#christianity is so evil so fucking evil it rots your brain
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why did i believe i can ever come out to her
#i need to move out i need to move out i need to move out#i hate this#i can't do this anymore#i hate them but i feel like i'm not a loved to bc they care about me#fuck christiany and your stupid god#i was trying so hard and i can excuse a lot but what's even the point if they never understand#christianity is so evil so fucking evil it rots your brain#she tak about leftist propaganda and cults like she didn't let one control her for years#she want me to tell her stuff promises she can support me but it's simply a lie#she can only accept me if i'm the daughter she want me to be if i bend in the ways that are comfortable#just a little more but every day is so fucking hard#i know i'm gonna suffer and that i may be alone my whole life#but i prefer to be alone and suffer in a different place than be stuck here#and maybe i don't have to be alone maybe other people can have friends that actually care about them#fuck i believed for so long she won't have problem with me being aro like it's not even a sin right???#i keep doing that i'm trying to tell them everything so they tell me what they really think and i'm not the bad person#but it doesn't matter if i'm the evil here i can accept it i was trying for so long#i know i'm difficult but maybe it can be easier for everyone if you just give up on me
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ask for bad brains: convince me specifically to watch owl house. not your normal "sell people on watching TOH" script but me. why should i watch owl house.
Hmmmmm okay, I will give this my best shot
One thing I like about it that I know you also enjoy in a series is that it feels like there are a lot of threads to pull at as a fan. Some of this is because they laid very good groundwork for certain reveals -- it's absolutely a show that feels different on a rewatch because of worldbuilding and character details that come into play later -- but some of it is also because it is an all-ages show on the Disney channel that the creator originally wanted to pitch as a darker, more horror-focused adult series, and it shows, and it's very possible to reach inside those inner working and pull something interesting out. Like, the aesthetics of the show are explicitly inspired by Hieronymus Bosch paintings (there are in fact multiple characters named after him), from what I understand the original pitch involved literal, actual Hell and had to be softened to "the Demon Realm," the primary villain is a huge dig at Christian extremism even though they can't quite say it out loud...... in some ways the fact that they had to dial down certain elements has made it extra fascinating to be a fan of, because it feels like getting handed the baton to go wild with the things the creators couldn't quite take all the way given network restrictions but are still in the DNA of the show.
--Also it is really, really funny to see them try to write a villain who is a Puritan whose motivation is a result of being a Puritan without being allowed to outright say anything too negative about Christianity.
The other thing is that one reason all that shows is because they still crammed a lot of it into the show anyways. The primary antagonist's evil plan is... genocide. There's a whole horrific subplot about one of the main characters turning out to be the latest in a line of murdered clones and at one point you see a fucked-up clone graveyard full of the skeletons of dozens of other dead clones. The main setting is the dead, mostly-rotted body of a giant god-like being that has since turned into a chain of islands. So for people interested in the darker and more mature side of the storyline, there's plenty to work with.
And all of that is a backdrop to a very solid cast of characters and character relationships, because you know, an interesting setting and premise alone does not a compelling piece of media make. It takes a little while for some of the darker and more complex elements of the plot to emerge but by the time it does you have reasons to care about it, which is of course the kind of thing that makes higher stakes really work. It's genuinely a very funny series and I think the sense of humor would gel with you, and I like that it actually explores the impact certain things would actually have on the characters -- not the least of which is that it handles its portal fantasy premise in a way that feels like a direct answer for everyone who was very dissatisfied with the Chronicles of Narnia, with a protagonist who is constantly struggling with the whole "Well, I ran off to a cool fantasy world and have developed close and loving relationships there and really grown as a person, but I do have another life I don't think I can run away from forever" question. (And I really like how they've been handling it!)
--And okay, I know that you, like me, are not one to be sold on rep and rep alone but it feels like a travesty not to at least mention that there is a (very cool, would have been one of my favorites regardless of gender) nonbinary character who is like, a real, grown adult even though a lot of the cast are teens, and it's just so refreshing to see a like, fairly major, late 40s nb character handled well and heavily involved in the main plot and the life of one of the main characters. (Although they don't show up until S2).
Obviously like any show it's not perfect, and it's especially frustrating that the plot and writing had to take some visible hits as a result of S3 getting mostly axed (turned into three double-length episodes instead of a full season; we hate to see network meddling), but I do think you'd enjoy parts of it a lot!
Also they poke fun at Harry Potter sometimes (due also being a series involving a magic school) in ways that are very satisfying, and I need more people at the intersection of the TOH and TLT fandoms to understand why me comparing the Emperors in both series is funny. ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
#lures my friends with equally Like That taste into watching toh with the promise of vast swaths of clone murder#i know what corners of the eighth dr who fandom we met in#(for real though it is a very neat show. many things to poke at)#f: us weirdos have to stick together
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Oh my god. Tumblr. This is so evil?!?! Why would you suggest me transphobic shit??? What am I doing wrong here? I don't understand. I'm being bombarded by right wing media everywhere! Ive been carefully curating my feed in all my social media and I used to never see such right wing bs. Now everywhere I'm just being "suggested posts based on your likes" and it's just conservative. Instagram is pushing me weird Christian ethics posts. YouTube shorts is showing me so much misogynistic crap. Now THIS. ON TUMBLR. What the fuck is happening.
Tw: transphobic brain rot
Also this whole women and men need separate spaces bs. Please stop it. I'm so done with this.
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black swan | three.
âą pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.
âą word count: 4.1K.
âą rating: 16+, mature.
âą genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.
