#just pulling outlines is so god damn boring before your lines have developed a personality and its just like... a huge turn off

[felidaefatigue]

begging baby artists to realize that tracing the outline of a pose for your finished lineart makes your art look so dead and lifeless even if its accurate

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAMMON.

Admin Rosey: There is something about Mammon that draws people in - but I know that they can be a very fickle character down simply because they are so utterly unique unto themselves. I really enjoyed the application because of the way they were outlined so meticulously, providing the exact understanding of Mammon that I very much longed to see. There was a certain disdain that was interwoven into everything, from the plots to the prose to the dialogue. The apathy that seemed to be teeming on the surface of things was absolutely delicious to eat up.This application was a fun read and I simply cannot wait to see how you develop Mammon along the way! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | Decently active, at least once a week if I can get  my shit together!!! Always making the effort to stick and get replies whenever available! ( At the moment I’m pretty available but things might change in a couple of months depending on work and etc ) 

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | Rosey is a Queen and was like hey look I did something sexy and I clicked and I gasped and I agreed, she did do something sexy. And then I said wow and the rest of the team also did like magic and I was shook. And here I am now applying for the sexy. 

IN CHARACTER

Character | MAMMON 

What drew you to this character? | 

There is something so raw about a demon birthed from nothing - they are the epitome of emptiness, their existence almost synonymous to a black hole which I find extremely fascinating. They are greed, they are consumption, they devour all, eating away at others in physical tangible methods. Perhaps it is their cruelty that is ultimately a big part of what fascinates me - untangling the web of what makes them tick is yet another facet. I’d love to explore their mind and uncover the inner workings of their feral being. Their gluttonous ways and conquest to swallow those around them whole is chaos at it’s finest. The danger that glints in their eyes and the attitude that exudes from them is everything I could ever desire in a character. They’re also really hot. I mean Noma Han though. 

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

& I EAT UNTIL ALL IS CONSUMED | Mammon is a fickle creature who thrives in pandemonium. They tread a questionable line of self indulgent anarchy. Their arms are extended like the angels in mockery, writing their own fanatical laws that no one else could truly understand. Their madness thrives in their mind - their motivation always geared toward their own personal satisfaction. But what if the scale was to tip? Perhaps someone or something will catch the gleam in their darkened eyes. What if they too could live for more than the tool that was once wielded by others. Long accustomed to opulent luxury and gluttonous sin, never had they batted an eye at the politics swirling within courts. Yet for someone as hungry as they, was such mundaneness enough? What if they were to crawl past the line of humdrum satisfaction. What if they dove deeper into their instability - their appetite always growling for more. In a dog eat dog world, they had always been the one to voraciously guzzle first. Enjoying what existed was mediocrity and they were far more than that. With sharpened razor teeth, they know they can bite off more. Nothing would be too much to chew, for eating and taking was what they did best. Take and take until there was nothing left, ambition spirals to the damned heavens itself. 

HOPE? WHAT A PECULIAR CURIOSITY |  Accustomed to eons past of old tales whispered in their name, there is something tedious of Mammon’s life. While they have long been accompanied by their gourmandizing, they too seek out a spark of new excitement. Their bones creak, their jaw snaps at the thought of a new conquest - a new game. Perhaps a pursuit that is unexpected by all others - especially of demon kind. They have seen much and heard much and curiosity is like temptation itself. They too wonder of things like hope - entertaining the concept. They do not understand it as they have long been an inhabitant of the same old Hell. Yet even they tilt their head in interest. What is this so-called thing of wonder that has kept civilizations afloat? And it is this same twisted intrigue that has left their lips parted in bemusement. Will they succumb to it’s enigmatic mystery? What shall become of the creature who begins to understand? 

MONARCH OF PILFERED GOLD | A thief with a stolen crown, it is hardly an understatement to say that Mammon’s a selfish bastard. Anything that caught their eye was plucked by their greedy fingers by the right of their own claim. The excitement that coursed through their being elicits an ecstasy like no other. They will never forget the seal of death against Morningstar himself, oh how delightful it had all been. The sweet taste of bloodied victory is ever so ripe and thus this addiction to capture the same sensation thrusts them forward to chase it all over again. It was never enough for a being like Mammon who was carved from hunger itself. The pupils of their eyes dilate, looking toward shinier prizes - bigger ones that would make tidal wave changes. In their proud arrogant veneer, they mark their target in the back of their mind. Names and faces never forgotten as they seek to take one treasure after another. And perhaps the thrill of the game is only ever more exciting when the opponent viewed them as an enemy. It fuels the maniacal cackles that rip through their throat because what is theirs will be theirs. It would only take a matter of time before they conquered again and again. After all they took down the King of Hell, at this point - what else couldn’t they take? More is more. 

CHARACTER CONNECTIONS & PLOTTING  EXPLORATIONS 

GABRIEL ;  HOW SWEET IT TASTES TO INCITE YOUR WRATH | I really love the potential between Gabriel and Mammon as there’s undeniable heated tension. With him, Mammon feels the very sensation they have long been addicted to. The palpable hatred that lurks beneath Gabriel’s eyes lures Mammon closer - curious to see what would happen if they pushed further and incited an infernal fire. Undoubtedly I can see this dynamic burgeon into something both intimate and unspoken. For Mammon it is their newest game, their newest thrill ride to feel something and be seen. They will not deny themselves of the attention and want to bear witness to Gabriel’s promise of their destruction. ( I’m also here to see the angst ) 

“Destroy me if you can, desire me if you can’t” - Mammon 

ROMILDA ;  FOR THIS ONE’S DEMISE SHALL BE DELICIOUS  | Mammon and Romilda appear to be playing some game of cat and mouse which offers for some spicy ideas. For Mammon, they remain closeby like a voyeur peering into the windows of another’s life - perhaps others would perceive it as a God complex. But it is not stemmed out of arrogance or superiority, rather just another form of amusement for a creature as bored as them. They follow at her feet to watch what will happen because she is interesting and they’re nosy and want to know more. Perhaps Romilda will get sick of it? Who knows! ( I could see them being lowkey kind of obnoxious to Romilda. ) 

“Tell me a story and I’ll give you a show.” - Mammon 

REVNA ;  COME CLOSER INTO THE DARKNESS O FRAGILE ONE | To Mammon, Revna is like the perfect three course meal - so deliciously melancholic and on the verge of hopelessness. They keep her around close to keep her entrenched in her misery. It is also like the finale of a play, they await to see what will snap and send her spiraling - an event that will certainly incite their wicked glee. But Mammon believes themself to be merciful, kind even - giving her a choice to do as she pleases. They just merely amplify what she already believes. And I can’t wait to play that out - this is pretty much a parasitic relationship except Revna gets nothing out of it really. ( They’re the world's shittiest therapist tbh ) 

“The closer to the edge you are, the grander and greater the fall.” - Mammon 

GADRIEL ;  KNEEL BEFORE MY FEET AND BEG FOR MERCY | Mammon has never forgotten the events that had unfolded, a sickly sensation that sticks to the guts of their stomach. It is both a disgrace and a dishonor to have ever allowed such a thing to have occurred. They are not one to bury the hatchet - rather they hold onto it with a grip. I would like to see Mammon and Gadriel perhaps duel once again, mayhaps to the death? If anything this too can make for some good drama. Maybe Mammon will make a friend - or just die, anythings possible! ( They’re in denial that they’re kinda pressed and acting like it’s no big deal but you know deep down it's a big deal ) 

“An outcome must be decided; to the victor go the spoils.” - Mammon

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! But I would also think it’s funny if people keep trying to kill them and they just come back like, bitch you thought. Just imagine the meme potential. 

