#also they are normal about women in this movie which is a rarity

[soliusss]

wowww I just watched nausicaä for the first time in yeaars, it was one of my fav movies as a kid. 1. Who the fuck let child Solius watch this 2. Holy shit masterpiece of a movie I see why I liked it. Environment and creature designs are gorgeous. Awesome characters. Themes are still sooooo relevant to today. It’s such a cool movie. S tier favorite

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii !!! if you are accepting requests at the moment, can i ask something about reader and tom expecting a baby, one day while he’s drunk she sees him flirting with another women and when she confronts him he snaps at her and tells her he’s not ready for this “shit”. So they broke up and broke contact for months, until he shows in her apartment regretting his words and they talk but she suddenly at that moment gets into labor?!? I remember seeing a concept similar in a movie but I would love if you couldn’t bring it to life! Thank you so much in advance, appreciate your work a lot 🧸🤎

right so I loved this so much it has become a multiple parter and im not even going to apologise. so thanku so so much anon for getting me out a little rut!!!

summary: when toms caught out all hope looks lost - probs part 1 of 3 but it could get a bit longer too lol

warnings: serious angst, reference to abortion, cheating, a whole lot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi babe, just to let you know Yamna’s invited me out for dinner this evening so don’t worry if you get home early and im not back! I love you x”

It was a spur of the moment plan, which was a rarity recently. The past 5 months since you’d found out, you could name barely 5 occasions you’d been out past 8 oclock- trading your heels for fuzzy slippers and dresses for massively oversized tops and joggers. It wasn’t how you had expected to be spending the summer before your 25th birthday but it was now your life. The rooftop bars, the wild nights, the get aways had all sort of been cancelled for… for the rest of your life.

Because an 8 month pregnant belly isn’t something you can ignore.

Sure…. it wasn’t the plan. Not the plan to be pregnant with your boyfriend of only 6 months, who at the time you didn’t even live with. But you were making it work. And now, you were just excited. It was the start of a new story with Tom, and you’d got past the phase of being sad and mourning your youth. Because the little bubba inside of you, she was pretty awesome and you really couldn’t wait to meet her.

So yes, you had been home alone eating ice cream from a tub when Yamna knocked on the door. She’d been one of your best mates for as long as you could remember so when she’d turned up unannounced with mascara smeared under her eyes you’d cancelled your plans of a pathetic alone evening. Her boss had just given her the sack - which was no surprise. He was a backwards tory old git who couldn’t handle the fact Yamna was a woman doing the job better than he could ever dream of.

So yes, you’d suggested going out to the fancy new bar down the road - to celebrate the fact she no longer had to put up with the arsehole. Obviously you couldn’t drink and neither did Yamna, but you go to a bar for the atmosphere - and the selection of mocktails they had was insane.

Your boyfriend Tom was already out, he said he had a meeting and then dinner with some execs he needed to shmoosh. Of course you didn’t mind, but he had been working a lot recently, in order to be able to have the time off when your baby girl arrives.

So after sending a little text and giving Yamna another hug to try and turn the evening from disappointment to celebration you walked out the door with a smile on your face. Maybe you could pretend, just for an evening to not be pregnant and whale-like?

///////////////////////////

The bar was just a 10 minute walk so it wasn’t long before the two of you were soaking up the atmosphere. It was all decorated in a rustic fashion, with old exposed wood and dangling lightbulbs from the ceiling and the drinks were incredible. The type that have dry ice or flames or some other sort of fantastical display of edible decorations. Even Yamna had perked up, especially when a guy from the table across had bought you both a round of drinks.

“I’m just gonna pop to the loo.”

“Do you really need the toilet or do you just want to parade infornt of the fit rich man who keeps looking at you?”

“ Is both an option?” You laughed as Yamna slipped off her stool, winking rather dramatically as she did so. She was unbelievable - but at least this way she wasn’t thinking about her work, or lack thereof, anymore.

Happily you sat scrolling though your phone, seeing that tom had messaged you with an okay, before flicking through instagram.

And that was where the happiness ended.

For in a hurried manner, with a face looking a lot more ghosted than when she left, Yamna took her seat again.

“Are you okay?” Immediately your worry took over, the way she was biting her lip and not meeting your eyes not helping.

“I um yeh-yeh. Just I think I saw Tom.”

“Tom as in my Tom?” Her almost guilty looking nod had your scrunching your eyebrows, why was it such a big deal Tom was inside?

“He didn’t see me I don’t think but er… he just looked pretty close to a girl and I-“

To be honest you stopped listening at that point, heart dropping out the bottom of your chest. Because it made sense, he had been so distant recently and even if you’d been lying to yourself that it were work - this seemed much more likely. Whilst nodding along, pretending to listen to Yamna, instead your attention was solely focused on fiddling with the promise ring he’d got you after the two of you decided to keep the baby. He’d been so committed, so ready for this unexpected news. He’d said he was in for the long haul.

“Y/n?”

“sorry I um… it’s probably just a work colleague he needs to sweet talk. I’ll um-I’ll just go say hello.”

“I’m coming with you.” She spoke astutely, very much forcing herself into the situation.

“No no I’ll… I’ll come back if I need you, just wait here.”

Her face was so grim and destitute, as much as you were pretending it was okay - you knew it wasn’t. Before Yamna could protest further, you slipped off your seat ( clumsily thanks to the elephant belly) and walked with fake confidence back inside.

It took you barely 3 seconds to hone in on Tom, call it mothers intuition. He was on a booth in the corner with 5 others on his table but none of whom you recognised. It was 2 other guys and 3 girls - the six all paired off in mathcingly initimate conversations. Apart from that you payed almost zero attention to the others, attention solely focused on your boyfriend and the girl he had his arm round.

She was everything you weren’t. She was skinny - you, as previously mentioned, looked like you had a beachball stuffed under your top. She was blonde with sleek and perfectly styled waves at the tips of her long her - yours was thrown into a messy bun due to the last minute plans.

Most importantly - right now she was wrapped in Toms arms, whilst you stood alone watching.

God knows what came over you, but with confidence you never normally had you marched up to the table, just waiting at the end. One of the men you didn’t recognised, arrogantly asked you ‘can I help you’ - but you completely disregarded it, eyes solely fixed on Tom. He took a moment more to look away from the leggy girl, but as soon as he did his eyes grew massively wide.

“Y/n I-I-“

“Fancy bumping into you, I thought you were out with work executives?” Frantically casting his gaze across the table, you could see the cogs whirring to try and come up with an explanation.

“No I-I was but then Charlie here came over, we used to be mates at school and-“

“Oh fuck off Tom., I cant deal with this right now.”

You didn’t even have the energy to listen to his clearly fake excuses as to why he’d landed himself in that situation. You also certainly did not have it in you to maintain the strong face, you could feel everything shattering inside of you.

Because it was so blindingly obvious by how he had acted. You’d caught him out and you both knew it.

And it fucking hurt like hell.

So you exited the bar as fast as physically possible, hearing the shouts of both Yamna and Tom behind you. You didn’t know what you needed in that moment - except that neither of them were the answer. Tom though, presumably the faster of the two, managed to catch up - grabbing your arm to make you halt in the road.

There was this moment between the two of you that time almost seemed to freeze. The two of you, in an otherwise pretty empty residential street, at 9:30 at night, in a moment that you would never have again. From your point of view, you saw the slightly bloodshot and bleary eyes, widened with panic and fear. For Tom he saw the floods of tears down your cheeks, which you hadn’t even noticed were freely streaming.

But in that moment there was, at least, the slightest bit of peace. The slightest bit of hope - that he could explain, that he had some ludicrous but valid reason for the situation you had walked in on. Just a smidgen of hope that this were recoverable.

But then he had to open his bloody mouth.

“Y/n I swear nothing-“

“That didn’t look like fucking nothing!”

“It was I swear! We just-“

“Tom this is your one and only chance. I don’t care if your off your face, if you don’t give my a miracle of a reason as to what the fuck THAT was - then I’m gone.”

“Don’t say that Y/n, you don’t mean th-“ He tried to grab your hand which you snatched away, like you had just scalded it on a hot plate. Like he had hurt you.

“I swear to god I’ve never meant anything more. So cut the shit.”

“FIne-fine! Um so we were at the meeting and then on the way out I bumped into George and hes been a good mate of mine for years.” All you did was hum, arms crossed and making sure you had a metre of distance between the two of you.

“So he said god you look like you need a drink and I agreed because its been stressful as hell recently.”

“Oh its been stressful; for YOU has it? I’m so sorry Thomas, has it been hard for you while i’ve been throwing my lungs up with morning sickness? Has it been stressful that I’ve been running on zero hours sleep because she kicks me all bloody night? ” Your words were laced in a posioned sarcasm, to which Tom just stammered to.

“Please just let me.” Given he was supposed to be fighting for you, he sounded pretty darn defeated already.

“I said yes to the drink.” He skipped out the bit that had angered you, to which you rolled your eyes at. “And one turned into two and more and then I don’t know-“

“Your going to have to try a lot harder than that.” You deadpanned, taking a small step further back still.

“I mean it! The girls were all his friends and we were just talking.”

“Just talking? All pressed up and arms round her?”

“Yes!” As indignant as he retorted, it didn’t not make up for what you had seen with your own eyes.

“Your such a bullshitter Tom!”

“God why wont you just listen to me?” He cried, wobbly doing a little 360 on the spot, in what appeared to be exasperation.

“Because your just spouting fucking lies! And you try and blame it all on poor little tommo being stressed which is-“

“I HAVE BEEN! Running round after you! I’m just tired of this shit!!! So kill me, for having one night of freedom!”

Tom was too deep in his angry lecture to take any notice of you. Which is why, once finished, he waitied, breath heavy and nose flaring. He was waiting for you to scream back at him. To give it back. He was too drunk to notice the change in your demeanor.

“I’m tired of this shit.”

It was just reverberating round your head. Again and again and again. He was tired of your relationship and you hadn’t even become parents yet. He was at his wits-end and the baby was still unborn. What the fuck was going to happen when baby arrived? Clearly there was no hope. It was dead. Your relationship was dead with no chance of revival.

Because he’d said it. Your relationship was shit, and nobody can put up with something they hate for that long. Not 18 years. Not while bringing up a child.

