#and how you treat fiction reflects your reality

[neonfretra]

does anyone want to discuss hrpf outside of shipping + written fic context . because i think about where what i do sits in relation to it all

for brevity i will be referring to the real person as the player and the fictionalized interpretation of the player as the character

to get things outta the way, i dont think theres very much you can say about real life people before you start crossin into real person fiction (rpf) territory LOL

transformative art is rpf. speculation is rpf. narratives is rpf. the second you start steppin away from a direct relay of the facts as is, we gettin in ficticious waters IMO. its really a neutral thing to me and my ethics begin and end at "dont show people who dont wanna see"

and its real funny to think about how i do art just because it feels like i set up way less barriers compared to people who DO write fic . i see all this talk about making sure you make your stuff login exclusive, about not sharin it to the people involved, disclaimers about how its in fact NOT a reflection of reality that your favorite athlete is mpregnant and YOU are are mfather.

and i just hit post and call it a day LOL

TO BE CLEAR there is definitely layers to it in the sense that i see similar amounts of caution with say ship art or certain degrees of raunch.

shipping in the rpf scene is funny to me in the sense of the tendency to treat shipping as THE exclusive rpf thing. like no i dont think my tomas tatar fanart is 1:1 on the reality front either. for example, nj devils hairline is not that far back and thags the only inaccuracy.

heres the kicker: mmy foot.

most of my doodles tend to evoke a degree of characterization or narrative. yeag maybe its a little less 30k slowburn and a little more fabian zetterlund shot putting a man but. that is fictional, that is a character

im not saying that rpf defines players more than the reality of them does but i do believe it does enforce certain views

in the spaces i hang around ive noticed the narrativization around certain characters being part fueled by the information that is filtered by reporters and part interpretations bounced back and forth by fandom . and when you have eyes on a story, its easy to pick out information solely as it agrees with you

maybe the most prominent narrative ive seen for the sharks has been macklin celebrini having a jock dad -> therefore he got daddy issues, joe thornton houses him -> therefore mentor and father figure joe thornton? where even though i havent seen any direct relay of information from any players (though ivent been looking LOL) a lot of the discussion around it revolves around this common understanding that it just is (the funnier part is arguably that will smith hockey has been doing more for this narrative for patrick marleau BUT NEITHER HERE NOR THERE.)

and its really interesting to note HOW fandom warps or weaves the story by going off common tropes or dynamics to make sense of the public facing parts we do see, which is what i think is magnified through the lens of fanworks but not (necessarily) CREATED by fanworks

which is where i feel my work is part of the. ecosystem??? life cycle??? and then we all return to the dirt and the worms eat us???

how much or how little we define the gap between player and character changes from person to person. i simply do not have that goin on here. devin cooley eats joey daccords hair take it or leave it. annnnd main tag that

other times i feel we wear the divide thin are when there is headcanon that uses facts about the player (ie a lot of ship talk) or when the character becomes the kneejerk understanding of the player (ie liveblogs. very fun way to get a read of a communitys feelings on something because of how immediate the reactions on it are)

the point of this post isnt to shame or interrogate people about participating in rpf, im not looking for those sort of feelings, im fascinated by fandom culture as a twig off the old branch and i would love to hear other perspectives on the same topic (and different communities! i dont have much involvement in fic. which is. a massive hole in my perspective on this probably)

is it possible to cross the line from rpf to plain old original content LOL (the answer is intent i know but. walk with me here its fun to think about)

naturally theres a degree of "original character" to every depiction . you gotta make up some amount of it. theres no clear separation OF rpf and original content because everything is about borrowing. you make characters with inspiration from other things. its near enough universal for someone who deals with characters to have at some point lifted a character directly out of their original context and made them their own.

its not just their face or name or some other physical attribute that makes it rpf id also argue because i have seen people using attributes of real people as "claims" for origubal characters (like a "faceclaim" to say "this is how i imagine my character to look")

on top of that there is fluctuating interest on actually depicting the player, with approaches that i have heard of ranging from "character that shares the quantitative aspects of the player and thats IT" to "character that was made heavily referencing to things the player has said/done"

its interesting when certain players in rpf have a consistent character! which trends to be in teams with a more active rpf oriented fanbase (vs interest mainly in the real life hockey played), comparing the fandom of kraken to the golden knights on tumblr for instance. its also interesting to note that more popular teams just have more rpf centric leans. because there are more people to write rpf. i mean also we are on a fandom centric site and rpf bridges that gap from narrative/character fueled media and sportsball more LOL

(if you like sports from a purely sports oriented angle do you enjoy watching it? genuine question. because at what point is it "i could just be doing this myself" because ive hit that point with other things before LMAO)

i do call the difference being more "fandom" oriented but IDK if thats correctly using the word or just less syllables. and on top of that i cant exactly tell you if its popularity or stand out personality that holds more sway. though then again i guess those two traits arent separate from each other necessarily. or even that those are the only two factors to broad appeal (probably popularity with another player is up there. but im not trying to find a formula for most attractive to make rpf of)

to return to the kraken because that is the most rpf oriented team i follow, i do notice when players portrayed consistently. i can definitely tell you like. one or two character traits about players i do not follow the media of solely from liveblogs and art. complexity of the character varies by a lot, though i do think its interesting to consider the hows and whys.

a trait or interest being highlighted by media (i tend to see this in offical media coverage that gets spread by jokes) -> the character heavily revolves around this feature in jokes or casual reference, with heavy personal interpretation

media pushing a narrative by following a more cohesive timeline or story structure (i usually see this in fanworks. easier to identify the influence of IMO) -> fairly consistent character backstory or , at least in the broad strokes of it

just general agreements about tropes that are appealing with little basis on the player -> this is usually the more relationship focused character interpretation

there isnt usually just one factor (and this isnt an exhaustive list of factors) to one characters history. unless its a super new player on the radar.

its definitely a character that belongs to the fandom! as in the unique character to the unique community! its actually really funny how they evolve. you could probably fingerprint someones influences if you tried hard enough. with how new the kraken is (and the fact the fandom leans more towards being united as one body than any other team ive seen so far) it does get pretty easy to get it down to the post but. do your own treasure search. I wont deprive you!

(also its EMBARASSING... what if the people i mention SEE... im SHY...)

harder with an older fandom like the sharks there are so many dead and defunct sources or jokes so widely spread that it gets hard to locate the origin . because dead and defunct sources. though i think its growing a new ring around the fandom tree because of the newer players! so its a thought. to think about how different events influence the size and activity of a fanbase and to ask how different fans from different. eras? of a fanbase interact (or dont).

again i notice this in the sharks fandoms by comparing fans from the playoff contending sharks era (last playoff season was 18-19? start is a little murky but ill toss out that 2012 was the year tomas hertl was drafted because tomas hertl was an era of the sharks LOL a whole 12 years! i know people younger than his professional career and those people are catching up to me in height. humbling!) and fans from when the sharks were very much not playoff contending (quite an amount of the current active fans LOL). not sure if theres much to say without looking stupid. different jokes, notable players, friend groups, feelings towards other teams. all still feel very strongly about general manager mike grier scattering players like dandellion seeds to the wind.

(AGAIN. HOPING NO SHARKS FANS NOTICE THIS. IM SHY)

how many sharks fans havent seen logan couture on ice

again i am saying all this as someone who ACTIVELY participates in this BTW!!! does anyone notice that players i dont know definitely have a flatter "whatever is the funniest thing to say" angle . or that characters of players i know a few things about have like one punchline . or even that certain characters are consistent and not just bound by direct interpretations of one moment (which i do a lot of when im liveblogging) (dont get your hopes up for anything new here, the character usually is "pathetic and a little bit of a bastard")

i keep writing these disclaimers like. if someone disagreed this strongly they would not be reading this far. hi! is anyone still here. is someone still reading.

i have created life and i dont know to kill it.

i talk about one of my depictions of a player as a separate character (that is to say, a SEPARATE character from the character intended to represent the player) and i have NO idea if this is like. an OC? a defamation case in waiting? my spawn? do i have to pay childcare. does anyone know who or what im talking about or has the character been festering in my mind like an infection.

is it just me???

my advice to you: if you dont want somethin to come back dont give it a name.

consider dissecting your personal and the more widespread fandoms take on players and characters! its fun for me but i also just like taking things apart ^_^ i fear i may not be as analytical as this post demands i do a lot of restating information and thats it

[bittersweetbonbon]

on the one hand, yeah, how you treat individual characters isnt indicative of how you treat real people.

but on the other hand, if you're consistently putting aside black characters, female characters, and transgender characters in favor of white, male, cisgender characters, assuming a cast of equal proportions, that is indicative of something!

[rubberbandballqueen]

yesterday at work, the kids had to like, make their own puzzles by drawing stuff on paper n then cutting them into pieces n stuff, n this one kid came up to me saying that the kid sitting next to him was saying mean things, n the second kid was like, "it wasn't me, it was him!" n pointed at the creature he'd drawn for his puzzle.

i didn't really know how to handle the situation (though thinking about it, i probably should have just said that just bc the creature was saying mean things abt his friend didn't mean he was in the right for passing on those thoughts), so i just told him i didn't want to solve his puzzle if the creature it featured was gong to be so mean to other people, and for some reason it worked??

i guess it's just easy to forget how deeply children care about what adults think bc of how we as adults have learned to not care so much abt what other people think and operate on the assumption that others don't automatically care abt our thoughts.

[pawberri]

The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)

I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)

Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.

Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.

[zzztlk]

Love your art style and I adore how you do backgrounds!

Got a world building question: Rabel is a demon obviously but how fantastical is the world at large? Are magic/demons something the general public know are real or is that sort of thing generally considered fictional?

Also, you mentioned Raegan has naturally purple hair, and that her family has naturally blue hair. Is that just a stylistic choice or is there a greater in universe reason for it?

Ty!! I had a previous version of the story where all sorts of crazy stuff was going on with other demons and magic and pocket realms but in this one the only fantastical thing is Rabel. This iteration's supposed to be pretty grounded in reality, but then there's Regan's hair... half treating it like a stylistic thing, half like a Scott pilgrim "university of Carolina in the sky" situation. It has no reason to be a thing, but still is somehow. The pipeline went like this :

1. She just has dyed hair.

2. Too lazy to draw the gradient I'll just make it solid purple

3. "wouldn't it be funny if it turned out it isn't dyed it's just that her family inexplicably had technicolor hair"

4. the world is now just like ours but the human genome allows for hair colors across the full roygbiv spectrum. There's blonde, ginger, brunette, cobalt (Regan's mom side), cerise (Regan's dad's side), olive (nat has this gene; their hair is black but the reflection is olive under neutral light) and then there's Regan who's puce. Unlike people with other shades of purple hair, puces tend to get made fun of since their hair is "flea colored".

[luckykiwiii101]

One For The Money, Two For The Show

(The 3D is just a reality TV show. And you’re just spectating).

Hey Upper East Siders.

Gossip girl here. And boy have I got news for you. Come closer and promise you won’t tell…

I’m just joking. If you can’t trust yourself to do as little as persist, I doubt I can trust you with a secret. But let’s see what you can do with this.

Spotted: Lonely boy sitting at his computer desk watching “The Simple Life”. A deep dive into the lives of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Unfortunately for lonely boy, his life is a little too simple. Maybe lonely boy realised that his 3D reality is the REAL reality TV show, and the 4D is simply real life.

Rumour has it that some of our favourite upper east siders don’t like their circumstances. Well little did they know, that all they had to do was to stop identifying with them.

What’s wrong S? Don’t like your reflection in the mirror? Wish I could feel bad for you but that’s just not your reality. Your eyes are just a TV screen. You’re just watching TV. A reality TV show. Anything you don’t like in your 3D, is just part of that reality show. It isn’t your life. It’s like watching the Kardashians. They aren’t you. The 3D isn’t you.