âą summary: a life of skating was all youâd ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights⊠what a shame, if only youâd known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life youâd grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.
âą warning(s): please read for this chapter! heavy angst, social media bullying, mentions of drugs ( weed ), mentions of alcohol and drinking, angry jimin!
âą authorâs note(s): hello my loves! sorry for posting this so late but i really hope you enoy this chapter. i might have to delay chapter four, for a special post in order of joon n kooâs birthday! love you lots.
âą previous | series masterlist | next
âpark... youâre out, bailâs been paid.â
jimin rolls his shoulders at the call of his name, standing from his seat on the cold metal bench. he shakes out the blonde in his hair, deciding that the colour was too good and that heâd probably dye it a darker shade as soon as he was back in the safety of his penthouse. smirking, he grabs his discarded leather jacket... designer of course and slings it over his left shoulderâ poking his tongue into his cheek as the officer unlocks his cell with a deep blush.
âyou sure you donât want to join me in here one last time sweetheart?â
the officer looks down, fumbling with the keys in her hand as a blush paints her heated face. âwouldnât you get in trouble for that? another scandal wouldnât be good for your career,â she bites down on her lower lip and the cat like smile on jiminâs face only grows widerâ his forefinger and thumb touch at her chin, tilting her head up to meet his dark eyes as if heâs going to kiss her. âespecially now that the paps are outside...â
he only lets out a simple tut, staring down at her with a hooded gaze. âyou wouldnât have a career if you opened that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart.â the cop falls silent, not having the chance to reply as jimin parts ways with herâ collecting his belongings on the way out. inmates clap and cheer for him, although heâd only been in this station for a night, heâs already built up a reputation for himself around town...drunk driving, speeding, possession of drugs. park jimin was booked in for nearly all of it; but got away with it practically every time.
the sunshine from outside blinds the dancer, harsh golden rays warming his skin in the most irritating of ways. instead, he tilts his shades down over his eyes and way from the mass of bleach blonde hair that swoops messily over one side of his face. cameras are situated around the station, jimin knows that for sure, he canât see them but he can hear the clicks and flashes from paparazzi that hide in bushes around them. they all want jimin for this weekâs front cover, itâs only obvious that heâll make the headlines for the fifth week in a row but whoâs to say he cares? flashing a toothy grin as he flips the middle finger to sneaky photographers that pretend not to be seen.
âyouâre so immature, jimin,â hoseok, his manager scolds, fixing the hem of his tight and light grey christian dior suit. the man himself is only a little ways taller than jimin, hair parted and slicked down with brown tinted shades that hide the tiredness in his eyes. hoseok is not that much older than jimin, but theyâve worked together long enough for jimin to consider the elder his familyâ or more like a pestering older brother. his manager pulls him into a sleek black van parked not even three minutes from the police station, the walk taking longer as jimin stopped to wave at fans. he was a dancer, a performerâ it didnât matter where he was, he always had an audience and he always appealed to them. âget in the fucking car.â hoseok seethed through gritted teeth, opening the door for his client, who only smiled mischievously as he entered it.
slamming the door, hoseok circled the vehicle and climbed in from the passenger  side. âwhatâs got you in such a sour mood hyungie?â jimin hums lazily, leaning back into the plush, cream leather seats of his mercedes while his manager tuts in annoyanceâ gesturing for their driver (and body guard), seokjin, to head towards the dancerâs gated neighbourhood. running a hand through his blonde locks, jiminâs caramel eyes light up at the sight of his day bag of which he carries around on a daily basisâ diving in he pulls out a box containing a few of his rolled joints. grabbing one and bringing it to the flesh of his plump lips, jimin frowns darkly, at the lack of lighter in his bag. âthe fuck his my lighter?â
âi took it,â hoseok mumbles simply, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other twirling jiminâs pink lighter between his own slender digits. the younger leans forward in his seat, restricted only by his seatbelt as they make their way through the L.A trafficâ making a grab for the lighter which his manager swiftly pulls away and pockets. âyouâve been acting up again jimin, itâs not looking good for youââ
the dancer in question lurches forward once more, making seokjin swerve ever so slightly. âgive me the damn lighter hoseok.â jimin seethes through gritted teeth, the hand that launched at his manager now digging into said manâs head rest. anger flares up in the dancerâs chestâ heâs just spent the night in a fucking cell and all he wants to do is have a few puffs of his joint so that he can relax a little.
but hoseok doesnât budge, easily sinking into the comfort of his seat. âyou canât keep doing this ji,â he scolds, watching the scenery pass by through their tinted windows. âthis is the third time in the last two months that youâve gotten booked into a station for something...â the younger rolls his eyes knuckles turning white. the manager feels a temper tantrum coming on, from the way his client breathes hotly down his neck. jimin had never been good at managing his anger, no one had ever known whyâ he was a brat for no damn reason but hoseok sensed there was always more to the blonde, thatâs why he took him in. âspeeding? when you could have waited for jin to pick you up. not to mention how the company shouldnât be putting their money towards paying for your bailââ
âmoney that i bring into that fucking company? they wouldnât have it if it werenât for me.â the younger points out childishly... and to be fair, heâs not wrong. people from across the world came to see park jimin performâ if they were lucky enough. his graceful movements and talent for following the music no matter how it changed was always something that entranced his fans. jimin was their biggest source of revenue and a major asset, one of the only reasons they hadnât fired him yetâ hoseok supposed. âiâm park jimin, shit...they need me!â
hoseok sighs in defeat as their bodyguard pulls into jiminâs gated neighbourhood. the brunette turns to face his client, a worn out expression pulling at his heart shaped face. âjust think about it jimin, if you donât fix up and donât stop your bitch fits... it could be over for you.â hoseok hates to scold jimin like this but he also knows it important that he learns. he flinches when the dancer scoffs, begrudgingly pulling out the pink lighter and passing it to the latter.