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

?to be continued?

~~~~~~~~~~gahhhh I hope u enjoyed! I also REALLY CANNOT THINK OF A NAME FOR THIS MINISERIES --> if anyone can think of something pls inbox me!!! ~~~~~~~~

tom taglist: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits​ for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t! 

if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention. 

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives. 

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven. 

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.  

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.” 

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house. 

“Aren’t you excited for prom?” 

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.” 

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.” 

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body. 

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook. 

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night. 

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook. 

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene? 

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie. 

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow. 

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out. 

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window. 

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.” 

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.” 

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” 

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later. 

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame. 

“What’s wrong, Kook?” 

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.” 

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.” 

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.” 

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.” 

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.” 

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off. 

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste. 

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun! 

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin. 

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within. 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful. 

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone. 

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing. 

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom. 

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you. 

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie. 

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground. 

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities. 

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!” 

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?” 

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?” 

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart. 

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated. 

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin. 

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern. 

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance. 

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone. 

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world. 

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there." 

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it." 

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry.  It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie. 

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further. 

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men. 

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven. 

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side. 

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting. 

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing. 

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday. 

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning. 

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon. 

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream. 

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!” 

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar. 

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image. 

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?” 

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…” 

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation. 

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night. 

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here. 

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?” 

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!” 

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan. 

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!” 

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition? 

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy. 

Is that you? 

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty. 

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it. 

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked. 

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.” 

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream. 

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.” 

“Are we dating?” 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.” 

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably. 

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.” 

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment. 

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears. 

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family. 

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you. 

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone. 

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change. 

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream? 

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them. 

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you? 

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial. 

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh? 

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage. 

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door. 

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend. 

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen. 

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms. 

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost. 

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.” 

What? 

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself. 

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.” 

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!” 

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch. 

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time. 

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.  

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie. 

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.” 

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook. 

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?” 

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.” 

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.” 

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.” 

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can. 

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?” 

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.” 

So much has changed in the past ten years. 

“Hey, can you please stop crying?” 

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.” 

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.” 

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?” 

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not. 

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything. 

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?” 

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much. 

“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.” 

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego? 

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big. 

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day. 

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.  

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street. 

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that. 

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade. 

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?” 

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.” 

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body. 

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world. 

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you. 

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low. 

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience. 

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.” 

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk. 

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?” 

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.” 

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.” 

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.” 

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday. 

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin. 

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night. 

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right? 

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge. 

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?” 

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?” 

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.” 

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you. 

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy! 

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool. 

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.” 

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.” 

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.” 

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking. 

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.” 

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it. 

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends. 

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!” 

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom. 

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup. 

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity? 

And that’s when it hits you. 

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent. 

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment. 

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue. 

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out. 

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.” 

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily. 

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob. 

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited. 

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?” 

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.” 

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret. 

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago. 

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.” 

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings. 

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice. 

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.” 

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago. 

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining. 

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago. 

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook. 

Wait, what? 

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants. 

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further. 

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.” 

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it. 

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?” 

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.” 

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?” 

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.” 

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction. 

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?” 

“To a park where you’re not in!” 

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around. 

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.” 

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness. 

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.” 

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?” 

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer. 

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat. 

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.” 

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?” 

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond. 

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)  

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?” 

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.” 

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.) 

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table. 

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.” 

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight. 

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it. 

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller. 

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room. 

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light. 

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats. 

He didn’t leave. 

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom. 

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding. 

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading. 

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?” 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” 

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.” 

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs. 

“Do you have work?”  you ask casually. 

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.” 

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?” 

“Why?” 

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home. 

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City. 

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness. 

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.” 

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.” 

What is wrong with you? 

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.” 

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you. 

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it. 

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer. 

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?” 

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.” 

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!” 

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?” 

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you. 

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time. 

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait. 

“What is it now, Jungkook?” 

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment. 

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.” 

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.” 

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong. 

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.” 

“Well why are you upset at yourself?” 

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.” 

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn. 

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?” 

“Five-hundred a week?” 

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?” 

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you. 

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun. 

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle. 

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.” 

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.” 

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles. 

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.” 

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.” 

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?” 

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.” 

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well. 

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.” 

“Alright, who are your models?” 

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.” 

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.” 

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?” 

“I’m not modeling.” 

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?” 

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!” 

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!” 

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego. 

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit. 

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!” 

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts. 

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!” 

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?” 

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other. 

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—” 

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.” 

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?” 

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.” 

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread? 

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade. 

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.” 

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined. 

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.” 

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers. 

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear? 

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment. 

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day. 

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin. 

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then. 

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium. 

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot. 

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym. 

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit. 

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater. 

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!” 

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions. 

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!” 

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life. 

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters. 

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap. 

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.” 

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—” 

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!” 

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!” 

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours. 

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!” 

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board. 

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!” 

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile. 

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most. 

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face. 

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate.  Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible. 

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying. 

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.” 

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.” 

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.” 

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.” 

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks. 

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?” 

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.” 

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?” 

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down. 

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.” 

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick. 

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk. 

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.” 

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.” 

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!” 

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?” 

“You little–” 

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away. 

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake. 

“Why are we here?” 

“For research purposes.” 

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?” 

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.” 

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back. 

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.” 

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm. 

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park. 

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach. 

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.” 

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.” 

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it. 

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.” 

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly. 

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age. 

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school. 

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating. 

“Do we have to?” 

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?” 

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.” 

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem. 

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up. 

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.” 

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.” 

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.” 

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out. 

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!” 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further. 

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.” 

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff. 

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.” 

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head. 

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.” 

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.” 

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?” 

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.” 

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.” 

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.” 

