposed “Beach Episode”, which is apparently when Epic!Sans will be showing up, so I really wouldn’t know.) But there is an important thing to remember: Ink and Fresh made a deal in the first season.

Ever since I saw this Underverse - Xtra Scene 2, I have wondered what this “prize” could possibly be. What was Ink’s side of the deal? What did he promise Fresh? Hmm... maybe a new body to take over?

Ink’s body doesn’t have a SOUL- that’s basic “Undertale AU Knowledge 101″. What does this have to do in regards to Fresh? To my best knowledge, the actual parasitic creature True!Fresh feeds off the souls of other creatures to survive. In fact, his soul-feeding would kill his victims if he stayed long enough in one body, but he likes to play it safe and leave his victims alive in case he needs to use their body again. But he wouldn’t need to do this with Ink. Because of Ink’s SOULless nature, Fresh could theoretically feed off his body forever. Some might object that since Ink doesn’t have a SOUL, Fresh wouldn’t be able to feed off him. But then how does Fresh!Ink exist?

So, what was their deal? Fresh watches over the Xtale AU while Ink is gone, and after Cross and X!Chara are taken care of, Ink comes back and lets Fresh take over his body for a little while. There may be something else I’m missing, but the pieces seem to make sense.

XI’S PURPOSE:

For those of you who don’t know who XI is, I suggest you watch this video about Jakei’s Overwrite merch. This is when the character of XI was introduced to us, back on good ol’ April 1st, 2019. Haha, yes, the joke character of XI- funny April Fool’s Day video, a good laugh for everyone. Jakei has made a few comics about XI since then, but overall, XI hasn’t been involved in Xtale or Underverse so far. That has never sat right with me, and I’ve always thought there would be something more to him. I was proven absolutely correct when Xtale - The Movie came out. But before we discuss the little extra scene tagged onto the end of that video, I would like to point out some very interesting facts about XI.

On October 6th, 2019, Jakei posted a traditional speedart. Obviously, the art is gorgeous like always and every time I watch it I wonder if I will ever get to the level of skill she is at. But besides that, there is a very important aspect about this video. In the speedart, Jakei drew two pictures: one of X!Chara and X!Frisk fighting, and one of XI. In XI’s picture, they are depicted in full armor with a magical purple sword & shield.

Hmmm... I wonder who this could possible resemble?

Every time XI is shown, whether it be in comics or artwork, their bangs hang over their eyes. Their armor looks exactly like Kris’s from Deltarune. Heck, they both use a sword and a shield! What does this mean? XI is X!Kris. There is no way to deny this. This is why they are X!Chara’s and X!Frisk’s little sibling. I would also like to point out XI’s silver oval locket. I find it interesting how he has a different piece of jewelry from everyone else- all other important characters in Xtale have a matching golden heart locket. Does XI also have people he has given copies of this necklace to? Perhaps X!Susie and X!Ralsei, if they exist? But XI being X!Kris is only the beginning of this theory. Remember how I mentioned Xtale - The Movie earlier? Take a look at this picture.

This is a five-second frame pegged at the very end of the video, after an entry written in wingdings by Mister XGaster himself. The message is as follows:

Entry Number Eleven: As clear as a reflection in a mirror, I have found the most perfect projection of forbidden visions. Get ready. Your time is coming.

Okay, just whoa. Not only is the entry #11, but the person standing there is XI. Oh, and let’s take a closer look at what they’re holding in their hand.

I knew that silver locket was going to be important. There is no way that XI is not going to play a major part in either Underverse S2 or hmm... maybe a spin-off about the Xtale versions of Deltarune characters? To my knowledge, Jakei has not said anything about her plans after she finishes Underverse. She has her Metadora project, and I am aware that her husband @nyxtheshield​ is planning out his own Undertale series- someone will need to animate that, and I’m sure she would be able and willing to do the job. She has stated that there will be no seasons of Underverse after S2, and the finale will be 1.0. But that doesn’t mean she won’t make a new series. If she does, will it be about all the Deltarune characters? Will the other Xtale characters show up at certain points in it? Will XGaster play a large part in it? There is no way to know, as the idea of a new show is simply drawn from that there may not be enough time in S2 to fully expand what XI is.

In any case, XGaster states in the entry that “your time is coming”. This could either reference a new show or XI’s appearance in Underverse. I find it extremely interesting how XGaster words his message. “The most perfect projection of forbidden visions.” What does that mean exactly? XGaster has seen something in one of his many visions, obviously. The most perfect image of prohibited sights. XI is a person that stands for something that should not be allowed to exist. That makes sense- XGaster, a man, somehow got pregnant and birthed them, as shown in the Overwrite merch video. The “forbidden visions” might imply that he has seen something quite “cursed”, as us modern Internet-users would say. But then he tells this projection to get ready, because their time is coming. XGaster is telling XI to prepare themself. This just proves that XI and XGaster are tied together very closely, and that if XI does get their own series with X!Ralsei and X!Susie, XGaster will be involved.

Whew! That’s a lot of information to take in all at once. This was the big “theory” I wanted to discuss, so now we will move on to the different fates I believe may befall some of our beloved characters.

INK, FOR GOOD OR FOR WORSE?:

Ah, Ink. One of the true protagonists of Underverse. Remember: a protagonist is not necessarily a hero, just one of the leading characters. It has been seen that his story arc is the most important throughout the entire story. He is the one that inspired XGaster. He is the one that made XGaster’s plan succeed. And he very well might be the one to make it fail.

Wait, you’re asking me. I thought he was on XGaster’s side? What do you mean he will make it fail?