the younger simply snatches the small device from his hyungâs grasp, brining his joint to his lips and lighting it as he slides from the car.
he didnât need to think about shit, he was park jimin for goodness sake.
social media was an evil place.
jimin was used to all types of comments across his socials. he knew he was meant to be in the studio for practice, but he was too deep into the internet to turn back now. so more often than not he found that he was drowned is all sorts of praises and love from his fans, complimenting him on his skills, his physic and his oh-so-beautiful face but sometimes, if he looked hard enoughâ there were those full of hatred and malice, intended break down the souls of those they were targeted at, break the soul of park jimin.
âi used to love jimin, but heâs getting caught up in all this bad stuff... we might have to unstan...â
âheâs still a great dancer, but iâm disappointed in how heâs acted recently.â
âwhy do celebs think itâs funny to get arrested? itâs fucking cringe especially since they can afford bail? lol no offence park jimin.â
each word cuts sharply at his heart, like knives, creating deep wounds. it hurts to read them, so much so that it brings stinging tears to his eyes but he doesnât let them fallâ he hadnât in a long time. moments like these lead the blonde to believe in his hyungâs words, was he a has been? was his career coming to an end? familiar insecurities rot his brain, draining what was once left of the boy who loved to dance.
he takes a sip of the bitter, honey liquid that fills his crystalline glass, eyes blurring and throat tightening at the burn the alcohol brings. a filling pain to ease the hurt in his heart. âfuck,â jimin thinks, heâs fucked and he knows it. the dancer wonders if he had been different had his brother not fucked up his life, the older park was probably off somewhere doing god knows what with who knows who and jimin canât help but let his mind wonder to what he would be doing if his brother wasnât there. if his brother hadnât caused that accident. before that day, jimin only ever dreamed of where he is nowâ practicing hard wherever he was; the canteen in high school, his bedroom, the kitchen when his mother was making his favourite dish.
god he missed those days.
slamming his glass down onto his island counter, jimin stretches his arms above his head so that his black fitted shirt rises upâ brushing his tummy briefly. the news hums from the TV in the background, as he sways with sleepiness. something about an accident, something about a skater...heâs not listening. sighing in defeat, jimin grabs the bottle of special edition brandy and takes a lengthy swig while he makes his way to his on-suite bathroom. the dancerâs nimble fingers brush through the roots of his overbearingly blonde locks, fisting them as he looks into the mirror with reddened eyes and a broken heart.
taking another sip of his liquor, jimin finishes the substance off with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest before throwing the bottle in the trash and opening his cabinet, reaching for the dark hair dye that sits on the middle shelf.
stopping his mercedes benz, jimin parks his car outside of hangsang studios, the dance company that hired the boy. his eyes that reflect black under the artificial lights of the street lamp flicker up to the company logo cast into the side of the towering buildingâ a scoff emitting from between his plump lips. the door to his car opens not a second later, aeri, jiminâs girlfriend slipping into the passengerâs side with a huff.
she throws her practice bag onto the back seat, making the dancer flinch as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel. âpractice started at five, you know that right?â aeri seethes, buckling herself in and pulling down the mirror, she fluffs her blonde hairâ colour similar to the one the dancer once possessed as she insisted on matching. âof course you donât, god sometimes i wonder why iâm even with you...â
her words do nothing to the dancer as he sits up in his seat, pressing his foot into the peddles as he sets the gears into drive. âi sometimes wonder the same thing...â jimin canât help but think, sourly. he loved aeri, he did, but she was draining to be aroundâ obsessed with the idea of being at the top, even if it meant criticising her lover at every point. heâd grown numb to her abuse by now. âiâm sorry, ri... iâll be at practice next time.â he says instead, knowing very well that speaking his thoughts will only set the girl off. the streets are clearer than they were earlier in the day, fewer cars allowing jimin to pass through lanes with ease... his eyes focus on the road, but he longs to take in the sceneryâ just for a moment. to feel like the world has stopped in place. âiâll make it up to you, babe.â
aeri scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself after she pokes jiminâs arm. he slows the car at the stop sign, watching with thin patience as the signals change from green to red, colour by colour. the girl turns to face him, lips drawn into a scowl and small hand taking a fistful of jiminâs darkened, navy locks. âdying your hair? is this what you skipped practice for? when will you take this showcase seriously jimin? fucking hell.â
the pinch in her tone irritates the life out the aforementioned dancer, so much so that his shoulders pick up while he begins to drive again. aeri wasnât always like this, there was a time, back when they were trainees where jimin would have tripped over his feet to get her to notice him, they were usually paired for dancing eventsâ closeness eventually leading them to dating. but now, she fancied the idea of being a star rather than the blue haired boy himself... the infamous new york showcase had always been her dream and jimin supposes he was only a stepping stone to that path. his name being a direct lead there, his money an added bonus. he knew that skipping practices made her mad, maybe thatâs what why he did itâ to get back at all the horrid words sheâd spouted at him in the last few years.