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?” 

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”  

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits. 

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car. 

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab. 

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went. 

“Bun, be careful!” 

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat. 

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead. 

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.” 

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake. 

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear. 

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way. 

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image. 

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile. 

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots. 

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?” 

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.” 

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.” 

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.” 

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?” 

“That sounded oddly sexual.” 

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera. 

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.” 

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you. 

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.” 

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face. 

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.) 

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight. 

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date. 

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack. 

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week. 

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning. 

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.” 

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away. 

“Wait—” 

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you. 

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face. 

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway. 

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven. 

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you. 

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font. 

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans. 

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear. 

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions. 

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.” 

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.” 

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said. 

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth. 

Needless to say, the issue is yours. 

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned. 

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half. 

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.” 

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture. 

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.” 

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck. 

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.” 

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.” 

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating. 

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute. 

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom. 

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?” 

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at. 

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby. 

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?” 

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?” 

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.” 

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down. 

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment. 

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on. 

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you. 

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.” 

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.” 

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.” 

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine. 

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring. 

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?” 

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!” 

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension. 

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!” 

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile. 

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?” 

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably. 

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe. 

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.” 

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?” 

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.” 

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t  judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.” 

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?  

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard. 

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew. 

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.” 

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs. 

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.” 

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done. 

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway. 

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.” 

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished. 

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.” 

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs. 

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds. 

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room. 

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go. 

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between. 

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream. 

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them. 

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand. 

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process. 

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue. 

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress. 

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.” 

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared. 

“What?” he wilts, “why?” 

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.” 

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag. 

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?” 

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.” 

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier. 

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab. 

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.” 

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.” 

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years. 

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch. 

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car. 

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!” 

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.” 

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.” 

“Things change.” 

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit. 

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car. 

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.” 

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.” 

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.” 

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.” 

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.” 

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.” 

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.” 

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile. 

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.” 

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage. 

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come. 

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future. 

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.” 

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.” 

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!” 

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?” 

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Okay. Good night, Kook.” 

“Good night, Bun.” 

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note. 

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.” 

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.” 

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.” 

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.” 

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control. 

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.” 

“Oui, oui.” 

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?” 

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.” 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt. 

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight." 

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place. 

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more. 

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched (and books I read) this week - 35

As I wait for season 3 of Succession, I thought I’ll re-watch the pilot of Season 1, directed by Adam McKay. Absolutely a great start for the week.

The opening credit theme is a killer!

✴️               

George Méliès X 2:

✳️✳️✳️  The Méliès Mystery, a fascinating biography of magician, toy-maker, pioneer director, impresario and THE inventor of the cinema. Gave me a whole new appreciation for his work. 9/10

✳️✳️✳️ And of course, Scorsese’s Hugo, which recreates the 7 years in Méliès life, when in desperation he burnt the negatives of all his 700 films, and as he operated a small toy booth at the Gare Montparnasse, penniless and forgotten, (Photo above). This is the setting for the story, transformed into a children fairy tale about an orphan looking for his dead father. A technical tour de force and an ode to early cinema, which eventually turns into a history lesson.

✴️          

In a similar vain, Sylvain Chomet’s animated story of Jacques Tati’s 1957 unproduced script The illusionist, which was written in an attempt to reconcile with his daughter whom he had abandoned when she was a baby. 

Lyrical, sentimental and melancholy. 

"Magicians are not real"

✴️          

“Do you want the world to end in Your lifetime?”

Scenes from an Empty Church, an unexpected Covid “Dinner with Andre” from an independent filmmaker Onur Tukel! 

Never heard of it, didn’t know what to expect, watched it for over an hour ... and suddenly it grabbed me, and grabbed hard. It starts as a talkative, philosophical tract with 2 priests trying to deal with the very unusual pandemic that shut down their NYC church. They talk about it, and talk about it, and some of their parishioners enter the conversation and talk about it, but at the end, the anguish and desperation that they feel is being transcended. A bit, at least - 8/10

✴️      

First watch - Stanley Kubrick’s very first film, the short self-financed boxing documentary Day of the fight (1951)! Done when he was 23, fully cinematic and well-composed, with distinct narration The Killing-style.

Happy Find of the week!

✴️      

Bernadette Peters X 2:

✳️✳️✳️ Mel (“Fun”) Brooks’ slapstick film-about-filming Silent movie, a blatant Product Placement vehicle for Coca Cola. Bernadette Peters played the Madeline Kahn role, the very voluptuous Vilma Kaplan, “A bundle of lust”.

“You brought me papers?”

My father would have loved it!

✳️✳️✳️ First watch: Woody Allen’s 1990 Alice, a rework of Fellini’s Juliet of the spirits. With cameos of Thelonious Monk and Mother Teresa, and scenes of Mia Farrow smoking opium. Bernadette Peters was “The Muse” who had to wear reading glasses.

✴️      

So I also re-visited Fellini’s baroque Juliet of the spirits, with the delightful Giulietta Masina. Both Fellini and Allen cast their middle-age wives / girlfriends in the same role. Also, I didn’t realize that Fellini was gay, and his marriage to Masina was partly pro-forma.

Long Live Nino Rota!

✴️      

Gérard Depardieu X 3:

✳️✳️✳️ I have to see all of Truffaut‘s films again! His straight-forward, sweet, simple story telling style. First: The Woman Next Door, where the new neighbor is the old, tragic lover. L'amour Toujours.

And always with Georges Delerue‘s score.

✳️✳️✳️ "When are you coming, Cherie?" 

30 years ago I used to love Green Card, because 1. Romance with Andie MacDowell and 2. Similarities of my marriage of convenience of the same time.

It was actually a rarity, a comedy about immigration policy. I also used to like Peter Weir‘s films.

✳️✳️✳️ La Vie En Rose (2007), a standard French bio of Édith Piaf’s very hard life, full of Marion Cotillard, accordions, and endless grief.

Her music though was better. 3/10

✴️        

As if there was a pandemic, and you can’t get out of the house. Buñuel’s absurdist The Exterminating Angel, about a party of upper class socialites slowly descending into anarchy after getting stuck in a mansion and not able to leave. Uncomfortably claustrophobic and eerily nihilist. Re-watch.

✴️        

White, part 2 of Kieślowski’s ‘Trois couleurs’ trilogy. A disappointing revenge fantasy, whereby a hapless Polish hairdresser suffers a humiliating divorce and somehow manages to gain ‘equality’ by implicating his ex-wife in his fake death.

I loved ‘Blue’, but not this ‘Anti-comedy’.

✴️      

Shirley Jackson X 2:

✳️✳️✳️ Shirley, a “Woman’s film”, made by (nearly all) women, about “brilliant, tortured” writer Shirley Jackson, the author of ‘The Lottery’. Reminiscent of ‘Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf’, but this younger couple are dull and uninspired. I didn’t find it compelling, except of the final cathartic scene at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the dive below.

‘Let’s pray for a boy. The world is too cruel for girls”.

✳️✳️✳️ Shirley Jackson’s horrifying short story The Lottery (full text here), published in The New Yorker, and featured at the opening scene of ‘Shirley’ above. A story about a small town in New England which follows a long-held tradition of stoning one member of the community every year in a ritual that is accepted by all.

✴️        

Al Pacino in William Friedkin’s Cruising, a commentary on the S&M leather scene at the end of 70′s NYC. Gay sex & open hustling were normalized, but within a story of a serial killer. Not homophobic, but unconvincing and disappointing. With Paul Sorvino and Joe Spinell. 

✴️ Documentaries X 3:       

✳️✳️✳️ Inside Deep Throat, a prurient 2005 documentary Produced by Brian Glazer and narrated by Dennis Hopper. With the typical HBO horrendous quick editing, it claims that Deep Throat is the one event that mainstreamed blow jobs.

America’s reactionary obsession with sex and porn and the politics of religion and morals which fucked it all up. Despicable Alan Dershowitz does his Talking Head shtick.

✳️✳️✳️ First watch: The Thin Blue Line, Errol Morris‘s breakthrough doc, which was faulted (justifyingly) for using reenactments in telling a real story. 

America is filled with so much miscarriages of justice, gun violence, police abuse, and crime, that it’s hopeless to navigate it.

✳️✳️✳️ Fox and the Big Lie, Australian Broadcasting Corp's doc - How Fox News promoted trump’s propaganda and helped destabilize democracy in the USA. Part 2.

✴️         

Why I quit Netflix (It’s true)

- - - - -

(My complete movie list is here)

[tortoisenottortoise]

Am I the only one who likes seeing muscular women in media more than muscular men?

Alright so, this one will probably end up much shorter and a little more ranty than I'd like, but this is kind of personal so be fairly warned. 

 Recently I've seen a few complaints about the new He-Man show and honestly, I fully understand and empathize with them. Whilst I haven't fully seen the show, from what I've viewed I can personally speaking agree (or at the very least understand) where most criticisms come from. I think it's incredibly shitty that the writer basically lied to his audience about how the show would run. Now normally I'd be fine with a twist such as He-man dying, but he's an important part of the show and the way the marketing & merchandising for it was running kind of comes across as him basically using He-Man's name to get people into the show. I also feel like it's fine to view Teela as obnoxious and annoying, nothing about her personality-wise seems likable to me. I also heard a few complaints about Orko's (I think that's his name, don't crucify me) backstory and how his character was handled.Yet as the title suggests one that didn't stick with me was the criticism of Teela and a general trend towards the criticism of women in media as being "masculine". 

I've heard over and over that Hollywood representing strong women by giving them masculine traits is a bad thing and yet... I kind of don't get it? It feels odd to say, almost like I'm the dumbest man alive for admitting something which most people on the internet seem to be so sure about, yet I just don't understand where this is coming from. I've seen this thrown at She-hulk, Wonder Woman, Abby, and many other characters, yet when inquired it usually loops back around to, "Yeah they have muscles", and that's about it. This type of criticism in specific seems to overly focus on the appearance of said characters. It's the one critique I just can't get behind and it feels like at best it's a shallow criticism that fails to get its point across, and at worst it's actively demeaning to women who desire to or show masculine traits. But first, let me break this down into sections.

Section 1: Muscles =/= Masculinity (In my opinion at least)

Oh boy, I feel like this is a section that might rustle some feathers, but I'm going to try and explain myself best as possible. I simply do not view muscularity as a feature that is inherent to or should be inherent to men. I'm not going to pretend as if muscular men aren't more saturated in media and art, nor as if they're societally treated as masculine, but one of the reasons I fail to understand this criticism is that I see muscles beyond the horizons as being just a masculine trait. 

I believe that muscles should instead be seen as a sign of hard work and determination. As someone who's currently trying (and struggling) to stay healthy and fit, it's much harder than a lot of media portrays it to be. It's a test where you push yourself to the limits, not just for the sake of doing it, but so you can improve as a person. Whenever I go to the gym and see a muscular gal or guy walk by, my immediate thought isn't, "how masculine" or anything like that my thought is, "wow! They worked hard to get like that, I should work hard as well!". 

This interpretation tends to feel like it's just simply taking a piss on people who actively work hard to achieve higher levels of strength. Especially when society places and enforces these unrealistic standards onto people. If you don't have a six-quintillion pack nor can bench press a fucking house then you're worthless, of course, that is unless you actually attempt to pursue said standards which in that case you're automatically dismissed as cheating your way to gaining your muscles instead of putting any work in. And that's just for men who often don't have to deal with traditional idiots who are stuck in the year 1950 where I can't walk on the same street as them. My skin crawls when reading tweets from older men talking about how weightlifting women are "ruining their fertility" and I absolutely hate it when people in my life treat these women as if they're mythical creatures from a fairy tale, or when females who have trained to such a degree are simply dismissed as being inferior. 

Obviously, I don't think the people who say this are like that, but whenever I hear this type of critique I can't help but think of the culmination of all these experiences I've gone through. But then again, this might honestly just be because I'm personally attracted to muscular women.

  Section 2: Body type diversity

  Another reason that I tend to like muscular women in media over muscular men is simply due to the sheer oversaturation of muscular men. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem if anybody likes muscular men. I totally get wanting to shove your face in between some man titties or get inspired by their physiques. In all honesty, almost everything I said earlier can directly apply to men, but one of the reasons I bring up body type diversity is that there tend to be much less muscular women than men. I

f anything, I'd have to say that muscular men are almost treated as the default when it comes to things like superhero comics, movies, video games, anime, etc. In a similar vein, the default for women tends to be slim and curvaceous, you get the drill. Whenever someone who doesn't fit into either body type shows up and isn't treated like a joke/gag or a character to rip on, I can't help but be happy about it. As much as I have no clue wtf is going on with TLOU2, I can appreciate that Abby's portrayal doesn't seem to exist solely as a joke meant to demean women for working out. I'm excited when an anime protagonist is a fat character who can go beyond just being a "fat guy" and is treated the same way a normal person would be.

 Regardless of what you think about whatever trait you're criticizing, there's probably someone out there who fits it. If you're not into it or dislike it, then that's fine, but I'd rather have that expressed than it being actively made out as a harmful trope as opposed to just literally another body type that some women have.

  Section 3: Muscular women inspire me more

Ok so, we've now blown into a full-on personal experience, buckle up boys, girls, NBs, anything in between, and I feel like I'm forgetting someone so apologies! But yeah, muscular women in media tend to be a lot more inspiring than people seem to give them credit for. This comes down to a mix of both the qualities I outlined earlier in what makes the characters inspiring but also plays into the idea of body diversity. 

One of the traits that make amazons seem more inspiring is their inherent rarity/lack of screentime. As I stated earlier, whilst I do enjoy my fair share of man-titties, it kind of gets to a point where it's more depressing than inspiring when all you see is just super-models shoved in your face whenever you walk into a theater. If for every Goku I could find ten other guys who were on the chubbier side then I'd be able to take more from when I see Goku and other characters with his body type, yet it's so saturated that it no longer becomes something to aspire to, but simply the norm.  It's not that you can work to become muscular or skinny with hard work and effort, you have to be muscular or skinny unless you want to be deemed a failure. Being chubby often isn't presented as a starting point but just treated as a defect. As someone who spent years battling with my own self-perception, that's just not a good message to get across.