I didn’t want to address whether Ink was going to stick with XGaster or flip until a certain song was posted by Nyx two days ago on December 5th, “Soulless Heart”. If you haven’t listened to it yet, go ahead and click that link because the song is beautiful and absolutely necessary to continue on with this theory! The song is the Underverse 0.5 Ending Theme, and guess who it’s about? You guessed it, our good old buddy chum pal Ink. I’ve been listening to it on repeat since it came out, and it really is incredible. (Nyx, if you’re somehow reading this, I would like to personally congratulate you, because not only is the music amazing but mwah! Your voice is a joy, and I would not have any other singer do the vocals.) But the most important thing about the song is the lyrics. Here’s the first verse.

How long have I been longing

to be free and not broken

in this ocean of hollowness?

I don’t want to be forgotten.

Instantly, the lyrics hit you hard. This is about Ink, though, so you can’t expect anything less. Essentially, the song is about the emptiness that Ink feels without a SOUL. This goes along with one of his main aspects in Underverse. The only reason why he worked with XGaster to make sure XGaster’s game worked was so he could feel more emotions. As a chaotic neutral character, Ink literally only cares about himself and his personal goals. But what is interesting about this song is that he addresses the pain he has caused.

Sacrificial lambs

laid upon my path

now are broken worlds

killed by senseless wrath.

Ink knows that he has hurt people. I mean, in the present timeline when 0.5 is to be set, Ink’s actions just caused Error to literally “pull the plug” and destroy all the AUs. (Although, how many AUs were actually destroyed is impossible to determine, because there are still multiple Sanses that will be incorporated into S2 that were residing in their AUs at the time of their supposed destruction.) Ink knows that this is his fault. And now that XGaster has won, Ink will be receiving all those emotions he wanted! In the S2 teaser, which was released on the original Underverse 0.5 release date (the episode was unfortunately delayed due to issues with Nyx’s distributor, RouteNote), shows something very important.

Look at those vials in his hand. Those aren’t just colored vials. Well, they are, but their colors are especially important. Look at their specific colors: orange, yellow, and amber. Previously, Ink’s vials have been seen as very straightforward: roy g biv, that sort of thing.

You have one or maybe two variations, although in this picture there seems to be about four different aqua vials. But there certainly isn’t an amber vial. This goes to show that XGaster followed through on his promise, and Ink has a lot more variations in his color-coded emotion vials. The obvious conclusion from this is that he can feel a lot more things than he thought was possible- including guilt. With his newfound feelings, he could realize that what he did wasn’t just wrong, it was horrible. He might start to blame himself for getting all the AUs destroyed, which in turn might result in a betrayal of XGaster. With his emotions, he would become a real good person. But ultimately, without XGaster’s Overwrite abilities, Ink’s new emotions will fade and he will return to be the same old Ink as before. He will no longer understand why he sacrificed his emotions, and the cycle will start anew. Ink will never be truly happy, because being happy will always mean the suffering of others.

Or, Ink will stick with XGaster. It would be the same fate, after all; if the heroes defeat XGaster, Ink will still lose those emotions. This, though, might leave him feeling bitter and even more willing to do anything to get what he wants, which could potentially lead to him becoming a real villain. Perhaps XGaster isn’t the final boss of Underverse. Maybe the one to start everything will be the one to finish everything.

XGASTER AND UT!GASTER:

This wouldn’t be a real theory post without discussing our favorite fanfiction writer, would it? And yes, XGaster is literally a fanfiction writer. He has symptoms of OCD concerning the world-building of his universe and he just loves to add as much angst as humanly (or monsterly) possible. It just so happens that he lives in his own created universe, so his creations have the pleasurable chance at getting revenge.

Now, there are obviously two ways that Underverse can go: XGaster succeeds, or XGaster fails. This doesn’t necessarily mean that this will be the ending of S2. As I mentioned above, perhaps XGaster will be defeated at the end of 0.9 and 1.0 will be about everyone trying to stop Ink from taking the Overwrite SOUL for his own, I don’t know. In any case, I don’t really have anything to discuss about XGaster specifically, but I am pretty sure I know what his last scene will be if he happens to lose.

It is shown in the Underverse S2 Prologue - Owners that XGaster and UT!Gaster spent a lot of time together in the Void between the events of Xtale and Underverse. Not only do they hold an entire conversation together in Owners, but in Underverse 0.1 when Sans is hit in the head with a ball, he has a vision of the two of them standing together.

In XGaster’s and UT!Gaster’s conversation in Owners, UT!Gaster tells XGaster that he will fail in his quest for perfection. XGaster brushes him off because he’s an egotistical prick, yadda yadda. But this conversation is important because I believe it will parallel the ending of XGaster’s quest. In the end, UT!Gaster will approach his old Void-buddy and tell him to just give up on his pointless venture. XGaster will turn to dust after saying something like, “I will never give up”, and then we have Ink going on a rampage. That’s pretty much all I have to say on them, but I thought it would be worth adding.

DREAM AND NIGHTMARE:

Lastly, we have the brothers. As with XGaster and UT!Gaster, I don’t have much to add with them. But I do believe they will both play a major role in S2. They will be the overseers of the battle to come. Out of all the characters in the Undertale fandom, they are the most omnipotent. They are the protectors of the Tree of Feelings, which is one of three trees to give the Multiverse life. In Underverse 0.4, when X!Chara accused Nightmare of “watching us all this time as if we were part of a show”, Nightmare responded by saying:

Of course, Nightmare mostly means himself, Error, and Ink. Dream is much more active in helping people be happy, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t on the same god-tier level as his brother. Dream could sit back and watch the world tick, but he chooses not to because that goes against his morals.

In other words, Dream and Nightmare will probably affect the outcome of Underverse more than any other characters. They’re both pissed about what Error did: all those people that Dream cared about were murdered, and Nightmare can no longer generate negative feelings from innocents. They both have invested interest in this Multiverse war now, and their powers will certainly come to the forefront.