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

AND IT BEGINS ( THE ORIGINS OF IDENTITY ) 

Largely much of Mammon’s natural instincts seems to center around the concept of “hollowness” or “emptiness” and in turn, it would be likely that they would like to share this void sensation of others, a cruel goal but for them - it is merely how they live. Perhaps another reason to pull others into their sphere of vacancy is the twisted amusement of watching others suffer. They are wicked and have never denied it so, and to share in such pain only feeds into their own warped sense of pleasure and indulgence. However even so, their identity remains a translucent nonlinear jumble of messes, one that they do not wholly understand and seek to untangle. Simply put, they are beyond unusual, strange even and given their long years of existence, have become bored of routine.

THE CHANGE ( A NEW GAME ) 

 And upon a frivolous whim, maybe they shall change it - or not, for they are as volatile as a child. But should change come, perhaps this will force them to act differently from the habits they have long been accustomed to. However, perhaps there is potential within their sinful avaricious vice to fall even deeper into the pitfall of hell. They have always been greedy in their collection of treasures. And surely objects have immense value but what if Mammon were to take it a step further? Breaking past the limits of inanimate items, their eyes may be set on an ever steeper goal. Their nurtured sadism bears fruit to cruel intentions; maybe it's time to take from the essence of humanity itself. It is people they wish to take from now; their hearts, their minds and even their souls. 

DANCING TO THE FINALE ( BOPPING TO NIGHTMARES ) 

They want to carve out the creature that breathes their sweet drink of life. Through veiled grins and snide chuckles, they seek to pull the strings of those they deem of inconsequential value. Upon invisible puppet strings, Mammon will play until they tire once more. For it is all just a game to someone who’s never truly ever had a reason to care. ( Born in the void, they become just as senseless the place they call home - it is a cold cavity that is all they have known. ) They live in their own world of selfishness and conceit, the world just a playground for devils to play. So they shall dance in the dark, picking one human target to another, rejoicing in the cries of anguish. And when the song shall end and the old rickety monster becomes exhausted, they will crack their wrists. It is then they will break the fools until there is nothing left. Again and again the routine shall be repeated. Because Mammon hardly understood life in itself; only ever the depths of shadows and death. 

Every word of hope and moral goodness consumed until by the black tar tongued of hell’s devil; and that is when the being is slaughtered, becoming just a husk of what they once were.  

ABRIDGED : Ok so like to sum up, Mammon’s just a big asshole and just wants to screw up other people because they’re mainly 1. Bored and 2. Why the hell not it’ll be funny. 3. Collecting trash is their hobby. They’re so self absorbed in themselves that I feel like in order for Mammon to be pushed toward some outside motivation would require them to either 1. Get friends or 2. To give a fuck about someone else ( to care - WOW ) But as of the moment any sort of motivation or goal just stems from their own wants or needs which rules above all else. They don’t want much in life at the moment besides hoarding, stealing, taking new shit and playing fake God if they can. Or just be that third person ominous narrator that’s super unhelpful but is there to give unnecessary input. Demons gotta do something to pass the time, right? 

Character Traits | 

Positive Traits 

Observant ; They have long had sharp pointed eyes - ones that watched the slightest ticks upon a visage, the subtlest movements of one’s gestures, the rhythm of footsteps of others. Mammon is a particular being who has long been watchful with a gaze that is both frightening as it is dangerous. But it is through their observations that fan the flames of mania. They play their games regardless of their opponent, their whims self serving first. 

Strategic ; A good player must learn the ins and outs of any game and it is one of the first things that Mammon has long gravitated towards. They pick their wars keenly, sometimes even merely satisfied with the knowledge that things shall work as they had planned. Execution is what they have done best and it takes more than sheer luck and power to finesses such precision. 

Clever ; Far from a moron, Mammon has always prided themselves in their intellect. However, exercising such wit often was a choice rather than a given. For the gluttonous demon celebrated their flaws far more than any of their redemptions. Only in dire circumstances would they ever apply themselves with the extra effort of thinking. Perhaps when a worthy enough challenge came along its merry way, they would finally exert their mind once more. 

Negative Traits 

Rapacity ; Mammon has always had a large appetite for intemperance. Both physical and metaphorical, they celebrate in the excess. The more they devour, the more satisfied they become. To them, boundaries are just suggestions. Their overwhelming need to take everything from everyone fuels them to function. Nothing could ever be enough. More was always better, and they live by these words on a daily basis. 

Sadistic ; They enjoy the thrill of crawling under the skin of both friends and foes. It is amusing to watch souls tortured and in pain, the sound of shrieks and cries are like trumpets to their ears. They rejoice in the reactions, cackle in the face of desperate pleas - they have long been accustomed to cruelty. Perhaps it is the infliction of pain that they themselves can understand human emotions; something so strange and foreign. For they themselves have long lived null and empty. 

Manipulative ; Silver tongued and clawed finger tips, Mammon is shrewd in their approach and sly in their tactics. They enjoy digging beneath the surface of what is seen and plucking out the weakest part of a flawed creation. Behind a face that may mask friendliness lies a sinister creature full of mischief and mayhem. They speak with lies, wearing deceit as their second nature. The craze they exude glints beneath the murky tar colored eyes. 

In-Character Para Sample  | 

EXCERPT 01: LUCIFERS FINALE. 

WHEN SINNERS FALL, DEMONS SHALL RISE

T R I G G E R - W A R N I N G : Implications of Violence, Death / Murder  

Morningstar, the king of Hell, how arrogantly he sits upon the throne of bones and emptied carcasses. His face is marred with arrogance; of kingly conceit that is forged from his own inflamed hubris. How pompous Lucifer appears - but perhaps it is the lens that Mammon perceives that weaves the tale which whispers of their questionable truth. 

But rewind -- it begins from the beginning. The one object that sat like an artificial halo atop Lucifer’s head; oh glory to the shiniest trophy of them all. It was all they ever wanted, clenched fists with fingers dug deep into their palms. Such a beautiful crown wasted on the being they thought most undeserving. 

Mammon had arrived late, birthed in the pits only then. They were nothing but a speck in the universe. Thus they knew, to be worthy of such a precious coronet, they needed to become something. Someone. Their worth must be equal to the item they wished to pursue - or so they once believed. 

And so the fateful day came and Mammon strolled within the gates. Head held high, arms swung side to side as their eyes followed the audience. From one head to another - oh the looks of dissatisfaction restrained at the edges of the crowd’s ugly visages. Mammon sensed it, felt the dissent looming through the room - like fog itself, murmurs could be heard throughout. But all of them were cowards, their heads still bowed lowly before the demon king himself. 

They greet the false King, a cockiness in their stride as they stand with informality, a grin crawling up their knife like features. There is a nonchalance in their posture, an indifference that seemed to agitate his royal hellness. 

“I have returned,” the voice thickened and dark. 

Mammon sees the rage, understands the ticking bomb that lies behind the devil’s veneer. But they did what they did best - they poked and prodded. 

“The world is a pleasurable place beyond the frigid walls of this palace. It seems that you have been forgotten, your name abandoned, forsaken,” Mammon sighs - their pupils never moving an inch away from the Morningstar’s head. 

“I suppose your ‘greatness’ is nothing compared to the man residing upstairs,” they mocked. 

Lucifer is silent but his cool rage could be felt. The stillness that fell could stop time itself. It was then he stood, fingers gripped at the arms of his wretched throne. His voice is a hiss, fueled with laughable jealousy. Words that only Satan himself could ever conjure slithered between the flaps of whatever made his mouth. 

But Mammon remained themself. Unflinching as they awaited - beckoned the fury to light brighter and brighter. They took a step, accepting a dare with the fates. And it was then that they had crossed the line, the servants of Morningstar thrusting them upon their knees. 

They had trekked into uncharted territory - detonating the wrath of the top Devil. A small smile appeared on their face. It was all a joke. But the glee that curdled through their rickety bones brought forth the satisfaction they had gambled for. How sweet was the taste of Lucifer’s anger and jealousy - they could eat up more -for it was aromatically delicious. 

The pits of Tartarus were nothing for a creature like them. They would claw their way out as they had done once before. How amusing it all was, they had stepped on the toes of a ‘supposed king’ who’s envy entrapped him. It was confirmed in that moment that Mammon who had wandered the planes with a trail ablazing, they had become something more. They left once but they’d swore they’d come back for more.