Don’t understand me? When your watching a reality TV show, are you affected by the things happening? Is it you in the tv show experiencing the circumstances? No. Good, because you should treat the 3D the same way. The 3D isn’t happening to you. It’s a reality TV show. You’re observing it for pure entertainment. You don’t have to deal with it. It has nothing to do with you. It isn’t your life.

All you have to focus on S, is the tv show that you’ve written in your own mind. AKA the 4D. Go there for entertainment. And feel that that is your life because it is.

Everytime you are clouded by the 3D circumstances, understand that the 3D isn’t your life. None of that is happening to you. Abandon it and focus on your imagination. Scoff at the character in your 3D and brag about how you’re so glad you don’t have to go through those 3D circumstances. Because you’re only an audience watching that reality show. When you’re watching a horror movie you must be relieved that you aren’t the main character running from something they don’t want to see. That’s exactly how the 3D is to you. It doesn’t matter because it’s not happening to you..it’s not your life. The 4D is.

After all you’re only here for two things.

One for the money and Two for the show.

One for your dream life, and two for the fun. Laugh at your circumstances. Sit back and watch the show, knowing you aren’t the one who needs to worry.

Spotted: Lonely boy sitting at his computer desk still watching “The Simple Life”. He looks around and realises he has nothing he wants. But this time, lonely boy acknowledges that his 3D life is just a fictional tv show. It’s not real. He doesn’t have to identify with the 3D circumstances because they aren’t real. In his imagination he’s the worlds best author with the girl of his dreams. Lonely boy is not so lonely now is he…he’s a million dollar man.

Be a lonely boy, or be like lonely boy.

- gossip girl

[punkeropercyjackson]

Can y'all 'Drawing your faves supporting Palestine is disrespectful!' niggas realize that

A lot of people who do this are Palestinean themselves or at least make their art to support Palestinean loved ones they have

Speaking as someone who looks for pro-Palestine resources at least once a day,i've literally never seen a Palestinean person or even arab/muslim person in general say they don't like it and in fact a good chunk of them expressed verbal support over how much they appreciate it

While i could not find the original creator of it,the blog dedicated to it is a homecountry raised Palestinean who said they made it because they grew up dreaming of their favorite childhood characters stopping what's going on and has been for too long

It's neccesary i think that i include this example since it's prompted this post:People have drawn comparisons between Aang and the people of Palestine because the Air Nomads may not have been real but the tibetans they were made to represent ARE and that includes the ethnic cleansing as well as the imperialistic Japan reality that is the Fire Nation(though in their case it is China).I'll admit i didn't know about the former actually happening until now but it makes perfect sense the same 'people' who couldn't even handle a FICTIONAL genocide survivor based off irl ones are going as far to speak over the REAL LIFE genocide survivors too because this is the shit me and all the other victims of these kinds of things have been saying for ages,that the way you treat minority characters reflects how you treat irl ones but y'all NEVER listened to us and look at you now

Stop telling Palestinean people how they should feel about people trying to help them-THEIR voices are the only ones that matter in this.They didn't ask you to speak for them,you condesending cunts and even if some of them do,that dosen't mean you can use them as a 'gotcha!' to tell on yourself for not actually caring about them as a whole and just the ones who agree with you

This is not about your opinions.This is about Palestineans.Get over yourself

[fyodior]

.˳⁺⁎˚ LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND CONFESS YOUR LUST

✧ pairing: brother!bachira x little sister!reader

✧ warnings: dark content, (i)ncest, minors DNI. exhibitionism, risky places, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie. characters aged up, both reader and bachira are in their 20's

✧ notes: my entry for the lovely @killsaki's family ties collab!! also my first time writing for blue lock!! much more to come hehe likes and rbs very much appreciated :)

✧ word count: 1.7k

dark content disclaimer: this is entirely fiction with absolutely no reflection of reality! i do not condone this nor any other dc i write, pls just block or unfollow if you don't like it, and do NOT report or leave hate comments please!

“Meguru, this is not a good id-” your hushed words were cut off as Bachira pressed his hungry lips against yours, forcing your back against the unfamiliar mattress.

As much as you tried to protest, you couldn’t help but melt into your brother’s touch, shoulders relaxing as you threw your arms around his neck and finally reciprocated his kiss. Bachira wastes no time, using his knee to spread your legs open, and rub his toned thigh against your core. You got lost in the pleasure briefly, letting out the tiniest of moans before you heard a thump downstairs, gasping as you pushed Bachira away from you.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered again, leaning your head against your brother’s chest, still searching for his comfort even in moments like this where you wanted to wring his neck.

Bachira refused to quit, pushing you back against the pillows so he could mouth at your neck, freeing one of his hands to massage you over your panties.

“You act like you hate it, but you still get so wet from me,” Bachira taunted, the signature singsong nature of his voice matching the stupid grin on his face.

All you could do is groan – he was right. It didn’t matter that he had manhandled you all the way up the stairs of your house to throw you into your parent’s bed in hopes of humiliating you, your panties were still soaked from the thought of your brother’s hands on you.

This was all because you had asked him to chill out, at least a little bit. Bachira had always had a thing for exhibitionism and risky places, absolutely loved the high he got from almost getting caught balls deep into his little sister. But he had started to get a little too risky.

Your and Bachira’s relationship had started out pretty innocently – at least as innocent as sexually pursuing your brother could be, anyway. It all began a few months ago when you had let yourself into Meguru’s room to give him his laundry, only to find him shooting white spurts into his fist as he moaned your name. Your name. He invited you in, amber eyes full of mirth, to come help him clean up the mess with your mouth.

First, it was just blowjobs and fingering in the darkness of your bedrooms with the door locked. You were a virgin, so it was okay for your big brother to be three fingers deep into your cunt as he mouthed at your clit, he was just showing you how your future lovers ought to treat you!

But you never thought you’d go further than that, never thought you’d have real sex. Until you did. Shitfaced after a party thrown for a big win for Bachira’s soccer team, he quietly led you to an empty bedroom and laid you down, jumping at the opportunity to slide right into your unresisting pussy. And even though you were drunk and more easily influenced than normal, you didn’t put up a fight – you even found yourself moaning for more, more, more.

Once that line was crossed there was no going back. You fucked whenever Bachira pleased, and wherever Bachira pleased. On a bench in the locker room, in between stacks of books at your university library, behind trees in public parks. But his favorite places were anywhere in your house, specifically when your parents were home. Bachira liked bending you over the kitchen counter in the middle of the night as your parents slept soundly upstairs, shoving his cock down your throat while the two of you were “washing up” for dinner, and fingering you under the blankets as you all watched TV together in the living room. There was no surface in that house the two of you hadn’t fucked on.

The thrill of not just anyone, but your parents finding out the two of you were fucking excited Bachira so much he could almost cum untouched. He was getting too reckless, though. There were only so many excuses as to why grown siblings constantly slept in each other’s beds and shared blankets, and it didn’t help that he was always hanging all over you. Brothers don’t spoon their sisters from the back and kiss their necks as they cook breakfast.

So you gently approached Bachira, and put it in the most gentle words possible to ask him if he could tone it down just a little bit. You weren’t proposing an end to your activities, just to slow down – and keep it in more private areas. Bachira didn’t take it well.

And that’s how you found yourself in the sheets of your parents’ bed right after they had left for work, mattress still warm from where their forms had been resting not too long prior. You knew it was futile to try and resist Bachira when he got like this, when his eyes went wide and his pupils blew as he narrowed his eyebrows, setting his sights on you – his prey.

He wouldn’t listen as you tried to tell him how bad of an idea it was.

“You know Mom always forgets shit and has to come back,” you whined as he grabbed your wrists and kissed your neck. “And I’m almost positive that’s her house key on the dresser, ‘Guru.” You shuddered at the thought of your innocent mother walking into her own bedroom just to grab her key only to find her son rutting desperately into her daughter.

“That’s what makes this fun,” Bachira giggled, biting your throat.

His face was partially obscured by his morning-mussed fringe as he leaned back to yank your sleep shorts off, but you could still see his smirk that had yet to melt away.

“God, you’re so fucking wet, love,” he groaned, running his fingers up and down your slit. “About to make such a mess all over Mom and Dad’s sheets.” You just hid your face in your hands.

You almost lost all your inhibitions as Bachira spread your legs with his rough palms to spit on your pussy and run the flat of his tongue from your clit to your hole, the lewd sounds of his saliva and your slick almost drowning out the anxious thoughts that rang in your ear. The bedroom door was open.

His tongue swirled around and flicked at your throbbing clit as he slid two fingers knuckle deep into your hole, curling and pumping in the exact ways he knew would make you come undone. Bachira had you and your body memorized by heart, and he weaponized that knowledge.

But everything was forgotten as he sunk his thick cock inside you, crying out as he stretched you open, both hands fisting the sheets. You almost drooled at the sight of his toned, muscly athlete body flexing as he thrusted into you quick but methodically.

The yellow tufts of hair at the base of his neck curled up at the ends as they were drenched in his sweat, chest heaving as he fucked into you with primal hunger and desire. You could tell the excitement of fucking in your parents’ bed was driving Bachira absolutely wild, his cock throbbing inside you.

“A-ahh, Meguru, feels so fucking g-good,” you whined, unable to deny the pleasure overwhelming your body as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot and kissed your cervix with every thrust.

Bachira only grinned at the praise. “Want more, baby?” Your frantic nod was all he needed.

Suddenly he was flipping you over, pressing your face into the pillow as he pushed back into your sopping wet cunt, marveling at the thick layer of cream that coated his cock. His hand intertwined with yours, squeezing your fingers as he fucked you deep into the mattress. With this position, presenting your ass for him like this, he can see the exact way your hole struggled to stretch around his length, the ring pulsing as it tugged with every thrust in and out. It was nicer for you too, being unable to see the bedroom door wide open, a disgusting reminder of what could be found out.

“Can’t last much longer like this, darlin’,” Bachira groaned into your ear, biting the lobe. “Not when you’re taking me so good like this.” You could only whine in response, your fingers tightening around his own. “Can I come inside you? You’ve never let me before, would love to see what it’s like.” You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the devilish smirk in his voice. Yet again, words had failed you, nodding into the pillow.

Bachira’s pace impossibly quickened as he chased the tightening feeling in his gut, leaving you gasping for air as his bony hips slammed into your ass over and over. His body stuttered and he gasped as he came, coating your walls with cum as he groaned into your ear. The second he pulled out you could feel it gushing out of your hole, dripping down your thighs and pooling onto the sheets. You hoped your parents either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t question why you had decided to strip their bed and wash their sheets for them.

You leaned into your brother’s grasp as he gathered you into his arms, pressing your head against his warm chest. His fingertips danced up and down your back, pressing a kiss into your mussed hair.

“Love you so, so much, Meguru,” you sighed, kissing his chest.

“Love you too, darling. This is what happens though when you try to push me away,” he cooed, a slight edge to his voice.

“I know. I won’t do it again, I promise. I love you.” Your words were garbled as fatigue consumed you. Surely your parents wouldn’t mind the two of you napping in their bed together?

Bachira only smirked as he eyed the forgotten house key on your mother’s dresser, knowing the two of you didn’t have much longer to get decent and get the hell out of there. But that’s just the way he liked it.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

The Fear of Being Forgotten

Ok, it’s time I talk about Pomni.

That’s right I’m doing another character analysis! Really it’s more of an analysis of episode 2 from her perspective, but I have a lot feelings about how they are handling her character so far.

I know we’re only on episode 2 and I don’t want to get ahead of myself so I’m gonna be keeping my speculations about this character to a minimum and focus only on what the show and Gooseworx has given us so far.

So I think everyone and their cat knows by now that Pomni’s name roughly translates to "Remember". Of course the irony being that it’s a name that was randomly given to her in the Pilot to replace the one she doesn’t remember.

So in a very meta sense, Pomni’s name is a joke, one that’s given at her expense.