Now, this obviously isn't to say that people can never make muscular characters. After all, it's their story so they can put whatever they want in it. The aim of the game isn't to stop people from making a specific type of character, but to encourage a diverse set of people to make a diverse set of characters. This is the reason why I view muscular women as so inspiring. Instead of coming across as just "the norm" or "the standard" they stand out from the crowd and despite knowing what they have to deal with, are still ready and willing to work out and improve their bodies. They had a goal in mind and set time aside to achieve said goal, that's something I can get behind.

  Conclusion:

This will be another short section, but I just wanted to mention it because it caps off my thoughts on this post in general. What originally started as me just not getting the reason why people disliked Teela's design somehow turned into a passionate rant and I'm A) not sure if it fits on this particular subsection of the community, B) scared I'm going to get ripped to pieces, and C) somewhat unsatisfied with all that I said. At the end of the day, this probably won't be seen by too many people, but to those who do see it, I hope you have a wonderful day. I just wanted to talk about something that was near and dear to my heart and hoped that I made it clear why I view things the way I do. 

P.S: Can we stop having this double standard where we act like women whose arms show the slightest hint of definition are "unrealistic" whilst men can look like tree trunks and be considered normal and healthy? please and thank you!

[fandomqueen44]

9 months to hell and back: A Tim x Female Dallas Story

So this is an idea that wouldn't leave my head and has even haunted my dreams.

Point out any mistakes in comments and I'll fix lol

Warnings: Mild Violence and Pregnancy. Probably misspellings.

Summary: Tim accidentally knocked up Dallas Winston after a rumble. But...everything happens for a reason right?

.....

Week 6

Dallas Winston was in a god awful mood today, even worse then her usual moods. She huffed as she pulled herself off of Bucks bathroom floor and flushed the toilet, brushing her teeth in an effort to get the taste of vomit away from her mouth. She groaned and splashed her face with cold water, groaning a bit as she gazed in the mirror.

She was by all means a pretty girl. She was about 5'9 and weighed a nice 125 pounds, with a pleasant curve to her body and a rounded face, with wild brown hair, her skin having a dusting of freckles across it.

She groaned a bit and got dressed, frowning as she looked down and noticed her stomach was ever so slightly rounded. She just took it as a sign that she'd finally began putting on weight (Darry had suggested to her that she do) and carried on.

She went outside and saw Buck smoking. Normally she would join in for a stick or two, but her stomach clenched at it and another bout of nausea hit her. She groaned and went back inside. Maybe her period was close?

She laid back on her bed and through about whatever came to mind. She grimes as a craving for a blizzard from Dairy Queen hit her, but she again shrugged it off as her period coming.

Week 9

She was with the Curtis Gang when another wave of Nausea hit her. She groaned mentally, shifted in her seat on the couch, and tried to go back to watching the movie. Her period hadn't come yet, but it had never been regular anyways. She just tried to watch the movie and eat popcorn, but the taste just only made the nausea worse.

Week 13

Dallas frowned in the mirror and lifted up her shirt. Her stomach was starting to curve out now, and she had gained about 10 or so pounds, but it wasn't soft like she'd expect. It was almost like jello more then anything. She frowned and tugged her shirt down, frowning as she still saw it poke out. She sighed, thinking to herself.

When her period hadn't come for 2 months, she took it as a blessing. Now it had been three months, and her mind began to wonder to another option, one she wants entirely sure she was ready to face.

"Am I....." She mumbled to herself before dismissing the thought. That wasn't a reality she was ready for.

That she was pregnant, and fucking Tim Shepard was the father.

She just shook her head and grabbed a beer, or thought about it before grabbing a water instead. Just in case.

Week 15

She sighed as she saw her belly poke out more. She had to be pregnant, there was no other explanation at this point, but her mind refused to really believe it.

She walked to the drugstore and grabbed a test, one of the slightly more expensive ones, and took it, anxiously pacing until it dinged 5 minutes later.

She picked it up and just shook her head in resignation. Postive.

Oh.....that Shepard was so going to pay for this....after she puked.

Week 18

She walked into the clinic shyly, wearing a jacket to hide her bump. She didn't need any rumors flying already. She hadn't even told the gang yet, although, she was sure Darry suspected. She filled out the chart and waited in the room, looking at the other women there and looking away when she found herself staring at just how large a few of them were. She sighed softly as a doctor called her back for the first Ultrasound.

She got on the seat and saw an odd looking machine. Ultrasounds were still rather new technology, only having come out 10 years ago. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted it.

The doctor told her to lay on her back and lift her shirt, which she did shyly. She usually wasn't so shy, but doctors always made her nervous.

The doctor put a gel on her stomach before moving the wand-like object around. Dallas looked at the screen anxiously until a shape came into being.

The doctor looked over the screen for a while. "When was the last time you were...active...?" The doctor asked.

Dallas thought for a moment. "Almost 4 months ago..." She said softly. She was known for sleeping around, but she stopped shortly after she began to notice the pregnancy, more ashamed of her weight at the time than anything.

The doctor nodded and thought a bit more. He explained a few more things, stating that the baby looked in good health and was growing nicely.

The doctor printed her a photo and got it developed the same day for her. She took it and walked off, her mind swarming.

Week 20

It turns out, Tim Shepard was a really hard guy to find when she actually wanted to see him. She grumbled and walked around his part of town. She had her bump hidden as best she could, but her jacket did little to hide it these days.

She then decided to walk to the drive in and smirked seeing Tim's car. Slashing tires always got his attention. She flicked her blade and slashed a hole in one and walked off.

She walked to the Curtis house and let herself in like usual. She handed around before sitting by Johnny, subtly frowning as her bump (which was halfway by now) seemed to be more pronounced when she sat.

Johnny sat by her and looked at her in concern. "How are ya doin' Dal?" He asked.

"Fine." She said, before Two-bit politely handed out beer. He handed her one but she polity sent it away.

The jokester frowned at her. "What's up Dal? You sick?"

"Something like that." She replied, looking down.

Darry came from the kitchen and looked at her. He must have just finished a shower. "Unzip." He said, gesturing to her jacket.

Dally arched a brow in fake confusion, but Darry gave a look and she slowly complied, unzipping the jacket which let her bump be that much bigger.

"I knew it." He said. "You're pregnant aren't you?"

Dally looked down with a small nod.

Darry sighed. "Do you at least know who the father is?"

Dally glared a bit before realising he had a point, as she had the reputation. She nods. "It's Tim."

"Fucking what?!" Steve yelled in surprise. Sure, everyone knew she and Tim messed around, but Dallas Fucking Winston....pregnant ?

"Does he know?" Johnny asked quietly. He had suspected, but never said anything.

Dallas sighed. "Not yet...haven't been able to find him."

"Ah, speak of the Devil." Soda said, who had been watching out the window. A few seconds later, there was an angry knock.

Dallas instinctively went to zip her jacket, but Johnny grabbed her hand and stopped her, shaking his head.

"He deserves to know." He said. "Let him see."

Dallas swallowed. Why was she so nervous...?

Darry opened the door to reveal an angry Tim in all of his glory. God, he was sexy when mad. (Which, when Dally reflected, is what landed her in the situation in the first place.)

"Where's Dallas?" Tim asked in cold Anger.

"Inside but....well..." Darry stumbled for a moment. "well, you'll just have to see for yourself."

Tim arched a brow in confusion but stepped inside the Curtis house, his eyes landing on the Brunette. Something was off, he knew it. He could feel the tension in the air.

He stepped closer, and by the third step, he realised what was off. He glanced down and saw a definite swell on Dallas. He blinked and then saw it again.

There was a long silence.

"It's mine isn't it...?" Tim asked slowly, his anger seeming to fade away.

Dallas stayed silent for a moment and nodded, looking away.

Tim swallowed and walked up to her. He knealt before her, which was a rarity. Dallas looked at him confused.

Tim put a shakey hand on the swell and sighed. He looked at Dallas and then back to the bump. "I'll try to be there....if you want me that is?" He looked at her.

Dallas swallowed, the look in his eyes holding a....pleading feel. She looked down. "Sure..." She mumbled.

Week 25

Tim had began coming to the Curtis house more often to see and be with Dallas. They were in an awkward relationship to say the least, as neither had been on any real dates with the other but now they were having a kid together.

They had also began looking for a cheap apartments to live since Tim's side of town was not ideal and Bucks was a horrible place for a child.

She was on the couch eating some candies in the Curtis living room. They were the only ones at house currently, since Pony was in school and the others were out and about.

Tim sat beside her awkwardly and they held a small staring contest before Dallas felt something. "I think the kid kicked..." She said, unsure. She had felt it move before, but never actually kick.

Tim looked at her and, almost shyly, touched her bump, and soon enough, felt the kick hismelf. His eyes winded and a grin lit his face. He kissed the bump a bit and smiled softly. "I promise to be better for you than either of our dads were." He said to it.

Dally felt her eyes tear up, the sweet sentiment doing a number on her emotions. There was no way she'd make it through this with her dignity in tact.

Week 30

Now nearing the last stretch of her pregnancy, Dallas Winston was very obviously pregnant, and the talk of Tulsa. And she was sick of it, and impulsively said she was gonna join the rumble, which lead to a rather dumb argument.

She was out for a walk to clear her head after the dumb argument with Tim, when she heard the signature thrum of a car. She didn't think anything of it until she saw it was most definitely a socs car. She hoped they were just passing through since, as much as she hated to admit it, she probably couldn't fight for shit with this bump on her which was already giving her a slight waddle.

The car kept following her, slowing. She sighed. Great. Fucking perfect. She frowned as she realised it was night, and friend more as she saw the socs were drunk. She reached for her knife, only to realise she never brought it.

"nice going..." She thought to herself. "You totally screwed yourself."

A group of 7 socs popped out, and she noticed on was Bob. She glared at them and tried to keep going, but Bob grabbed her by the arm and slammed her against him. She gaged at the smell of alcohol and smoke.

"shit...." She thought panicked as she saw the group all had knives.

"Look what we have 'ere boys....a pregnant slut..." Bob slurred loudly to the group who laughed.

Normally, she would have already beat the group to pulp, but she suddenly remembered she was very pregnant when she squirmed and fled the child squirm. She shivered as bob lifted her shirt up and pressed his knife Into her stomach, drawing a small amount of blood.

"shit...." She panicked mentally, trying to get away. Bob gripped her tighter.

"Stop moving. It would be a shame if something happened to a mother before birth." The drunk taunted.

Her body froze and she looked down, her heart racing, trying to think of an out. She noticed she was surrounded and whimpered a bit against her will.

"Aww. Is mommy Winston scared?" A doc cooed mockingly. She yelled as she saw the man brace to punch her, aiming for her stomach as bob held her...

But the blow never came. She peered an eye open to see a very, very pissed off Tim Shepard. She had never seen the man so mad!

"Leave her alone you punk." Tim growled, holding the socs wrist firmly.

"Oh, it's her knight in shining hair!" Bob laughed.

"Actually, she has two." Came Two-bits voice from behind Bob. Two-bit held his prized knife to bob's neck, which made the doc let go of Dallas, who took off back to her and Tim's new place. It want by any means a great apartment, but it would serve until they could afford an actual house.

Tim came in a few minutes after, a little bloody but otherwise fine. He walked in and looked her over.

By now, the Adrenaline had worn off, and the realization of what almost happened hit Dallas hard. She wrapped her arms firmly around Tim and started to cry a bit.

Tim stood stunned before wrapping his arms firmly around her and rubbing her back, gently rocking.

"T-They were gonna...." She whimpered out quietly through chocked sobs.

Tim frowned and kissed her head. "I know Babe, I know." He said softly.

That was the night something shifted in both of them.

Week 38

Dallas was 2 weeks away from her due date, which everyone was happy for. Partly to meet the new baby, but also to make her not be pregnant anymore since she was even moodier now.

She was on the couch at the Curtis house and curled up, sitting with Johnny while Tim was out. She was eating some chocolate Tim had gotten her. She shifted around and Johnny glanced at her.

"You alright?" He asked

"Yeah, the kids just kicking more than usual is all." She said.

Johnny nodded, doubtful.

Indeed, a few hours later, she hissed in pain. "That wasn't a kick...." She grumbled to Johnny.

Johnny ran and got the phone, Calling Darry.

"Dallas is in Labor."

15 hours later....

Tim frowned as he held her hand gently and squeezed it. Dallas had been in labor for almost 15 hours now and had murder in her eyes.

Tim couldn't blame her for wanting to murder him. He kissed her head. It turns out, Dallas was allergic to Epidural and all the other medicines they tried didn't really help her, so she had felt almost everything for the last 15 hours.

"I'm going to kill you after this..." She grumbled as another contraction passed.

22 hours....

Tim grunted as Dallas squeezed his hand again. The pushing had come, and Tim had looked to see the baby, having been told it was a miracle. Well, turns out, that is a trap and he never looked again, just Focusing on Dallas. "You're almost done babe." He said softly as she panted.

Her blocked out her profanity in exchange for the sound of a sheer cry. Tim looked at the child and felt his eyes water.

"It's a boy." A nurse said

He left Dallas to watch them clean his son off, revealing the soft blond hair the kid had. The nurses swaddled him and handed Tim the child. Tim awkwardly held the kid before crying a bit.

His son looked a lot like him, but had some features of Dallas, like the ears and the general face shape.

"You plan on sharing?" Dallas asked quietly in amusement.

Tim blushed embarassed and handed their son to her. She held him with a fond smile, as all her worry melted away. She kissed his red forehead and giggled.

It was strange for Tim to see her hold a baby with such a fond look, but he just smiled. It was a good strange.

He sat by her and put his arm under her and kissed her head. "Not bad."

And thus, Ethan Shepard had entered the world.

[queenitn]

So...I just found something that I'd written one night at like 4am a month into lockdown.

It's pretty much a very unnecessarily angry rant.

I can probably contradict half the stuff I say in it myself. It's just...kinda rude in places and when I'm thinking straight there's some parts I don't really agree with myself. It's not aimed at anybody and I'm definitely a hypocrite but I'm gonna post it anyways so go wild I guess.

So I recently took a stroll through Stucky fanfiction on ao3. For a while there I'd been avoiding it, and I'd nearly convinced myself that my mind was exaggerating the whole bottom!Bucky/top!Steve thing but yeah, I'm not.

Normally, I'd say who tops or bottoms doesn't matter. It's pretty irrelevant. But... since the majority of the fanfictions clearly prefer to write bottom!Bucky, obviously, there is some significance. Wouldn't the proportion be more equal if it truly was irrelevant?

Besides being annoying as fuck, it's also pretty interesting I guess. I have nothing else to do so I'm going to be ranting about a lot of stuff.

So, I mostly try to look for bottom!Steve, right? Because that's what I like. I read a bottom!Steve fic, then I say, "Hmm, this author seems to like bottom!Steve, maybe they've written more?" I go check, and I find...mostly bottom!Bucky, with maybe one or two more bottom!Steve.

It's fine the first few times, but after a while it's honestly weird. Clearly, a lot of very good authors have no problem writing bottom!Steve. They just happen to write more bottom!Bucky. As far as I can tell, that's pretty much the common trend. But why? What exactly does one think while starting a new fic, going all, "Hmm...I think...this time.... we're gonna have bottom!Bucky again." Again and again and again until it's most times.

Why is bottom!Steve so fetishized? I don't mean the fics that actually have a dom/sub element. I mean just pure bottom!Steve itself. Why does it have to be some sort of rarity?

As far as I know, there's...really nothing in canon indicating who would likely top or bottom. (I mean yeah, I do believe that canon Bucky is more likely to want to dom than canon Steve, but that's different.)

So, what is it?

Sure, Steve is taller, has a deeper voice, more muscle, a beard....but those are just physical things. They don't actually have anything to do with taking or giving.

Besides, he used to be small before. Is that what this is about? Previously tiny man likes to be in control? Likes to...what? Prove he's a manlier man? Bullshit. Besides the fact that it's bullshit, it also doesn't seem to fit with canon Steve.

The "Sometimes I think you like getting punched" and the "And you've got nothing to prove" make me think that his proving himself had less to do with showing his dominance and more to do with showing his endurance. I'd say bottoming is exactly what he'd want to do.

Besides, wasn't that exactly what made his relationship with Bucky special? The fact that he didn't have to "prove himself" in any way? Bucky already knew his worth.

Is it because Steve likes to give orders? Some sort of "Oh, this guy was always meant to be the leader"? Well, there's a huge difference between being a leader, giving orders in a battlefield...and giving orders in the bedroom. And I'm pretty sure top/bottom preferences would be completely unrelated to who's the boss at work.

But nevermind that, as far as I can tell, sure Steve gives orders, but he also looks to the people he trusts for guidance. The best example is Nat. The thing that makes their friendship so goddamm precious is partly in the way he always glances at her for confirmation before making a decision. Isn't Bucky sort of like an Ultimate Nat with sex benefits?

Nevermind that too. Steve bossing people around is great, but that's not the point, is it? The point is does he enjoy it? I think, the only movie where he did look like he relished his power was TFA. I'm pretty confident that's because of the novelty of his new strength partially, and partially also because of the rush caused by his back to back successes. Why? Because he never seems to take that kind of enjoyment again. As opposed to...maybe Sam? The guy who gets his literal wings back after (presumably) years and lets out a whoop after being chased by the missile thingies. Sam's joy doesn't wear off. Steve's does.

Is it just me, or has this skew towards bottom!Bucky actually increased over the years? Why? I can say a few things on this.

First, maybe people need to remember a bit more that Sebastian Stan is not Bucky Barnes. Chris Evans is not Steve Rogers. And Steve Rogers is not Captain America.

No matter what you think about the actors, the characters they play are separate. Please.

Second, there is a very interesting theory that exists which says that the reason why Bucky is so popular in the fandom is because his character arc is relatable to women and the queer community in the fact that it's about him regaining his stolen agency. Which is true.

Does this have anything to do with him bottoming though? I mean, I don't know. Fanfictions are important because they allow us to explore ourselves, whether it's our sexuality or our trauma that we're trying to figure out. In that way, it makes sense that maybe we will tend to write Bucky as a bottom more often. Except no.

Partly because, having had bad experiences at a young age myself, and being queer myself, I do not relate to Bucky. And hypothetically speaking, I would totally bottom for Peggy or Bucky, but I would rail the absolute shit out of Steve. I canNOT be the only one.

Partly also because yeah, a lot of fanfiction is projection, which is good for the soul, both yours and mine, but not to the point where we create a fanon version of the character completely different from the canon one. Yeah, you could say that canon doesn't really give us much of a character, but clearly they give us something and we have to build up on that right? It's true for both Bucky and Steve. Bucky barely has lines, but his actions speak enough. There's an absolutely breathtaking character waiting for you in canon if you really want to look. As for Steve, let me just say, sass and the tiniest little hints of PTSD do not make a whole character. Marvel fucked it up, but this goes for the fandom too (this is keeping in mind that Steve technically has three movies dedicated to him and Bucky doesn't)

Stop treating Steve like your personal punching bag, Stucky fandom.

It does happen, if we project our bad experiences on Bucky, Steve often naturally fills the role of the clueless/mildly asshole-ish love interest. Not too much of an asshole though, clearly you love him.