I believe that at the end of the story, the Multiverse will essentially go back to the exact way it was before Xtale was invented. XGaster will be dead, the Xtale characters will be put back in their AU, the other AUs will be restored, and at the end of it all, Dream and Nightmare will be once again pitted against one another. We may even see an alliance between them during Underverse S2 to stop XGaster, but afterwards, they will reestablish their rivalry. Unless the Omega Timeline comes into play, which it very well might, I don’t see the two brothers reconciling.

CONCLUSION:

Thank you everyone who took the agonizingly long time to read this! I hope this shed some light on certain characters (especially XI) and encourages to make some of your own theories. Stay safe and good night!

[thliahls]

it is very obvious i don’t know how family trees work but ! richard and dominique are her parents, although thalia doesn’t know anything about her mother including her name or what she looks like. thalia spent most of her upbringing under the care of tony and gong lau who ran, what could most readily be compared to a foster home for children of spies. many kids came and went, short-term stays of a month to a year most common, but thalia, along with archie and arella, came when they were around seven or eight and were the only three that stayed there pretty much full-time even after they turned eighteen ( until her dad found out about her boyfriend and blamed them for her expulsion, believing they had been complacent with her ). maggie’s their biological child who’s in their thirties now but would often frequent the house so the kids became just as close with them too. prose about her d*d under the cut, stream kyoto (copycat killer version) for clear skin ! @gallaghertasks

there's a gravitational pull that leaves thalia hall orbiting around her father. similar to how it is impossible for the sun and the earth to cut ties with each other, it is equally as impossible to not regard everything through the eyes of richard hall. over the years he has become equal part man and myth, fragmented the way memories do over time. she is unsure as to whether that is his real name, the same way she is unsure about everything else that composes his being. while it is likely that he has a family, and as an extension, that she has one too, he has cut the cord between himself and them. no one arrives in this world untethered, but if anyone could, it would be him. he has always been alone. it makes her very existence a mystery.

the first time she learned about her father was through him. it is one of her first memories, before she lived with her guardians, when it was just him and her. the accuracy tilts between reality and fiction, further skewed by her father's insistence that it never happened at all. she does think it seems absurd, something pulled from a high art film that plays on a loop in contemporary art museums. perhaps she is making it all up. in this memory she is on her father's lap, in the bathroom, steadied on the closed seat of the toilet bowl. she is staring them down in the mirrored cabinet above the sink, and her father is trimming the ends of her hair with nail clippers, with meticulous precision. silence in their house always carries tension, she knows this now - she can label it, tension. when she was younger, it just had just felt like an invisible, nameless weight. when she breaches the silence it is with an existential question with a juvenile motive: "what will happen when you die?” look dad, only six years old and already thinking about these things. she wants so desperately to know what he values, is it her intelligence or servility? is it the way she hangs on to his hand when he sprints through traffic, how she doesn’t tug him back to the safety of the sidewalk, or is it the threat she poses when every once in a blue moon she successfully reads him? "you'll die long before i do sweetheart." that hadn't been what she meant. it hadn't been a threat or a thinly-veiled prophesy. it had been a six year old girl trying to act smarter than she was. that's all. the corner of the clippers nicks the fleshy part of her neck, and she's too much in shock to notice that she's bleeding. the next day she recites the question in the mirror, in different tongues and tones - she makes it sound like a threat to convince herself the way she'd said it yesterday wasn't one. they all blur together in the end.

the second time she gained insight to who her father was, was in the company of her guardians and siblings. "my dad's a deadbeat too." she'd die for this kid as easily as she'd kill him. the snivelling blonde haired boy who wipes his snot with the raggedy hem of his worn out t-shirt. she instinctively pins him down, his arms right angles as she secures his wrists into the dirt. his squirms are nothing more than flinches. "my dad's not a deadbeat." the blood drain's from his already pale face before he lets out a shrill pre-pubescent scream, and she presses a palm against his open mouth. her guardians hardly ever interfere, letting them go at it because it builds character. often at dinner, they'll discuss their day, sparing no details. that night, both her and archie are silent, prodding at mash potatoes, leaving their parents curious about their battle wounds: his shiner and her scratch that runs down the length of her neck, already scabbing. then, begrudgingly, because this silence feels like that invisible weight called tension, she says: "he called my dad a deadbeat. he's not." thalia's makeshift mom, guardian, closest person she's ever come to loving says easily in reply, "he's the farthest thing from it. men like him are invincible. they have nothing to lose." at first, the cruelty of it stings, whiplashed, a palm firm against the burner. but gong gives her an identity outside of her father: nothing. she is nothing, and for one, spectacular moment, it is liberating.

"he's a woman hater, he hates woman." is what her first and only boyfriend comes to understand about her father. her boyfriend, unaware of the spy world and thus the hate that breeds from it, thinks of billionaire magnates who don't respect women and men put dated, sexist jokes about wanting a girl to make them a sandwich in their bios. while she is well versed in feminist theory and the structures that are perpetuated to keep sexism in place, when he prattles on about how centrism is bad actually and that post-feminism isn't much better, with his overwhelming cynical attitude that she loves, she interrupts to say that wasn't what she had meant. what was the type of hate she's talking about? it's hard to explain: opaque and as dense as cement, it's virile, fertile too - it feeds on anything and everything, reproducing. it's got it's claws in love, it would gut her and kill him. "that's not what i meant." she doesn't have an answer prepared. "what did you mean?" he looks at her, willing to learn. she could tell him the earth is flat and he'd believe it, that's love. "he hates me but he'd never kill me. but he'd kill you to hurt me." there's a flash of panic in his eyes, before she smiles, a soft dimpled smile that makes him forget what fear is. they laugh it away, all this talk of hate, and it melts under warm breath. it is rendered less dense, it becomes extricable from everything else like they can pull it away as easily as a pesky piece of lint. like hate's a nuisance that's easy to rid, nothing more than a hassle. of course, when her father inevitably does find out, she never sees him again.