ââ and i swear, if you donât clean up your act, iâll leave you and find a new dance partnerââ
jimin tunes back into her words, an empty threat that heâd heard from her many times beforeâ looking into the rear view mirror he catches her humid gaze before making a turn towards her house. âi know baby, iâm sorry...iâll do better, let me make it up to you, yeah?â he mumbles absentmindedly, using words that he knew would satisfy her appetite to being him down until the next time. âiâll buy you that bag you wanted, hm? or those dance shoes you were after... will that do until iâve caught up with dance?â aeri pulls at her hair in frustration, reaching behind her for her dance bag as she kicks her feet and screams like a petulant child.
âpull over!â
jimin does as heâs told, pushing his hands through his hair as anger rises in his chestâ rattling inside his body as if asking for permission to break free. aeri waits for cars to pass before opening the door and storming out, not even giving her lover time to react. the blonde girl whips out her phone, texting someone jimin canât see before the dancerâs wound down his window.
âaeri, come on doll, letâs not fight.â he tries to reason with her, but the will to keep her close has gone from her voice as she looks up at him with a fiery gaze. her chest rises and falls with anger, causing jimin to roll his eyes and bring his head back into the car. âyouâre really gonna walk home?â
âno, my new dance partner is coming to pick me up because heâs not a lazy bum likeâ!â
jimin doesnât stay to hear the rest of her cold insult, having had just about enough of her attitude, reversing the car and heading in the direction of his home, his anger still simmering brightly.
âwell well well, if it isnât our handsome ji. look whoâs finally coming around!â
the boy in question rolls his eyes despite the little smile that plays at his lips, heâs glad to see that hoseok hyungâs mood has sweetened slightlyâ his expression matching the brightness of the L.A sun that highlights the blue of jiminâs hair, yet causes him to squint at the same time. he pulls his shades over his eyes, ignoring hoseokâs outstretched hand and going in for a quick, apologetic hug. the manager knows jimin isnât one for displays of affection, but knows him well enough to recognise an apology from the younger when he sees one.
but jiminâs warmth retreats just as fast as it came, the younger pulling away as if hoseokâs new alexander wang suit has has scorched his tan skin. jimin seems to be grumbling as he slides into the van which seokjin drives and buckles himself in. the annoyance the blue haired boy felt from last night has yet to fade, but he knows he has to keep his anger in checkâ hoseok texted him early this morning about a meeting with the board... which usually never means anything good.
the car ride is mostly silent, the slight hum of the radio in the background as jimin rests in the back seat. there were few times heâd ever met the board, the first being after his accident, when hoseok had recruited him. the second being when heâd made it big, when the CEO had told him heâd made it big just like his parents would have wanted and the third, well...that would be now. seokjin pulls up to the tl the hangsang company building, quickly helping the dancer out before heading with into the building with hoseok by their side.
walking through the company building, jimin attracts a lot of attentionâ many have said that he exudes an intimidating, strong aura but the dancer only reckons itâs because of his name...after all, his family does come with a reputation. rookies and senior dancers alike blush and bow as jimin makes his way towards the head office, his slicked back blue hair shines under the false white light and reflects off of the black shades that match his jeans, Â chelsea boots and turtle neck. Â of course, the boy knows that he looks good, fingers coming up to fix the denim jacket he wears but his stride slows when passing his usual practice roomâ gaze faltering as he spots aeri tangled with a younger dancer, a rookie who jimin recognises as choi san. the familiar emotions from yesterday crawl up his spine and mix with the blackened jealousy that blooms across his firm chestâ but jimin doesnât have time to linger on his feelings as hoseok ushers the trio into an elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. aeri looks away from the dancer just as the door closes.
âitâs not looking good for you jimin,â the CEO, explainsâ he goes by the name of mr.chan. jimin himself admits that he hasnât been listening since the moment they entered the room but he picks up the tone of disappointment in the CEOâs voice. Â shaking out his dark locks, jimin scoffs likely and rolls his shouldersâ feeling annoyance build up behind his eyes... heâs got a headache now, which is only worsened by hoseok giving him a scolding glare.
âjimin donât.â
he sits up at the second mention of his name, jimin knew not to test his manager at this time and also knew hoseok would give him the scolding of a life time if he didnât listen. tilting his gaze to the CEO, jimin finally tunes into mr.chan, even if he doesnât like what heâs saying. âyouâre our prized dancer park, a household name...but youâve had fewer performances then any other dancer this year, your recent bad reputation is...driving clientele away,â the old man lets out a wheezing cough, making jimin grimace. mr.chan was a greasy old man, with oily hair and beady eyes. he was harsh to the eyes, jimin supposed it was lucky that he was rich or mr.chan was doomed to be single for the rest of his life. ânot to mention the bail weâve been paying, youâre more of a burden than an asset at this point.â
âyouâre fuckinâ kidding me right?â jimin rises from his seat like the anger that boils and bubbles through his veins, having enough of the ugly man that rattles on before him. all he can think about his punching the CEO square in the face. âyou  fucking need me here. if im a burden to you, iâll cut my loss and join another company that wants me. they all want me. i made this place what it is and iâll tear it right back down. you need me.â the dancer seethes, pointing his finger right at the CEOâs face, mr.chan and his fellow associates swallow thickly, because after allâ jimin is right. his raw talent alone is what built this company up from what it was, and anyone would kill for the money that he brings in however he may act.
the panel of staff mr.chan has with him, are rendered silent as is the CEO himselfâ who are they to challenge park jimin? but a lowly assistant speaks up, grabbing the attention of the congregation. âbut raw talent will only last you so long...after that, what will you have? a pile of scandals?â she says meekly, as if no one would hear herâ but the scowl on park jiminâs face tells her otherwise. usually, sheâd have been fired on the spot for talking in such a mannerâ jimin might have even had a field day with making her run errands for him but mr.chan and his associates need an argument against the dancerâs case, promptly taking  the assistantâs statement and running with it.
