#literally sobbing through the entire scene

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#And This Is Where I started Bawling My Eyes Out

[shield-and-saber]

yeah, so i just finished cataclysm

[jackass-jones]

Man i watched the spongebob movie for the first time in ages the other day and god it’s like the most delightful movie ever made like it’s exactly what you want a movie adaptation of spongebob to be

[zaddyazula]

not even funny how hard i was crying yesterday like jesus christ

[s-h-commatothetop-dynasty]

i have had this song on repeat literally ever since i watched ep 2 and it slaps every damn time✨

[airosuiren]

The Abandoned Wayne.

Bat Family x Neglected Reader x Tokyo Revengers

A/N: Omg I had this idea stuck in my head for AGES!!! Batfam neglect trope combined with Tokyo Revengers is literally my new obsession!!! Hope you enjoyyy this twisted tale of neglect, revenge, and finding your true family!!! (this DOES NOT follow cannon)

Part 2

Wayne Manor had two daughters, but only one that mattered.

You and Lila Wayne - twins born to Bruce Wayne through a brief relationship with a woman who disappeared shortly after your birth. Identical in appearance but worlds apart in treatment.

From the moment Bruce took you both in, it was clear who the favorite was.

Lila got the bigger bedroom. Lila got the newest clothes. Lila got Bruce’s proud smiles whenever she mastered a new gymnastics routine or brought home perfect grades. Lila was ��the good twin” - the perfect Wayne daughter who fit seamlessly into Gotham’s elite circles.

You? You were the afterthought.

“Dad, I got an A+ on my science project,” you said, holding up your graded paper at age twelve.

Bruce barely looked up from where he was helping Lila with her homework. “That’s nice. Did you see Lila made the honor roll again? Third time this year.”

You lowered your paper slowly, the familiar ache spreading through your chest. “Yeah. Great job, Lila.”

Your sister smirked at you over Bruce’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

It wasn’t just Bruce. Dick treated Lila like a princess, always bringing her souvenirs from his travels. Jason taught her self-defense but claimed you were “too clumsy” to learn. Tim shared his tech knowledge exclusively with Lila. Even Damian, though generally unpleasant to everyone, reserved his rare moments of tolerance for her.

Only Alfred seemed to notice you, slipping you extra cookies when no one was looking or patting your shoulder when you retreated to your room after another family gathering where no one acknowledged your presence.

“Patience, Miss [Y/N],” he would say. “Family can be… complicated.”

But your patience was running out.

By fifteen, you had stopped trying to earn their attention. You found solace in martial arts, training secretly at a local dojo where no one knew you were a Wayne. The feel of your fist connecting with a punching bag became your therapy, each strike fueled by years of being overlooked.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You returned from training to find the manor in chaos. Lila was sobbing in Bruce’s arms, her perfect face marred by a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The entire family surrounded her protectively.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping your gym bag.

Six pairs of eyes turned to you, cold and accusing.

“As if you don’t know,” Lila hissed through tears.

Bruce stood slowly, his face transforming into something you’d only seen directed at Gotham’s criminals. “Lila says you attacked her when she confronted you about stealing her homework.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? I didn’t touch her! I’ve been at the dojo for the past three hours!”

“We found your hairbrush in her room,” Tim said, holding up an evidence bag like this was a crime scene. “And the bruise pattern matches your distinctive ring.”

You looked down at the simple silver band you always wore - a gift from Alfred on your twelfth birthday. The only birthday gift anyone in the manor had given you.

“This is ridiculous,” you protested. “I would never hurt Lila!”

But as you looked around at their faces - Bruce’s fury, Dick’s disappointment, Jason’s disgust, Tim’s clinical detachment, Damian’s contempt, and Lila’s exaggerated fear - you realized with crystal clarity: They had already decided you were guilty.

No trial. No defense. No presumption of innocence.

Even Alfred looked uncertain, standing back from the family circle, his eyes troubled.