That's fine. Fanfiction is about self expression, but should we lose sight of the canon characters that we loved so much in the first place? And isn't fanfiction just as much about exploring those characters, as objectively as we possibly can?

Another thing related to that...why do we only have to identify with one character? I don't know how to put this, but there's a thing called halo effect and I think that's kind of what happens (I'm not a psychologist).

You see something in Bucky. And then you start to attribute more and more things to him that may or may not actually exist. Like yeah, he's fullfilling the traditional love interest role in Steve's movies, but that doesn't automatically mean he's a bottom. The two things are... actually entirely unrelated. They're only related in your mind. And similar to that, when we see one thing in a character that we identify with, we kind of want to see even more things in them we identify with, but it doesn't have to be like that. That's not how any person works, and it's not how any fully developed character works. You can relate to both the characters in different ways, no need to dump it all in one.

Ok, another thing, that I don't like to think about but it's occured to me and I don't like it. So, Steve is generally coded as a bisexual, right? And Bucky is coded as gay. Look yourself in the eye in the mirror and think about whether you're unconsciously assuming that the bi guy isn't going to want to bottom. I'm a bisexual woman, I will top Steve. I kind of resent this.

Going off on another tangent, I have also delved into Stony on my quest for bottom!Steve. Pretty sure there's even less of that there. Why??? That's crazy.

Normally, I'm pretty sure Tony would be coded as the top. He's much older, richer. He clearly has control issues. That's one of his defining features. Control. (I don't mean that in a bad way.) So....what exactly do Bucky and Tony have in common besides dark hair and short hight? The only thing I could come up with was thotiness. They're both shown as Thots. Is that it? The Thot Bottoms? Ok.

Is it the whole energy thing? "Bucky has bottom energy"? Does he? Can you argue with me if I say that TFA Steve has bratty bottom energy? That TFA Bucky goes from service top energy to mean top energy? Pretty sure that's subjective. But what exactly are we seeing differently here? I'm honestly asking.

Bucky's character is ridiculously strong, stronger than Steve in some ways (besides probably physically). Specifically, it's because of his ability to not only survive, but heal. Can we acknowledge how crazy that is? He's just fucking buying plums, but that's still more than we've ever seen Steve do. You can say his trauma is greater, but it looks like his coping ability is greater too. So is that what this is? Steve doesn't cope. Instead he focuses on external things like being Cap, Hydra, Bucky. I wouldn't call that a healthy way of living...but it's romantic, right? Neglecting to take care of yourself? No, actually avoiding taking care of yourself by focusing entirely on another person? Is that it? We're romanticizing unhealthy behaviour?

Is it because you feel more for Bucky, wearing his hurt on his sleave, versus Steve who wears it hidden under his skin?

Am I allowed to believe that Steve's ultimate shield isn't the vibranium one, but Captain America himself?

That's just me getting off track and mildly pissy but the point stands. We like seeing Steve in control. He wears it well. He's good at it. But that's just not that relevant. You don't just boss poeple around in the bedroom because you're good at it, you have to want it too. Would he want it? Is a commanding voice really an indicator of a person's desire to command? Can we really say because he's usually the one giving orders (because that's his actual job), that he likes it too? Does he look like he especially likes it? No.

I've been around fandoms long enough to know that all fandoms always have a preference regarding who ultimately tops or bottoms. This isn't the first time it's bugged me, but it feels more this time because I just don't see it. And it makes me angry because it contradicts what I feel, are the best parts of the characters. No, Bucky bottoming isn't the contradiction..but all this that I wrote, the connotations of this kind of coding, the underlying thoughts.... some of it is just not nice, but some of it opposes the little things that humanize these characters. It wouldn't matter, except that it wouldn't have happened at all if it didn't matter.

It's not just what happens to them in canon that matters so much. It's also what they choose to do for themselves when they have the chance. It feels like they made their choices and half the fandom ignored it. "Nah man, you'll look better at the bottom. Look at that hair."

Because ultimately, that's what it feels like to me. A mixture of not thinking too much about it (though I know this post probably counts as overthinking), some wierd internalised heteronormativity, and I don't know what just kind of fucks with all of us. All I know is that I hate it. I hate it.

It's not the bottom!Bucky I hate, it's the underlying, unthinking assumptions. The way it's a foregone conclusion. It's not. I really just want to be able to read the goddamn fanfictions again without wanting to tear my skin off.

( You can help by giving reccs)

[scifigeneration]

'Black Panther' and its science role models inspire more than just movie awards

by Clifford Johnson

King of a technologically advanced country, Black Panther is a scientific genius. © 2017 – Disney/Marvel Studios

It has been said many times that the Marvel movie “Black Panther” is an important landmark. I’m not referring to its deserved critical and box office success worldwide, the many awards it has won, or the fact that it is the first film in the superhero genre to be nominated for best picture at the Academy Awards.

Instead, I’m focusing on a key aspect of its cultural impact that is less frequently discussed. Finally a feature film starring a black superhero character became part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe – a successful run of intertwined movies that began with “Iron Man” in 2008. While there have been other superhero movies with a black lead character – “Hancock” (2008), “Blade” (1998), “Spawn” (1997) or even “The Meteor Man” (1993) – this film is significant because of the recent remarkable rise of the superhero film from the nerdish fringe to part of mainstream culture.

Huge audiences saw a black lead character – not a sidekick or part of a team – in a superhero movie by a major studio, with a black director (Ryan Coogler), black writers and a majority black cast. This is a significant step toward diversifying our culture by improving the lackluster representation of minorities in our major media. It’s also a filmmaking landmark because black creators have been given access to the resources and platforms needed to bring different storytelling perspectives into our mainstream culture.

2017’s “Wonder Woman” forged a similar path. In that case, a major studio finally decided to commit resources to a superhero film headlined by a female character and directed by a woman, Patty Jenkins. Female directors are a minority in the movie industry. Jenkins brought a new perspective to this kind of action movie, and there was a huge positive response from audiences in theaters worldwide.

And beyond all this, “Black Panther” also broke additional ground in a way most people may not realize: In the comics, the character is actually a scientist and engineer. Moreover, in the inevitable (and somewhat ridiculous) ranking of scientific prowess that happens in the comic book world, he’s been portrayed as at least the equal of the two most famous “top scientists” in the Marvel universe: Tony Stark (Iron Man) and Reed Richards (Mr. Fantastic). A black headlining superhero character written and directed by black artists is rare enough from a major studio. But making him – and his sister Shuri – successful scientists and engineers as well is another level of rarity.

Scientists on screen

I’m a scientist who cares about increased engagement with science by the general public. I’ve worked as a science adviser on many film and TV projects (though not “Black Panther”). When the opportunity arises, I’ve helped broaden the diversity of scientist characters portrayed onscreen.

Jason Wilkes is a black scientist on ‘Agent Carter,’ whose character emerged from the author’s talks with the show’s writers. ABC Television, CC BY-ND

Panels from ‘The Dialogues,’ including a black female scientist. 'The Dialogues,' by Clifford V. Johnson (MIT Press 2017), CC BY-ND

I’ve also recently published a nonfiction graphic book for general audiences called “The Dialogues: Conversations about the Nature of the Universe.” Its characters include male and female black scientists, discussing aspects of my own field of theoretical physics – where black scientists are unfortunately very rare. So the opportunity that the “Black Panther” movie presents to inform and inspire vast audiences is of great interest to me.

The history and evolution of the Black Panther character and his scientific back story is a fascinating example of turning a problematic past into a positive opportunity.

Created in 1966 by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, he’s the first black superhero character in mainstream comics, originally appearing as a guest in a “Fantastic Four” Marvel comic. As a black character created and initially written by nonblack authors, guest-starring in the pages of a book headlined by white characters, he had many of the classic attributes of what is now sometimes controversially known as the “magical negro” in American cultural criticism: He ranked extremely highly in every sphere that mattered, to the point of being almost too unreal even for the comics of the time.

Black Panther is T’Challa, king of the fictional African country Wakanda, which is fathomlessly wealthy and remarkably advanced, scientifically and technologically. Even Marvel’s legendary master scientist – Reed Richards of the superhero team Fantastic Four – is befuddled by and full of admiration for Wakanda’s scientific capabilities. T’Challa himself is portrayed as an extraordinary “genius” in physics and other scientific fields, a peerless tactician, a remarkable athlete and a master of numerous forms of martial arts. And he is noble to a fault. Of course, he grows to become a powerful ally of the Fantastic Four and other Marvel superheroes over many adventures.

While likening Black Panther to a ‘refugee from a Tarzan movie,’ the Fantastic Four marveled at his technological innovations in ‘Introducing the Sensational Black Panther.’ Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966). [Marvel Comics]

The key point here is that the superlative scientific ability of our hero, and that of his country, has its origins in the well-meaning, but problematic, practice of inventing near or beyond perfect black characters to support stories starring primarily white protagonists. But this is a lemons-to-lemonade story.

The Fantastic Four were amazed by the scientific ingenuity of Wakanda in ‘Whosoever Finds The Evil Eye.’ Fantastic Four #54 (September 1966). [Marvel Comics]

Black Panther eventually got to star in his own series of comics. He was turned into a nuanced and complex character, moving well away from the tropes of his beginnings. Writer Don McGregor’s work started this development as early as 1973, but Black Panther’s journey to the multilayered character you see on screen was greatly advanced by the efforts of several writers with diverse perspectives. Perhaps most notably, in the context of the film, these include Christopher Priest (late 1990s) and Ta-Nehisi Coates (starting in 2016), along with Roxane Gay and Yona Harvey, writing in “World of Wakanda” (2016). Coates and Gay, already best-selling literary writers before coming to the character, helped bring him to wider attention beyond normal comic book fandom, partly paving the way for the movie.

Through all of the improved writing of T'Challa and his world, his spectacular scientific ability has remained prominent. Wakanda continues to be a successful African nation with astonishing science and technology. Furthermore, and very importantly, T'Challa is not portrayed as an anomaly among his people in this regard. There are many great scientists and engineers in the Wakanda of the comics, including his sister Shuri. In some accounts, she (in the continued scientist-ranking business of comics) is an even greater intellect than he is. In the movie, T’Challa’s science and engineering abilities are referred to, but it is his sister Shuri who takes center stage in this role, having taken over to design the new tools and weapons he uses in the field. She also uses Wakandan science to heal wounds that would have been fatal elsewhere in the world.

Black Panther isn’t an isolated genius – his half-sister Shuri is a technological wiz herself. Marvel Studios

If they can do it, then why not me?

As a scientist who cares about inspiring more people – including underrepresented minorities and women – to engage with science, I think that showing a little of this scientific landscape in “Black Panther” potentially amplifies the movie’s cultural impact.

Vast audiences see black heroes – both men and women – using their scientific ability to solve problems and make their way in the world, at an unrivaled level. Research has shown that such representation can have a positive effect on the interests, outlook and career trajectories of viewers.

Improving science education for all is a core endeavor in a nation’s competitiveness and overall health, but outcomes are limited if people aren’t inspired to take an interest in science in the first place. There simply are not enough images of black scientists – male or female – in our media and entertainment to help inspire. Many people from underrepresented groups end up genuinely believing that scientific investigation is not a career path open to them.

Moreover, many people still see the dedication and study needed to excel in science as “nerdy.” A cultural injection of Black Panther heroics helps continue to erode the crumbling tropes that science is only for white men or reserved for people with a special “science gene.”

The huge widespread success of the “Black Panther” movie, showcasing T'Challa, Shuri and other Wakandans as highly accomplished scientists, remains one of the most significant boosts for science engagement in recent times.

About The Author:

Clifford Johnson is Professor of Physics and Astronomy at the University of Southern California – Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Clifford V. Johnson is the author of:The Dialogues: Conversations about the Nature of the Universe

This article is republished from our content partners at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. 

[siobhaneardley]

The Shape of Water & Female Sexual Desire.

This year’s Oscar Winner The Shape of Water was, let’s say different, firstly in that science fiction monster flicks are a rarity at the Academy Awards and, if they are they are only nominated for special effects awards. However, The Shape of Water blasted on to the awards scene winning Best Director at the BAFTAS, and now winning the sought after Best Picture Oscar. But what makes this film so special? It has certainly caused quite the controversy online, with people getting rather hooked (excuse the pun) on the concept of fish/human intercourse.

Now although this is quite iconic, this is not what I found unique about the film. For me what I found groundbreaking for a mainstream film is the fact that in the first five minutes of the film, we see the main female protagonist masturbating in the bath, which, as the film goes on appears to be part of her morning routine. In popular culture, we see references to male masturbation everywhere, mainly in teenage comedies. However, women are overlooked. Because heaven forbid that women have sexual desire! Open sexuality has long been the realm of men. But shock, horror, guess what. Women kind of like sex. But movies don’t seem to get this. Female characters in film are rarely the active party in seeking out sex, men are a lot of the time the active pursuers. Yet in The Shape of Water, the woman has a clear and active sexual desire, she actively pursues the fish man, she is the initiator in all the romantic elements of the film.

I recently watched the 1984 film Splash starring Tom Hanks and Daryl Hannah, and I couldn’t help but see parallels with The Shape of Water. The roles are kind of flipped in Splash, the woman is the sea creature, the man is the human. However, it is the woman, the mermaid who is quite active in her pursuit of Tom Hanks’ character, Allen. Yet in this film, it isn’t seen as a weird perversion, because on land, Madison (Daryl Hannah) looks like a human. Her desire in the film is presented as cute and naive. She is not human therefore doesn’t know the conventions of courtship that we have set in place, making her seem even more otherworldly. I mean, when we see Madison when she first arrives in New York, on land, she is completely naked leaving the humans who discover her are completely shocked, some disgusted by her open sexuality and others (the men) are excited by it, taking pictures and crowding around her like she is a magical rare being (and that’s without her tail)!

In Making a Splash, Philip Hayward describes the mermaid as a sexual being relying on certain aspects to achieve this, “predominantly, their representation as having the upper body of a young, attractive female; representation as actively in pursuit of human male attention; their seductive vocal skills; and their most complicated sexual aspect; the allure and symbolism of their tails” (98). He also highlights the importance of the modern mermaid being able to switch between forms in order to have sexual intercourse with a human. Therefore, making the sexual desire in these films more heteronormative and not as shocking or perhaps in some eyes perverse.  

Yet in The Shape of Water Eliza is human, her desire is equally as different in her setting, one because of the time-period (the 1960’s) and two because of the subject of her desire. He is not human. He does stand on two legs, has two arms and one head but other than that he is totally alien looking. Even though these films pretty much tell the same tale, of human falls in love with a sea creature, one is seen to be more perverse than the other. Is it because one creature looks more human than the other or, is it the fact that it is a human female who actively sexually pursues the creature? In The Shape of Water, I feel like it is perhaps both. Indeed, when discussing the male mermaid Phillip Hayward suggests that “mermen are symbolically unmanly due to lack of a penis” (151). Unlike their female counterparts, the representation of mermen as sexual beings is nonexistent, unless they turn into humans. Hayward states that mermen in films never have sex with women, in fact, he states, they are often feminized, for example, in the advert, Derek Zoolander features in in Zoolander.

The Shape of Water, in a way very explicitly solves the problem and mystery surrounding the sexual nature of fish creatures. Although the fish man in the film is not a merman. There is a distinct question that went through everyone’s mind when it appears that Eliza has sex with him. This is very quickly answered in a highly entertaining scene with her friend Zelda, who asks the question that everyone is dying to know. The solution is simple, the fish man’s sexual organ reveals itself, leaving Zelda shocked, stating lightheartedly, “Never trust a man”. This is perhaps what would happen in the case of mermen. But why are films so against showing this?  Because it is out of the realms of the heteronormative, breaking into the taboo subject of bestiality?

What then, does this say about Eliza’s desire? Is it perverse? If we were going to be black and white about it, then perhaps. However, it is much more nuanced than that. There was never a point in the film where I thought it was particularly strange. Yes, I have never seen anything like it before, but it was still not weird or perverse to me in the slightest. I found the whole thing rather sweet.

The narrative presents a setting in which traditionally, the monster would be the villain. He is totally otherworldly and highly dangerous. In the film The Creature from the Black Lagoon, which Guillermo Del Toro was hugely influenced by, the creature is dangerous and totally monstrous attacking anyone who goes near him. Yet there is a hint that it does feel an affinity for the woman of the group. In this case, he is the one who captures her, there is no element of courtship or tenderness, he aggressively takes her from the human, male group of explorers. In fact, in an interview with Variety, Del Toro when watching the part where the woman is swimming and we see the creature reach out to her “he thought it was so romantic and exciting that he assumed the two would end up together. He was shocked when they didn’t. “I decided I would someday have to correct that,” he says”.

Del Toro has stated that The Shape of Water is a sort of ‘what if’ narrative. What if the explorer from The Creature from the Black Lagoon had captured and brought the creature back to the US? In this case, the roles of villains are switched. The small amount of sympathy we may feel for the fish man in Black Lagoon is intensified. The villain is now the human male. Richard Strickland feels a complete and utter hatred for the fish man. We see him torture him with a cattle prod with apparent satisfaction, this is only intensified when the fish man bites his fingers off.

So, what is so different about the two monsters. One is traditionally monstrous, non-human and very dangerous. The other is a seemingly normal looking man, but what makes him more villainous? He commits acts in the narrative that made me more uncomfortable than anything that transpired between Eliza and the fish man. One scene, in particular, was when he is having sex with his wife after he had his fingers bitten off and then stitched back on. As he is stroking his wife’s face his fingers begin bleeding, as his wife tries to tell him, he then tells her to shut up and covers her mouth with his bleeding fingers, all the while still (quite forcefully) having sex with her. Funnily enough, the scene that made me most uncomfortable was a heteronormative one. The heteronormative sexual act has here been made uncomfortable and rather disgusting to watch. Which plays of the romantic and tender encounter that Eliza has with the fish man. We, as viewers are made to be disgusted by the heterosexual male’s sexual desire, it is terrifying and abhorrent. Made even more so later in the film where he sexually threatens Eliza.