she talks to her mother in her dreams. thalia doesn't know what she looks like. sometimes she's working at a diner, in a putrid baby blue get up with a voice as sweet as treacle. sometimes she's a spy, wearing sunglasses too big for her face and a red lip that's smearing at the edges. she's never with her father in these dreams, but he's always there. she knows this because her mother is unable to maintain eye contact with her own daughter without looking over her shoulder. glass panes are a warning signal, she knows him inside and out. she knows him as a blurred reflection, a photograph, a body. she knows him this intimately so it's always her and never thalia. thalia has never met her mother, but she is a guardian angel all the same. the dreams end the same way, always. her mother repeats it like a mantra: "he is not the myth, i am." and thalia responds, "he is a man." they go back and forth like this, over and over until their words overlap, until it turns to a ritual, a chant that summons nothing but their disappearance. her mother falls back into the underbelly of her conscience, awaiting the next time thalia's dreams pull her to the surface again, and thalia wakes up. when she dreams of her mother she is often foggy for the rest of the day, and sometimes she believes that this grants her a temporary barrier from her father, that in the midst of lethargy and a lack of clarity, her thoughts are her own. she relishes in the privacy - and bares her teeth, a delighted wolf, in the face of this gift.

dreams never linger, she doesn't heed her mother's words. either of them. she doesn't becoming nothing and she mythologizes her own father to anyone who will listen. he is a piece of theory, jeremy bentham, panopticism. he is rules; how she uses her phone and what classes she takes. he's in her recollections of her summer break, he is six p.m on the dot. she's going to love him so much it kills him, the way he hates her so much it keeps her alive.

[crazycookiemaniac]

Omg why are you losing so many followers youve been drawing gay shit for forever??? (Or maybe i as a gay was just interpreting it that way)

Because I literally spammed people every day for one week lmao. And also, a lot of people follow others for specific content. The moment I stop drawing that exact thing they followed me for, they unfollow me. There are also accounts that follow just to make you follow them & if you don’t, they unfollow you after a while. There’s people who followed me for haikyuu & weren’t interested in BC content, and there were people who followed me for BC content but got showered in gay art instead and that was not their cuppa tea. 

But mostly, i start appearing on people’s feed the more I post. So having me post incessantly for one week made me show up on feeds that I hadn’t shown up for  a good while, so there were probably people who forgot they had followed me in the first place & me posting was a reminder to unfollow.

Truthfully, follower counts are dumb. Yes, it is important for you to have a high follower count for you to get attention, but the amount of people actually following you if you don’t have a consistent art style & rarely ever post something with different vibes than your usual ones, is equal or less than 1% of your total amount of following.

My instagram tells me I have 43k. I do not have 43k people following me. I’ve had 43k that once saw my account & pressed the follow button, but their feeds are filled up with other people’s accs that interest them more than mine (as well as my own feed does not show all the content of the 200+ something people I follow, unless I scroll down till the depths of hell to find every single post on that day and then do so on the next day as well).

Essentially, 95% of your followers are there because of content. They want to see what entertains them. Most of them don’t care about the artist and don’t interact with them at all. Many of them are scared to, given the high follower count. Social media & big accounts make people forget that there are other, real, living & breathing people that are behind them all.

So, to many, I was just a random artist they found and “lol”ed at one of my comics & pressed follow without thinking about it. Most of them don’t go to my account and see all other art I’ve posted to see if they actually like what I do, or me as a person and as an artist at all.

People who don’t know this get really discouraged when they don’t earn a lot of followers, or when they lose a lot (like I did). And some people think you gotta have hundreds of thousands to be famous. I’ve seen accs going around that paid for ads, that had over 150k followers and less than 1k likes on their posts.

Truly famous, loved, growing and/or steady accounts have an amount of likes per post proportional to their follower count. For example, if someone has 150k followers, most of their posts will vary from 20k to 100k likes.

When I was growing my account because I hopped in the fandom bandwagon and stupid little me didn’t know that would only make me crash later, I had like 20~30k and some of my posts reached more than 20k likes (because people liked my stupid comics). Nowadays, I’m not part of the fandom that made me grow anymore. I’m part of a very underrated one (Black Clover), as well a I am drawing a very underrated ship (LuGna) that above all else is getting hated on. I have everything against me in this, so it’s no wonder I lost so many followers.

They didn’t wanna see gay art. They didn’t wanna see Black Clover. They didn’t even know what the fuck was going on. Not everyone paid attention or kept up with my warnings. Despite me explaining multiple times in multiple posts what the Thunder Flames project was about, a lot of people still didn’t know what I was doing that for.

The thing about being a big follower count is that, unless you’re actually loved for what you do (and to do that, once again, I need to emphasize that you need to keep a steady rhythm, a steady vibe, a steady you. Because people follow you for your first impression on them, and you gotta keep up to that first impression if you wanna keep your followers.

I’m unsteady. One look at my gallery and you’ll see how disorganized everything is. Oh, lookit, a 1 min speedpaint of a random drawing I did on an old piece of paper! And right on the left there’s a stupid random comic I did–on the right there’s this super detailed, shaded drawing I’ve done that actually looks terrible to me and I will 100% archive it later, and then there’s B&W mixed with gray shaded, flat colored and fully shaded characters of different fandoms + OCs from commissions and whatever else. 