Now, her entire motivation in the Pilot was centered around escaping this new reality that she suddenly finds herself in. And for the first half she’s kinda in denial, using the “dream” excuse as a flimsy way to rationalize everything, but still remains vigilant in finding a way out of this “dream”. So when Caine asks her what she wants to be called she tells him “I don’t care just pick anything.”, because she’s still convinced that what’s happening to her is reversible in some way. So what does it matter what she’s called in this new fictional place?

But in the end, it dawns on her that she is, in fact, trapped. No waking up, and no getting out. The Circus is her new home. And "Pomni" is now her new name. Whether she likes it or not, this is her life.

It really adds to the identity crisis of these characters that they know who they were but they just don’t know who they are. They don’t have full on amnesia when they enter the Circus, they just lose their identities (their names AND their physical appearance). And since it’s just their names that they completely forgot, that makes this scene

far more eerie.

Because just imagine how weird it is to suddenly find yourself looking at a face that is not yours. You know what you’re supposed to look like but your reflection is not showing that. Brain cannot compute.

(Actually I’m sure there are lots who relate to that specific feeling.)

So we know that these characters cannot “die”. They can get squashed, stretched, stabbed and suffer all other manners of bodily harms via cartoony physics without any lasting consequence because their bodies aren’t real. Their minds are the only part of themselves that is. Which is why Abstraction is the only major threat to be feared in the Circus . It’s the threat, because at that point, they lose what little else is left.

I love the different abstracted designs that fans have come up with, but this makes a lot more sense. You are no longer you when you abstract. And it’s irreparable. A broken mind creating a broken body. Caine, being an A.I., treats the abstracted like they’re just a whoopsie, sweeping them away in his cellar to be ignored. They are no longer considered characters. They’re arguably not human anymore either.

After they abstract, they’re nothing.

So the opening for episode 2 establishes Pomni’s fear of this right out the gate.

She’s not just trapped, she’s in danger of completely losing herself in this place. But this little scene does so much more than that. Because the choice in dialogue here is sooo interesting.

Pomni’s dream/ nightmare interpretation of Ragatha is someone who is mocking her for not being able to handle living in the Circus for more than a single day. Ragatha has managed to at least maintain this facade of cheerfulness, and everyone else has survived for years in spite of it all, yet here Pomni imagines that her mental health is so fragile that she couldn’t even last very long before suffering the same fate as Kaufmo.

And then we have NightmareJax chiming in about how he can’t even be bothered to remember her name, the new fake name that she’s had for only a few hours.

So this tells us two very important things about Pomni already. 1: She has very very little faith in herself and 2: She’s terrified of being completely forgotten. Both pretty reasonable and relatable fears.

Of course, we know this is just a dream cuz Ragatha wouldn’t be this callous. And we see this not a minute later after Pomni wakes up when she personally comes to check up on her immediately the next morning. With none of the quiet awkward tension from the day before, just normal awkwardness because Ragatha is too gay to function still trying too hard to make Pomni feel at home.

Now, I love Ragatha very much. I love her because she’s such a sweet person while being absolutely TERRIBLE about consoling people.

She speaks to Pomni but she doesn’t talk to her about what happened the other day. And this distinction is very important because what happened the other day was awful in many ways for both of them, and one of the first things she says to Pomni is

You can’t do this. You can’t undermine a traumatic event by calling it something like this. Pomni lost her home, her name, and her hopes of escape all in one day. Not to mention she has witnessed someone becoming a monster, getting seriously hurt, and being shoved down a hole with no regards to who they used to be. Nobody has really addressed her directly about all of that until now. And it was all condensed in one silly little word. (I love how this frame shows how Ragatha is fully aware that what she just said was BS)

And when someone tries telling you that what happened wasn’t so bad (when it obviously was) it makes you feel…shitty. More specifically, it makes it look like you were not personally capable of handling the bad thing that happened.

“You’re feeling bad not because the situation was bad, but because you are lesser for letting the situation affect you the way it did”

We already know Pomni thinks very little of herself for believing that abstraction will happen easily for her compared to the others, so hearing this definitely didn’t help.

To Ragatha’s credit, she tries to reassure her that there is no ill will between them by affirming that Pomni’s thought process for abandoning her was “understandable”. But it unfortunately comes off as a little passive aggressive. We know Ragatha is being sincere, because we as the audience have the benefit of hindsight, but Pomni doesn’t. “Understandable” does not mean “acceptable”. Jax’s destructive behavior towards the others and everything else in the Circus is “understandable”.

Abandoning Ragatha a second time after promising to come back to help her was not ok. Did it make sense in the moment, yeah. Was it still kind of a dick move, yup. And Pomni is very well aware of this. So it’s likely she doesn’t 100% believe Ragatha when she says shit like “there’s no hard feelings” nor can she think of her as a friend (yet) because she’s still not ok with her situation. She’s not terrified anymore and she’s past the bargaining phase that there’s still a chance for escape, now she’s just more or less resigned to it (and only after one day which is remarkable).

What also doesn’t help is that for the majority of the episode Ragatha’s attitude comes off as a bit patronizing.

So. Yeah. She wouldn’t appreciate this level of infantilization from someone she had previously dreamed was making fun of her.

What’s sad is that Ragatha’s not acting like this to be deliberately condescending towards Pomni. She really is just this into the adventures.

Bless her heart

Unfortunately, Pomni’s not having any of it because it’s gotta be kinda disheartening to know that your new eternal life just amounts to playing make believe with a bunch of maladjusted adults.

One of my favorite scenes that I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about is this one

Because I caught how she didn’t start looking away all irritated until Ragatha said “some way you could help”. Now I interpreted her reaction in two ways: Either she really doesn’t feel like getting involved in the adventure and is frustrated that Ragatha is still trying to push her to participate or (my personal favorite read on it) she thinks Ragatha is subtly rubbing it in her face how useless she was at trying to help her the day before.

Remember, Pomni actually went to a lot of effort to find Caine before she saw the “Exit” door. We don’t know for sure how long she spent looking for help, but it was a valiant effort on her part to explore the Tent on her own, only to fail at the end. Both at helping and not finding a way to leave.

She is two for two on the girlfailure checklist. And I’d imagine her self esteem would continue to decline with every little reminder that anything she tries to help herself or anyone else is futile.

Which is why her conversation with Gummigoo becomes such a turning point for her. It also shows how much better Pomni is at talking to others by allowing herself to be vulnerable.

She doesn’t try to make what Gummigoo is going through a lesser deal than it is. I also think the purpose of Gummigoo as a character was to be a sort of parallel narrative to Pomni.

The extreme wide shot of them sitting together under the map of his fake world makes them both look so small and inconsequential. And then it pulls back into a full shot of them with Pomni trying to convince Gummigoo that he does have value because he has people that he cares about and that care about him. (It won’t be until the very end where Pomni realizes that she’s in the same position as he is).

Gummigoo makes the argument of why should any of that matter when he, as an NPC, doesn’t have the luxury of having what little he has (his friends and his affection for them) when it will all go away as soon as the adventure ends. He was only designed for a single purpose, and that purpose ends with being forgotten.

Now we already know how Pomni feels about that, so she gives him what she’s been wanting: a way out.

She offers him a chance to be something more than what he was designed to do, where the fear of being forgotten doesn’t have to come into fruition (at least not in the way he would have to worry about)

And then he asks her the very fair question of why does she even bother helping him if he’s not even real, and her answer helps to further establish Pomni’s overall character. It’s not just a short term goal like wanting to find a way out of the Circus, it’s her defining motivation that will encompass her arc for the rest of the series.

Even in the Pilot, she proved to be a compassionate person when she chose to help Ragatha (both in offering her hand the first time and choosing to go back for her later). So I imagine she will start to actively be there for the other cast members once she grows more comfortable with them. Pomni has the benefit of being the newest addition to the Circus so she’s able to look at the others more critically by just passively observing them. Then calling them out on their behavior, not out of malice, but out of altruistic concern. These people have issues, she may not be able to fix them, but she’ll be willing to listen.

(This might be nothing, but a little detail I noticed after Gummigoo agrees to go with her is that she asks him for his name (and it’s also the first time we ever hear it in the episode itself) but he doesn’t ask for hers. In fact, he doesn’t call Pomni by name at all in the episode. Which could have an indication of some serious death flags. Again, I could be wrong about this and I’m giving it way more significance than it deserves. Just a stray thought.)

Anyway, Gummigoo gives Pomni the lead to get them both out and it’s telling how little she believes in herself the way she keeps downplaying her own ideas.

Because up until this point, Pomni has felt rather useless. So in her mind, the chances of something going right for once were slim. That’s why when her plan works as intended and manages to save not just herself but her new friend as well, she visibly starts to feel better. She’s actually smiling, she’s a lot friendlier towards Ragatha, and begins to act like living in the Circus might not be so bad.

…yeah…about that.

I think we are all in agreement that Pomni is a girlfailure. And she is, but not in the way we’ve come to understand it.

What I mean is that Pomni fails. A lot. Not because she’s an anxious mess or due to general incompetence, but because the narrative consistently prevents her from winning.

She tried to get Ragatha help -> Caine was nowhere to be found, abstracted Kaufmo was hot on her trail, and the door shows up to entice her to leave.

She goes through the “Exit” door believing it’s the way out -> She wastes an indeterminate amount of time going through countless doorways that lead to nowhere and is told in the end that the “Exit” was never real.

She tried to get Gummigoo to join the Circus -> Caine obliterates him Thanos style.

That is the face of someone who thought she was doing something right for once, and was abruptly proven wrong. God really said “LOL nope” to this poor woman. (I also love how Pomni’s trauma response is laughter, really leans on the whole jester imagery she has)

That she did, and it amounted to nothing. Pretty on brand for her really.

Yeah, it seemed like Pomni was not gonna catch a break. And once again Ragatha immediately tries to undermine what just happened, with Pomni going back to being paralyzed with shock at the utter insanity she had just witnessed. Homegirl is not ok. And she would have stayed that way if not for Ragatha actually being real for once by inviting her to grieve with them.

The ending of this episode truly caught me off guard.

Not poor Gummigoo’s “death”, that I actually expected, but it was still shocking to see.

No. much like Pomni, I wasn’t expecting the others to actually throw Kaufmo a funeral (and apparently this is a custom that they do regularly, which is bittersweet). And I wouldn’t have blamed Pomni for believing that they don’t really care about each other because all of them saw Kaufmo be thrown into the cellar and then the they all proceed to just eat dinner as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I’ll be frank here, I didn’t get emotional from that scene because of Kaufmo. He never had a speaking part or even an actual on screen appearance; the man had no character outside of telling bad jokes and that had to be given through exposition, so there was no resonance in his “death”. But that is clearly intentional because they didn’t even bother making the other’s eulogies about him be audible. Pomni has never met Kaufmo, she never knew him, so her attending a funeral for someone she had no real connection with is odd.

And that’s because all Pomni needs and by extension what we need to know is to see that he clearly meant something to the characters we HAVE been spending time with. This funeral was less about mourning Kaufmo and more about putting Pomni’s fears to rest that even if she were to abstract, she would not be forgotten. And even more importantly, these people genuinely do care about each other (Jax is still up in the air, but 4/5 ain’t bad). So if anything could make Pomni more comfortable in her new home, it’s the affirmation that she’s not alone (Hence the title of the theme that closes the episode). So abstraction won’t come as easily as she previously thought.

It’s remarkable that the writers managed to make a FUNERAL feel like we were ending on a high note compared to the dread that the ending of the Episode 1 evokes. And I really like that because everything from the gentle music, to the visuals of everyone being sincerely doleful, to Pomni’s small smile at the end really stresses how this show isn’t trying to be nihilistic with its premise. That Pomni, in spite of everything, is going to be ok.

[nitrochiralfan]

The Visual Symbolism of the True Route: Mirror symbolism

There's a lot of visual symbolism in the true route but one of the prominent symbols that stands out the most is the use of mirrors. It was talked about before in a post on Tumblr by someone but here I wanted to elaborate on it 

This post will primarily focus on the original Japanese version of the game, not the Jast localization. Since it did the game dirty I wanted to go over the true context by looking at the Japanese version.