A KING NO MORE 

And so they returned. Indifference worn upon the husk humans called a face. Their decision never came from a place of justice or hatred. No, it was the one fixation that they had long desired. And the only way for them to ever get such a prized possession was to chop it from the head of the wearer. 

It was a merry day for a remorseless killer. 

They spun to the tune that played in their head - the haunting whistle that made their feet tap to a jig. It was the mighty king of hell’s turn to have a taste of damnation. Perhaps somewhere the Angels would have sung for Mammon's praise. But whether the pasty holier than thou freaks did or didn’t, they didn’t give a fuck. 

Mammon wanted what they wanted. Blade in the grasp tightly, exposing the whites of their knuckles. Today was the day to claim their very first love. ( Love? Obsesion? No, it was just another whim, another aimless desire. ) 

Swiftly they cut, quickly they shredded. It wasn’t long before the Morningstar was beheaded. 

In the bloody mess of whatever made the black hearted creature, Mamon ripped the crown from his head. Their fingertips stained with the colors of death, they place the object upon their own head. In the reflection of the glassy floor - they bear a smile, teeth exposed to show their mephistophelian smile. 

And yet the feeling is fleeting - as it always was. They had come and conquered but it was never really enough. The agenda was completed and their excitement gone. They looked at themselves once more, the grin fading. Their fingers gripped the item and threw it on the dirtied ground. 

A sigh of exasperation exited their lips, their back turned as they walked away. Onlookers bowed before them but they did not care. They had their fun and as routine, it was time for Mammon to find a new toy to play with. But before they vanished from sight as they were long accustomed to, they glanced back once more. An itch to feel the euphoric sensations that rattled their ribcage and howled beneath their flesh. 

Alas. 

It was just another fucking crown.

____________________________________________________________________________________

EXCERPT 02: THE UNKNOWN. 

IN MY PRESENCE, ANGELS SCREAM

It was him that they found a fascination like no other, an unsettling sensation that felt akin to perhaps what the humans may call alive. Mammon lurks within the shadows - not to close, just enough to see them. Enough to feel something within that jostled, reminiscent of a beastly heart. 

“I know you’re there.” He blinds like the sun. 

Mammon says nothing. 

It is then that Gabriel makes his approach. Oh glory to a walking God. Each step ringing like the bells of divine retribution. But Mammon does not waver, nor do they run. They welcome it, their lips curling at the corners. 

“I am here oh sweet fair haired angel,” their words spiteful. “Vanquish me if you truly dare.” It is then that they too walk into the light. They should have burned. But darkness consumes all, absorbs all and takes all. 

Gabriel does not speak. But his gaze does not fall. 

LOVE AND HATRED ARE SAME SIDES OF PASSION

It is Mammon's turn to take the stage and so they do. They walk closer, enough to taunt the other. They delighted in the seething temper that boiled beneath. His hatred was like no other; he bears witness to Mammon’s full depravity. It is Gabriel who seems to understand the monstrosity of what they are. And it is in this fragile perverted supposed understanding that pulls Mammon closer. 

“You have cultivated your sainthood, your goodness,” Mammon remarks. “But isn’t that your purpose? The will of accursed God all too shitty. But you see Gabriel - I am like you too. It is just merely a difference in … design,” words hissed with pitch black mirth. 

Their finger is pointed at them. 

“For you, they strove for righteousness.” 

“They gave you light. Nurtured you with warmth.”

“Your existence was a predestined fortune.” 

There is ridicule dripping from their words. No bitterness, no care - just vacant rambles and little thought - a pretend of emotion conducted for theatrics. They raise their arms to the sky, their middle fingers pointed. 

“But I was made as an omen, an example of all things terrible.”

Their arms dropped as their focus returned to one of God’s original favorites.

“They made me hungry.”

“They made me wretched.”

“For all the love and praise you fucking angels sing, how imperious for your kind to judge.” 

Mammon closes the distance, their mouth upturned like a risen half moon. 

“Doesn’t it pain you to know that our fallen creator had us all cut from the same cloth? Despise me should you wish but do not deny that even you, pure and good, harbor something as foul as hatred.” They laugh - cacophonic delirious cackles of a madman facing death. 

Mammon stops - in the quietness their head tilts, a sneer pulling at their lip. 

“Kill me if you choose but it’ll make you no better than the Devil.”  

____________________________________________________________________________________

Extras | 

HEAD CANNONS 

WINGS : I’ve always imagined that Mammon would have wiry or metal looking wings? Like it would be sharp and mimic spare parts or just trash, almost as if they had made their wings by hand. I’m specifically picturing the creepy hand from the “Other Mother” in Coraline but imagine the material as wings ( reference here ) 

FOODIE : I think it would be funny that they’re somewhat of a fancy connoisseur of food. Well food and perhaps anything else that they can put in their mouth. I feel like their standards of what can be eaten really is at a low bar. They would be down to just chew on some dirt and be like “wow the flavor in this silt soil can not be compared to clay.” Seems like the type of thing Mammon would be into. Probably would overshare and even attempt to encourage others to try whatever the hell they’ve decided to swallow that day. 

TRENDSETTER : Given that Mammon likes to take a lot of shit and probably has the attention span of a child, I don’t think they’d be wearing the same outfit on repeat ever. I also feel like they’d be the type to put on a plastic bag and then call it high fashion and maybe people would believe them? Or not - I mean the choice is simple, nod or choose death I suppose. I also see them being a big fan of sunglasses just to be dramatic when they toss it off to really emphasize how crazy and fucking wild they truly are. Also I could see them just being dramatic for no good reason with a little bit of a flair for theatrics. 

WEAPON: Perhaps Mammon’s weapon of choice would be akin to something that looks like a Scythe? Or maybe they’re the type that would keep a handful of sharp blades on them, I could definitely imagine them playing with a butterfly knife and doing tricks with it since they’ve had hours upon hours to learn and fuck around. I could also see them picking up other people’s weapons and going like “well that's nice, going to add it to my collection. This one would be great for some good old stabbing.” 

MUSIC : Despite being kind of a silent type, Mammon secretly is the type to be into a lot of music??? Especially when they’re doing some dirty business or like kicking someone for being a buckethead, I could imagine them jamming to some sweet tunes while doing the ass kicking. Maybe they’ll whistle too. Here’s a scene from American Psycho whis is the inspiration I got behind this ( reference here // trigger warning: murder + violence + blood ) 

OTHERS

PINTEREST |  MOCKBLOG 

ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading through my application! Just wanted to say that you guys did such a great job with the roleplay. Whether I’m accepted or not, I had a lot of fun writing this & exploring the character so thank you! ♥

[johobi]

When You Least Expect It | 05

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung 

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: tiny bit of angst

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: Okay, this is the second part I extracted from that mammoth chapter. It’s a little shorter than normal as a result, but I hope you enjoy it.

Next: 06 || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

The first date was supposed to be the most nerve-wracking one, right? And that’s why you couldn’t understand why choosing something to wear was even more of an insurmountable task than the last time. How even though your apartment was now meticulous, it still seemed unfit for Jungkook to see, and that was despite the fact you were still not planning on inviting him in. Oh, no, just because you didn’t put out on the first date, that didn’t mean you were reserving it for the second one in some half-assed attempt at sticking by these new values you had adopted.

So why had you, yet again, gone to town on grooming and dressing parts of yourself that he wouldn’t be seeing tonight? Surely you should have been going au naturel to guarantee that you wouldn’t dare let him in the vicinity of these areas?

Because.

He was disarmingly handsome, cute, and growing on you at an unnerving rate. Without being in the same room, even! It was mind-boggling. Perhaps the sheer fruitlessness of your love for Taehyung was beginning to dawn on you. Perhaps your outpouring to Hoseok had been a turning point.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps you were fooling yourself into thinking that you enjoyed Jungkook’s attentions.