The thing is, I made my follower count based on a fandom, and now that I’m not there most of that follower count does not have me on their feed. And most of them do not want me on their feed. Now, I’m trying to build a follower count for who I am as an artist, because the few people who have actually stayed and followed me throughout the years know how inconsistent I am in terms of art style, fandoms and everything else.

A solution to this would me either keep creating/posting the same thing all over again (just in different patterns), or creating original content (which I do plan on doing at some point). But for now? Since my follower count does absolutely not reflect on how many people actually like me and/or my art, I’m going to be as chaotic as fucking ever and do whatever the fuck I want.

So yes, I do find it comical that I lost 1k followers over this and am not fazed in the very least, especially because I literally foreshadowed losing 1k and hit the fucking jackpot.

The only reason I’m talking about this at all is because 1- it’s impossible not to notice my follower count decreasing, especially because every new 1k I thank people publicly through stories; 2- some people were actually worried I was upset over it and I have to 3- show that I am not, while simultaneously trying to show people that just because you’re losing followers doesn’t mean you have to stop doing what you want to create content to please people. It doesn’t mean you should be upset, and it doesn’t mean that what you’re doing is bad or wrong.

It means you’re fucking renewing your followers & you’ll now grow for what you’re trying to grow for, bitch. That’s what it’s all about.

Obviously, people do take a great risk doing this. I am taking a great risk doing this. I could’ve lost 5k, I could’ve lost 10k. But I only lost 1k! And that’s because I believe in the project I worked on; I knew there were people out there who enjoyed what I was doing and it’s on them that I was focused on. On the people who supported me AND my art, not just that one single funny comic post I did 3 years ago.

This answer is 100% a lot longer than what you could’ve possibly expected for and I am typing this while being awake for more than 24h so I’m sure that I’ve repeated myself a lot and that there are a lotta typos or w/e and I apologize for that!! But I’m too lazy to go back to read everything over & turn this into a neat post & I’m pretty sure I could answer your question in the first paragraph.

Oh and also. Yes. Yes I have been drawing gay shit ever since I’ve become an artist because I’m so fucking pissed at the lack of canon gay content in a way that it’s depicted as a normal fucking romantic couple instead of having eeeeeeeeveryone point their finger to the gay couple and scream “HEY THAT’S GAY!!! THIS CAN’T BE PART OF THIS VERY HETEROSEXUAL SHOW WHERE EVERYONE IS OBVIOUSLY HETEROSEXUAL EVEN THOUGH NONE OF THE CHARACTERS HAVE EVER SAID THAT EXPLICITLY BECAUSE WE KNOW THAT THE CREATORS ARE EITHER HETEROSEXUAL OR TOO AFRAID TO LOSE AUDIENCE IF THEY TREAT GAY PEOPLE AS NORMAL PEOPLE!??!! WHAT SORT OF ABSURD NONSENSE IS THAT??!! GAY PEOPLE AREN’T NORMAL!! THEY’RE GAY AND THEY SHOULD HAVE A GAY SHOW JUST FOR THEM IF THEY WANNA GET SCREENTIME” and yadda yadda yadda.

I’m tired of this bullshit. Ever since I was an artist I’ve been rooting for gay ships in shonen manga while knowing they would never happen just because they were gay, and now that we are in our Blessed-By-Satan, Pandemic-Chaotic, What-The-Fuck-Is-Going-On, We-Don’t-Know-If-We-Wanna-Go-Back-Or-To-The-Future-Or-Just-IDK-Fucking-Die year 2020, in which the LGBT community is thriving and being louder than ever to fight for our rights, Me, in my twenty four years of fucking age, having gone through several fucking disappointments ONLY regarding this matter, am sitting here on my ass, hopeful as all galactic, glittery shit that for some fucking reason, my new OTP formed by very underrated characters from this very underrated franchise in the southern and western communities, becomes canon because my stupid eyes can see chemistry between them even though those stupid haters’ can’t. But that’s because they’re stupid and homophobic, and they really should just shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna dream, I want to believe. Let a bitch pray in peace.

But even if I’m getting ready for disappointment, I’m gonna make this project happen and I’m gonna have a shit ton of artbooks from this Thunder Flames project inside my fucking garage if no one wants to buy them. But I am going to invest a shit ton of money in it and I am going to have these artbooks come to life. Because I am spiteful and petty and homophobes should shut the fuck up, and I wanna do what I wanna do bc as an independent artist, I’m building my future with my own two, very toned and buff by now from all the drawing I did, hands. 

God fucking damn it.

Jesus christ I’m just rambling at this point, I’m so sorry. If anyone ever reads this out of context people are going to be so confused.

But that’s fine. They won’t. You know why? Cuz I got almost 11k followers here on tumblr but less than 0.5% gives a shit that I’m here, so I’m safe.

Have a nice day, drink your water and fuck homophobes. Peace

[negativefouriq]

Nothing on this Earth is easier than excuses. No matter what I do, no matter how guilty I am, I’ll always find some way to excuse myself, to explain away the problem. It can be for small things, like using my depression to convince myself that it’s okay that I was too tired to get out of bed this morning and submit an assignment on time. It can be for bigger things, like justifying letting myself go without talking to any other person for weeks at a time, because “my social battery is just dead”. Or for even bigger things, like convincing myself that manipulating someone is okay, because as soon as I’m out from under my parents’ regime, I can repay them. And it can be for huge things, like convincing myself I’m not good enough compared to the philanthropists I see everywhere, and so if I just repost an informative tweet about how Yemen children don’t have enough food to survive for another day, then my civil duty is done. Explain, justify, excuse. Explain, justify, excuse. Explain. Justify. Excuse.

Explain, justify, excuse. Explain. Justify. Excuse. Explain. Justify. Excuse.