This post will cover the true route to those who haven’t played the game; a spoiler warning is now in effect.

Mirror 

First, before we begin I want to talk about Mirrors in general and how they are used. The main purpose of mirrors is to show your appearance.

In a fictional sense, the mirror is used as a literary device to show your true self, mirrors show the reflection of ourselves and reflect our flaws and imperfections, the worst parts of ourselves we don’t like to look at. the mirror can reflect all the terrible aspects we don’t like about ourselves. 

Literature uses this to highlight the similarities in characters which is used to reflect the theme “Equals” in Towa and Fujieda.

Towa and Maya

Going over mirror symbolism in the route the first ones to discuss are Towa and Maya.

Without a doubt Towa looks exactly like his mother, Towa got most of his appearance from Maya he's the spitting image of his mother many characters point out the resemblance and their claims are not unfounded if you put Towa and Maya together it's like looking at a mirror but it is not limited by their appearances. 

Maya runs a store called Euphoria, the name that Towa would later take to use as his artist name. The store is a cabinet club for the wealthy but in reality, it is an establishment meant to fulfill the most twisted desires of man this is similar to what Towa does in his euphoria art sessions. 

There is a scene in the opening song of Slow Damage when Towa smiles, when you compare the smile that Towa gives it resembles the one that Maya gave, Towa's smile looks like Maya when she was smiling. This is made to point out how much Maya influences Towa’s actions which is seen in the game.

When Towa’s resemblance to Maya in the Fujieda route is pointed out Towa shatters the mirror in his room because he is disgusted that he looks like the monster who ruined his life he attempts to hurt himself to scar his face to further reduce the resemblance it shows just how much this Towa fears Maya once he begins to remember her. Towa is afraid and hates his mother even hates the idea of inheriting her appearance because it is associated with his abuser. Towa sees himself as a copy of Maya not only because of his appearance but how his euphoria art sessions are similar to what Maya did.

The CG where Towa impersonates Maya to trick Sakaki mirrors that scene of Towa standing in front of the mirror even the position Towa in the CG is similar to the CG of Towa standing in front of the mirror. This points out that all along Sakaki only ever saw Maya in Towa, not himself this led to him being fooled and to his death.

Towa is viewed as a mirror to Maya by certain people including Maya herself no matter how much Maya can claim she loves her son the truth is Maya views Towa as a version of herself instead of his person she treats Towa as a doll, a toy, not a person that she molds and uses like clay, and is angry that he didn’t conform to her image.  

Towa breaking the mirror is a metaphor and a foreshadowing of Towa tricking Sakaki and remaining himself in the good ending and that Towa isn’t Maya but himself. They may resemble each other as mother and son but Maya and Towa themselves are not similar which would get to our next part 

Towa and Fujieda

I pointed out in a post that when you put both Towa and Fujieda together they reflect each other like a mirror. Their appearances serve as parallels reflecting off each other like a mirror. 

Writing-wise they are similar to each other there are many parallels between Towa and Fujeida both had been abused by their parents resulting in the scars on their bodies, Fujieda's scars came from the abuse he received from his parents, and Towa's scars are made by his customers through his mother's euphoria sessions the abuse caused them to led them to lives of sexual debauchery as a result. Both of them hate their parents and cut off anything that is associated with them.

They both carry scars metaphorically and literally, a metaphor that they have the same pain and trauma. 

There was something about the way Fujieda is first introduced to Towa in the game through the routes; his appearances mirror Towa’s state in the routes a post pointed this out before. Fujieda being an enigmatic person in the game to Towa and the audience is parallel to how Towa's past is a mystery to the audience.

There is the visual symbolism of the CGS in the route to analyze, this is seen in the placement of the characters Towa and Fujieda in the CG, in the route has them facing each other like standing in front of a mirror correlating to the mirror symbolism. 

For the significance of those CGs:

This happened when both Fujieda and Towa escaped from being shot by the yakuza as they fled from the Takasato group away from the rain Towa and Fujieda fled to his condo and they went into his apartment and changed clothes Fujieda was apprehensive about changing in front of Towa than Towa provokes him in a childish rage Fujieda undresses than after what Towa saw catches him off guard Fujieda had scars littered across his upper torso mirrors how Towa own body appeared. it is the moment when Towa realizes that maybe they aren't so different This scene shows that Fujieda has more than meets the eye

There is visual symbolism sprinkled throughout this CG,

It shows us Fujieda’s back with his entire torso littered with scars Fujieda has his back turned only focusing on Towa’s reactions, it doesn’t show Fujieda's face primarily only focusing on Towa’s expressions. The placement in the CG is both characters facing each other. Both Towa and Fujieda are half naked with scared bodies much like looking at the mirror. 

In another scene in the game when Fujieda attacks Towa, Fujieda overcome with sorrow after learning the truth, lashes out at Towa believing that Towa is just as culpable as Maya he is furious that he had no idea that Towa’s a victim of Maya despite Towa being her son. Fujieda is finding a tangible way of getting revenge for Mei. This mirrors how Towa attacked Fujieda in their first meeting in the playground when he is overcome with his PTSD symptoms from remembering the past.

After they visited the ruins of euphoria the trip to the store changed their mindsets leading to this cg the next cg balances hope and despair. 

Here Towa is draped in despair after he recovers his memories from the ruins of euphoria he sees no reason to live anymore the pain of what happened to him destroys him from learning the truth about his past He is overcome with survivor's guilt and despair and felt his life isn’t worth living any longer when an innocent life like Mei’s died for his sake. 

While Fujieda stands in hope.

Fujieda talks down Towa from a suicide attempt he doesn’t say simple platitudes about how life will get better or that Towa has so much to live for he acknowledges the pain this information causes him. But Towa’s life is still valuable just as Mei's life was valuable. this is coming from a personal place about Fujieda, Fujieda dealt with suicidal thoughts and hopes to die once his mission to find Mei's fate is complete he didn’t start the route with the confidence to live despite the pain.

Fujieda went through the same thing Towa went through at the beginning of the route. Fujieda is the only person who understands Towa at that moment. visual representation of this during the suicide confrontation reflects off of each other Fujieda is Towa in this scene this further emphasizes that Fujieda is Towa's mirror After their visit Fujieda realizes that Towa was just as hurt as he was and seems to regret his actions he now knows that Towa is a victim of abuse. Towa’s pain is acknowledged. 

Fujieda knew that Towa reminded him of himself and deep down knew that this was the very reason why it caused him to repel from Towa due to how similar they are. He reflected all the aspects of Fujieda that he tried to bury deep inside of himself. The reason he doesn’t think Towa reminded Fujieda of himself before is that it would be like admitting that his existence is just as miserable as Towa’s.

This scene is where Fujieda finally acknowledges their similarities to each other. in the way they are each other's mirror, Towa is Fujieda’s mirror just as Fujieda acts as Towa's mirror

Afterward, In the bathroom, Fujieda and Towa face each other parallels both scenes of Towa standing in front of the mirror shower referencing the rain as a callback to the apartment after they got the rain when Towa first saw Fujieda's scars. Towa requests to see Fujieda's scars wishing to take solace in the sight then to this beautiful CG

Fujieda and Towa are facing each other naked in the shower covered in scars standing in front of each other this is like looking in a mirror. This shows solidarity and comfort in their similarity 

Next to the sex scene. The sex scene is an accumulation of their feelings. Towa feels comfortable being touched by Fujieda. he is overwhelmed to be touched by someone similar to him. In the sex scene, Towa touches Fujieda’s scars Fujieda and Towa understand their pain and trauma. This is about Towa making sure that their pain, trauma, and experiences are on their bodies. It alone was enough if they both understood. 

Yeah, he has Taku and Rei but he never finds someone to whom he can relate or even acknowledge his pain. Fujieda understands what Towa has been through in the way Taku and Rei don't. Towa has someone to whom he can relate, and pushes himself to better himself that is why Fujieda is around to help Towa process his trauma to heal from it.

They are similar to each other, yet different, so they're equal.

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 5

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: covering up of wounds, thoughts about past mud€r, awkward morning, lies, fluff, 700 in 3 Jungkook because I couldn't not write it, inner conflicts between good and bad, detailed description of inner autopsy, scalpel in thigh, blood, stitching without local anaesthesia, drinking, fluff, OC drops a hint to her dark side, Jungkook is oblivious in so many ways it physically hurts, smut, f!ngering, worshipping, oral (m. receiving), protected s€x, OC rides him (it's the way that you can ride~), pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.6K

a/n: I thought I'd upload tomorrow as a present for ✨ Jungkook Day ✨ but I’m going to be busy, so here’s the chapter a little early. It’s a bit of a treat, mostly fluff and smut, pushing the plot forward, so ENJOY! After this one, we’ll be spiralling fast and hard 🫢 Please don’t come at me!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

The next morning, you stand in your small shared bathroom that after all these years still feels too small, the kind of tight space that seems to crowd you when you’re already feeling a little claustrophobic. You’re staring into the mirror, eyes a little distant, trying to assess the damage from last night, trying to make sense of everything that happened in the darkness of night. The faint bathroom light flickers once, just as if it’s mimicking the wavering thoughts in your head, and you finally focus on yourself again. 

Your neck isn’t much of a problem, the slight pinkish bruise barely visible when the light isn’t catching just right, so masking it with some make up isn’t much of a problem. You can make it disappear entirely, almost like nothing happened. Almost. What does concern you however is the little cut on your swollen, puffy bottom lip. The skin is stretching tight over the small cut that’s stubborn in its defiance, refusing to be ignored. It’s not big, nor is it deep, but it’s prominent in the way it catches the light, just enough that someone standing close to you might notice. Someone like Jungkook.

Brushing teeth only added to the inflammation, which you gladly don’t feel, but will be adding to the problem of covering up. You curse softly under your breath, wondering how you’ll manage to keep it truly hidden, to dodge any questions about why your lips look like you’ve been punched in the face, what you actually have been.

You rummage through your cosmetics bag, hands shaking a little more than you’d like to admit as you pull out a small tube of liquid plaster, dapping it accurately on it so it’s somehow a smoother surface. The rich plum balm next, gliding over your lips, darkening the pink flesh until it matches the colour of the bruised skin perfectly. The cut disappears, camouflaged, and for a moment, you feel satisfied like you’ve won some small, meaningless victory over your reflection. The mask is in place, or maybe just good enough as is it.

You sigh deeply, letting the air out of your lungs as if it could take away the heaviness that has settled in your chest, but it doesn’t. You look at yourself once more, turning your head side to side, searching for flaws you might have missed. You look…normal, more or less. Tired, though. There’s no hiding the shadows beneath your eyes, the slight droop to your shoulders. You haven’t slept well. Not because of the kill itself—strangely enough, that part almost brought a sense of clarity, like you’d purged something toxic from your system with a detox diet—but because of Pulse. 

The memory of his eyes haunts you still, the way they were full of devastation, that strange sadness that clung to him, lingered in your thoughts like a stain in your favourite shirt you can’t scrub out for the life of you. He shouldn’t bother you this much. He shouldn’t. You’ve done worse last night, seen worse in your entire life. But there’s something about him that keeps gnawing at you, lodged in your mind, needles that are too deep to pull out, and it’s irritating in a way you can’t quite describe.

Why does he have this power over you? It’s irrational, maddening if you think about it long enough. You find yourself asking over and over again if you’ve met him before, if maybe, in some way, he isn’t a stranger at all. You can’t pinpoint it, but there’s something. Something in the way his eyes looked at you, something in the way his presence affects you even now, long after the night has ended. You hate it. You hate him for making you feel this way. It’s like there’s a vice wrapped around your chest, and every time you think of him, it tightens, constricting just a little more until you go wild.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now. You push the thoughts away with a forceful shove, leaving them scattered behind you like you did yesterday with him standing there. No, today is not the day to think about him or anything that happened last night. You’ve got classes to get to, and you’re definitely running late right now. You take one last glance at the mirror, nod to yourself, and step out of the bathroom, trying to ignore this irritating feeling that’s settled over your head.