the blue haired dancer sits back in his seat with defeat as the group of fat heads before him smile and cheer as if theyâve just discovered wine. although hoseok chooses this time to interject, sensing jiminâs temper tantrum reaching its peak once again. âbut we have a solution, donât we mr.chan?â the manager cuts through their wheezing laughter in a way that would make you think he was the boss around here. âremember what we discussed?â
the old man nods suddenly, almost in fear as he gestures to the assistant to pass a file to jimin. honeybrown eyes narrow as the girl makes her way over with a brown file full of documentsâ a sense of nervousness emitting from her. the dancer knows itâs partly because everyone is scared shitless of him and his reputation, the other part is that heâs damn well attractive up close. jimin bites down on his lower lip, looking the girl up and down before he snatches the file from her and opens it up â revelling in the way she blushes with embarrassment.
âweâve proposed that you start dance therapy with a world renowned physical therapist, min yoongi,â hoseok explains slowly, knowing that anything mr.chan says from now will surely set the dancer off. the aforementioned male grips the arms of his seat, knuckles turning white as he tries his best to suppress another outburst and listen to his manager. âheâs excellent at what he does, the best of the bestâ heâd be sure to get you back on track...â
jimin scoffs, staring daggers into the spot between mr.chanâs unbearably bushy eyebrows. if looks could kill, heâd be dead within an instant. âso you want me to join a beginners class? do i need to remind you of who the fuck i am?â
âno, youâll have private sessions,â his manger says lowly, grabbing the youngerâs attention. âwe want him to motivate you, weâre not denying that youâre a phenomenal dancer jimin, youâve just been heading in the wrong direction for a few years...â
all this new information causes a feeling of unease to reside within park jimin, the changes that are to come donât sit well with him... but with hoseokâs words from a few days ago swirling and twirling with his thoughts like a waltz, jimin can only agree to their proposition. âso, whatâs the catch?â he whispers now.
âtheyâve got another client in south korea , Â weâre thinking of bringing them over tooââ
âwell then do it!â jimin stands, raising his voice, the conversation is too tedious and all he wants it out. he needs a drink or a smoke or something other than people telling him what he was or what he isnât. running a hand through his navy locks, the dancer grabs the file and begins to head out, not caring about whatâs left to he said. but before he has a chance to storm out, hoseok slips a piece of paper into his hand and lets him go with a saddening smile.
âitâs the name of the client,â he whispers.
and so with that, jimin strides out of the office, the company buildingâ not even bothering to greet seokjin properly as he jumps back into their black van. his bodyguard promptly drives him home, knowing better than to question the silenced dancer, who unfolds the paper to reveal a name.
âLN YNâ.
âą taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )
@periminkleâ  @ggukkielandâ  @aishotsâ @ownthesunshineâ @codeinebelleâ @taeassâ @trviahope @singular-itaeâ @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings@kimsdior @chimshoe95â @cypherft-v @tangledsparklesâ -@ultraanonymousey @rjsmochiiâ â  @thenoblr @icedoutmywristtitanicâ @chiminies-noonaâ @mrsfortune1306â
#bangtanhq#heartsforbts#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#ficswithluv#bangtanarmynet#thekpopnetwork#bangtanidx#cypherwritersnet#bts#jimin x reader#jimin x you#jimin smut#jimin fluff#jimin imagine#jimin au#jimin angst#jimin fic#jimin fanfic#jimin scenario#bts x reader#bts x you#bts smut#bts fluff#bts angst#bts imagines#bts au#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction
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A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)
[Tour!verse]
TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink youâll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.
âââââââ
Lord of The Flies
Letâs get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally wonât eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?
Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasnât allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. Sheâs never read the Good Book before, so she doesnât know if that was true or not, but it doesnât sound unlikely given all the stupid rules sheâs heard about.
So, no, Joan was not religious.
Itâs strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her âlost soulâ, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isnât looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an âall powerful fatherâ was complete and utter bullshit.
Thatâs the thing- itâs like the word âatheistâ was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.
But enough of that! Thereâs a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.
Joan was going to contact Death.
As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.
You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something sheâs craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Janeâs âMum Treatmentâ since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.
Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasnât with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didnât remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldnât conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!
To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.
Now, she knew about the stories. Sheâs read The Monkeyâs Paw. She knows about the consequences of oneâs actions. Joan wasnât going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?
Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.
If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They donât call him the âLord of The Fliesâ for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, youâre probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.
Oh, what am I saying? You wonât get a second chance.
Youâll be long gone by then.
And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.
However, in Joanâs case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesnât have much to live for. Sheâs a slave to SIX- day and night sheâs working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesnât help that she isnât the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights sheâs been alone.
Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.
And thatâs exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.
Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesnât immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.
Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.
It was not her reflection staring back at her.
To be honest, Joan wasnât exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.
If Joan wasnât a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight womanâs perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it werenât for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect ladyâs man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldnât care for his demon eyes- after all, you donât need to see someoneâs peepers to suck cock!).
Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesnât help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.
âHello, Joan Meutas.â
This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!
Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.
âH-h-hello-â
âYes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,â Death laughed. He wasnât directly trying to be cruel, but Joanâs self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. âIf I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!â
Joanâs expression remained one of fright.