In the final scenes of the film Strickland’s monstrosity reaches its peak, when he rips his fingers off in front of Zelda in a show of terrifying masochism, which “does not allow for sympathetic identification” as it is a “profoundly disturbing occurrence, one which emanates from both the unexpectedness of the monster hurting himself when his apparent role is to harm others” (Briefel 18). In this final gruesome act, Strickland has stripped any identification that we, as humans may have ever felt with him, and because of the tenderness and humanity expressed by the monster we choose to side with him instead. The fish man only ever hurt others either out of self-defense, or in the case of the cat, out of hunger, however this is quickly rectified as he is able to learn that some creatures are not for eating. We see him understand morals very quickly, while with Strickland we see his morals are non-existent.

It is not just female sexual desire that is explored in this film, it presents the notion that heterosexual male sexual desire in some cases is problematic and that the feminine, which has mostly been ignored in society and in film, is less harmful than the (sometimes) aggressive male sexual desire. The man in this film believes he has a power over women, which is expressed numerous times in an oddly sexual manner. The woman, however, has a sexual desire apparent from the start that does not harm anyone, the film normalized women’s sexual urges and does so in a non-conventional manner.

By Siobhan Eardley

Works Referenced:

The Shape of Water. Dir Guillermo Del Toro (2017)

Briefel, Aviva. “Monsterpains.” Film Quarterly, vol. 58, no. 3, 2005, pp. 16–27.

Gray, Tim. “Love and Danger on the 'Water' Front.” Variety, 10 Jan. 2018, variety.com/2018/film/awards/shape-of-water-inspiration-from-monster-movie-1202659976/.7

Hayward, Philip. Making a Splash Mermaids (and Mer-Men) in 20th and 21st Century Audiovisual Media. John Libbey Publishing, 2017.

[madluv]

Honestly, as far as Harley being sexualized, I wouldn't have minded as much if it wasn't so obvious that it was the only goal of the new costume. It barely even resembles a CLOWN (much less a harlequin, making the her redundant). Harley can be sexual if she wants and has been in reasonable amounts, but her sole purpose in the film more or less being eye-candy aggravates me, too. (Besides, if they wanted sexy, what's sexier that's a skintight jester suit? Clearly, Ayer was trying too hard.)

Okay here we go, here’s my two cents on this entire subject, idk if we’re ready for this…….

now, the thing with Harley Quinn is, part of her uniqueness came from not being inherently “sexy” at all. her entire demeanour and appearance was designed to be endearing and ultimately, cute. this, at the time of her conception set her apart from a literal MASS of sexualised female characters, something the comic book world has always been guilty of, with every female having the same seductive facial features, same body, same huge breasts, same overly sexual seductive behaviours when faced with their male counterparts… which, sure, is an issue on its own and I’m not going to go into that here.

my point is harley was different, she was designed differently, her face was different and even her mannerisms and actions and poses were different to the other female cartoons in the same show. she appealed HUGELY to a female fanbase due to this uniqueness and less male-gazey approach to her character. being cute, funny and endearing in the comic world for a female character was a rarity – and female fans latched onto her from the moment of her first appearances because she differed from the predictable norm in the comic book world. girls and women latched onto harley because she was a better representation, more relatable, more fleshed out through her quirks than her appearance design.

and I resent the repeated arguement that Harley Quinn was always a sexual character. using examples like her normal dress sense ( crop tops and shorts ) or her sexual interest in the Joker ( or Ivy for that matter ) makes her predominantly overtly sexual. she wasn’t. her character was flirtatious sure, but sexually amped? no. she was far more focused on the idealised view of traditional romance, wining, dining, marriage and family than anything particularly sexual. this idea of harley came much, much later with severe appearance changes and personality changes to sexualise her. and this isn’t to say harley hasn’t had her sexy moments, like every woman on earth has, or hadn’t a sexual appetite as people do. but it predominantly was not huge defining part of her character like it is today, it was balanced and not the entirety of her personality or image.

some of Harley Quinn’s personality traits were also negative ( but still important and well fleshed out ) as the Joker’s clingy, needy, jealous girlfriend. they gave her a lot of traits that aren’t viewed sexually. she rejected and was violent towards leery men as opposed to playing on it. she was jealous of women who acted sexually towards the joker ( or even if they didn’t.) she was threatened by sexual behaviour that wasn’t within her control or boundaries she felt secure where she ( may have sometimes wrongfully ) felt loved and wanted. these of course all being relatable traits despite not being inherently good ones. because of this harley quinn was an easy character to connect to. both her cute and endearing demeanour, and her very obvious flaws. she was beloved because of this from the beginning.

however, she has gone from being the round-eyed, clumsy, funny and cute character, to one that licks the rusty bars of her prison cell provocatively. she is represented in scenes wherein the joker ( playing a game or not ) comes off as a pimp in their relationship. we get ass shots, pointless scenes where she unclothed or barely clothed for the sole point of “sexy”, a brief scene with her in nothing but underwear in a moment of madness ( i’ll go into this piece of awful in a moment… ) we see her void of her previous personality to make way for obvious sexualization. and we can’t just blame david ayer and suicide squad for this. DC made the deliberate effort to make her the new Joker Lite come new 52 – but instead of being an exact replica of the joker, we see her sexualized constantly because she is a female character. this wasn’t, for the majority of harley’s existence, not a part of her character or personality – and they altered her image and personality so drastically to make room for what was blatant sexualization. even her harley quinn cartoon had ass shots, I mean, really? c’mon. it’s so blatant that I don’t see how this can even be argued at this point with the character – other than for those who didn’t really know her prior to these changes.

now when we talk about women owning their sexuality, we are talking about real women, with real choices. here we are talking about a character that has, for the most part, not been an inherently sexual character, to one that has been altered by writers, artists and now a director and art team to absolutely be so. concept art alone ( regardless of the final product ) had her legs spread open on a gurney during a scene of torture. in the suicide squad novel we are told that she is a sex-starved animal. even the joker, who I don’t believe is very sexual AT ALL, views her as a sexual object. She isn’t even the same character anymore. it’s not even they’ve just amped up her image to appeal sexually – they’ve completely and utterly changed her in her entirety. all of her previous uniqueness and quirks have been stripped away to make room for this new image.

and there are serious problems here. ESPECIALLY with the movie, with her acting far more sporadic and Crazy (trademark) than what we’ve known prior. putting her mental health so obviously at the forefront, while making her also a sexual object, is obviously wrong on so many levels I won’t even go into it right now. it’s obvious, it’s not a great choice, certainly not a well-thought out one. the fact that the joker himself practically uses her mental vulnerability for sexual gain is – well, frankly disgusting. while we’re equally sold that “this time we finally see the joker in love!” i’m not even going to go into how they’ve altered the joker to fit this sexually charged narrative into their story because that’s another massive rant all of it’s own.

and like you said, there’s nothing “clown-like” performance like, or Harley-like about her anymore. she’s a new character practically, save for the name – using age-old tropes that at this point, should have died a death in both comics and cinema. I could speak on this with more detail and more resources, but honestly, I’m sick of the manhandling of her character, her image, and then to be fed the utter lie that it is somehow empowerment so we can swallow it better. I’m not an idiot, I can see what they’ve done and frankly, I do not appreciate the complete ruin of one of my favourite characters to adhere to the male gaze.

[thotyssey]

On Point With: Jill Sobule

Jill Sobule, an acclaimed singer / songwriter, is known for a school of musicianship that’s pretty rare these days: story songs about the lives of other people, factual or fictional. One such song about a suburban lesbian courtship--1995′s “I Kissed a Girl” (long before that OTHER song of the same name)--was a massive radio and MTV hit, and remains one of the very few queer anthems to reach a global audience. Since then, she’s pioneered the use of crowdfunding as a way to finance her critically acclaimed music, she maintains a rabid cult following and collaborates with legends... and she’s become a surprising fixture at the East Village’s eclectic Club Cumming. In fact, she’ll be traveling with the talent from that venue for a set in Fire Island very soon... and she’s got all the deets for us!

Thotyssey: Jill, hello and thanks so much for talking to us today! So, are you officially a New Yorker these days?

Jill Sobule: I just moved back to the NYC after 10 years in LA.  I’m so very happy. I belong here.

Did you experience Pride this past weekend at all? I not only went to Pride, but wore a blue skirt with LED lights and Pride edition Doc Martins. And, I went into the old Cubby Hole (which is now Henrietta Hudson) for the first time since 1987, when I cocktailed for a month there. I walked in and they were playing “I’m Coming Out.” Some things don’t change.

This is a crazy time for gay rights... and for the rights of women, all minorities, and all impoverished groups. In many ways it looks like we are going backwards as a country. Are weird / scary times “good” for singer-songwriters as far as inspiration goes, or is it too overwhelming and distracting? Well, I have always been an “activist” singer-songwriter. But this shit is off the charts now: with SCOTUS, more shootings, the motherfucking Trump party, etc. Yes, sadly it is a fertile time for the creative juices to flow. That just sounded gross, by the way! But it is also a time when folks, who wouldn’t normally be penning a protest song, are waking up and using their talents for the resistance. You wrote a great song “Our America Back” shortly after Trump’s election, where you ponder what his voter fanbase means exactly when they claim they want that. Does it surprise you that we don’t have a larger protest song movement happening now? Are we too cynical? I think more and more music folk are waking up, like I said. Even a few brave souls in country music. Still, pop music is sadly lacking. 

Although much of your songwriting is personal or political, you are best known for writing story-songs about characters, or from other people’s points of view (especially on your 2000 album Pink Pearl). We don’t see too much of that in singer / songwriters today, although certainly in the 60s and 70s that was more common. What inspired your approach to writing songs that way? Yes, I was very much influenced by the singer-songwriters of the 60s and 70s: Joni, Dylan, John Prince, etc. And the Beatles story songs, like “She’s Leaving Home” or “Eleanor Rigby.” I like stories. When I start a song--so many write with the hook or chorus first--but I start with the very first verse, like I am writing a short story. There is a lot of smart humor in your music. I love “Lucy at the Gym,” equal parts funny and sad, where you ponder what might have happened to this woman who you used to see at the gym all the time.  Do you often find yourself wondering about, and being inspired by, the possible lives of strangers? Oh yes, my life is not always that interesting. I am a great voyeur. I sometimes play this game in my head on the subway (especially if my phone is dead and I have nothing to read) where I take a couple of riders and imagine what they do, who they are. I write a story.

Do you often get asked by people who know you--or maybe even people who don’t--if a song you’ve written was about them? Yes, and it’s like “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you.” Another story song of yours was the huge 1995 hit “I Kissed a Girl” from your self-titled breakthrough album, which people from my generation will always respect as the REAL “I Kissed a Girl.” Were you relieved in a way when Katy Perry *ahem* coincidentally used that as the title for her own 2008 breakout hit… meaning, you didn’t have to be the ”I Kissed a Girl” girl anymore? “I Kissed a Girl” was such a mixed blessing. I was, and am, so proud of it; that it was one of the first queer pop songs to make the charts. Yet, that was all I was known for. When Katy came out with hers, I was like all, “Hey, I’m the Kissed a Girl girl!”

“Supermodel” was another big hit from that album, which appeared on the Clueless soundtrack. You’ve since had a bunch of your songs show up on movies and TV shows… is that always cool, or does it sometimes seem like weird choices were made as far as matching your songs to scenes?

It’s always great to have your songs in TV or in a movie. Sometimes that’s the only way anyone will ever hear you. Would you ever go the Cyndi Lauper route and create an original Broadway musical, if that opportunity presented itself? Your storytelling style would lend itself to that enormously.

Well, I have done a few musicals. A musical called Times Square was put on by NYU  this last Winter. I put music to the original 1970s Broadway play, Yentl (not the Babs version, by the way). It’s had several productions. And now...I’ve been commissioned to write a one-woman show called #Fuck7thGrade.

Your 2009 album California Years was paid for entirely by crowdfunding, via contributions of fans and benefactors in exchange for perks like being credited in liner notes, attending private concerts by you or even being allowed to sing on some tracks. This was considered to be a nutty, extreme way of doing things then... but you proved it could be hugely successful, and now everybody’s doing it. Is crowdfunding in music basically here to stay at this point? Crowdfunding is probably essential now. No one (unless you are the top .01%) makes any money on music. It’s all streaming. No one buys music anymore. So it seems that touring and crowdfunding are the only ways to survive. By the way, I’m doing a lot of house concerts. They are great for both artists and fans. Do you think this movement to get consumers to stream all their music, as opposed to downloading it, will create further distance between music and music lovers? I was just thinking about that as I was going over the credits on my upcoming record. I put in a lot of time listing all the lyrics, musicians and thank yous. As a kid, I poured over the credits. I knew all the session players. I knew Jim Keltner played on both Paul and John (Beatles) records. That’s why I hired him (also, hopefully, to get lots of stories). Nowadays, no one cares about how a song was written or created. Or if they do, you can’t find it. 

How did you get mixed up in the crazy world of nightlife impresario Daniel Nardicio, and one of his main bases of operations Club Cumming?  Oh, I’ve known Daniel for a long time. We were actually in some goofy movie together (very bit parts). Lately, we’ve been hanging out. Love him and Club Cumming. What’s it like performing in that space?  It attracts so many different scenes and people. Vanessa Williams just did a pop-up performance there! I know! It’s a total rarity. One night, there will be a guy who paints portraits with his penis, and later their will be a serious singer-songwriter. But, it’s always good.

In July, Club Cumming will be paying a week-long visit to That Other Queer Haven, Fire Island! Many of the Club’s favorite performers will be doing versions of their shows at the Cherry Grove Community Center from July 6th through the 12th. 

You’ll be part of the takeover on two dates: Saturday the 7th for “The Women of Club Cumming” where you will join the likes of Club Cumming gals Ellia J. Garlands, Catherine Cohen and Daphne Always. And then the following night, you’ll be back performing a solo set. Have you ever done Fire Island before? A couple of years ago, I played at a Daniel event. I can’t wait to come back. I’m gonna stay too, a couple of extra days. It’s a good time! I’m gonna have a good time!

Congrats on the praise in Rolling Stone of your latest single “Island of Lost Things.” And I know you’re always performing somewhere... where else can we find you in the near future?

I’m playing the Rubin Museum on Friday, July 6th.

Excellent! In closing: If you were to write a song from Melania Trump’s perspective, would it be sympathetic or not? 

I go back and forth. But since the coat incident, she is either such a tool, or the biggest idiot ever. So now…no sympathy. Unlike Laura Bush, whom I secretly had a minor crush on.

Thank you so much, Jill!

Check Thotyssey’s calendar for upcoming area appearances of Jill Sobule. Follow Jill on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, iTunes and her website. 

On Point Archives

[thelasthundredmiles]

January 24th, 1981

Weighing 150 pounds is tantamount to being happy. It is only when I am that weight that I feel really good about the way my body looks, and consequently how comfortable I feel about sex. After four days of strict observance, I went off my diet yesterday. My last day at work and Don had planned a lunch for me at McCann's across the street from Gimbel's and not having a couple of beers withe the boys and a hearty lunch just seemed inappropriate. I was flattered by this show of well-wishing on their part. That job has just left such a horrible taste in my mouth, I was so unhappy doing it that I'm surprised that I did it well. Everyone hated to see me go. Every job I've ever had has resulted in strong feelings for some of the people. Even my short term at JWT caused some tender feelings when I left. Yesterday as I walked down the hallway toward the elevator, I just breathed a sigh of relief and thought to myself "Whew, you barely survived that one." So, I drank and ate with the boys and later in the afternoon the office had a little wine and cheese party in Terry's office. I was up from all the excitement of leaving and Allan and I decided to go uptown for drinks after work. A real rarity. This winter has been so brutal that even going out for drinks in the neighborhood has seemed an effort. We met at Cahoots, a first visit for both of us. The bar is nearly empty. A pretty man plays the piano and several other pretty men stand around the piano and drink. Two business men sit at the bar and talk. A solitary bearded guy sits at the end. Allan and I stand against the wall and have a draft beer. For a change both of us are in office clothes. We leave after the drink and walk several blocks out of the way as I attempt to intuitively find the Wildwood, where I had gone several time last summer. Finally we stop at a phone booth and I called information. It turns out, it was close to Cahoots, which we had been walking away from. The bar is comfortable, we both like it. But it is also nearly empty and the crowd is huddled at the bar, neighbors. Allan and I stand against the wall and eat peanuts and drink beer and leave after the drink. We take the subway home, but I stop at Gimbel's where I have left a package. The package (coffee cup from the office, layouts on the Garfinckel's book, roses as a going away gift from Rosann and a banana and an orange leftover from lunch on Tuesday) was not where it was supposed to be and the guard and I had to look for it for 15 minutes. At home, my mother's Christmas package to me had arrived, a huge cardboard box that was battered and torn. I dragged it up to the apartment where Allan already was. I opened the box expecting just maybe the leather jacket that I had hinted I wanted. Inside, I found a horrible middle-aged man J.C. Penny coat of fake suede and polyester pile lining. Just dreadful. Also a really tacky bathroom ensemble made of lurid shiny black polyester velour. Imagine: a fuzzy seat for the toilet. Curiously, she had also included two worn bath towels, one green, one red (for padding perhaps?) and a Crisco can full of marvelous homemade fudge and divinity and some other kind of candy. Rene had sent me a bottle of really nasty cheap after shave called "Flag and Sails" which he had wrapped completely in heavy grey industrial tape.

There was an address book titled "Red Hot Numbers" for straight men with cute little pictures of girls dressed as angels and pictures of devils with pitchforks. It was for meant for rating their dates as saints or sinners. Some couple, friends of mom and Rene's. I can only imagine the scene when they joked to my mother about sending that bachelor son of hers an address book to keep score of all those women. And of my mother, and Rene, not saying anything. The box of presents depressed and saddened me. All this cheap merchandise. Makes me feel so sad for the awful world these people inhabit. These poor people are so dumb, and god dammit, they're my family. They're so ignorant and their lives are so hard and mean. They have no spark, no verve, no imagination, their joys are so simple-minded. These are working class people with no intellectual capacity. I love it when my family and I remain at a healthy distance. But boxes full of their sadness arrives at my door. Visits home make me face them directly. I like to pretend that they are just a normal middle American family living out of the heartland. But when I really have to deal with them I am appalled at their lack of intelligence. It scares the wits out of me to realize how stupid my family is. Although I admire in remote ways certain characteristics and values of these people, that doesn't cause me to want to have them in my life. I do not want to play a substantive role in their lives either. So play the role of son, grandson, and nephew from long distance and connect to their real life only under duress. So tonight my mother sits in her double-wide trailer in Mississippi and wonders if her faggot son got his Christmas. I would call her and thank her, but she's probably drunk by now.