But of course, as soon as you open the door, the universe decides to throw you another curveball. Jennie is standing there, right outside the bathroom, completely oblivious to the concept of modesty, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s oversized shirt. Your brain freezes for a second, and all you can do is blink, trying to process the scene in front of you. Jennie looks just as startled, her wide eyes locked on yours, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights right before its doom. 

“No. Fucking. Way.” You mutter under your breath, the disbelief seeping out of your pores. This can’t be real. But it is, and the longer you stand there, the more awkward it becomes. Jennie doesn’t move. You don’t move. And then, because the universe apparently thinks this situation isn’t awkward enough already, Taehyung steps out of his room and stops dead in his tracks as well. His eyes flick from you to Jennie, then back to you, and you can see the exact moment his brain short-circuits.

It’s almost comical, the way the three of you are just standing there in this ridiculous triangle of shock and embarrassment. But then, you’re the first to break free from the spell. You grin, sidestepping Jennie and making a beeline for the front door. You toss a hand over your shoulder as you call back, “I didn’t see shit.” Your voice is light, teasing, and you can’t help but giggle as you slip out the door.

But of course, you did see something. And it’s enough to make you file this away for later, something to question Taehyung about when the time is right. You’ll have to sit him down and roast him properly for this—though, knowing yourself, the topic will eventually circle back to Jungkook, and how your friendship shifted too.

You’re walking down the usual pathway to your classes, when you spot Jungkook. He’s ahead of you, but even from a distance, you can tell something is off. He’s slouched, shoulders hunched forward, his usual confident stride replaced by something slower, heavier. Your heart skips a beat, but maybe you’re just imagining things, so, you jog the rest of the way to catch up to him.

“Kook! Wait!” you call out, breathless as you finally reach him. “You wouldn’t believe what I just walked in on!”

But the words die on your lips the moment you get a good look at him, and you’re painfully reminded that your first instinct is always right. He’s not the Jungkook you know. There’s something…different. His eyes are distant, unfocused, his expression hollow in a way that makes your stomach twist on itself, making the bright smile that had been on your face fade, replaced by a deepening worry as the seconds tick by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You can see the sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion that drips from him like mud. It mirrors your own feelings, but his seem deeper, darker, like he’s sinking into something you can’t reach.

“Nothing,” he says, but the word is empty, devoid of meaning. “I might skip class today.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Skip class? You never skip class. Kook, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are red, bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in days, his muscles tense, coiled like a spring that’s ready to snap any minute. The unease inside you grows tenfold, spreading through your veins like wildfire. You replay yesterday’s date in your mind, sifting through every moment, every word spoken, every touch shared, searching for any clue, something that might explain his sudden shift. But all you can think of is that maybe, somehow, he regrets it. Maybe he regrets being with you, and the thought alone drowns you more than any ocean could.

“If it’s about yesterday,” you start, your voice hesitant, your thoughts stumbling over each other in their desperation to make sense of it all, “if you regret the date, we can still be friends, you know?”

For a moment, he’s completely still. Then, like a switch has been flipped, his whole demeanour changes to his usual self. His shoulders relax, his eyes lose some of that haunted distance, and he reaches out for you, pulling you into a tight embrace, squishing you against his firm pecs. His voice is firm when he speaks, simple and resolute. “No.”

“No?” you echo, stunned. You don’t know how to process the sudden shift, hell, even the last twenty-four hours.

“No,” he repeats, more gently this time. “It’s not about us, I promise.” His lips brush against your hair, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he’s trying to shield you from something you can’t see. “I want this. I want us.”

You feel yourself relax into him, the unease slowly seeping out of your body as naive relief floods in to take its place. “I want us too,” you murmur softly, leaning into his warmth even more.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with something that feels so much like devotion it almost makes you tear up. “I forgot to ask you something,” he teases, his voice lighter now, almost playful. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

His smile is lazy, like he already knows the answer, which you have to admit he does. Your heart skips a beat again, but for a very different reason this time. “Of course,” you grin up at him despite yourself still not trusting his mood swing. 

“Good,” he winks with a playful smirk. “May your boyfriend kiss you then?”

You giggle, unable to help yourself, the sound is bright and airy in the morning light. It’s ridiculous, the whole situation is ridiculous, but it feels so right. So normal. So him. So you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, and when his perfect lips meet yours, it feels like coming home. It’s soft, warm, everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment. He tastes like comfort, like safety, like love.

And for that moment, you allow yourself to forget the world. To forget Pulse. To forget the shadows that still linger on the edges of your mind. For now, it’s just you and Jungkook, and that’s all you need and have. 

When you finally pull apart, he’s smiling down at you with nothing but affection in his eyes. “You sure you won’t come to class?” you try softly, hoping maybe he’s changed his mind too. 

But the moment you say it, you regret it. You can see the switch begin to turn again, his expression slowly shifting back to that distant look, the one that makes you feel like you’re losing him to something you can’t fight. 

“Nah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Or… unless you want to work on our project?”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice light. “We can do it another day.”

He shakes his head slowly, but there’s still that wall between you, something that he won’t let you see. “I’ll come by later,” he says, his voice distant again. “We can work on it then.”

“You sure?” you ask again, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he says, leaning down to kiss you one last time before you part ways. And even though something inside you still feels unsettled, you hold onto that moment, to the warmth of his lips, the softness of his touch, and the hope that whatever is weighing him down, you’ll figure it out before it eats him alive. 

The day drags on after that like thick honey without Jungkook beside you, every class feeling like an endless void of monotony. You find yourself standing now alone outside the autopsy lab in the late afternoon, waiting for him, though you can’t help the quiet doubt creeping in—he's late, for the first time ever, and part of you wonders if he'll even show. To pass the time, you and your friends huddled mere minutes ago to plan a semi-surprise birthday party for Jungkook at the Italian restaurant, you volunteering to do the speech. It was light, fun, a bit distracting, a way to fill the gaps he’s left in your day, but somehow you couldn’t seem to fully join the excitement as you plotted out the details, even though it’s a way to celebrate the person who has become so important to you.

Across the courtyard, you see a couple stroll by, hand in hand, their laughter soft and intimate, and for a moment, a quiet contentment settles over you. You no longer feel that familiar twinge of sadness when you see couples like this, but are reminded of how lucky you really are, how someone as special as Jungkook has walked into your life. That warmth sits with you, and you think it permanently has settled within you by now, as you glance back down the path.

Then, you spot him. Jogging towards you in a black t-shirt, his hair tousled and damp with sweat, Jungkook’s muscular frame catches you completely off-guard. His late arrival suddenly makes sense. He must’ve lost track of time at the gym, and now, here he is, rushing to meet you with that apologetic smile. But your eyes can’t fixate on his face—his muscles are somehow more prominent than ever, veins tracing lines up his tattooed arm like rivers on a map, pulsing with every step. You’re not even sure when your mouth dropped open, but it stays that way as he finally reaches you, breathless and sweaty.

“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, his breath fanning your face with every exhale. He steps back but keeps his hand on the small of your back, his touch doing nothing more than searing where he touches you.

Your throat feels as if it’s turned to sandpaper, dry and useless, but through a miracle unknown, you manage to stammer out, “Did you work out since this morning?”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, his lips quirking with amusement. “Yeah, why?”

“Kook, it’s been over five hours,” you exclaim, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an undeniable glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you. “I’ve been hitting my new goal.”

“What goal?” you implore, your curiosity piqued, though your attention keeps slipping back to the way his shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, as though it might tear at any moment.

“700 in the big three,” he replies, smirking with that lazy arrogance that only makes him more irresistible.

“700 in the big three,” you echo, the words floating out of your mouth automatically as your brain struggles to catch up. You can’t even properly process what he’s saying; you’re far too busy ogling him like some kind of starstruck fool.

“700 in the big three,” Jungkook repeats, his tone teasing now, the humour barely concealed behind his smirk. He watches you with that glimmer in his eyes, this confident, playfully condescending glimmer you never seen before on him.

It takes you a second—a second too long, really—but the realisation hits you like a punch in the guts. “700 kilograms in the big three lifts,” you murmur, the numbers looping in your head over and over like a broken record, the image of him lifting so much weight making your knees useless. And with each repetition, your heart rate picks up, your mind spiralling in ways that are anything but clinical. 

Jungkook watches your reaction with an amused glint, his laughter barely contained as he steps closer. “You good?” he asks after a moment, his smile widening at the stunned look on your face.

You nod—well, more like a broken bobblehead—completely overwhelmed. There’s something primal about the way he’s standing there, his raw masculinity sending your hormones into overdrive. And then, just when you think you might be able to regain some sense of control, or rather sanity, he leans down, his breath hot and still slightly quick against your ear, and rasps, “Shall we head inside?”

The words are innocent, off topic, so simple, so ordinary, but coming from him, in this moment with this tone, they feel like a challenge, like a provocation. Your body practically trembles at the sound of his voice, and your brain, already hazy from his presence, finally surrenders with waving flags. You’re helpless—utterly defeated by the sheer being of Jeon Jungkook—and at this point, you’d happily surrender to him again and again, for as long as he wants you to.

“Yes,” you breathe out, the word barely audible, more of a moan than an answer. You’re not even sure if you say it aloud or if it’s simply a thought that escapes your lips. But Jungkook hears it, and the atmosphere between you shifts in an instant. His body tenses, his eyes darkening with a hunger you’ve never seen in him before. It’s utterly raw and intense, and for a split second, you think you might combust under the weight of his gaze. There’s no softness, no tenderness in his eyes now—only desire, pure and unfiltered.

„Another time, ___.“ He doesn’t say anything else, as if he just answered your unspoken conversation, and gently guides you inside the building, his hand never leaving the small of your back. When you and Jungkook step into the lab, the freezing air of it cools you both significantly down, and as the door closes behind you, you try to gather your scattered thoughts, reminding yourself that you’re here to work, to be somehow professional enough to do the project. But with Jungkook beside you, radiating power and confidence, you know it’s going to be an uphill battle to stay focused on anything other than him.

Around you, everyone is already deep into their work, carefully peeling back layers of skin and bone in their inner autopsies. The only ones lagging behind are Ben and Juan, still caught up in their external examinations, fumbling slightly as they try to catch up. You don’t let it slow you down, though—you’ve already lost enough time. Without a word, you and Jungkook move, quickly pulling your gloves on and retrieving your body from the cooler unit. And just like last time, you find yourselves standing across from each other at the autopsy table, the cold steel beneath your fingertips again triggering you demons to come out and play. 

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, kind and calm, and for a brief second, the darkness takes a step back, but it’s not enough when you look away, knowing better than to stand here with your emotions in overdrive. You can still feel the empathy radiating from him, a soft pressure against the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself, but you shut it out, wrapping yourself in the cold. It’s easier this way—safer.

And when that darkness within you finally consumes you fully, twisting its way through your thoughts, you feel the weight of your own hypocrisy. You’re the one who flips the switch now, pulls away, hides what lies beneath the surface. You realise then, slowly but oh so painfully, that it’s not just him keeping secrets. It’s you too, guarding those parts of yourself, refusing to let him in where it matters most. You shut him out, even as you crave his closeness, and in those moments, you know that the subtle divide between you isn’t just on him—it’s the walls you’ve built around your own heart, too.

“We should begin,” you note devoid of all the emotions it held before.

Jungkook nods, and so you reach for the scalpel, its cool handle familiar in your palm. You still feel his searching eyes on you, but you don’t look up, instead you slice the torso’s skin in the usual Y-shaped incision, down from the shoulders to the sternum, and meeting at the xiphoid process before extending down to the pubic symphysis. After peeling back the loose skin, muscle and tissue, you then begin cutting through the thin layers of fascia still clinging to the ribcage, exposing the pale white bones of the ribs.