Time would tell.

And time was approaching fast. He was due to pick you up in another five minutes, and you couldn’t find your fucking keys! Typical.

Buzzzzzzzzz.

Fuck. He was early. Good job you had pressured your lazy ass into cleaning up.

Sounding, you were sure, akin to an elephant charging across the savannah, you stomped down the stairs to your front door and flung it open, the two of you presenting each other with similarly toothy grins. His, however, won, because you were sure you were beginning to develop some kind of freakish fetish for his rabbit-like gnashers. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Jungkook brimmed so intensely with enthusiasm, you could almost see him vibrating. Jesus. It was still novel to you that someone was so sincerely excited to spend time in your company. As with anything that seemed too good to be true, your paranoia set in to fret over whether this was another – certainly more malicious – of Taehyung’s pranks. But for the next thing Jungkook uttered, you honestly didn’t give a shit. You would take it, even if it was fantastical. “Wow,” he breathed, casting a long, appreciative glance over your figure. “You look incredible.”

You blinked down at what you considered to be a rather hum-drum outfit – some black skinny jeans and a tank-top – and wasn’t sure just what he was seeing. You hadn’t even put on your fancy sweater yet. Yes, you were just that organised. “Thanks,” you exhaled a mild snort. “I don’t know about that, though. I’m not even ready – sorry to be a pain. You were considerate enough to show up a little early and here I am, frantically searching for my damn keys. Would you like to come in for a minute while I look for them?”

Jungkook’s upper lip thinned as his smile grew. Everything that came out of your mouth seemed to be music to his ears, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. His eagerness was almost abnormal. Or perhaps your sense of self-worth was just that skewed? “Sure.”

“Perspective, ____,” you heard Hoseok’s parting words echo in your mind. “Don’t always trust what your mind tells you. At the moment, it’s on the wrong side.”

You opened the door wider and turned to run back up the stairs – realising halfway up that it was probably impolite to clamber around your apartment like a chimpanzee in company. Awkwardly, you slowed down and looked over your shoulder to apologise, but stopped when you noticed that Jungkook’s eyes had been glued to the tight outline of your ass and his face was only inches from colliding with it when you stopped. Immediately you roared with laughter and his gaze flew to your face, his expression some hilarious amalgamation of guilt, mischief and chagrin. He hung his head low, like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry, you’re just—right in front of me, and those pants look really good on you—“ he spluttered, but you only laughed harder.

“It’s fine. I probably should have given you some notice before you nearly face-planted my butt, too,” you snickered as you ascended the stairs.

When you reached the landing, you led him into the living room, the place you were certain you’d misplaced your keys. While you frantically upturned sofa cushions and rifled through the magazines on your coffee table, Jungkook took the chance to absorb his surroundings. And, by extension, probably glean something about your personality, you surmised.

It was appropriately lacking.

“You have a really nice place,” he commented kindly, and you scoffed.

“It’s boring, and doesn’t have many personal touches,” you muttered distractedly, hands on hips and completely flummoxed. “I haven’t really had the time to do much with it, even though I’d like to.”

“I like DIY if you ever need a helping hand,” he offered, and that tore you from your quest for keys for a moment. You tilted your head in disbelief at just how genuinely nice this kid was.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smile appreciatively, then, remembering why you were still standing around in your apartment and not on the way to the movie you were bound to be late for, you growled in frustration. “Where did I put those fuckers? Hold on a sec, let me check the kitchen.”

Jungkook nodded and plopped himself down on your couch, and you found yourself mildly thankful that he didn’t ask permission to do so. You wanted to see him relax, to take some initiative, and maybe – this suggestion being entirely influenced by your unbidden libido – for him to take some control.

“Thank Christ,” you muttered under your breath when you found the offending item on your kitchen counter, right where you’d sworn to retrieve it from. Because you’d baked Jungkook some cupcakes, too, and you knew you’d forget them. Instead, you’d forgotten both your keys and the fucking baked goods.

When you returned to the living room, you saw him examining your various framed photographs. You approached where he stood and smiled at him when he looked up, his finger outstretched and pointing to one in particular: Your high school graduation. Your parents had, of course, been absent, far too busy for such a “glorified, pointless event. The piece of paper is what matters, darling.” But Hoseok and Yoongi had lined your sides as exemplary stand-ins, and in all honesty, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You had graduated together as classmates, peers and family that day. “Are these your parents?” Jungkook joked.

“Yeah,” you played along. “My two gay dads. They adopted very young. We’re very close.”

“My collection of photos looks scarily similar to yours,” Jungkook smiled dolefully. “A little more aesthetically pleasing, perhaps, thanks to my eye for composition,” he ribbed in passing, and you shook your head incredulously, “but just as devoid of family. I’m glad you’re displaying who and what actually makes you happy.”

Ah, yes, Jungkook had vaguely mentioned his own familial troubles. “That’s right. There’s more to life than pining after a parents’ overvalued love,” you commented rather cynically, but Jungkook was nodding his agreement. “I couldn’t have wished for a better substitute family than these two. I’m theirs, too, really. It’s one disjointed, but loving, family. You’re more than welcome to join,” you teased, and Jungkook shuddered exaggeratedly.

The side of his mouth arced into a suggestive smirk. “I’m not into incest, but thank you for the offer.”

You raised your eyebrows at his boldness. This was a first for him, in person. “Oh?” you let your one-syllable response hang in insinuation. And if he were about to respond, in kind, with a decidedly more salacious reply, he didn’t have the chance before you were shoving the box of cupcakes at his chest. You know, in that half shy, half ‘just take it!’ way that textbook Tsunderes do. You fitted rather easily into that god-awful stereotype. “I baked these for you,” you stated lamely, your face flushing for some unreachable reason.

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he opened the box and saw what lay within. “You made these for me?”

“I did just say that,” you brushed your efforts off with a nonchalant flap of your hand.

“Wow, ____,” he mumbled, gazing into the carton of treats with all the wonder of Pandora and her box.  Hopefully, no such ills would befall him for consuming it. Possibly food poisoning, but that hadn’t happened in a while and— “Thank you, I’ll probably eat them all in one sitting when I get home.”

“If you do, then I’ve done it right,” you chuckled, then clamped your hands onto his shoulders and steered him toward the way he’d come in. “I’ve got my keys, let’s go.”

The car journey was subdued in conversation, but fizzed like nothing else with delicious tension. No particular moment had sparked it; rather a sequence of minor, missable happenings. A brush of hands, a waft of cologne, the way he had reached over to pull your seatbelt over your lap when you found yourself struggling. Jungkook locked eyes with you when it clicked into place and fuck if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him so badly right then, completely ruin whatever semblance of innocence he still had clinging to him.

Your curiosity having gotten the better of you, you finally broke the spell of charged silence by questioning him gently about his past dating life. “So,” you started awkwardly, picking at the threads that had begun to unravel on the sleeves of your sweater. “When did you last go on a date? I told you it’d been a while for me, so it’s only fair that you ‘fess up too.��

Jungkook chuckled, glancing at you quickly before returning his eyes to the road. He was, of course, one of those infuriatingly hot guys that drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearstick, oozing a confidence for driving that you were envious you didn’t possess. Oh, no, you were definitely as nervous a driver as you were a navigator of life. “I went on a few when I first moved here, a couple of months ago,” he admitted, and that uplifted you a little, to know that he had some experience under his belt. You wouldn’t want anyone’s first time to be spent with the unworthy likes of you. “But it didn’t work out, really. I haven’t been interested in anyone for a while.”

You couldn’t resist the urge to play coy. “And that changed?”

Without taking his eyes off the view ahead, his profile flashed with a contented grin. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Right. My parents have always had a very narrow view of who I should be with,” he sighed, his buoyancy vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Oh,” you puffed out, caught off-guard. “Is that why you moved away?”