Explain.

Justify.

Excuse.

Over and over. Rinse, lather, repeat. As much as I like to believe I’m an activist, I’m just not. I’m not better than anyone else on the planet, convincing myself I’m doing alright. It could be worse. I’m changing the world. Just a little bit, but a little bit is okay. Right?

 No.

 I can convince myself to the moon and back, but no matter how hard I try, there will always be a little stain of guilt, too stubborn for me to wash away. No matter how hard I try, I can’t just wish away others’ pain. I can’t close my eyes and pretend that “things will just work out”. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

And I can whip myself around in circles, scream at the guilt that I’m just a kid, I’m just a goddamn kid, how can I be expected to take on the weight of the world? How can I go out on the streets, and throw myself in between a dirty cop and an unarmed black man? How can I take every penny I’ve every saved, and give it away to foreign countries that aren’t my responsibility? Why do I feel the weight of the fucking world on my shoulders? I’m a kid. I’m a goddamn kid! I don’t even have my license! I don’t have control over any money! I can’t even vote! How can I be expected to help those in need, when I can’t even help myself?

I can scream and cry and fit at that guilt all I want. I can read thousands of articles about how kids shouldn’t have that much responsibility; I shouldn’t invalidate my own feelings because others “have it worse”. Hell, I’ve comforted people with those exact words.

 That doesn’t change how disgusted I am with myself. With every person around me.

 Every time I complain because I didn’t get dinner at the time I’m used to having it, when I binge eat because I’m too weak to stop myself, when I let myself have “five more minutes” and sleep for two days straight, I’m fucking disgusted. I hate myself.

And yea, okay. Maybe it’s the stupid depression talking. Maybe my mind isn’t in the right place. Maybe I am being to hard on myself.

But maybe I’m not.

I’ll see the pictures, of kids so starved you can count every bone. I’ll see videos, of an unarmed black man begging for his life as a cop kneels on his neck. I’ll see art, showing the twentieth trans kid this month to throw himself into traffic as his family screams at him that he’s an abomination. I’ll open Twitter to see hundreds of men yelling at a woman that she asked for it, if she didn’t want to be raped then she should have covered up, she should have done better. I’ll scroll down Instagram and hear speeches, of advocates begging, pleading, “Please, please, the children are in cages. The guards are killing them with chemicals, Mr. President, please, let them go, sir, please – ” and suddenly I can’t breath, my vision is blurry, my head is pounding, “Jackie please, please, you can help us, we need your help, please, they’re killing us, please, our children our dying, we’re suffocating, please, help us Jackie please –”

 Screaming. I’m screaming, because I can help. I have the money, so much, I could use it on those kids, I could save lives, and I’m trying to pay some rich white men to teach me something I could Google? I’m paying someone to live in a shitty apartment when I have an adequate house with my parents? I’m paying five dollars a month for a music subscription; those five dollars could save someone’s life!

The guilt eats me alive. It gnaws my flesh, devours my soul, until I have to run away from my own self, until I’m wiping my brain, I’m numb, because feeling nothing is better than the guilt and the pain that consumes my soul.

I have to think of nothing, because thinking of everything will kill me. And as much as I’m not doing nearly enough to help people now, I can’t do anything if I’m dead.

 This guilt doesn’t consume me every day. No, usually I can push it right back into a box in my brain that I avoid at all costs. I can shut it up, yell over it, move on in my life.

But every once in a while.

I’ll read some sort of poem. I’ll see a picture I can’t rip out of my mind. I’ll see a kid, lying in the street, tears spilling over as she begs for a dollar, please, just a loonie, I need a meal, I haven’t eaten in days –

Or maybe I’ll read a book. I’ll pick up the new Hunger Games book, because hey, I love this author. Let’s see what this is about!

And I’ll read this book, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and I’ll be disgusted with this protagonist, who thinks he’s better than everyone else because of his bloodline, who worries about his education more than the people his city kills, who is unbothered by his government’s brutal murder of children. I’m horrified that the citizens of this fictional city, the Capitol, just allow their leaders to demand the sacrifice of twenty-four children each year of their own entertainment. I’m revolted that these people are out, spending money dyeing their skin and curling their hair when their poorer citizens can’t even feed themselves. I’ll enjoy the story, though – it’s well-written, intriguing, contrasting. I’ll finish in a day, then settle down into bed, smiling, because, hey, I liked that book.

And then the insomnia kicks in. The hours will tick by, and I’ll stare at my ceiling, and I will see, I will see that the log in my eye is thousands of times bigger than the speck in my neighbour’s eye. Throughout this book, I sat and judged these people, these fictional people. I put myself on a pedestal, because, woah, I’m not THAT bad. Jesus, they’re barbaric!

And then I’ll realise. Slowly, as the seconds flit away and all I’m seeing is the white of my ceiling, the weight of my blanket, and I’ll realise.

I am just as bad as Coriolanus Snow.

As I worry about affording a fancy university education, people, teenagers, in my own community are living on the streets. (As Snow worried about affording university, people in the districts were homeless, without any promise of their next day.)

As I bake my fifth pie today out of boredom, 80% of Yemen’s population is in crisis, most of them haven’t eaten in weeks. (As Snow stuffs himself on Capitol delicacies and worries about his image, children are dropping like flies in the district. Hundreds of them.)

As fearlessly play cops and robbers with my siblings, black children are shot for having toy guns. (As Snow helps find ways to make the Games more interesting, twenty-four families each year mourn the deaths of their children.)

As I giddily twirl around in a dress I liked and bought at the store, a trans girl is beaten by her father for growing her hair. (As Snow wears his pressed and perfected Academy uniform, children in the districts wear threadbare rags, and die of exposure.)