Jungkook moves to the medical tool trolley, his gloved hands reaching for the rib shears. “Shall I...?”

“Yes,” you reply, stepping back slightly to give him room.

He carefully positions the rib shears between the ribs and begins clipping through the bones with a controlled strength, each snap of bone sending a soft vibration through the instrument. Jungkook works carefully, each snap of bone gentle, as if even now, he seeks to preserve some kind of dignity in death. It unnerves you a little, but as the sound echoes not only in the quiet room but inside your mind too—a crisp, definitive crack, similar to the thuds of Chulsoo as he hit the railings when he flew down the staircase, even though there’s no mess following the sound this time, only a slight shift in the body as the ribcage gives way under the pressure—you know there’s no chance for your emotions to be triggered.

With the ribcage removed, the torso opens before you like an unwelcome revelation, the organs lying in a strange, suspended silence, if waiting for you. The heart—the centre of all life, now still, now just another part of the anatomy to be examined—rests beneath the thin membrane of the pericardium, ready to be freed.

“The heart first?”

“Yes,” you nod with your voice sounding far away, almost hollow in your own ears. You reach for the scalpel again, making the first careful incision into the pericardium. The thin protective layer peels back, exposing the heart fully now, its grey, decayed mass sitting heavy in the cavity. And you wonder, if someone were to cut you open, would your heart, still beating, look the same? Rotten and past repair?

But you shake it off, “Forceps,” your tone more an automatic request than an engagement with him, the word just a tool to continue the work. Jungkook hands them to you, and for the briefest of moments, his fingers brush against yours, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You swallow it down with all your might, feeling utterly exhausted by now while you use the forceps to  gently peel back the rest of the pericardium.

Jungkook leans closer, his brow creased with concentration, his voice quiet as he observes the enlarged heart carefully. “It’s bigger than normal. Maybe hypertrophy.”

“Most likely. Possibly undiagnosed hypertension or cardiovascular disease,” you agree, letting the clinical words form a barrier between you and the moment. You trace your eyes over the heart’s pale surface, noting the thickened walls, the silent history of the body it once powered.

Jungkook nods, his hands moving carefully as he begins to sever the heart’s connections to the body, everything done tender, as though he’s cradling something fragile in his hands. When the heart is finally free, he lifts it with care, placing it in the tray. “We should weigh it,” he suggests, glancing at you with a gentle question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air between you, full of more than just the cold facts of death.

„Hm.“ You nod, watching as he places the heart on the scale. The weight flashes across the small digital display, confirming what you both already suspected.

“It must have strained him,” Jungkook sighs quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s speaking to the heart itself, or perhaps to the ghost of the person it belonged to.

“Yes,” you reply absently, your mind trying to ignore his empathy. You can’t afford to feel it, not here, not now.

“Next, the lungs?” 

But Jungkook’s suggestion hangs unanswered in the air, lost in the moment. There’s a sudden yelp behind you, and before you can react, Ben stumbles into your cart, knocking it violently over. A scalpel—thankfully still clean and sanitised—clatters off it and embeds itself in your thigh. The room goes still, breaths held, as everyone stares at the darkening spot of blood slowly spreading across your jeans. You feel the strange weight of the blade in your thigh, though there’s no pain. It’s just... uncomfortable, having a blade lodged in your leg. You sigh, long and heavy, while Jungkook exhales shocked, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply slightly angered, though the room remains frozen. “Tae, do you have your kit with you?” 

All eyes are on you, including the professor’s, who looks more pale than the body on the table. You limp to a chair at the back of the room, Taehyung already swapping his gloves before casually grabbing his first aid kit. Jungkook hovers nervously, while Ben, on the verge of fainting, stammers out apologies. You wave them off half-heartedly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. As Taehyung kneels before you and rips your jeans open around the scalpel, you say, “No worries, I can feel no pain. It’s no big deal.” But inside, you’re simmering with irritation at Ben’s incompetence.

Ben, looking horrified, blurts out, “What do you mean?! You’re hurt!”

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, yanking the scalpel out with not a care in the world, the metal clinking to the floor as you barely blink. He hums a soft tune as he begins cleaning the wound and stitching it up, while you explain, “NTRK1. I can’t feel pain. At all.”

Everyone is stunned to the core, everyone just able to stare as Taehyung works calmly, as if nothing unusual is happening. There’s a little bit of guilt within you, seeing Jungkook’s shocked expression, realising you should’ve probably told him and the others before now. But what’s done is done, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal.

When Taehyung finishes, he pats your good thigh with a small smile, „All done,“ and starts packing up his kit, leaving you sitting there, feeling more awkward than anything else.

„Could you all please just keep going?“ you try not to snap, but you know the irritation and exhaustion are clearly visible now.

“Let’s get drinks tonight,” you turn to Jungkook, knowing it’s no use, the weight of the day, hell the weight of the last few days, presses down on you too much, the accumulated stress leaving you wanting nothing more than to melt away in the comfort of something strong and cold.

“With the gang?” Jungkook asks still a bit shocked, but his eyes soften as they always do when you’re tired like this, as though he’s already prepared to do whatever it takes to lift your spirits.

You shrug, not really caring who tags along. “I don’t care. I just need a drink.”

Jungkook grins, nodding, and without missing a beat, he turns to the others. “Yo, we’re going out. You coming with?”

Everyone agrees with enthusiastic nods except for Hoseok, who’s laughing nervously as he looks at the clock. “This early?”

Jennie rolls her eyes at him and chimes in, “Oh come on, you can have your Sprite,” but then mutters under her breath with a mischievous smirk, “with vodka.”

You laugh softly, standing up and limping towards the locker room to change out of your scrubs. Jungkook is right there beside you after he put the cadaver into the cooler, his arm hovering protectively at your side, ready to catch you if you stumble. A line forms between his eyebrows out of concern, but you want to ease that worried look from his face, not wanting him to fret over something that feels so routine to you.

“Kook, I’m fine,” you reassure him, flashing a small smile. “I don’t feel anything; it’s just my muscle acting up.”

He shakes his head a little, his mouth pulling into a line as he watches your movements. “It’s still strange to me. All these years, I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply softly, not meeting his eyes for a second, afraid he’d discover more of what’s hidden. 

“Don’t be. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

After a few more steps, your leg starts to loosen up, and soon enough, you’re walking normally again. By the time you reach the familiar doors of your regular pub, it’s like nothing had ever happened.

The early evening moves swiftly, conversations flowing as easily as the drinks, everyone excepting your condition by the time food is served. The moment Jungkook and you announce that you’re dating, the group bursts into cheers and clapping, Yoongi muttering a sarcastic “about time” under his breath, though you don’t miss the glances Taehyung keeps casting in your direction, his brow creased with concern. You know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to talk to him, reassure him that everything’s okay—he just wants the best for you, after all. You’ll need to convince him that keeping certain things from Jungkook is still the right choice, for now at least.

Especially when Jennie, sitting beside Taehyung, is caught in the crosshairs of your teasing. Leaning back in your chair, you smirk over the rim of your drink and ask her slyly, “So, Jennie, seeing anyone lately?”

She shoots you a withering look, muttering a quick and firm “no,” while you catch the warning in her and Taehyung’s eyes. You hold back a laugh, already planning weeks of teasing them.

The night continues with light banter, and the worries and struggle of the past few days seem to dissolve into the air like the hot steam of your food. Being here with Jungkook and the rest of your friends, there’s a warmth that wraps around you, a kind of quiet contentment that settles deep in your bones. This, you think, is what you’ve needed. Just this—the laughter, the closeness, the easy way Jungkook drops his arm around your shoulder, always finding your free hand or brushing soft kisses on your temple and hair.

A few drinks in, after you and Jungkook have both had a couple of glasses, he leans in close, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not a question, and there’s something in his eyes, something inviting that makes it impossible to say no. You smile, knowing full well you’re both about to become the subject of endless teasing from your friends, but you don’t care. You bid them goodnight, waving off their playful remarks, your mind already too focused on Jungkook’s big, callused hand wrapped around yours, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room and universe worth paying attention to.

When you step outside, the night air is refreshing, cutting through the slight buzz you’ve got going from the drinks, sobering you up until there’s nothing left but happiness. The two of you walk side by side, hands swinging between you, and there’s this lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in days. You’ve always known that Jungkook brings a certain calm to your life, a kind of peace you’ve never really had before, but tonight it feels especially strong.

He’s laughing as you mimic one of your professors, trying your best to imitate the man’s deep, grumbling voice and exaggerated gestures. Jungkook throws his head back, his laugh echoing down the quiet street, and the sound of it makes your heart feel even more lighter. His hand squeezes yours as you twirl around, your movements carefree and loose, your inhibitions melting away as you let yourself bask in this moment, in him.

You leave his hand, spin a few times around a lamppost nearby, feeling the gentle night breeze on your flushed face. You’re not drunk nor buzzed anymore, just pleasantly warm, and in the soft glow of the streetlights, everything feels almost dreamlike. You’re smiling, Jungkook is too, and for once, you’re allowing yourself to be fully in the moment, free from the shadows that usually cloud your mind.

You really want this to work, really want him to know, so you start “Will you still be with me when I’ve killed someone?” The words slip out of your mouth as you spin, a strange mix of jest and sincerity lacing your tone. You try to keep the smile on your face, but there’s an uncertainty in your eyes that betrays you.

Jungkook laughs, catching your hand mid-spin, pulling you into his chest. He holds you there, his strong arms wrapping around you, his warmth enveloping you. “We’re going to be doctors,” he states with a grin. “Of course we’re going to kill someone by accident.” He pauses, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone as he cradles your face in his hands, his voice lowering into something tender, intimate. “And when that time comes, I’ll still be right here, standing next to you.”

Jungkook’s words repeat in your mind, and part of you aches to believe him. But there’s that vile voice inside, always nagging, always spreading doubt, reminding you of what you are, what you hide beneath it all. If he knew, would he really stay? you wonder if his patience and kindness could stretch this far, past the monster you are. It’s hard to imagine, yet you can’t help but cling to the hope that he’ll love you enough someday to not walk away. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, because there’s nothing you could do that can make me leave.” And after a short pause, when his eyes drown you with their tenderness, he says the three words you didn’t expect. “I love you.” 

You’re floating, aren’t you? His eyes are so full of sincerity, it’s almost intoxicating, lifting you higher with every glance until you reach cloud nine where he awaits you. It’s too much, too good, but you let yourself get swept up in it, let the light of him fill you. The doubts are still there, of course, whispering their poison. But right now, you ignore them. You turn a blind eye to the darkness and deaf ears to the demon inside, because for once, you just want to feel this—this joy, this love—without the fear dragging you back down to the cold, hard floor.

„I love you too, Jeon Jungkook.“

And then he kisses you, a touch full of joy, soft with confidence and love. His lips meet yours, stealing your breath and offering his in return, and for now, everything fells right. You melt into his form, losing yourself as you gently suck on his plush bottom lip, and in that tender exchange, you feel whole.

When he parts, there’s a playful glint in his eyes „I think I forgot something.“

„Hm?“ you hum, still dazed from everything he is.

„Some weight for the 700.“ 

In one swift move, he sweeps you into his arms, cradling you effortlessly, and you can't help but laugh, breathless from the sudden rush. “You’re crazy,” you giggle, but the sound falters as you catch the predatory glint in his eyes. 

His gaze locks onto yours, and with each step he takes toward your dorm, your heart skips. “Oh, I am,” he murmurs, voice low. “Don’t think I forgot how you drooled over me.” 

Your laughter fades into silence, heat rising in your cheeks as wetness begins to pool between your thighs, his strength alone making your body respond instinctually.