âWhat? Didnât you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a âboomerâ? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?â He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, ââI wish for great fortune!â âOkay Boomer.ââ Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.
Joan is still silent, but during Deathâs monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.
âReady to talk now?â He asked.
âYes.â Joan answered.
âWonderful,â Thereâs a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, âWhat is it that you desire of me?â
Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, âI desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.â
The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.
âHow fun,â The words ooze out from Deathâs pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. âShall I go over the rules?â
Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.
âVery well,â Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, âDeathâs Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, youâve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.â
Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.
She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace Godâs green earth.
âAre you ready to begin?â Death asked.
Joan took a deep death and answered, âYes.â
A wicked smile curled on Deathâs lips. The candles around Joan blaze.
âThe game is on.â
A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldnât move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldnât be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....
As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.
âWhat was the name of Catherine Parrâs true love?â
Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joanâs stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that thatâs exactly why Death asked it. Heâs trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.
She could not let that happen.
Itâs just that- she didnât know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-
It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.
âThomas Seymour.â Joan finally said.
She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.
Was that a trick question? Heâs supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldnât he think Henry is Parrâs true love? Was Henry the right answer?
âYour turn.â Death said, not reacting to Joanâs answer, which scares her even more.
âWhatâs- why did you choose to show up in that body?â
âOooh, youâre starting with a personal inquiry!â Death said, laughing, âHow fun! And I hope youâre not flattering yourself, Joan- I donât look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.â Those three words slither into Joanâs ears and made her shudder. âIsnât the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?â Death laughed again, âBut I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.â
For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan werenât also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.
âShe was a sight.â Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, âWhat was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?â
Joanâs heart just about stopped.
How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.
âThree...hundred feet?â It came out as a question, but itâs taken as an answer and Death doesnât react except for a slight twitch of his nose. âWhat...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?â
âLiszt.â Death answered smoothly. âWhat animal can see the most amount of colors?â
âA...dolphin.â Joan physically cringed at her answer. âWho wrote Liszt?â
Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?
âLa Campanella.â Death once again answered perfectly. âWhat is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?â
Wasnât that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?
âI- I donât know.â
Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didnât laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.
âWhatâs my favorite song in SIX?â
âNone of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?â
The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
âI-â She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. âThey- they werenât helping me...so I didnât think there was a point taking them if they werenât going to fix me.â
Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.
âInteresting,â He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.
âWhatâs standing behind me?â
Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.
Death smiled. âSee for yourself.â
Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.
When Death realized Joan wasnât going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.
âWill you greet the worker who just came in?â
Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.
âWhat was their name? Terrance?â Death said, âDoesnât he work in lightning?â
âThatâs not Terrance,â Joan murmured.
Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joanâs ear.
âYou donât want to know what he really is.â
Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.
Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.
âWhat do I have in my pocket right now?â
Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.
âOne black pen thatâs almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.â He said, âOh and, by the way, that isnât going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!â He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.
Joan swallowed thickly. She didnât want to check her pockets. She didnât want to know that he was right.
âWhat is the color of the sky?â
It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, âBlack.â
Death doesnât react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.
âDoes Jane care about me?â
Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didnât actually expect it to come out.
âYes.â Says Death.
For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.
Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?
âWhatâs your blood type?â Death asked.
âA...AB.â
Like Joan fucking knew that.
âWhatâs my favorite color?â
âBlue.â Death smiled, âBecause the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.â
A shiver runs down Joanâs spine. She didnât like how he knew that.
âWhatâs something that you canât eat for lunch or dinner?â
Heâs asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.
It couldnât be a food. That was too easy.
Think, Joan, think!
â...Breakfast.â
Death chuckles. Joan doesnât know what to think of that.
Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joanâs brow, dripping down her face, but sheâs too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesnât really have much to worry about.
He doesnât have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.
âDo you think every human deserves to live?â
The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joanâs stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, âWell?â
âNo.â
Joan didnât hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didnât deserve life. People like them deserved to die.
And anyone who doesnât believe that is a fucking idiot.
âDo YOU think every human deserves to live?â
Death scoffed. âOf course not.â He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. âYou know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ânoâ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. Itâs pathetic.â
Joan just nodded silently.
âNow...where were we? Oh, yes.â Death leaned in, âWhich queen suffered the most?â
Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...
âKatherine Howard.â
Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queenâs suffering.
âHonestly, I think the same!â Death said, âI mean- what is UP with the whole âone of a kind, no categoryâ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesnât make you âone of a kind.â Why would you even think of it that way?â
Joan nodded slowly.
âI agree,â She said, âUm- hereâs my next question: Is this question false?â
Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.
âTrue.â He said, smirking. âMy turn. Do you resent the queens?â
Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.
âI-â
Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didnât... She couldnât! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?
âNo.â
Death almost looks disappointed.
âWhatâs worse than death?â
âYouâre living it.â
Cold sweat drips down Joanâs face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesnât dare to look. She already knows âTerranceâ is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.
âHave you ever wanted to hurt the queens?â
Deathâs questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why heâs getting deeper?
Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.
âSometimes,â Joan breathed, âYes.â
Death smiles a wicked smile.
âHow interesting,â He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.
âDoes God exist?â
âUnfortunately.â Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. âHow would you hurt the queens?â
Joan felt her stomach ache. She didnât like that question. She didnât want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if sheâs considered it one or two times before.
âI- I havenât really given it any thought.â She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, âDoes the Bible speak the truth?â
âOf course not.â Death said. âMy next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?â
âDepends,â Joan said, âWhat would the task be?â
Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. âI donât know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Donât put me on the spot like that!â He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, âTime is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.â
Joan nods.