It seemed like Jungkook hadn’t meant to steer the conversation in this direction. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. “Yeah. It was a rather twisted, complicated situation,” he was being purposefully vague and you didn’t want to see your night ruined by bringing up bad memories.

So, without thinking, you reached out to turn on the car radio and jumped so high in your seat you nearly banged your head on the ceiling. Fucking hell, he liked his music loud. “Jesus, Jungkook!” you swore, turning the dial to an acceptable level. He cackled brazenly and you swatted his arm in response, the thick leather of his jacket serving to protect him well. Yes, he was wearing a leather jacket, something he hadn’t deigned to bless your eyes with until you’d reached the car he was taking you in. When he’d swung the garment over his shoulders, it was almost as though it had played in slow-motion before your eyes. Every guy you’d ever had a crush on growing up had had a leather jacket. And, somehow, he pulled it off better than any of them.

To your delight, the radio was tuned to one of your favourite stations. “You weren’t just talking shit when you said the 80s were your favourite,” you mused, impressed.

“Of course not,” he gasped in mock injury. “It’s the best era.”

“You’re too young to remember it,” you teased, pinching your tongue between your teeth in preparation for a scathing rebuke.

He raised a sole eyebrow. “Do you want me to call you noona, is that it? Is that why you keep reminding me?”

You hadn’t been expecting that. You flushed and turned away, well and truly put in your place. It didn’t help that Taehyung’s overuse of the word had kindled in you something dangerously akin to a kink. “No,” you muttered flippantly.

But he wasn’t fooled. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh,” he dragged the offensive breath of air out, recognition sparking in his eyes. “You do want that?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No!”

“You do!”

“I don’t! I hate that word,” you hissed, the defensiveness of your posture – crossed arms, avoidant of eye contact – said more than enough.

“Noona,” he purred, and nothing could have had you whipping your head around quicker than that. He sounded fucking sinful and an all-too unwelcome throb nestled itself adamantly between your legs. Jungkook looked elated by this newfound power. “Holy shit, I’m definitely using that from now on.”

“Only if I get to call you my Little Sugar Kookie, then,” you shrugged, lips pursed and defiant.

An embarrassed groan met your ears. “Oh God, I don’t think I’ve heard anything worse.”

“Well then,” you sniffed, a smirk creeping back into your expression. “Don’t try me.”

You arrived soon after that exchange, your charged banter invigorating your spirits and expectations for the evening. He insisted, of course – and despite the roll of your eyes – that he open the door for you. Such blatant chivalry deserved a reward, you reasoned, so as you walked past him you casually yanked up the drooping waistband of your jeans, giving him an eyeful your best asset. There was no need to look back, of course, to judge his reaction, because you heard it well enough – some choked vocalisation that he tried hard to cover with a cough. However, you weren’t to be fooled – you didn’t have a lot you were particularly proud of, and sure your self-esteem was buried 6 feet underground somewhere. But the many men you’d gotten through had all agreed on one thing: that your ass had been the first – and last, when you inevitably walked away from their bullshit – thing they’d noticed about you, and for ample reason.

“I’ll get the tickets,” he jogged in front of you, his hands stuffed in his pockets and hugging his jacket to himself. Was he ever going to let you pay for anything?

“Let me at least get the snacks, then,” you offered, but he shook his head at you from the ticket office window. “It’s expensive,” you went on, acutely aware of how low-paying both of your jobs were. The least you could do was split the cost. He had, afterall, paid for dinner too.

When he came away with the tickets, he was still shaking his head. “Nope. You’re not paying for anything,” he insisted, pointing to the tempting display of diabetes-inducing treats. “What would you like?”

Everything he said and did was so mindful, so courteous that you couldn’t help but just stare at him sometimes. Like, was he real? And if he was, was he for real? Was he like this with everyone else? You still had so much to learn about him, and he did nothing but make it a pleasure to do so. “I’ll just have some salted popcorn,” you mumbled after a while of dithering. “I’m not really hungry.”

“I took you for a sweet kind of girl,” he laughed at his own joke, and you were immediately ready to take him down again.

“Nah, I like it salty,” you shrugged, but couldn’t maintain a straight face with the way that his eyes bugged out of his head. “Okay, you are far too easy to shock.”

Jungkook turned away and huffed, scrambling to repair his dented pride. “I just—I see your angelic face, and I don’t expect to hear such lewd things come out of your mouth,” he gushed, the cheese heavy and fully intended. He smirked in satisfaction when your hand planted your face in embarrassment.

“I actually have no comeback to that,” you relented. When you peeped at him through your fingers, he was tonguing his cheek in that insufferably appealing, arrogant way of his. “Stop that,” you chided.

He feigned incognisance. “Stop what?”

“Being sexy. I’m outlawing it,” you pouted.

Jungkook’s lofty front faltered somewhat. “You think I’m sexy?”

That wasn’t as plain as day? Just what the fuck were you doing with your eyes and words and body language every time you saw him? You thought you were being too overt. Maybe he shared your knack for undervaluing oneself.

The clock on the wall caught your eye. “Shit, we’re going to miss the start.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he called after you as you took off.

The only explanation for your lateness were your extended bouts of flagrant flirting for each new location you arrived at. It was, indeed, a trifling problem, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but revel in it. Eventually, though, you did make it to your seats, even when your eyes couldn’t quite adjust to the darkness and you tripped over someone’s legs, nearly pulling down Jungkook’s jeans on your way to the floor. Luckily, he’d grabbed your hands just in time, somehow even halting the momentum of your knees making an assuredly painful impact. You’d gulped then, realising just how much upper body strength he possessed.

Both of you whispered a quick apology to those caught in the fray and giggled between yourselves as you located a relatively empty row in the back. The movie had already started by this point, so when he unfolded your seat and held it out for you in one of his eye-roll provoking displays of excessive gallantry, you couldn’t even call him out on it. And he knew, by the shit-eating grin on his face.

You had to give Jungkook credit – the movie was almost unbearably frightening to you. He’d chosen well. Every time the killer made an appearance, you curled into him in preparation for the gratuitous gore you knew you wouldn’t be able to stomach. The first time you’d done it, he’d tensed like a bow string, his arm wooden and stretched obstinately over the back of your seat, as though touching you uninvited would see you immediately casting him from your good graces. But with your rough coaxing – grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him to you – he relaxed into his role of protector. And by the halfway point, he had become a veteran.

“I hate this,” you hiss-whispered into his neck. Without a doubt, you’d seen less of the movie and more of Jungkook’s frustratingly sculpted chest in the time that you’d been sat here. “I can’t look.”

You felt, rather than heard his chuckle, the vibration from his laughter lulling you into a temporary peace. With time, emboldened by your prompting, he’d begun to stroke the length of your arm to a lazy, consistent rhythm, allaying your fear somewhat. His touch was so different to the platonic affection that Hoseok had swaddled you in the other night. And it was different, still, to the way Taehyung would sometimes rub your shoulders when he saw how tightly wound you were – mainly because he’d never meant it with any of the intent you so wanted.

Jungkook evoked something else altogether.

His touch was alien, unknown, but oh-so right. His fingers were long, and strong, and although you couldn’t see them now, you knew how vascular his hands were. You’d never been handled by someone quite so built, so muscled, and this uncharted territory beckoned you with untold wonders you were eager to map out. The screams from the heroine in peril were no longer jarring, so absorbed in your blind appreciation for his appendages were you. When you lifted his arm away, Jungkook glanced over in confusion. And, bless him, a flash of panic. You smiled your reassurance at him, though you weren’t sure how well he could see it, and instead slid your palm over the top of his hand, your other coming up underneath to support it. He was no longer watching the movie, either, choosing instead to observe your curious behaviour.