When you finally make it back to the dorm and slip into your room, the space is drenched in darkness, save for the soft glow of light filtering in from the outside world. But you barely notice; all your attention is on Jungkook, his lips never leaving yours, hands roaming over each other’s clothed bodies with a heat that drowns out everything else. His breath is warm against your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours, and in each kiss, you taste him, feel him—everything he is, everything you crave.

His hands glide up your sides, fingers catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, and you do the same, your eyes falling on his bare torso. You always knew he was strong, but now, with the soft light catching the curve of his muscles, it’s like he’s carved from something divine—each breath making his body shift and flex with a power that steals your breath all over again. His gaze drops to your breasts, your lace bra pushing them up, but he doesn’t linger for long before kissing you again, guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of your bed. You fall together, crawling onto the mattress as if you’re made for this, made for each other.

He trails kisses down your body, his lips oblivious of the scars that litter your skin in the dim lighting, and there’s a tenderness in his touch that feels almost reverent as he carefully pulls your jeans off, mindful of the fresh wound on your thigh. His hands move over your skin as though he’s worshipping you, like you’re something fragile yet unbreakable, and it’s so unfamiliar it makes you nearly tear up.

You can’t take it anymore—you grab him by the neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to kiss you as you fumble with his belt, his trousers quickly discarded with a kick of his leg. His lips move to your neck, tiny love confessions brushing against your skin between kisses, and when he finds the sensitive spots that make you moan, his hand slips beneath your underwear, fingers sliding over your wetness, his middle finger slipping inside you with ease as his palm presses against your clit. Your moan spills into his mouth, and he responds with a deep grunt that vibrates through his chest and into you, making your head spin even more.

“You’re so drenched,” he whispers, voice rough with desire, his finger slowly pumping in and out, each word sending waves of bliss through your body.

Your hands wander down his strong body, both of you discarding the last of your clothing in no time. His cock is to die for, long and girth like you never seen before, pulsing with dark veins making it even bigger, the tip glistening with precum. The sight makes you dizzy with want, every coherent thought slipping away as you take in the sheer beauty of him, his body and mind utter perfection.

“I love you,” you breath, pushing him gently onto his back with your small hands on his firm chest, straddling his tiny middle. Your arousal drips onto him, making him moan beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you lean down to kiss his neck, sliding lower until your tongue teases his small, dark nipples. He bucks his hips into the air, the soft groan from his lips music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper as you kiss your way down his body, eyes locking onto his cock when you finally reach it. His gaze follows you, full of lust yet still brimming with undeniable love.

You wrap your tiny hand around him, biting your lip as you keep eye contact, waiting for his reaction. His hips buck involuntarily, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You take him into your mouth, the weight of him sliding over your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you work the rest of him with your hand. His moan fills the room, deep and guttural, one of his hands gripping the sheet while the other’s gripping your hair as he gasps, “Oh my god.”

And oh my god indeed. He tastes like heaven, feels like a dream as you pick up the pace, sucking harder, giving him everything he deserves until his abs tense and his thighs tremble. He stops you then, pulling you up to his mouth, kissing you deeply as your hands fumble for the nightstand. You quickly hand him a condom, watching as he bites it open, his hands shaking slightly as he rolls it on.

“Shouldn’t I prepare you more? It might hurt,” he murmurs, concern painting his face.

But you shake your head, kissing him softly. “I’m good. I won’t feel it,” you say, positioning yourself over him.

He pauses, his hands gripping your shoulders, eyes wide. “You won’t feel it?” he’s nearly squeaking full of disbelieve.

You laugh softly, realising your wording was off and correcting yourself. “No, I’ll feel it, just not the pain. Remember?”

Realisation floods his features, and he chuckles lightly embarrassed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes drift down to where your juices drip onto his pelvis. “Okay.”

With that, you slowly sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully nestled inside you. The moan that escapes both of you is loud, filling the room as the overwhelming sensation of being joined like this crashes over you, throwing both your heads back. He fits perfectly, filling you in a way that makes everything else fade away, and when you start to move, it’s like you’re floating, flying in heaven, each drop of your hips sending you higher.

Jungkook matches your rhythm, thrusting up into you with an unrelenting drive, his stamina pushing you further and further until the room seems to shimmer in all the colours of the rainbow. You watch him, mesmerised by the way his muscles flex, the sheen of sweat on his skin making him look like some otherworldly being. And then it hits you—your climax tearing through you with a long moan as your juices spill out around him, soaking everything in their path.

Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours, his pace quickening as he chases his own release, his voice hoarse as he gasps out, “I love you,” before his orgasm hits, spilling into the condom as you ride out the waves of your own high together. It takes what feels like forever to finally come down, and when you do, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding in sync. No walls between you.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕

a/n 4: The next chapter will have a time skip, so there won’t be scenes like Jungkook’s surprise b-day party. However, drabble requests and character asks are open, though it might take me some time to write them ☺️

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taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare 

[catb-fics]

Imagines and One-Shots

Back to Main Masterlist

Most of my fics are NSFW so please bear that in mind // ✨ = smut // 🌸 = fluff // 🌧️ angst

These stories are works of fiction. They are not, in any way, intended to reflect reality. The stories and characters are purely fantasies originating from the mind of the author. The versions of real-life people that appear are fictional portrayals and do not reflect the real people or their actions in any way.

Catfish and the Bottlemen

I’ll be uploading any without links as soon as I can! It’s a big job so it might take me a while. My more recently written fics are at the top and I apologise profusely for the cringe lurking at the bottom of the list (I wrote some of those 3/4 years ago - don’t judge me ha ha)

Van McCann

Breathe ✨ Van helps you to de-stress after a shitty day

Drive ✨ Van can’t keep his hands off you, even when he’s driving

White Wedding ✨Van eats you out under your wedding dress after the ceremony

White shirt blurb 🌸 Your husband’s irresistible in your favourite white shirt

Birthday headcanons 🌸

Smile for the Camera ✨ You make a sex tape with Van

Caring 🌸 Van looks after you when you have a bad period

Incredible ✨ You get distracted by Van’s hands when he’s teaching you how to play guitar

Beach Life 🌸 Part 1 Beach picnic with Van

No Nut November ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 You explore Van’s submissive side

One For The Wedding Album 🌸✨ Part 1 Taking sexy Polaroids for your husband at your wedding reception

Tease ✨ You get turned on seeing your boyfriend in his sweatpants

Mornings with Van 🌸 Headcanons and waking up with Van blurb

Happy Birthday Sir (Prof Van) ✨ You give your hot professor a birthday present under the desk

Heat ✨ Summer holiday balcony sex

Skin to Skin (Dad Van) 🌸 You feed your baby daughter for the first time

Hungry ✨ You reveal to Van that you’re not wearing any underwear at a restaurant date

Cheat (Red) ✨ Van teases you under the table during a dinner date

It’s Good to be Back 🌸 Van’s nervous before headlining Reading festival

Borrowed Time (Dad Van) ✨ You and your husband are on borrowed time to get intimate before the kids wake up

Good Touch ✨ A stressed Van comes into your salon for a massage

Kisses Headcanons 🌸

In Good Hands ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 Doctor/patient AU - your new doctor helps cure your sexual frustrations

Dad Van NSFW Alphabet ✨🌸

Daddy ✨ You get yourself off on Van’s thigh (daddy kink)

Snow Day Headcanons (Dad Van) 🌸

Possessive ✨ Rough possessive sex

Soft 🌸 Van comes home exhausted from tour

Business ✨ Sex on the tour bus

Confession (Pure) ✨ Confessing your sins leads to more in church

Daredevil (Playing Hard to Get) ✨ Van teases you on a car journey

Sweet Dreams (Ice Cold) ✨ somnophilia blurb

Affection 🌸 Headcanons and morning cuddles blurb

Truth (I’m With the Band) ✨ Van sets a challenge for himself to make you squirt

Secretive (Red Van) ✨ thigh riding blurb

Unwind ✨ Van distracts you from studying

Limit (Prof Van) ✨ Van punishes you for distracting him

Bad Girl (Prof Van) ✨ Your Professor punishes you for being a brat

Expectations (Dad Van) 🌸 Valentines Day with Van when you’re heavily pregnant

Sweet Treat ✨ Birthday cakes and whipped cream

Never Have I Ever ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Good Girl ✨ Soft dom Van

Valentine’s Surprise 🌸 Van buys you puppies as a valentines treat

Can’t Believe You’re 26 🌸 You confess you’ve never been kissed to your friend Van on your 26th birthday

Baby Love ✨ Van is insatiable when you’re trying for a baby

Pick Him Up From Heathrow (Dad Van) 🌸 Picking up your husband from the airport

Truth or Dare ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 Your friend Van confesses that he’s a virgin

Valentines Headcanons (Dad Van) 🌸 Van and the kids treat you on Valentines Day

Private Dancer ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 You give Van a private dance and get an invitation back to his hotel

NSFW Alphabet ✨

Hugs Headcanons 🌸

Adventurous ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 You can Van go shopping for sex toys to spice up your love life

Good Morning ✨ You wake Van up with a sexy surprise

Dating Van Headcanons 🌸

Halloween Headcanons (Dad Van) 🌸

Caught Red-Handed ✨ Your house-mate Van catches you ‘thinking’ about him then wants to turn your fantasy into reality

Hall Pass ✨ Part 1 / Part 2

All I Want For Christmas 🌸 Part 1 / Part 2 Van comes into your shop to buy an ugly Christmas jumper

Good Luck Charm ✨ You’re Van’s good luck charm before a show

No Touching ✨ Van reckons he can make you come without touching you

Distractions ✨ You use an unconventional method to distract Van from his FIFA game

Then There Were Three ✨ A night partying ends up in a threesome with your bf Johnny and his friend Van

Falling in Love With Your Best Friend 🌸 Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 You’re secretly in love with your best friend Van but you’re too scared to tell him your feelings

After The Show ✨ Post-gig back-stage shagging

Be Mine 🌸 Van gives you a surprise present with a proposal

Looking After Van ✨ You run a bath for Van when he’s tired after touring

Phone Sex ✨ Van misses you when he’s touring which leads to a smutty phone conversation

First Time 🌸 You lose your virginity to your bf Van

Love Bites ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 Vampire AU

Broken 🌧️ Part 1 / Part 2 Your friend Van comforts you when you come out of an abusive relationship

Jealousy 🌧️✨ Part 1 / Part 2 Van gets jealous when you get close to a male friend when he’s touring

Johnny Bond

Comfort ✨ Johnny knows just how to comfort you when you’ve had a tough day

Wet ✨ Showering with Johnny on his birthday

Burning Desire (Prof Bond) ✨ wax play blurb

NSFW Alphabet ✨

Never Have I Ever ✨ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Hall Pass ✨ Part 1 / Part 2

Birthday Treat ✨ You give Johnny a surprise treat for his birthday

Then There Were Three ✨ A night partying ends up in a threesome with your bf Johnny and his friend Van

Bob Hall

Meeting Bob 🌸 You meet your crush Bob when you interview the band at a festival

[eponastory]

I keep being all up in your inbox, but I just gotta ask you another question about Zutara. So, based on everything we know about the show and the characters, how do you think Aang would react to Zutara if it was canon? Maybe at first we would be jealous and mopey about it, but when he pieces together that Zuko is a good partner because of how much he loves, respects, and helps Katara as an equal, Aang realizes that he treated his friendship with Katara too childishly and THAT'S why Katara wasn't so happy about their kisses on the Black Sun and on Ember Island. Aang realizes that Katara doesn't want him because he was too immature and it was unfair. But Aang swallows the hard pill of reality, and uses self-reflection to grow up and be a better person. Also, what do you think about Aang being with Toph? I've read an analysis that Toph would've been a better partner for Aang because Toph is much more likely to put her foot down at Aang's foolerly, and that Toph doesn't glorify Aang with the rose-tinted lens of him being the Avatar.

This could go a few ways.

But seeing as Aang has selfish tendencies and the writers are idiots when it comes to writing romance, I'm gonna go with Aang being jealous.