âStab yourself in the hand.â
That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joanâs system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldnât risk refusing and docking more points (if she isnât in the negatives already, that is).
âFine.â She forced out through her teeth.
She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.
âDonât use that inky thing,â He said. âIt wonât get the job done. Please- allow me.â
He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.
Joan couldnât choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.
âVery good,â Death cooed, clapping.
Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.
âI have a dare for you.â Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.
âI accept.â
âChange your eye color to blue.â
For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Deathâs features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.
They were still yellow and slit.
âI cannot.â He said. However, he wasnât angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. âNext...what is the flying speed of a swallow?â
Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.
âAfrican or European?â
Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.
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It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she canât get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it werenât for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldnât possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldnât).
Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.
âLetâs tally up the score, shall we?â
Joan first saw blood start to spread across Deathâs midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.
Death had twenty-three.
And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.
âCongratulations, Joan Meutas,â Death says, âYouâve won. What is it that you wish for?â
#six the musical#six the musical tour#six uk tour#six the musical fanfiction#six the musical fanfic#six fanfiction#six fanfic#six fic#six ff#tour jane seymour#jane seymour#tour joan on the keys#joan on the keys#tw: religion
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it's just blatantly homophobic and wrong to say we are pedophiles. I notice you replied to everything except all the Christian pedophiles that actually ARE a societal problem.
"these communities deserve to hurt". Aren't Christians supposed to love everyone like Jesus did? There's a logical disconnect for you. You might just genuinely be a bad person if that's how you think. Be better. Try caring about people.
Also Tumblr is very much still out for the shooters blood. I haven't seen ANYONE act like they did nothing wrong. You're just lying about that and for what????
As for defining a woman and sexes, biological sex is more complicated than you are probably aware of. Intersex people are biologically both male and female. And a woman is a social construct, no two women are the same.
You are hostile and acting like LGBT+ people aren't your friends and neighbors. You think there's more of you then there are of us? ha. Stop acting like this is some kind of war. Everyone is just people. The quicker you understand that the better off you will be. There isn't going to be a fucking war. You have American brain rot you think everything is two sides good and evil and the evil has to be defeated. the world isnt so simple. I mean this as kindly as possible, grow up
https://www.news.com.au/world/north-america/alleged-colorado-gay-club-shooter-is-nonbinary-uses-theythem-pronouns/news-story/343ecc3b12919e14a411c11e179b17fd
Leftists are blaming this on Christian Conservatives, and calling for a blood fued against them.
Tumblr is packed full of mindless npcs who were certain they knew everything without any information beyond "shooting".
And when they learn they are wrong, they purge the inconvenient truth and repeat lies, and what is worse, believe them.
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The One: Chapter 32-Epilogue
I canât believe we did this. No, that I did this. Yâall helped me through the hard times, but letâs not kid ourselves, Iâm the one suffering the most here.Â
Anyway, letâs not go out with a bang but with an overdramatic whisper, shall we?
Chapter 32
America goes to find Maxon.
Maxon was on his bed, the left side of his chest padded with gauze under his plain cotton shirt. His left arm was in a sling, and he used his right to hold up the paper some adviser was explaining to him.
He looked so normal there, dressed down, hair a mess. But at the same time, he looked like so much more than he had been before. Was he sitting a little taller? Had his face somehow become more serious?
He was so clearly the king.
I wonder if KCassâ keyboard is all sticky.
How convenient that Maxon is just so awesome that the death of his parents and his own near-death experience hasnât stopped him from suddenly shouldering all this responsibility that heâs 100% not ready for because heâs, like, what, twenty at most?Â
But whatever. TWU WUV makes you good at politics, right? Thatâs how that works?Â
Turns out his mother died by throwing herself in front of her husband. I bet KCass thinks thatâs real heroic, but I just see it as a convenient excuse to get rid of her and replace her with America. Because thatâs literally what it is.
âShe was always selfless. To her very last breath.â
âYou shouldnât be so surprised. Youâre a lot like her.â
He made a face. âIâll never be quite as good as her. Iâm going to miss her so much.â
Mm. Can you feel the pain and hurt just seeping off the pages? No? Itâs because itâs not there. Seriously KCass, what the FUCK were you thinking while writing this?
Moving on, because who cares about dead parents when thereâs more bad worldbuilding!
âAre you . . . youâre going to dissolve the castes?â I asked, looking up to Maxon.
âThatâs the plan,â he answered, smiling. âI donât want you to get too excited. This will take a long time to do, but I think it will work. You see,â he said, turning the pages of the vast file and pointing to a paragraph. âI want to start from the bottom. Iâm planning on eliminating the Eight label first. Thereâs a lot of construction we need to do; and I feel like, with a little bit of work, the Eights could be absorbed into the Sevens. After that, it gets tricky. Thereâs got to be a way to get rid of the stigmas that come along with the numbers, but thatâs my goal.â
You know what never happens in these books with these âbenevolent teen rulersâ? They never abdicate and create the basics for democracy. Humanity as a whole has mostly realized that one dude ruling everything? Generally pretty bad. But because these idiot authors can never imagine their little sweethearts anywhere else but at the very top of the world being worshipped by everyone and everyhting, they always keep their power without even A SINGLE THOUGHT that maybe hey, this is a pretty bad way to rule a country.
These characters are supposedly the greatest things since sliced bread, but the underlying implication is that theyâre not quite benevolent enough to give up the power. But being obviously ambitious is always evil in these books. So whatâs the truth here?