As I complain about having to share a tiny room with my brother as my new room is being built, disease spreads through the cages children of illegal immigrants must share in detention centres. (As Snow fears losing his prestigious penthouse, people in the districts live in one-room shacks.)

And as the realisation sets in, the guilt grows. And the soul-eating panic sets back in, because I can not hold it back. I cannot pretend with it standing to defiantly in front of me, with my disgust reflected right back at me so clearly. I have all this money, all this privilege, and yet I am ungrateful.

And I realise.

My minimal efforts are not enough. I am going to have to make sacrifices. I am going to have to speak out. I am going have to say goodbye to the comforts I am used to, because it’s just not fair. I can’t sit under my weighted blanked and hide from the cruel world. I am no longer a child. I must face the pain of the world, the crying of the dying children, and I must step up. I must help in all ways I can to see the lessons of the book, se the clear correlation between my life and the life of the character I so despise, and I must change the world.

[watching-movies-alone]

Dunkirk (2017)

I would like to start this off with the disclaimer that I am very, very, gay for Christopher Nolan.

Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk is a cinematic masterpiece, and here's why.

A common complaint I hear when I proudly proclaim that Dunkirk is my favourite movie is “but there’s no dialogue!” In  a world where people are constantly and consistently in contact with one another, this bleeding into movies where the art of nonverbal communication perhaps isn’t as appreciated as it could be, leaves Dunkirk’s notable deviation from this as a key turn-off for cinemagoers. Instead focusing more on the intense, subdued, emotions of the actors (a very difficult feat to produce) and the riveting visuals and soundtrack, Christopher Nolan brings a new type of storytelling to the big screen.

While many films can fall into either the “intellectually engaging” or the “passively engaging” categories, both finding their way to the theatre with the same amount of dialogue, most cinemagoers have a sense of what they would be walking into. With Dunkirk, this sense of familiarity in the category of “intellectually engaging” films, such as thrillers, is thrown out the proverbial window. With the lack of dialogue, audience members have to pay more close attention to what is going on, so the already demanding film becomes riveting. Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack, an excellent combination of electronic sounds and orchestra, adds to the depth of the film, with beautiful touches such as the insistant ticking of a clock, which does not stop until Tommy, a main character, is safe. In addition, the thriller also bears Nolan’s signature storytelling from a not-exactly-linear timeline, something that sets him apart from other directors in his genre. This movie is many firsts for Nolan, including being his first war film, first film with multiple protagonists carrying the story, and his first movie shot entirely on location.

Dunkirk (2017) follows a three-fold story of the historic events that occurred in 1942 at a beach in Dunkerque, France. At this point in the Second World War, British and French troops have been isolated and surrounded by the Germans, with nearing 400,000 men lined up, waiting, hoping, for a way home twentysomething miles away across the Channel. Nolan expertly intertwines the journeys of three groups of people (his first film to follow a collection of people rather than a single protagonist), under the titles “1. The Mole / One Week”, “2. The Sea / One Day”, and “3. The Air / One Hour”. ‘The Mole’ follows those on the ground during the event, mostly young soldiers drafted for the war effort, our protagonists here being Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), Gibson ( Aneurin Barnard), and Alex (Harry Styles), who find themselves constantly back on the beach from multiple thwarted attempts at fleeing to safety. ‘The Sea’ follows the courageous Mr. Daweson (Mark Rylance), his son Peter (Tom Glynn-Carney), and their young friend George (Barry Keoghan) as they make their way across the channel to rescue the men stranded at Dunkirk aboard the leisure boat the Moonstone. ‘The Air’, which witnesses the three timelines converging in that hour, follows Spitfire pilots Farrier (Tom Hardy) and Collins (Jack Lowden) as they provide aerial cover for the civilian boats and the soldiers on the beach by engaging in dogfights with the German Luftwaffe, buying time for those below.

"There are four hundred thousand men on this beach."

Living up to his reputation for nonlinear storytelling, Nolan reasserts his claim to the throne in his synthesising of the unique perspectives. While visually stunning at a first look, it is in the second watch of Dunkirk that the mastery of Nolan’s detailing is noticed: in the background of scenes on the boat with George and Mr. Daweson, the Spitfires of Collins and Farrier can be seen in a dogfight with the Germans. As men are boarding the civilian boats on the beach, Farrier, on an empty tank, glides over thousands, as he fights off remaining German aircraft. Rather than ham-handedly spoon feeding the audience the going-ons of the action, and delivering the plot in a linear fashion, with ‘The Mole’ comprising the majority of the first two-thirds of the film, introducing ‘The Sea’ in the final third and ‘The Air’ in the last few minutes, the audience would missed a lot of the buildup in apprehension that the nonlinear deliverance allows for, dismantling the sense of carefully-constructed ambiguity of the dangers present in favour of producing a traditional, and tired, progression arc with a slower beginning leading to a final battle before a resolution. With the nonlinear deliverance, this arc more closely resembles an intense squiggle, like angered spaghetti, as the action ebbs and swells much like the waves on the beach itself.

The choice to have not the dialogue drive the film, but the visuals and soundtrack, was a bold one. Most movies that enter the Hollywood radar are rich in their dialogue, ranging from playful banter to clever one-liners, to incredibly moving lines with excellent deliverance. Nolan’s Dunkirk deviates here once again, as it’s minimal use of dialogue adds to the sense of urgency, what being said serving to provide clues to the thoughts of the characters that reinforce the atmosphere around them. A line that expertly conveys the sense of dread and hopelessness is an exchange between Commander Bolton, the man overseeing the maintenance of the mole, and Colonel Winnant, the highest-ranking Army official on the beach, the Commander stating, voice of strained exasperation, “Christ, you can almost see it from here,”, and when the Colonel questions to what he is referring to, there is a far-off look in the Colonel’s eyes that grows impossibly more stressed when he gives the one-word response “home.” This is later accentuated when the men discuss how Churchill wants thirty thousand men home, with hope of forty five thousand being returned from the beach, and the dismayed (and overheard) admittance that there are four hundred thousand men on the beach. This brief exchange packs a double emotional punch for the audience, as it shows how even the officials are losing optimism for an even partial recovery, and the cut to Tommy and Gibson, who have snuck underneath the mole, hearing this and knowing they should redouble their efforts to get off that beach.