The light in the theatre flashed brighter with the change in scene, and only then could you see the glorious intricacies of his ensnared hand. Turning it over in yours, your thumbs traced the lines of his palm, noting how smooth they were. This boy had certainly never worked a day of menial labour in his life. These hands were soft, uncalloused, and just how knowledgeable of a woman’s body were they? How many times had they gripped his—

You caught Jungkook clearing his throat in the lull of action on-screen and looked up at him, hitting him with a kittenish smile. It was more than likely just the darkness of the theatre, the circumference of his pupils lending themselves to the absence of light around you. And yet, the way he was tensed, his fingers slightly trembling in the looseness of your grip, you wondered if he would be looking at you so darkly right now, even if the lights were up. Were your innocuous touches stirring something in him?

Of course, you weren’t about to tell him that you had been committing him, viscerally, to memory. That later, in the privacy of your bed, you would be recalling the size and feel of him, to imagine what it would be like to have those same hands on you, in you, doing unspeakable things. But distantly, you wondered whether he would like that idea.

Neither of you, however, needed the aid of light to feel the way the atmosphere fizzed with tacit desire. He was leaning into you before you were, drawn to each other like North and South, and you were but four, three inches away from finally tasting him when you clambered over the armrest to close the excruciating distance. And that was when he stopped in his tracks. Slowly, his face angled down, and your lust-addled brain took a moment to catch on to why he no longer had any interest in meeting mouths. You followed his stricken gaze to his lap and the spillage your unceremonious scrambling to get to him had caused.

You’d soaked him through with Coke.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, a little louder than the people in the row in front of you would have liked, judging by their disapproving glares.

This wasn’t how you’d envisioned your first time looking directly at Jungkook’s crotch to be like, and yet here you were, eyes wide and aghast as the stain – very apparent against his blue jeans – continued to spread. “I’m so, so sorry,” you whined. God, it was impossible for you to go a day without apologising to someone over some fuck-up or another.

Jungkook, though, seemed to find it incredibly amusing. He threw his head back as his body was wracked with silent laughs, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. You stared, mouth agape, in confusion. “You’re not angry?”

“Of course not,” he wheezed. “Don’t be silly, it’s just a pair of jeans. It’s just, that was so perfectly timed, I can’t get over this. Are we in a drama or something?”

You smiled in line with his thinking, relieved that he appeared to take it in such good humour. Yet another sign that he was worth persevering with, despite what your heart may say. “Are you gonna be okay?”

The row in front’s disgruntled muttering had you wincing. Jungkook stirred uneasily in his seat and whispered as quietly as he could manage. “I don’t know, it’s getting kind of swampy down there,” he tried to repress a laugh but it only resounded all the louder, strangled at the back of his throat.

You chewed on your lip to stop it coming out. You really did, really did try and swallow it. But the temptation was just too fucking much, the opportunity too damn good to miss. “Good job I like sucking Coke.”

And that was when the woman in front rounded on you and raised her finger, but you were already high-tailing it out of there, dragging a bent-double, boggy-assed Jungkook behind you. When you burst through the doors and out into the lobby, the two of you fell into fits of laughter, falling against each other for mutual support and finding only a crumpling mess of giggles. “I can’t,” you sobbed, nearly incoherent. “I can’t get up.”

Sure enough, you were fastened to Jungkook’s waist like Velcro, your knees digging into the uncomfortably thin carpet, tears leaking from your eyes.

And then you heard him. “Noona?”

Why?

Why did he always appear like someone nearby had summoned him directly from hell?

Arms still cinched firmly around Jungkook’s waist, your head turned stiffly to heed his call. Seeing Taehyung there, his face, so charmingly betwixt confusion and amusement, was enough to extinguish your gaiety. Like having a bucket of ice water thrown callously over your head. “What’s going on?” he asked, and although his tone seemed pleasant enough, there was a strange look in his eyes, one you couldn’t identify.

“Uh, just a date,” you explained feebly, and Jungkook helped hoist you to your feet.

“Hyung,” he acknowledged him, beaming, and clearly unbothered by the unsightly brown patch marring the front of his jeans. “Nice to see you.”

Taehyung’s gaze flickered to Jungkook and, though he still seemed a little off, he smiled widely. “And you. I’m just here with—“

So today was the day you were destined to meet her. Why, why was Taehyung always just there, ready to ruin your day, your date, your fucking life.

Always.

And today he had an accomplice. Predictably beautiful, leggy, and with long, impossibly lustrous hair, Tara emerged from the ladies’ bathroom and hooked an arm through Taehyung’s. The way he fucking looked at her.

It decimated you.

It shattered you, inside and out, so severely that for a few long, vulnerable seconds, the extent of your hurt was broadcast plainly from your face. There was no strength to find, no desire to pin on some genial expression. Even when, internally, you were climbing the walls in a bid to do so. Your body was refusing to cooperate altogether. It was hopeless, trying to fake something welcoming, or excited, or any one of many polite – because she was certainly undeserving of your embittered feelings – emotions you should have been displaying. And now you were vaguely aware of Jungkook looking between the two of you when you didn’t respond to her greeting. He nudged you. “____?” and when you didn’t respond to him, “Noona?”

That had your and Taehyung’s immediate attention. “Noona?” Taehyung repeated slowly. “You’re getting on that well already?”

You couldn’t break here, not now. Not in front of either of them.

Hoseok will be there for me.

The reminder brought you to.

You approached the pleasantly smiling woman and reached out your hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m ____, Taehyung’s friend.”

She accepted with enthusiasm and nodded in recognition. “I knew it was you, as soon as I saw you. Taehyung’s told me so much about you. I’m so glad to meet you finally.”

Fuck.

She was nice.

You couldn’t even entertain the idea of hating her for being a bitch, now.

“Likewise,” your voice had taken on an abnormally high timbre, not far removed from your customer service charade. “I wasn’t expecting to until Yoongi’s party. This is a nice surprise.”

Taehyung was quieter than you were used to. Of course, the last time you had seen him had been that dreadful night at Hoseok’s, and although he had been texting you as diligently as ever after seemingly accepting your curt forgiveness, your replies had lacked the intricate subtlety of Hoseok’s carefully-worded texts. He could sense you were being weird, and you hoped to God, any God, all of the Gods, that he would never put two and two together. That night had been as dangerously close as you had ever come to letting on that you felt something other than happy-smiley friendship-love for him. “Noona,” Taehyung addressed you in an oddly assertive tone, and you felt Jungkook straighten just a fraction. “We should hang out soon.”

All the more for having witnesses, you wanted to end this painful interaction quickly. “Yeah, of course. Text me? We’ve got to go, Jungkook and I—“ you looked directly at his crotch and he faltered a little under your gaze, pulling down his shirt. “We had an accident, so we’re gonna get him home so he can change.”

Tara laughed; an enchanting, tinkling sound, and you tried so hard to hate her, but you couldn’t. “I won’t ask what happened, but you two looked like you were having a blast anyways.”

Jungkook grinned widely, flashing her his prominent teeth. Selfishly, you hoped she wouldn’t notice – surely it was impossible for any woman or man not to fall for them. “We were. We might have to come back and actually finish the movie some time, but—“

“No way,” you shook your head, visibly shuddering. “I’m not putting myself through that again. That was a stupid idea.”

“You’ve never been able to stick through the entirety of a horror film,” Taehyung sighed, smiling warmly. Tara was snug to his side and he seemed all the happier for it. “I should have given Jungkook a heads-up.”

The man in question shot you an imploring look and you were quick to defend him. “It’s not his fault, I insisted. I thought it would be, I don’t know,” you mumbled your latter words, coy all of a sudden. It was still weird talking about this kind of thing with Taehyung in earshot. “More fun.”

Tara clapped her hands and cackled. “She gets it.”

You laughed along politely before your face dropped a little too suddenly and you turned to Jungkook. “Let’s go?”

He nodded. You bid them both a hurried goodbye and walked a few steps closer to the exit, which flew open with the next person to enter it. A gale seemed to be blowing outside. Jungkook, of course, was already on top of your needs. It almost seemed like he’d been waiting for this opportunity. He removed his jacket and wrapped it securely around you, his eyes glinting gleefully. Peering over Jungkook’s shoulder, you caught Taehyung’s eye across the lobby and smiled weakly at him – honestly, your feelings for him were so mixed at the moment that you had no idea how to even interact with him. You loved him, you hated him, you wanted him, you resented him. You couldn’t be consistent, and it was fast becoming obvious that something was very off with you.