So ate fudge and drank white wine and had Chinese carryout for dinner and watched television until both of us fell asleep. Then he left for Boots and Saddles and I pulled my Futon out and went to sleep watching television.

Today, I walked to Allan's apartment. His friend Joe was just getting there as I arrived. Beautiful day. Not too cold. Good to be out walking and New York shined like a jewel. Allan I bought an ounce of grass from Joe and split it. Joe and I sat at the table and had coffee (actually he had tea) and he told us all about his plan to go into business for himself. With friends, he is planning on opening a messenger service. Then Allan and I took the subway to Times Square and met Diane at Leowe's theater and saw Altered States. I loved the movie. Afterward, Times Square was grey and neon and rushed with crowds of people. New York, I love you. We had coffee at Howard's and then Diane went home and Allan and I came downtown and went to Boots. I had two sodas with a twist (my diet cocktail-- I chug them) and decided I couldn't stand just standing around the bar. So I left Allan there and went to Sloanes, my favorite grocery store. At home, I had my broiled chicken and salad and drank diet soda and smoked dope and tried not to think of the fudge in the refrigerator. John called late last night and made a date with me for tonight. By 8:30 I knew I had been stood up and was relieved to know it.

[podcake]

Podcasts & Genre: Noir

When one thinks of the noir genre, the most common association is film noir, a style of film making sparking in popularity many, meany years ago but still carries some relevance today. Though no one really makes genuine noir films anymore, unless you count a few with noir inspired elements, noir mostly lives on strictly as short parodies while mystery stories stay as mystery stories without the usual aesthetic qualities you’d identify a noir film with. 

Noir brings up ideas of stylishly produced, sexual, and cynical stories sparking during the 1940′s that normally focus on a detective that one might describe as hardboiled, a femme fatale or two, and some type of mystery plot to tackle, often involving murder. 

One of the core reasons noir is mostly treated with a certain level of parody in modern work is due to how dramatic these productions could be. The whole vibe of theatrics that came from these productions could be perceived as laughable nowadays. Though much like Broadway musicals could be given a massive reboot through the success of Wicked and later the phenomena of Hamilton, the same could be said for noir that will occasionally slip its way into more modern interpretations while still maintaining an authentic narrative. 

While this is fairly evident in film, we all know that things with more than one picture attached to it isn’t really my specialty. You’re here to hear things and then read about the things you heard. How can sound effectively get an idea across when we only have our imaginations and common sense to tell things apart?

As a whole, this article will be delving into the complexity of translating genre through sound with noir being the main focal point due to its rarity and presence in a different medium of entertainment. 

This might just be a theory though I believe that noir managed to flow pretty well into the audio drama realm mostly because one of the most vital parts of these films is a consistent narration. This aspect alone is oddly enough the real driving force behind noir getting a second life.

And yet I do realize that noir is a kind of genre that is very selectively put to use. It’s relatively rare for a new noir show to pop up, only ever making common occurrences around early to late 2016. Rex Rivetter: Private Eye and Neon Nights: The Arcane Files both debuted the same year with only a few months difference between their publications. 

The same could be said for The Penumbra that came out in March. If this is merely a coincidence or not is on the table as all of the shows came from different producers and are essentially different products in their entirety.

These shows are not the only podcast noir shows in existence, though it’s hard to ignore just how few their are in comparison to the abundance of horror and sci-fi shows that come out every few months.

Among these, The Penumbra and it’s tales of private eye Juno Steel are the most openly successful. The Penumbra takes a creative approach to both the noir genre, with a helpful touch of sci fi, and the fantasy-adventure genre in their Second Citadel series. But if we are to focus on Juno Steel stories in particular, it’s not hard to see why it’s gotten such positive press.

Normally taking place over the course of two part episodes, Juno Steel delivers some strongly written individual mysteries that work their way up to being a whole story with recurring characters and an intriguing central plot. We get some colorful one shot villains, a likable though also dysfunctional lead, and a touch of romance that works to reveal the character’s personal insecurities. 

The Penumbra’s specialty is to remix and retell classic story genres with a touch of modern edge and originality that lets them stand as great individual stories and joins The Bright Sessions and Wolf 359 as some of the most well known modern fiction podcasts. 

A little while later came Neon Nights and Rex Rivetter that I combed through back to back to form a proper opinion on. Though they’ll most definitely be the topics of some future reviews, I do enjoy the air of the occult with Neon Nights which gives it a sort of Dresden Files vibe and Rex Rivetter that’s a touch more old fashioned through presentation which gives it a certain air of glamour that is sometimes delightfully camp. 

The newest contender for the noir genre is What’s The Frequency? which has already made quite the splash in this mostly independent art community with a strong first episode that left a lot to the imagination. Though I’ve always liked the level of absurdity that the noir genre can dig up while still maintaining an air of mystery, What’s The Frequency? is one of the most downright bizarre products to come out in recent memory that’s equal parts eerie and engaging. 

What’s The Frequency? truly commits to the style with its innovative use of static and the inclusion of voice work that invokes just the right vibe of psychedelic 1940′s it’s aiming for. It truly does feel old unlike the usual crisp and clean audio we get from the previously mentioned work. 

Something that has fascinated me is that when you take the film out of film noir you still get a genuine experience. Even without the gray scale, even without the crafty use of silhouettes and dramatic framework, noir has managed to ooze itself into the crevices of fictional podcasts from a purely audio based perspective.  

This I perceive as interesting as noir is noteworthy for its creative cinematography-Dutch angles, night-for-night shots, and silhouettes being the most common. Not to mention clothing like the iconic trench coat and hat approach, women with lipstick we could all assume was red, and people in formal dress for the sake of making every second look as classy as the last.

With podcasts, we only have so much time to get a visual across to listeners without loading them up with pointless filler, most of the run time consisting of dialogue meant to push the story forward to a conclusion. Though audio drama certainly isn’t limited to a purely linear story structure, it does have to pull through a bit more in certain aspects such as writing, sound editing, and acting to hold someone’s attention.

While film gives us more visual shorthand and generally does the settings and characters for us, audio drama leans heavily on getting its story out first and letting the listener fill in the blanks. In audio, visuals are an afterthought but imagery is still roughly where half of the writing effort goes into. It is much easier to look pretty than to sound pretty and this is why podcasts tend to be more ambitious since they can do more with less.

All of these individual shows have some sort of unique quality that gives it its rightful spot as separate stories, and yet you’d be hard pressed not to describe them as noir. Noir is so grounded in film that the idea of translating it to a purely audio based format almost seems to go against what noir is supposed to be, and yet we never run into these complications when we stumble upon them.

We can still identify a horror show without visual blood splatters and can still consider a sci-fi a sci-fi even if we never actually see the interior of a space ship we’re inside of. For example, Wolf 359 is very much science fiction with some strong comedy writing, though it’s also an entirely different beast than Hadron Gospel Hour that may be in the same boat but clearly going up a different stream. 

Audio Diary of a Superhero and The Bright Sessions both tackle ideas of disability outweighed by extraordinary power, and yet it’d be near impossible to get the two mixed up. Presentation and packaging can really make or break a show and how one plans to get these ideas across is the real definitive element at hand. 

While, let’s say for now, horror and science fiction don’t have any definitive visuals, only some recurring ones, noir is different in that it’s almost entirely built on a very specific list of cliches for it to be truly considered part of that group. You kind of need murder, you kind of need a detective, you kind of need a morally ambiguous seductress-so in that vain, noir can very much exist without the usual attributes as long as the audio can get these ideas across.

But let’s say, hypothetically, that these tropes aren’t being put to use. How exactly does one gain the right to consider their story a noir? Well from my understanding, these shows have leaned on a few common trends: a deep voiced protagonist with a definitive, world weary perspective, a jazz score, and taking place in a stylish but troubled city where all the conflict boils. 

It’s truly here that the idea of style and substance, narrative and aesthetic, play into one another for the better. 

Since this article is one part history lesson and another part describing things that are barley a year old, I do feel the need to dig up some facts. A detail many tend to forget is that audio drama was a vital form of entertainment years ago, it getting its start on nighttime radio broadcasts that were tuned into the same way we would watch prime time TV. 

Though this type of entertainment hasn’t entirely died, the radio part of radio drama has leaned more towards desktop computer drama or smartphone drama if we’re going to be taking about technology specifically. 

The thing is that podcasts got a hard reboot when Welcome to Night Vale reminded people how cool that was and everyone followed Joseph Fink and Jeffery Cranor’s breadcrumbs to make their own stories that were slightly less time consuming than writing a book and less expensive than making a movie. 

The strive for authenticity is strong in any artistic medium and podcasts are no exception. We may have our trends and sometimes repetitive structures and dynamics surfacing every few years, though the final product is what really gives anything its identity. What we consider truly authentic for anything or anyone can be boiled down to aesthetic value, narrative value, or something else entirely depending on your perspective. 

The same could be said for me as the whole purpose of Podcasts& is essentially to cover topics with a little more complexity than I’m normally able to. Reviews are restricted to whatever podcasts I managed to finish and pair up on slim similarities, Teatimes have the creators do most of the talking, and Palettes, one of the main support beams of the PodCake empire, are the equivalent of a “best of” reel-a first impressions, if you will. All the while I keep things interesting with flower emoticons and some cute girls over a pink backdrop. These are certainly accessories to my persona, though not the entirety of my work. 

With Podcasts&, we’re given just a little more time to look back and breathe in just what audio drama is capable of. If there’s anything about this medium that has fascinated me it’s the way it can transcend the typical confides of storytelling to still give a satisfying and unique experience. Many audio dramas exist in the same subgroups but I’m hard pressed to find any that are near identical to one another. 

Be it The Penumbra or Neon Nights-they may be fruit bared from the same garden, but their taste and textures are clearly being grown from different kinds of people. What makes each one interesting is that while noir is normally considered an exercise in creatively crafted footage, audio still manages to capture its identity and mood nonetheless. Noir audio dramas have to flex a little more muscle to really get their aesthetic qualities to matter since that is what defines their genre in the fist place.

Interesting how these articles tend to tie into one another. 

As I get to the conclusion of this editorial, I realize I have opened up a whole new can of worms when dealing with genre construction that is such a broad topic that I’ll need more than one text document to talk about it. Maybe some other day in some other month when all the Palettes and reviews are done and I can work up something proper worthy of being the first article of the new year. 

We can discuss comedy and horror and science fiction and surrealism. We can talk about all that has come of it and how there is no one way to tell a tale or represent a genre. 

So consider this little piece a...prelude for what is to come. Let’s talk about history, let’s talk about audio entertainment in its entirety, let’s bookmark Wikipedia articles, because the topic of genre is barely even at its peak when it comes to noir, though the fact that it exists at all says something about what just a few sounds are capable of.

[strangcrdoctor]

∞Guardians commentary time, because I was honestly too wiped out to get to it last night but I’m still very up for it now. 

1. So here’s my question about the opening sequence on Morag. If Ronan had hired the people that faced off with Quill in the opening sequence on Morag, was it just the case that Ronan’s men arrived 2.5 minutes too late, like Peter arrived just early enough to beat out Yondu? Because initially my impression was that they were indigenous and guarding it, but I know now that not to be the case because Korath is very much a devotee of Ronan, etc. But even if it is the case that Peter beat Ronan’s people, holy timing Batman. Seriously kudos to Quill for being even if incidentally two steps ahead of even Ronan’s game. 2. Okay one, Nova Prime Irani Rael is a hot piece and two she definitely deserves to be the girlfriend of General Leia Organa you can disagree with me but that makes you a suspect human being. Anyway, Rael making the diplomatic call to the Kree to denounce Ronan was not out of bounds for normal statecraft. Especially with a new and tenuous alliance, she’s not only right in calling bullshit that the Kree empire has said nothing to denounce Ronan, but she’s also right in advising they make a statement to stabilize their early peace because early peace is amazingly fragile. But like way to not maintain an alliance at all Kree Empire. You suck. 3. The actual diversity of felons on the Kyln is pretty neat, I’m not going to lie. Not just interspecies representation but also body type representation. There’s big very obviously non-straight criminals. There’s cool as shit looking alien species. There’s chubby feminine looking criminals! Tell me who they are Marvel! Tell me. 4. Now that Thanos’ real character has been revealed in the course of IW it is no damn wonder why Thanos thought of Ronan as a petulant child. Granted, Thanos’ logic is worse in that it is slightly better, but by comparison Thanos is an overly dire pragmatist were Ronan is very much just a racist bigot with a power complex. Thanos predictably find’s Ronan’s racial shortsightedness pithy, and I really have zero doubt that if Ronan had actually gone to piss on Thanos’ front lawn he would not have lasted long. 5. On the other hand, really Thanos. #1 piece of advice in the universe is don’t torture and dismantle women and then trust them to be complicit. You will die. 6. If anyone doesn’t feel pelvic sorcery during a close listening to Fooled Around & Fell In Love they are definitely soulless. 7. I also really really want to know what the hell they were drinking on Knowhere that got Rocket and Drax drunk (I mean who knows they might both be lightweights but I doubt it.), because Stephen wants some. 8. I’ll come right out and say it it’s a fucking shame that Tivan’s collection gets blown to hell. Not because Tivan isn’t twisted as hell keeping live specimens and slaves to himself, but more on the “holy crap what cool stuff just got destroyed that the universe will never see again” kind of way. It’s like the burning of the Library of Alexandria, only somehow worse. 9. The nods given to Thor: The Dark World and The Avengers are of course interesting given there’s a Dark Elf and a Chitauri, but I’m super curious about what made those particular specimens of each special enough for Tivan to keep them. Tivan deals with the depths and breadths of the universe coming in and out of Knowhere, and he doesn’t just snag one item from every species or race he comes across. So was there something interesting in particular about that Dark Elf and that Chitauri? Was the Chitauri one of the only remaining survivors after the nuclear explosion? Was the Dark Elf one of Malekith’s higher ups? I’m just curious about them, and curious about Tivan’s reasoning for keeping them. 10. Okay but adding to this whole Tivan’s collection tangent, Cosmo the Space dog cracks me up and not just because it’s funny for Tivan to have a doggie cosmonaut in his collection. Cosmo is a legit character in the Guardians comics, and he’s head of security on Knowhere and telepathic. So even if Tivan is keeping him in his collection or is just trying to keep him out of the way for something, just imagine what it’s like having an angry Russian dog thinking at you all the time because you’re getting in the way of him doing his job. 11. Slightly different bend on the Tivan train, but Carina legitimately just heard Tivan talk about how the stone was capable of destroying even a whole group of people who tried to wield it, and she was still willing to take the risk of being incinerated rather than living with her current conditions. Carina wasn’t resolutely making the hero play - she was making a suicide play knowing full well it would end that way if the hero play didn’t work. 12. When Yondu states that Peter doesn’t give a rip about Terra like. Dude. How many fucking references in this movie has he made to Terran culture? Music and movies and art and holy shit would you look at that, he sure as hell talks like a more culturally integrated human than anything else you twat waffle. Great way to piss him off though and get him to play it your way, which granted is what I think Yondu was probably doing the whole time but still. You don’t look at this boy who idolizes Footloose and knows who Jackson Pollock is and tell him he doesn’t care about Earth. Caring about Footloose and Jackson Pollock at all is a labor of love. 13. Speaking of Yondu, how the fuck is that the jewel frog bauble considered by anyone to be worth of the “high end” community? On top of it just hurting me, it does really raise the question of how is trite crap like that so valuable? Does it have some vector of worth and rarity because its origins are weird, obscure, or finite? Are the gems magical artifacts of some kind? Are the wealthy in space that mother-fucking self-ironic? Because if they are I want to know them. 14. Peter Quill, everyone, who makes a dick message to garner trust 15. Not for the first for for the last time will I say this, but Ravager tech is impressive. And I am amazingly intrigued at how Ravagers got such good technology and resources on their hands. True, they steal things and make money off of trades and pilfering. But that isn’t the only way to acquire goods and it’s not the only thing a viable pirating economic model can survive off of. Half the reason the Ravagers succeed is because they run like a business, have clientele, and are clientele for certain sects, right? So what kind of powerful connections do they have that allow them their advanced fleets? That’s the kind of shit I want to know about. 16. Also what the hell are Ronan’s pilots with the weird glowy psychic spheres on the Dark Aster? Is the Dark Aster itself Kree technology, or something Ronan got from Thanos who appropriated it from some other world he’s conquered? Because we know so little about the Kree in the MCU it’s hard to say, but I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if the Kree ever do become a part of canon so we can have more data with which to make a comparison. 17. Guardians does a pretty good job of taking at least some time to portray how terrible aerial dogfighting is on a mass scale because honestly it’s a bloody nightmare. It’s pictured so often and so carelessly in film that it’s not something we often think about, and the only movie I’ve ever seen that addresses how it feels in human terms is Dunkirk, but the intensity and messiness of it in Guardians is still pretty realistic and I give it props for that. 18. It occurs to me that maybe the younger, post-GOTG Groot is so bitter and antisocial for a while because of how giving the elder Groot was, and the seedling felt the sacrifice and his existence was under-appreciated? It was just a thought that crossed my mind. 19. Also Ronan you twat. “Engage Immolation Initiative” is just Big Mean & Fancy for “light ‘em up fuckers,” don’t pretend you’re any cooler than anyone else. 20. I really really appreciate the design that went into the Xandarian cityscape as a fully intergalactic multicultural society that shows it even in the way the city and buildings are assembled. The city isn’t uniform like a lot of science-fiction cities are - it’s got texture. Different sectors have different styles of buildings and different architecture. Like a real metropolitan area, it’s a patchwork of influences and it’s very well done. 21. Kudos to Rocket for identifying that ground-to-air is a super viable defense strategy. One thing that people tend to forget about ground-to-air is that aside from clouds, there’s no obstacles behind which to hide in the sky, so while ground defense might seem clumsy at times, air offense is hugely precarious because there is absolutely no defense mechanism against any attack except maneuvering, and when a defense is fully able to target that weakness it’s pretty damn effective. 22. It’s interesting to me how well superhero movies integrate climaxes within battle sequences? Some people might call it lazy but I call it interesting when when defense lines break, plans fail, and when teams encounter interference to push the plot forward. Plot movement in Marvel movies curry a lot of momentum from these events, but actually they’re pretty interesting replications of how modern society has been built on the results of such events within our own history. History has been moved by these exact same sorts of events, which is why they make sense to us in storytelling. 23. Peter protecting Groot from Rocket’s crash into the into the Dark Aster? Golden. And then Peter immediately going to Rocket from the wreckage? Stellar. Peter Quill you are a gem. 24. I will never forgive Marvel for hurting me as bad with “We are Groot” as Warner Brothers did with “Suuuuuperman” in Iron Giant. Stop giving Vin Diesel more opportunities to rip my heart out of my chest, please. 25. My mom and my uncle, her brother, both adored the entire GOTG soundtrack so much and it brought them so much joy watching it together that it got me into Motown. Even though it was oblique and dorky, Marvel did something amazing with this movie and gave my parents a piece of their own youth back, while giving me a chance to share in their knowledge and experience. It’s stuck with me ever since, especially because fundamentally that experience is the reason I got into Motown music, which I now adore with all my heart.