The deviation from what is considered the ‘norm’ for movies, in the sparse use of dialogue, is an empowering feature of the movie. When characters voice their thoughts, it is more of a reflection of their environment (understandably), but it does not clutter the scene with action-based dialogue (such as repeated curse words or shouts serving as rallying cries), instead allowing the audience to more fully experience what the characters are -- the audience will fill in the space typically reserved for that dialogue with their own thoughts, as if they were the character. It allows for a further degree of not only sympathy, but empathy for these war-beaten soldiers, these naïve schoolboys striving to make their peers proud, these pilots stranded on a reserve of fuel they don’t know the extent of. One of the instances of this that clues in the audience to the extent of the danger, without going into an in-depth backstory of how the characters got to the beach, why the men are stranded, et cetera, is present in the first act of the film, with the sentiment being echoed at the final act, tying the scenes together in a way that causes the audience to empathise more fully with those in the Royal Air Force. After narrowly escaping a demise at the hands of the Luftwaffe’s ME-109 aircraft, a dismayed man shouts up at the sky, “Where’s the bloody air force?”, a key aspect in the audience’s perception of the scene and the stakes at hand. As the audience will learn later, the RAF had been recalled to England, as a preparation for an all-out defense for the English there against the Germans. What this line does in the moment, is intensify the action which had just occurred prior, where we can see men being killed in the explosions raining down on the beach, Tommy nearly being one of them. It also explains the mechanical response afterwards, of the men who can still stand doing so, those who couldn’t, didn’t, and the dead lay where they were. Very little being spoken especially after such an event magnifies the weariness of the soldiers on the beach, everyone knowing what to do, more ‘rolling with the punches’ than fighting back. One man had bravely raised a rifle to fire at the incoming bomber with no success, others had not even attempted, perhaps knowing that their efforts would be futile. The resonance of this sentiment is found at the end of the movie, when the passengers of the Moonstone are unloading from the boat, and one man from another boat catches sight of  the pilot Collins, who had been rescued by the Dawesons prior, in his RAF uniform, shouting after him “Where the hell were you?!”, Collins being very affronted by this, as he was shot down, is reassured by Mr. Daweson. Mr. Daweson looks over to him, reassuring Collins, motions towards the men filing off of the Moonstone, “They know where you were.” Once again, this is an example of the brief exchanges in the movie that allow for more to be understood by the audience than would be the case had this not been included. The audience had seen the effort Collins put in before he was grounded, so their emotions are very caught up in the exchange, wanting Collins to say something to defend himself, and when Mr. Daweson instead consoles him, the viewer has a sense of relief.

To conclude with that thought, it is the sparse dialogue that allows for the audience to more naturally connect with the characters and empathise with them, feeling more as if they are part of the experience, instead of simply being an outsider looking in at the goings-ons of Dunkirk.

Now, what had earned Dunkirk four awards from various programs was the sound mixing and editing. A vital aspect of the film itself is the soundtrack, which ebbs and flows with the course of events in the movie. The soundtrack was composed by Hans Zimmer, who has aided in the composing of the soundtracks for over one hundred films, with a diverse portfolio, ranging from The Lion King (1994), Sherlock Holmes (2009), Castaway (1986), and 12 Years A Slave (2013). Zimmer’s masterpiece of a soundtrack serves to drive the film and the audience’s reaction to it, with seemingly ‘calm’ scenes that would otherwise cause for no sense of alarm bringing an intense feeling of dread to the viewer, the music swelling with anticipation. Once again examining the ticking of the clock, the clock does not stop ticking until Tommy himself is off of the beach and home in England. The ticking adds to the sense of danger present throughout the entirety of the story, deepening the visuals of being on a wide expanse of beach, covered by hundreds of thousands of men, waiting, where there is no shelter from the trickle of Stukas flying overhead, the men like “fish in a barrel”. In building anticipation, a scene where Farrier is in his Spitfire, and there hasn’t been sight of a Stuka in a suspicious amount of time, the prolonged shot of Farrier arm-in-arm with the swelling of the music. Faster-paced numbers such as ‘Supermarine’ and ‘Oil Slick’ increase the sense of dread, almost forcing the audience to pay closer attention to the screen, waiting anxiously for what happens next, even if ‘it’ doesn’t end up happening.

"We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight in the Hills. We shall never surrender."

The combination of Nolan’s signature non-linear storyline, Zimmer’s breathtaking and adrenaline-heightening soundtrack, the commanding visuals and superb cinematography brings forth a masterful work. Dunkirk is a unique film, there isn’t a movie, war, thriller, or not, that shares these traits on a comparable level. Watching the film again and again, I still feel like I am watching it for the very first time. Not in the sense that it becomes ‘overly predictable’ or ‘bland’, but in that the aspects that make the movie what it is, it is completely riveting, every time seeing it brings forth a new appreciation of  the painstaking attention to detail and the dedication of all those involved with the film. It is a true masterpiece, a commanding cinematic experience that film analysts, cinemagoers, adrenaline junkies, and any who choose to see it, will appreciate for its individuality.  

Cinematography: 95

Screenwriting: 100

Delivery: 95

Average:

97%, A+