The drive home was quiet, just as it had been on the way there. But not uncomfortably. No, it was calm and content, and though the earlier build-up – of whatever that was – had died down in the face of some undue exhaustion, you’d had a good day. Yes, the appearance of Taehyung and his flawless girlfriend had dampened your mood to a large extent, but you weren’t about to take that out on Jungkook again, fuck no. He’d done everything right. And if, perhaps, one day you could just meet and not have Taehyung supernaturally teleport to the destination of your next date, that would be fantastic. As it was, that was what had happened today, and now you needed time to collect yourself. But you would not be unkind, and you would not spurn Jungkook out of melancholy.

When you arrived at your apartment, you felt glum. Did it have to be over?

Yes, it did, because you were not planning on continuing your dalliance tonight.

You heaved a sigh over your internal musings, and Jungkook looked over at you, unclicking your seatbelt. You weren’t so inept that you couldn’t work it yourself, but he just insisted on these things, half because he was too good for you, and half because he knew how much it annoyed you. The brat liked to tease.

“What are you thinking?” he freed himself from his own restraints and turned in his seat to regard you fully.

“I’m a little sad to go home,” you answered truthfully, and you hadn’t meant to be so candid. As a stranger to being so open, it was unnerving how easily you had offered up the confession. But Jungkook made anything possible.

He trapped one of your hands as it picked, in agitation, at your sweater, his touch instantly quelling your restlessness. When he so delicately interlocked your fingers, your heartrate shifted up a gear. You both just sat there, staring at where you were connected. It felt…

“Perfect,” he mumbled, and you looked up to see that he’d taken a bite of one of your cupcakes. “Oh my God, these are amazing,” he continued, an errant crumb flying with his full-mouthed praise.

You barked with laughter. “Way to ruin the moment,” you joshed, and grinned all the wider for seeing him hastily gulp down what he was chewing. “Not that I should be criticising you for that.”

“Wait,” he rasped. “Did I ruin the moment? Can I bring it back?”

“Only if you’re a necromancer,” you chuckled, letting yourself out of the car.

Unconvinced, Jungkook stumbled out of his side and around to you as you walked off. Your mouth twitched at the corners when you felt his familiar warmth surround your fingers, but you didn’t look back at him.

“Noona,” he tried to woo you, and fucking hell, of course it worked. You stopped to allow him to catch up, and he smiled as he passed you. Tugging you up the path to your complex, your hands now so intimately acquainted after today, you decided you would let him take the lead. Take what he wanted from you. Not, perhaps, that, not just yet. But in allowing him to reclaim the moment that you had so clumsily spoiled earlier.

You swung on his arm as he brought you around to face him, bumping into his chest gently. “____,” he smiled down at you, brushing a loose lock of hair from your cheek. He braced your upper arms with his hands and tilted you away enough so that he could examine your face. Jungkook loved to observe you. Whenever you chanced a glance at him, sure enough, he was usually staring. It both flattered and embarrassed you. You couldn’t understand what he might find so captivating. “Thank you for today.”

Jungkook’s jacket squeaked with the movement of your shaking head. “No, thank you. Even though I ruined things – as expected – it was so much fun.”

He tutted. “Stop putting yourself down. The way things turned out probably made it far more memorable in the end. Something, I hope, you will look back on and laugh about if you’re feeling a bit down.”

Ugh, he was so fucking precious. You sighed like one of those lovesick princesses who’d just been rescued by their prince. “I will. I’ll think about it often. The entire day I spent with you, I didn’t have one thought about work, or uni, or—“ you almost said it, but stopped yourself in time. You looked down, but he was soon cupping your chin and having you face the source of your squirming guts.

“I’m glad. I’m happy, if you’re happy,” he stated like it was God’s truth, and you believed him somehow. Jungkook swayed towards you, then, and in response, the heels of your feet left the ground. Your eyes fluttered closed, ready to finally receive him.

And that was when he grasped the lapels of the leather jacket still adorning you and steered your imminent face to the side. You felt his lips, but not where you had wanted, had expected them. They landed on the curve of your cheek, the heat of his mouth permeating where it pressed. The kiss was soft, and despite the innocence of its placement, mildly sensual. As he pulled away, you felt the coolness of the air rush against the wet mark he had left, the only evidence of his being there. Of its own accord, one of your hands drew up to your cheek to touch where he would be forever ingrained in your mind, and – like the lovelorn maiden you were so good at emulating these days – you had to suppress your knees from knocking together. “Oh,” you mumbled softly.

Jungkook scrutinised you with patent interest, delighted by his ability to disarm you. Fuck, if he caught on, he could get too big for his boots and employ it at any time. You weren’t simply wearing your heart on your sleeve, here, oh no. You were being far more obvious than that. The effect he had on you was apparent with his every touch. He might as well have been performing open-heart surgery on you for all your vain attempts at shielding it from view. You swore he could feel every thrum of it as he held you there, his arms having curled surreptitiously around your waist when you were too befuddled to notice.

“Uh,” you started benignly. For some reason, the closer your proximity, the less inclined you were to look at him. Probably because If you glanced at his mouth once, you’d be going in for a second helping.  “I know you might be busy, but would you like to go to Yoongi’s house-warming party with me next Saturday? I know you don’t know my friends yet, and--”

“I’d love to,” he mercifully intercepted the beginnings of a flustered ramble. “Anything involving you sounds like fun. We could set up another date afterwards, if you like?” Jungkook suggested, and you were painfully aware of the hands resting timidly on your lower back. You willed them to move lower, but they didn’t heed your immoral influence.

Mentally engaged elsewhere, you managed a stiff nod.

“I’ll text you soon, noona,” he filled in the silence while you stood there entertaining such unsavoury things. He seemed determined to adopt this term against you.

“Okay,” you smiled breathlessly, returning to the present. You slipped his jacket from one of your shoulders, but he halted you immediately.

“No, keep it,” Jungkook was firm.  “I want you to.”

Yet again, he left you awestruck. “Are you the leading man in a drama afterall?”

He quivered with mirth. “I did get my inspiration from that kind of thing, yeah. You warrant such treatment, though.”

“Oh God, stop it,” you were beginning to get giddy. It was time to exile yourself from his presence until you could rebuild your cool, collected façade somewhat. “I’m going, now. Good night, Jungkook.”

He stood there and waved until he could no longer see you. Of course he did. “Good night, ____.”

-

Next: 06 || WYLEI Masterlist

[minaminokyoko]

Pacific Rim: Uprising (A Spoilertastic Review)

This movie should be the ultimate lesson for Hollywood on why you shouldn’t just replace a director who has vision with someone who just wants to make a quick buck in a lazy sequel. My God, I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this utterly annoyed by a sequel. I mean, late sequels have a serious tendency to suck for many reasons: hiring different writers/directors from the previous film, changing the tone, removing important characters and awkwardly jamming new ones in there, relying on boring sequel clichés, or misunderstanding the entire reason why the first movie was a hit. Pacific Rim wasn’t a mega-hit stateside—it did $101 million domestically and did much better in the foreign market with an additional $309 million—but it was easily a fan favorite. Even if I had the full story on what went down between Legendary Pictures and the delightfully talented Guillermo del Toro, there is no excuse why Pacific Rim Uprising is such a pathetic pile of nothing. With del Toro, we had some excellent world building, a basic understanding of the premise, a loose but still adequate story, and characters that were easy to remember and enjoy. We also had a fun cameo from the incomparable Ron Perlman, a fantastic score, and some truly imaginative fight sequences of the Jaegers vs. the kaiju. I’ve said before that I think PacRim is a good movie, not a great movie, only because I felt you could have simply removed Raleigh entirely and focused on Mako and Stacker instead since they were both ten times more interesting and easier to connect with on an emotional level. However, after seeing this nonsense, I have a whole new appreciation for the first film, because at least it told a goddamn story and its characters had personality traits and arcs. Uprising is honestly an affront to what the first film established, not only for retconning things with Stacker’s forgettable son, but just botching every single enjoyable element from the first film.