Alright, done with that. These are... just getting longer and longer I’m sorry guys no one should have ever allowed me to do this. Oh well. Too late to stop me now. Captain America: The Winter Solider is up next, and oh the pain.∞

[deanmiles13]

Johnny Cash/Tables for 3

My move from Indiana to Tucson was my transition into adulthood. The trip was on a Greyhound bus and was my first time ever being further west than St. Louis.

I moved into my fathers place which was located on a “reservation”. The domicile we shared was a travel trailer. Just a step up from the pop up kind.The kind you can spit from one end to the other. It was THAT small.

It sucked living there with a stranger basically, and I hated it. I actually looked forward to school, which was a rarity. I took the bus from our way out post, to the school located a few miles away. Almost every day on the trip home, we would get off the bus a stop or two early, just to watch a fight. It was always the typical fights, but these Mexican kids always made up after. It was cool. 

Going to the school I went to, was wild. I was one of about 50 white kids attending. The rest were Mexican Americans or Native American. 

When I moved out to Tucson, I was thinking this was gonna be some real punk rock landing pad. Little did I know where I was going to land. Coming from the midwest I was used to getting shit for the way I dressed. Alot…

I never really got hassled at my new school. At Cholla, everyone seemed to respect the fact that I stood out and went out on a limb to do so. But every once in a while, I did have a couple of goofballs that would yell out “Hey Sid Vicious!” They seemed to have fun doing it. They laughed at themselves more than at me and the way they talked it seemed they knew WHO Sid Vicious at was. 

Finally one day, I “confronted” them. “What’s up with the SID VICIOUS stuff, man?” 

They just busted out laughing and invited me to lunch with them. We were friends from that moment forward.

The lunch’s at this school meant you could leave campus to pursue other options. In Indiana, that was never the case, we couldn’t even leave the parking lot. We were pretty removed and it was a haul to get food around there. When I first learned we could leave for lunch here in Tucson, I was blown away.In this new situation, I often found myself not wanting to return for the second half of the day.

But these two guys, Joe and Adam, are my new besties. We go to record stores and music stores and I even start to stay with their families at night so I don’t have to make the journey all the way out to my dads. Unbelievable kindness I was shown by total strangers.They are of Mexican descent and there parents are pretty much the kindest people I have ever encountered. They must have totally known what was up when I was around there houses. They fed me, and looked the other way as I climbed in and out of there windows at night to sleep in a safe place.

Adam and Joe also are musicians. And this is a HUGE plus. 

Adam plays guitar and is hugely influenced by Peter Buck of R.E.M. and Joe plays a Gibson S.G. bass. They both have a wacky sense of humor. A ton of inside jokes between them and just a real loose attitude. I would like to think they were EMO way before that was even a thing.

They don’t drink and they love the Descendants. We would listen to records in Adams room and talk about them. Sometimes, he would just take it off the turntable and give the record to me if he didn’t like it. That happened a few times. We would jam on his guitar and play tunes. They also are forming a band.

And needed a drummer. 

See, when I moved out to Arizona, I had pretty much put the drums behind me and was giving the guitar ALL my attention. I practiced a lot and loved the instrument. I would hole up in my dads trailer with Zero Boys on my walkman and the guitar plugged into my amp. I just played all day long out there in that hot tin can.

But, drummers were as rare as hens teeth in Tucson and these guys offered to buy me a drum set if I played in their band. Count me in like Dee Dee Ramone.

My dad had usually called me up around Christmas every year with the same shameful call… “So, what are you into? Drums huh?!?! Maybe I’ll get you a drum set for Christmas!” Man, I heard that for years and the balls it must have taken him to get the courage up to make that call. To lie to his own kids face. Over and over… Well, not literally to his face.

And here these home boys wanted to buy me a drum set? TODAY?!?!

MY first ever drum kit was bought by Adam Lopez. A friend that was working as a bus boy.

More on that in a minute…

Thank you Adam. My gratitude is eternal. 

He took me downtown Tucson to the legendary Chicago Store. That place deserves a story of its own for sure....

Now, Adam always seemed to have a little extra scratch to spend. I was broke as shit all the time. I remember asking him one day how he got all this “cash” he had. He told me he worked as a bus boy at night at an Italian Restaurant. This had my interest. “Hey, If they ever need any help, let me know” I offered. It was almost immediately that I got the job. We would carpool together from school and then I would crash at Adam’s. 

I would sneak in and out the window in the morning so his parents wouldn’t know. They eventually found out, and when they did, they insisted that I stay in the guest house that was outfitted for Adam’s older brother to live in. He was away at the time and this was an awesome opportunity for me. I would actually stay in the park across the street from Adams house sometimes just so I wouldn’t jeopardize  him getting in trouble or me wearing out my welcome

.

So, at this point, we are attached at the hip and if I remember correctly, it was Adam who was going to a new school. It was an alternative H.S. called Project MORE. This was exactly what I needed.

The restaurant we worked at was called Scordatos and it’s kind of a big deal in Tucson. From memory, it was basically an “upscale” Italian joint. The location seemed to add to the overall “allure” of the place.

When hired, I was alerted to the movie stars who would wonder in from time to time. 3 Amigos had just filmed in Old Tucson and I had heard that Steve Martin had come into the restaurant recently. It was talked about in hushed tones and secrecy. We were told in no uncertain terms to NEVER approach the guest.

Makes perfect sense. They are out for a nice dinner and don’t want the attention or the hassle. I GET IT…..

And then it happened!!!

It was just another normal shift. Take out the trash, feed the leftover lettuce to the Javelina that wondered down from the hills at dusk. Back inside, change the linens, get the silverware, wipe the booths down and be seen and not heard. Also, stay out of the way of the waiters and their guest. This was my first real taste of work and I was just getting the whole feel of my place and getting my timing right. So, I was changing a table’s linen one night. I happened to be about two tables from the door where customers come in from the outside. Just as the floating table clothe lands on the table, the door opens. About 3-4 people come in. Just fuzzy shapes to my peripheral vision. 

Not really noticing faces or anything… 

They stand for about 10 seconds waiting for staff to help them and no one is coming to help them as I continue my work and stay out of the way. Then the room starts to go silent. The phrase “Can kill conversation, just by walking in a room”? That was this situation to a tee. Forks hit the plates and you just heard clanking silverware, murmurs and whispers. 

I looked up from the forks and spoons I was setting and notice the party had moved closer to ME as I seemed to be the only “Help” that was there. As, I go to give them a standard greeting like “My name is Dean, and someone will be right with you.”, I look at their faces for the first time really. 

It was like seeing Mt. Rushmore or something for the first time. Something so familiar is staring right back at you. I takes a second to register that this is a face you’ve seen a million times before. On TV? On album covers? So familiar but foreign because of the reality of the situation.

“I’m Johnny Cash” the tall man of the party says as he extends his long arm and shakes my hand.

By this time, it sunk in that this was indeed, the man in black. 

JC- Johnny F’n Cash.

I watched his show on TV growing up. My grandparents listened to him. My parents listened to him. He was synonymous with AMERICA. The gravity of the situation was swirling in my head.

When we shook hands, the rest of the group started to take focus. He was there with June Carter and his daughter Rosanne Cash. Un Frickin’ Believable….

I worried for a nano second about my job and the policy I knew they had about guest. Maybe they would take it easy on me? In truth, I didn’t care AND I didn’t  get in trouble at all. 

But, I did get to meet the Man in Black and the most important women in his life. 

While a very brief encounter, this sticks with me today.

It’s about time and place. Synchronistic stuff.  

I probably would have lost my mind if I had worked a different day and had missed my shot. 

But as fate would have it… we met.

I honored him the day of my marriage. When I married the most important woman in my life. 

Darcy and I had planned to sing “If I were a carpenter” at our wedding. We practiced for a month or two before the big day. Me on guitar and her doing the June Carter parts. 

We were married on Sept. 13th. 2003.

It was Sept. 12th  2003 when Johnny Cash passed away.

As fate would have it…

[clarencenicholsonata]

7 Brands Who've Mastered Unique Value Proposition & How You Can Too

In a world filled with billions of people where everyone is connected, standing out as a business has become exceedingly important for any company that would like to succeed within their industry.

To that end, having a Unique Value Proposition has a couple of key benefits.

Most notably, it is to help your employees better understand what is expected of them and to help your audience better understand what they should expect from the business. This message should also be quickly received the moment someone lands on your website.

How to Figure Out What Your Brands’s Uvp Should Be?

Well, the simplest answer would be to figure out who your target audience is and what new features your company brings to the table. The idea is you should be solving a pain point that your competitors have not been able to so far.

Unlike a slogan or catchphrase like I’m Lovin’ it, for example, a UVP does more than simply act as an advertisement. It explains to the customer how the product can be used by them, whom the product is ideal for, and how it should be used. It will normally be an image accompanied by a heading and a block of text or bullet points.

According to research by CXL Institute, the longer your UVP is, the more information a customer will retain. If you have more services listed and have more space on your landing page dedicated to your UVP, a customer is more likely to read and remember what your brand is all about.

A good example of this in action is what Cyberchimps has done on one of their product landing pages to display their features-

Of course, this is easier said than done which is why we are going to talk about a few examples as well.

7 Companies That Nailed Their Unique Value Proposition

The most successful companies the world has offered up have had some of the most concrete UVPs. Let us talk about some of the best ones:

1. Stripe

Stripe’s simple yet effective headline gets the point across immediately. It has a robust payment system that any business can depend on no matter what their needs may be. The attention-grabbing statement leaves you with just enough information to keep you scrolling.

Once you keep moving down the page, you are met with relevant graphics and gifs that aid every word on your screen. A list of benefits such as easy-to-use APIS that show a developer Stripe is easy to work with or some of their impressive statistics such as the 135+ currencies and payment methods they support make you want to try Stripe out.

Their bulleted list of benefits also makes it super easy to scroll through what Stripe has to offer. Features like a fully customizable payments flow and a hosted payments page is what helps Stripe to show customers that they can trust them when it comes to payment processing.

Another smart move on the part of Stripe is they do not simply focus on the people who make money online and need to be paid but rather on the business having to use Stripe as their payment gateway. When compared to their largest competitor PayPal, Stripe is more attractive to businesses who are looking to add a gateway to their eCommerce website.

They talk about features like customizing payment flow or increased card acceptance which is much more comforting to hear than simply how easy it is for your customers to pay. In my opinion, this is the primary reason they are able to compete with a big brand like PayPal.

2. Uber

Amid multiple controversies such as the first class action lawsuit against Uber by 350,000 of its former drives filed in 2013 (which claimed that the company should treat them as employees rather than independent contractors) or the GQ incident from 2014, Uber has been far from the most loved app on the market.

Drivers and customers alike don’t always agree with Uber’s policies but one thing the infamous app has done right is narrow down on a solid UVP. They targeted the pain point of every taxi-hailing, exhausted customer, and were rewarded because of that.

Uber’s easy-to-use app has numerous benefits worth pointing out:

You can call a driver to you (wherever that may be) in less than a minute.

You can call for a cab with no cash on you at all because there are tons of other payment options such as using your card or an eWallet.

Women feel a lot safer using this app because drivers are vetted and you can emergency call if something goes wrong.

This serves as a much more preferable option compared to your average ride with a cabbie that involves numerous pointing at signals or arguing about how the cost shot up.

Even when you visit the Uber ride options page, everything is clearly displayed. Each rideshare option is accompanied by a graphic and a quick description. Compared to their competitors like Lyft that offer very similar services, Uber comes up on top because they know exactly what they are delivering to their customers and do not bother beating around the bush.

3. Apple

Apple is facing the heat lately for the decision to drop the earphones and wall brick from future iPhone pieces sold or the ever-increasing price tag on their devices ( $999 for the iPhone 12 Pro) but I can bet you $999 that there are people lined up to buy that phone.

This is thanks to Apple’s Unique Value Proposition. It guarantees a sleek, sexy phone that boosts your status. No matter how many features Samsung adds to their phones and no matter how technologically superior they might make it, Apple sells itself as the poster boy for the sexy phone.

This is mirrored in their web design, their media statements, and the rarity at which they release new models as compared to their competitors. Apple has been successful at doing one thing- going past looking at a phone as a set of features and selling it as a lifestyle.

There is no doubt that Apple has unparalleled security software and some of the best features but all of that can be replicated- what they stand for cannot be.

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4. Jetblue

No airline makes you feel like family quite like JetBlue does. If an airline could embody your funny uncle at Thanksgiving- Jetblue would be it. This airline’s mission (bringing humanity back to air travel) pretty aptly defines what air travel is all about.

It is not all about the free Wi-Fi, endless snacks, or movies on the plane but rather about the customer experience that sets JetBlue apart. You will see this through their campaigns, their social media presence, and even through their employees. An encouraging environment for the team and a focus on keeping their employees happy can be partially credited for the great workforce JetBlue brings to the table.

One more example worth taking a look at- Their campaign, Flight Etiquette, was a creation of videos that consisted of hilarious short clips that touched upon annoying in-flight behavior that we have all had to deal with. Why was this awesome? Because it was honest about the not-so-great parts about flight travel too.

Instead of focusing simply on the good bits, these videos helped the bad bits become funny at the very least.

Another JetBlue trait is its ever-present Twitter team. They are constantly engaging with customers online, solving queries that have been posted to Twitter, and often reply in less than half an hour with a solution for problems as complicated as refunds and cancelations. Twitter is more than a way to update customers on discounts- it is their way to engage with customers.

According to HubSpot, Laurie Meacham, the Manager of Customer Commitment says “We call ourselves a customer service company that happens to fly planes."

5. Brian White & Associates

So far we have talked about brands that are extremely well established and probably turning over millions in profit. Now, let us take a minute to talk about small businesses that want to stand out within their state or even their town.

Brain White & Associates, a company based in Houston, does this extremely well by focusing on not just the lawyers they bring to the table but the specialty they excel in. They mention it within their heading, the paragraph beneath it, and even the features as you scroll down their home page.

Simple graphics and a list of services make it easy for visiting customers to understand exactly what their next step should be and whether the service is right for them. In a field as complicated as law, most people find it confusing to find the right help. This site is a great example of people that help the website visitor from the very beginning by keeping things understandable.

6. Intuit

Intuit is an accounting powerhouse that offers various services to brands such as Quickbooks, TurboTax, and Mint (an app that makes sure you are never behind on bills by helping you track your budget). Each one of these, in their own way, makes life easier for businesses from a financial perspective.

Offering a multitude of services under the same umbrella helps customers associate Intuit with all things finance. They give customers the bonus of integrating two or more pieces of software together since both have been created by them.

This means if you use Quickbooks for your accounting needs and TurboTax to file your taxes, Intuit allows you to integrate both of these services and use them alongside each other.

That awesome feature helps them climb a few notches above their competitors. Another UVP that Quickbooks brings to the table is their free services such as filing on TurboTax for free. You will find the CTA (Call To Action) for this on their homepage.

Being a powerhouse of brands makes you a bit of a monopoly in your field which is the privilege Intuit enjoys.

7. Walmart

Walmart has made a name for itself as a supermarket that keeps costs in mind while serving you with the best products. In a lot of cases, its competitors may even be giving you the same deal but because of the reputation Walmart has with lower and middle-class shoppers, it more often than not wins the battle.

A visit to their website instantly shows you a list of discounts no matter what time of the year it is and a visit to their store will often involve loads of advertisements regarding new discounts. However, what makes Walmart’s UVP truly brilliant is not just its value for low income and middle-income customers but the fact that it still remains a general choice for everyone.

The benefits Walmart brings to the table when it comes to collection and features pulls in customers from every walk of life. Its smooth supply chain management helps the company move products to the customer quickly which keeps prices low. Other than this, Walmart does not compromise on quality.

It really is an easy formula- Walmart kept it simple, affordable, and up to standard.

Wrapping it up

No matter what industry you are in having a Unique Value Proposition to show your customers what you are all about is imperative when discovering yourself as a brand.

However, remember that things are constantly changing. Your customer’s wants, needs, and preferences are changing by the day. Vegan cheese may not have been relevant two decades ago but which supermarket does not have it now?

I would also highly suggest focusing on brand storytelling as your move forward in your journey. Stories are the only way a brand can foster a relationship with their customer. Whether that is through a great ad like the one Apple created The Underdogs or a real life story of how the company’s creator fought to make the brand what it is today. Features and headlines are concise and clear. They are what our head needs but if you want to be remembered by your customers, consider giving them a good story.

Listening to your customers and being open to changes within your company is what is going to help you stay on top once you get there.

About the Author

Freya is the founder of the personal finance blog CollectingCents that teaches readers how to grow their passive income, save money, improve their credit score, and manage debt. She has been featured in publications like Business Insider, Fox Business, the Huffington Post, and GoBankingRates.

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