Pretty spooky, huh, folks?
âI want you to know that this is all your doing. Since the day you called me into the hallway and told me about being hungry, Iâve been working on this. It was one of the reasons I got so upset after you did your presentation; I had a quieter way of reaching the exact same goal. But of all the things I wanted to do for my country, this would have never crossed my mind if I hadnât known you.â
âI was only nice so I could nestle my dick in that sweet American cooter of yours.â
To be fair, the prince in my story does exactly the same thing. Except he gets called out and itâs not seen as romantic or cutesy, but whatever. Canât have the prince being anything but perfect, can we now?
âI love you,â he said simply. âI should have told you a long time ago. [...]â
You have. Like forty times at this point.Â
â[...] Maybe we could have avoided so many stupid mistakes if I had. Then again,â he added, beginning to smile, âsometimes I think it was all those obstacles that made me love you so deeply.â
The only way you couldâve avoided stupid mistakes would be if someone competent was writing you.
âIn those seconds, I was mourning everything Iâd lost. How Iâd never get to see you walk down an aisle toward me, how Iâd never get to see your face in our children, how Iâd never get to see streaks of silver in your hair. But, at the same time, I couldnât be bothered. If me dying meant you livingââhe did his one-shoulder shrug againââhow could that be anything but good?â
I wish Cass wouldâve just stuck to what she knew instead of trying to shoehorn in âedgyâ elements she clearly had no idea how to handle just to ride that dystopia bandwagon. Some bits of her romance scenes show some potential, like this one right here.Â
If sheâd just written a sappy romance, I mightâve enjoyed it. Well no, her characters would likely still be fucking asshole idiots, but I wouldnât have hated it as much because I wouldnât have been expecting more than it ever gave me.
Whatever. He asks her to marry him and sheâs all ;_; and says yes.
Again. I know itâs only the epilogue left, but Iâm still worried they might break up and get back together like five more times before the book is really over.
Epilogue
Itâs the day of the wedding and for some reason itâs all written in present tense. Is this supposed to mean something? Even if it is, itâs dumb and jarring and you donât do this at the end of the fucking book.Â
We find out that Anne is dead. So ... her entire everything was absolutely useless and went nowhere so ... What was even the point?Â
Honestly, sometimes you see âpointlessâ characters staying in a book becuse itâs obvious the author liked them too much to kill that particular darling, but in this case, we canât even say KCass cared. Mary, the maid with the least character development, aka negative character development, is the only one who stayed with America. This is like ... ever heard of recycling?
Marlee is there as Americaâs only bridesmaid. Oh yeah, remember Marlee? She exists again.
âDonât start getting nervous again!â she insists.
âIâm trying! I mean, I knew it was coming; itâs just a lot for one day.â
âHa!â she exclaims as the music shifts. âWait until tonight.â
Wait until tonight to have the sex like a good good Christian girl. Though America hasnât been worried about that sort of thing before, since sheâs tried to fuck Maxon twice already, so idk why this is even a thing.Â
KCass doesnât want no slut to get a happy ending, I spose.
Speaking of, Celesteâs corpse is probably still rotting somewhere, brains all over the floor. What ... was the point of her death? Like seriously? Why did KCass try to take back her gross slut-shamey ways only to kill Celeste off in the end anyway?Â
Apparently Aspen is the one leading her down the aisle, since her Real Daddy is dead in the ground, her Former Daddy is a natural replacement to give her away to the Daddy Overlord. Mm-mm, those outdated gender rolls taste stale and moldy like always!
Iâm shocked by how much I wish Celeste was here. I can imagine her rolling her eyes and then winking, or something like that. Making some wisecrack that was almost snotty but not quite. I really, really miss her.
And thatâs all we get, I guess. No word on how her family is handling this, no word on how people reacted to her death since she was semi-famous. But yeah, America REALLY REALLY MISSES HER. CAN YOU TELL HOW MUCH SHE MISSES HER?
ITâS REALLY REALLY.
I miss Queen Amberly, too. I can only imagine how happy she would have been today, finally getting a daughter. I feel as if marrying Maxon makes it okay for me to love her that way, like a mother. Iâm certain I always will.
And then thereâs my mom and May holding on to each other so tightly they look as if theyâre supporting each other. Around them are so many smiles. Itâs almost overwhelming how loved I feel.
Iâm so distracted by their faces that I forget how close I am to the end of the aisle. As I turn forward . . . heâs there.
And then it seems as if no one else is here at all.
DICK LOCATED, ALL UNITS INITIATE SHUTDOWN
Aspen gives me one last smile, and I reach over to kiss his cheek, saying good-bye to so many things. We share a look for a moment, and he takes my hand and puts it in Maxonâs, giving me away.
*looks at KCass for a really long time* Who hurt you?
They nod to each other, nothing but respect in their faces. I donât think I could ever understand all thatâs passed between them, but it feels peaceful in that moment.
BEFORE, MY WOMAN. YOUR NOW. FUCK WOMAN HARD.
ARGH. MY WOMAN NOW. FUCK HARD I WILL.
FILL WOMAN WITH BABY.Â
ARGH. I WILL FILL.
Iâve translated it from Sexismian, though my accent still needs some work.
But even now I know this isnât a fairy tale. I know that weâll have hard times, confusing times. I know that things wonât always happen the way we want them to and that weâll have to work to remember that we chose this. It wonât be perfect, not all the time.
This isnât happily ever after.
Itâs so much more than that.
Yeah, it is. Itâs the end of The One.
Itâs over.
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