I’ll get right to the point—yes, the Jaeger/kaiju fights are the main draw for this franchise. Even though I’m going to list why this sequel is godawful, a lot of people really just want to see it for the big fight scenes and that’s all they might want to take away from any reviews. Well, I’m here to tell you, I still don’t think Uprising is worth your hard-earned cash, because it’s frankly a bait-and-switch. The trailer shows you a monstrous kaiju made of three other kaiju, and that sounds amazing, right? Well, it’s intentionally misleading. If you want the full story, check below the spoiler line.

Overall Grade: D

Pro:

-Seriously, the only positive thing to note about this entire film is that the fight scenes were at least adequate. Not good, not great, adequate. When the fights finally do happen, there’s plenty of smashing, and the idea of the kaiju melding into one huge kaiju was at least a nifty idea. It was easily the only thing about the trailer that got anyone’s blood moving and could have built any hype.  However, judging by the movie’s poor opening weekend, enough people could tell something was off about it.

Cons:

-The trailer is misleading. How? Well, there are no kaiju in this movie until the last fifteen minutes. Seriously. They pulled a Huntsman sequel on you guys—promising something that only appears at the end of the fucking movie. All other times, you are stuck with the bland protagonists training or trying to figure out how the rogue Jaeger attacked Sydney. IIRC, there’s only the fight of Gypsy Avenger vs. the rogue Jaeger and then the end with all of them fighting. There’s a brief chase sequence in the beginning with Bland White Child and Stacker-lite, but it’s barely five minutes long and it’s just them rolling away from the full sized Jaeger like Sonic the Hedgehog. Look, if that still excites you, hey, go see it. But to everyone else who doesn’t want to feel ripped off, I’m begging you to sit this one out for this and many other reasons I’m going to outline below. There are only kaiju at the end of the damn movie. It’s Godzilla 2014 all over again—a magnificent creature that is advertised heavily as being in the film, but isn’t actually in the damn thing.

-The dialogue is so painfully cliché that you will roll your eyes so many times they might eject from your skull. Jesus Christ. I swear, it’s like they had a checklist of every action movie cliché they could think of and they made sure to check off every single one. Every line of dialogue in this movie is a sickening cliché. There is not one original thought. Not. One. Every character is flat and some form of a lazy archetype. No one gets any development. It’s Michael Bay-levels of incompetent writing. The movie couldn’t have been any worse written than if there was a room of chimpanzees hammering away at the screenplay. It’s just plain embarrassing. Every moment there isn’t a kaiju smashing something or a Jaeger beating wholesale ass, you will be in massive amounts of pain.

-The fights are mediocre. Remember how carefully staged the fight scenes were in the first movie? Hell, most of the time we can list them off the top of our heads because those fights were so damn memorable. We had the opening montage, the Knifehead fight, the two kaiju vs. the Jaegers, Gypsy Danger vs. Otachi, and then the final brawl underwater at the Breach. Each fight was staged well and paced well throughout the film. You didn’t have to wait too long between fights during the film, and it also entertained you with smaller bits like Mako and Raleigh training or the flashback to Mako’s childhood with that scary crab kaiju. Uprising is a bottom-heavy film, much like the equally terrible Jurassic World (God, talk about another late sequel that entirely misses the fucking point of the original property.) The only difference is at least Jurassic World had enough sense to deliver a powerhouse ending to an utterly stupid film, and Uprising doesn’t. The fights don’t have clever staging, great music, or very much creativity to them. After suffering through two hours with these annoying paper cutout characters, you should deliver the best damn fights we’ve ever seen, but no, they’re just standard hacking and slashing. Punctuated by the intensely annoying, shrieking helium balloon shaped like Charlie Day shouting inane dialogue in his squeaky voice. The fights have zero weight, too, because no one has a character, so you don’t give a shit if they live or not during the fight either.

-Like many terrible sequels, they kill off a main lead from the previous film in order to give the new protagonist some pathetic kind of Mangst. If there is one thing I am sure of, it’s that most fans of the original movie are going to be LIVID they dragged the actress playing Mako all the way back on set just to kill her fifteen minutes in. It’s just insulting. Mako was the fan favorite from the first film. Seriously, she has most of the fandom in her back pocket, so I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of the immediate backlash is because the movie’s disgusting use of Fridging the main female lead from the first movie to make way for Bland White Child and Stacker-lite. It’s possibly the most insulting thing about the entire sequel. Mako deserved better. I’d rather she was out of the movie entirely, like Raleigh mysteriously is, than for them to kill her in such a cheap, stupid way. What a waste of a good actress and a great character.

-Making Charlie Day the villain. Yes, because nothing is more intimidating than a tiny man with the voice of Bobcat Goldthwait spouting dialogue so corny you’d expect it from an Austin Powers movie. Are you kidding me? Look, I get it, Charlie Day is a fan favorite so of course they were going to bring him back, but what the actual fuck made you think he should be the bad guy? It’s weaksauce. It sounds like they were just bored and out of ideas for the villain, as if the fucking kaiju or the Precursors weren’t good enough somehow, and just slapped this idiotic role in his lap. It’s such a bad idea. I hated his character in the first film and wanted him removed entirely, but at least he served a purpose. Here, it’s just lip service. Anyone who liked him in the first one is going to be pissed off at this random turn of the character with no indication of changing him back.

-Thin, boring leads. Let me be clear: John Boyega is not to be blamed for any of why this movie is failing critically and financially. The kid is talented and sweet and I want to pinch his cheeks and feed him apple pie in my kitchen. But he couldn’t save this film because of that rancid excuse of a script. Boyega is a darling on screen in almost everything else, but here, he has nothing to work with. Stacker-lite is just a cobbled together mess of leftover script notes from Chris Pine’s portrayal of Captain Kirk in the Star Trek reboot. He has nothing going for him at all. No motivation, no skillset, no charm. This character is completely empty inside. Bland White Child is the exact same as well; basically just every Little Miss Badass/Underdog stereotype only done amazingly poorly. She has nothing to offer the audience and while she has slightly more motivation than Boyega’s character did, it doesn’t mean anything. Then we have Generic Good Looking White Guy Lead, because for fuck’s sake, it’s not like it’s 2018 and we aren’t tired of seeing him, Generic Latina “We couldn’t get Michelle Rodriguez to do this bullshit so here’s someone else instead” Tits and Ass (who made me even angrier because normally when they have the Hot Latina Military Lady, she gets at least ONE badass moment, but this chick seriously serves no fucking purpose and is relegated to the laziest Hot Girl/Potential Love Interest role of all fucking time), Generic Cadets Who are Carefully Ethnically Diverse (you are fooling NO ONE, sequel; if you’re gonna bother to make them diverse, GIVE THEM ACTUAL CHARACTERS FIRST), Kick Butt Asian Lady (seriously, why the fuck did you cast this lady and kill off Mako? It would make more sense if Mako was in this role, like maybe Raleigh died in the Jaeger and she wanted to make automated Jaegers so no one would ever lose their partner again, there, ah fixed it, you morons), and finally Returning Cast Member Who Looks Tired AF But Needed the Money. It is a headache spending two hours with these characters. You don’t care about any of them and they have nothing to offer you. They’re just constantly stumbling around bumping into things and spouting dialogue from 30 years ago.

If you can overlook all of those flaws for the promise of Jaeger vs. kaiju fighting, have at it. Everyone else, don’t bother. If you’re that curious, wait until this hits a premium channel. I’m extremely glad I saw it for free, because I’d have been pissed paying $10 for this lump of expired crab meat. Save your money and go buy another copy of the first movie.