Let's pretend that Aang is a real kid for this instance. He is 12. He is going through puberty and has a crush on the first girl he has ever seen (you know because the Air Nomads were sexually segregated and there is a reason for that). It's just... eww. He gives me stalker vibes and then expects Katara just to be with him because he says he loves her. Then on top of all that, her choice to have any relationship is limited to Aang because of a fortune teller. Honestly, it's a horrible thing.

Aangs world view is that everything revolves around him, yet he doesn't want to take responsibility for it. He never does either. I honestly think Katara (if she were a real person) is pressured into 'loving' Aang. The problem is, he's doing the pressuring. I've seen this brought up in countless fics I've read, and we all seem to be on the same page. If they were real people, this relationship would absolutely be on the toxic side. So, yeah, I don't think Aang would let it go if Katara left him for Zuko. He wouldn't be happy because it changes all of his 'plans' for reviving the Air Nomad culture. That's a lot to put on Katara, too.

Now since these are fictional characters, I'd put my money on Bryke causing Aang to go into the Avatar state (which has happened before in one of Aangs childish tantrums) which is not good for anyone. I hate that they characterize him this way because it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. Like calm the fuck down dude, you're supposed to be following Air Nomad culture... oh wait, you know Jack shit about it because you only learned the basics. Like ffs... the writing is all over the place with that.

But no I don't think fiction Aang would be okay with Katara and Zuko. He'd probably grin and bear it, but inside he's just one step away from Avatar state because Katara was supposed to be his forever girl.

If Aang was truly written to be wise and forgiving, (which he isnt) maybe he would let it go, but no. That's not what we got. He's... a very very flawed character.

[just-antithings]

i hate how antis are muddying the waters of conversations about representation with their fiction-reality 1:1 ratio takes.

general *you* used throughout the ask

"this is a character, they aren't real and you can play with their identity however you like. even if it contradicts with canon. even if you are changing a canon queer character's queerness to something else"

and

"how you treat canon queer characters usually reflects on how you treat real queer people. your queerphobia to fictional characters affects real people" should both exist.

there are always exceptions to the first statement of course, like the tendency to erase bi characters's bi-ness in favor of monosexuality or refusing to acknowledge a character's canon gender/sexual identity because it messes with your headcanons or otp.

but i think those exceptions blend in with the second point of how you treat the characters shows how you most likely treat real queer people. and i'm not talking about writing queerphobia into a story here. what i mean is you can't hurt a fictional trans character by misgendering them but that shows the trans people around you what to expect from you. calling fictional characters slurs won't hurt them but it will hurt real queer people seeing such behavior.

.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

would you still love me if i was a

[bavis gavis voice] happy post-white day you sick Fucks.

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, crack treated seriously, inspired by fulgur’s white day stream, maybe canon compliant?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It takes Fulgur some time to weigh the question after you repeat it again. Even so, it’s less of the sweet thoughtfulness you were hoping for and more just trying to wrap his head around it.

He’s so confused that not only does he look away from his computer screen, but he pivots his chair around entirely to face you. “…A worm.”

“Yeah.”

"Like a pest? Or a vermin."

"If you wanna call them that, sure."

“Why would you turn into a worm?”

“I dunno, maybe I’m secretly Gregor Samsa?”

“What does Kafka have to do with anything?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You spend a lot of time thinking about things that don’t matter.”

“Hey, it does too matter.”

“Kafkaism is fiction that reflects the surrealism of reality. We’re not fictional.”

“Cap.”

“What do you mean, cap, I’m a real— oh, never mind.” He pinches his nose again, and this time you must’ve gotten under his skin, because he even lifts his glasses up to rest on his head as he looks at you. “Why are you asking me about worms?”

“No context allowed! I’m suddenly a worm. Would you still love me, yes or no?”

“Why would I have to answer? You’re not turning into a worm.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Wh—“ Fulgur stares at you. “Yes, I do?! I live with you!”

You look off to the side and smirk. “Heh. You don’t even know about my double-life as a decomposer.”

“The only decomposing you do is when you lay in bed for three hours on your phone.”

“Fuu! Answer now!”

“No comment!”

“You are so unromantic!”

“You’re just now realizing this?!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

This is ironic.

Delightfully so.

Not exactly as you imagined, however. Rather than a worm, right in front of you is…

“Please don’t make this any worse than it is, Reader.”

A small seahorse, prostrated on the ground and somehow capable of breathing despite being very much above air. The gray ponytail and stubble around his snout was jarring, but there’s no mistaking the lifeline of red around his eye.

You let out the fourth-loudest laugh of your life, effectively wrecking Fulgur’s request before you even accepted it.

You cackle for some time until your side hurts and you tear up. Seahorse Fulgur levitates up to eye-level (somehow??) as you wipe your watery eyes. “Are you still mad…?”

“Mad?" You ask. "Why would I be mad?”

He hesitates. “The worm thing?”

It takes you a moment to remember the conversation you had almost exactly a week ago. You haven’t forgotten it nor how amused you were during it, but who’s to say the feeling was mutual?

Your lips press together. Did you misread the situation? “No, I wasn’t mad at all. It’s a silly question with silly answers.”

“Oh.” Fulgur sounds almost as small as his seahorse body, just the right size to cup your hands around him. Your fingers serve as a headrest. "Well, now I feel silly, too."

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was funny watching you get confused even if I didn't get an answer." You pat him on the head with a finger. "I'd still love you even if you were a seahorse, though."

Fulgur shuts his eyes. "You're making fun of me."

"A little."

"Would you let up if I answered the worm thing?"

"Maaaaybe." You pat him on the head again. "It doesn't matter now, we just need to find Legatus."

"Well, I would," Fulgur admits.

"Pardon?"

"Even if you're a worm," the seahorse says. He lays flat along your palm, yet his tail stretches out, wrapping around the edge of your thumb. Can seahorses blush?

You'd like to put that question to the test. "Full sentences, please, Fuu."

"I'd love you even if you were a worm," Fulgur says, and even with a snout and two beady eyes, you can just hear the way he presses his lips together and averts his gaze, dedicated to whenever he says it and all the courage he has to muster to be honest.

If he knew how he had you wrapped around his finger when he gets this shy he'd never let you hear the end of it, and still never be able to abuse that privilege. He's true to himself, even if it's at the expense of his pride.

So the urge to tease passes. Instead, you lift your hand up to your lips, press a kiss onto your fingers, and poke him gently on the side of his face. "Let's get you fixed up, Fuu."

"Please." His tail tightens around your thumb. "I'm afraid if we wait any longer I might give birth."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[soracities]

it's been a month since i encountered larissa pham's crush (pop song) (i think i saw it from you) and it hasn't left my mind, so i wanted to start a discussion or know your thoughts about it. i know that having a crush is something that most of us can relate to. but i've always seen statements where people say when their crushes start to like them back, they begin to lose interest. i haven't experienced it. although i think it's because i haven't been liked back (at least in the way that it's been properly communicated or something that I felt), i always experienced being treated differently whenever someone that I have a crush on became aware of my feelings (whether it's from my confession or someone who know us told them my feelings) nonetheless, i just don't get the reason behind people say they lose interest when their crushes start to reciprocate their feelings. isn't the point of a crush for them to notice you or like you back? if not, then please, can someone explain or let me understand the rationale why people lose interest when their crushes like them back? anyone, anons, pls feel free to pitch in. so sorry guys for this nonsense hahaha. thank you.

I haven't read "Crush", but in response to your question--from my own experience and understanding at least--I think a lot of our expectations around crushes depend a great deal on where exactly our feelings for them are coming from, and this isn't always straight-cut for everyone. As much as having a crush can sometimes be giddyingly freeing in a sense, as though you've finally been released from the boring confines of your own being, it can also be something deeply reflective with regards to your own life and your own emotional landscape. Crushes are interesting in that, in the early stages at least, a lot of the time it's not so much about the actual person but your idea of that person and what they represent: and unlike the actual person, what they come to symbolise for you is something that exists entirely in your own head--and when it is in your head it is, crucially, under your control. There's a really good section in Alain de Botton's Essays in Love that I actually think does a great job of explaining this:

Whatever you imagine unfolding between yourself and the person you like are at the end of the day nothing but fictional narratives that are entirely on your terms: you can play out everything you've ever wanted someone to say or do or express to you. It's a very safe and (somewhat) fulfilling form of validation with very little risk. And I think this element of distance, fantasty, and control is partly why some people find themselves no longer liking someone when this person likes them back--the illusion of control a secret or unrequited crush gives you is suddenly gone and now you have to contend with reality. And reality is unpredictable. You go from something totally risk-free to something fraught with risk at every turn. And how you contend with that risk is a good indicator of what actually might be fuelling your crushes beneath the surface, and who those crushes tend to be on. In your fantasies, you don't have to contend with jealousy, insecurites, miscommunication, petty disagreements. But in real life you do. And underneath jealousy, insecurity, disagreement and miscommunication lie a host of other issues that you have to confront and work through and that can seem, depending on how immense they are for you, daunting and terrifying because they do not allow you a way out of your own messiness and imperfection.

This is not to say that people who have crushes and respond in this way aren't aware of their own flaws--but I think the problem here is precisely that they may be too aware of them (and I include myself in this). Such hyperawareness is actually detrimental to the risks required to try and confront those issues because knowing every little detail about your flaws can make them seem insurmountably pervasive to you: you spend so much time analysing them that they actually eclipse everything else about you, so that it seems as though you are nothing but this deeply flawed and problematic being. In such a scenario the relative safety of your unspoken crush fantasy far outweighs the reality of having everything you feel you are defined by actually seen by someone else. Because you've spent so long cataloguing all your faults in microscopic detail, you assume everyone is going to subject you to the same harsh, withering glare you give yourself.

I think the difference between people who have crushes with the genuine hope and intention that they will be returned, and those who run away at the first hint of real affection comes down to that: an awareness and firm belief in the value of your own being, in what you do deserve and what you don't. Whatever the Crush™️comes to symbolise for someone, it can be just as indicative of what they like and value in a partner as it can be of what they lack and most desperately need for themselves: a crush, because of all the meaning, you've imbued them with, becomes a convenient stand-in for those needs (because it is a lot easier, as I said, than confronting them). As a result, we convince ourselves that this person is the solution when the reality is that, most of the time, the solution lies elsewhere. Sometimes it's simply down to a boredom that the giddyness of liking someone distracts you from. Sometimes it's something far deeper.

At the end of the day, a great deal of love, or any romantic affection, requires you to put yourself, at some point, into the eyes of your most beloved--you learn to understand and accept certain aspects of how they see and feel things in the world around them. Part and parcel of that, though, is that you also have to see and accept how they see you--you have to accept the love and affection they offer you, the love and affection they hold for you, as a fundamental truth to them. You have to accept being seen fully, with your virtues and your flaws, without imposing your idea of yourself on someone else who doesn't share that--in other words, not believing, as that excerpt says that there must be something wrong with them for liking "someone like me".

But if you're at a point where you cannot see that in yourself, or aren't ready to begin seeing, or even just accepting it from another, when you can only see everything that you feel is unattractive and wrong with you, you end up with your wires crossed: you assume that what they see has to be what you see or otherwise that you've just fooled them into thinking otherwise and it's a matter of time before they realise it--your own image of yourself is so certain because it's the most fixed and enduring image you have: it's familiarity makes it seem safer and that makes it harder to give up when someone arrives at your doorstop with an incomprehensible reality--that, actually, they do like you back. And actually, no, it's not a trick.

As I said, I think crushes are incredibly interesting because, the giddiness aside, the few times I've had them I've always wound up realising something about myself that had never ocurred to me until then. It's allowed me to recalibrate and reassess many things and a lot of it is painful, but it's also deeply important. Being loved and wanted romantically is something most people desire, one way or another, and when you find yourself frequently getting in your own way--despite genuinely wanting these romantic connections--there can be a variety of reasons underlying that depending on your own emotional makeup, your own personal histories, and your own fears and experiences.