“I’ve made a decision,” Bruce announced, his voice Batman-cold. “This behavior cannot continue. You’ve been acting out for years, but this crosses a line.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Enough!” Bruce cut you off. “I’m sending you to our associates in Tokyo. The Moriyama family owes me a favor. They’ll take you in, get you into a good school, and hopefully… straighten you out.”

Your world collapsed around you. “You’re sending me away? To Japan? Because of a lie?”

“It’s not a lie!” Lila wailed, burying her face against Dick’s chest. “She threatened to do worse next time!”

“Pack your things,” Bruce said flatly. “You leave tomorrow.”

That night, alone in your room, you didn’t cry. The hurt had crystallized into something harder, colder. More dangerous.

In the darkness, you made a vow: You would never beg for their love again. You would never again call Wayne Manor home. And someday, they would realize exactly what they had thrown away.

Alfred came to your door as you finished packing.

“Miss [Y/N],” he began, his elderly face lined with regret. “I don’t believe… that is to say, I find it difficult to imagine you would harm your sister.”

It was the closest thing to support you’d received, but it came too late.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Alfred,” you said quietly. “It never has.”

The flight to Tokyo was long and silent. Bruce didn’t accompany you - he sent his corporate assistant instead. Your final glimpse of Gotham through the plane window felt like watching a chapter of your life being forcibly closed.

The Moriyama family was polite but distant. They provided you with a small but comfortable apartment, enrolled you in a prestigious international school, and otherwise left you entirely alone.

Freedom, you discovered, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first two months, you focused on school and perfecting your Japanese. You kept to yourself, the wound of your family’s betrayal still too fresh to risk new connections.

Then came the night you took a wrong turn walking home.

Three men cornered you in an alley - local thugs looking for an easy target. What they found instead was a Wayne with years of repressed rage and six months of intensive martial arts training.

When the dust settled, two were unconscious and the third was running away with a broken nose.

You were catching your breath, knuckles bloody, when you heard slow, appreciative clapping.

A tall, lean Japanese boy with bleached blond hair and an unsettling empty look in his eyes stood at the alley entrance. Despite his slender build, something about him radiated danger.

“Impressive,” he said in Japanese. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

You straightened, wary but unafraid. “Gotham City.”

His smile widened, revealing a charm that didn’t quite reach those empty eyes. “I’m Sano Manjiro. Everyone calls me Mikey.”

“[Y/N],” you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. You weren’t a Wayne anymore, not in any way that mattered.

“You should come with me, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, turning to leave as if your agreement was a foregone conclusion. “I think my friends would like to meet you.”

Something about his absolute confidence, the casual way he had watched you fight without interfering, and yes - the dangerous aura that reminded you of the Bat Family at their most intimidating - made you follow him.

Kanto Manji headquarters turned out to be an abandoned building retrofitted with surprisingly comfortable furnishings. Inside, a group of young men looked up as Mikey entered with you in tow.

“Found something interesting,” Mikey announced, dropping onto a couch. “This is [Y/N]. She just took down three Tenjiku guys without breaking a sweat.”

“American?” asked a tall, serious-looking man with dark hair.

“Gotham,” you corrected.

Something in the way you said it - like the name of the city was a wound - made the room go quiet.

“I’m Sano Takemichi,” the serious one said. “That’s Hakkai, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, and the one eating all the food is Baji.”

Over convenience store bento boxes and cheap beer, you learned about Kanto Manji - a gang formed from the ashes of several others, now one of the most powerful in Tokyo. Their operations walked a fine line between legitimate business and underground empire.

You didn’t share your full story that night, but something in your eyes must have spoken to them. The way you fought. The way you carried yourself. The obvious absence of anyone looking for you or caring where you were.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Baji asked as the night grew late.

“An apartment,” you said. “But no one waiting there.”

Mikey, who had been unnervingly quiet for most of the evening, just watching you with those empty eyes, suddenly spoke: “You should work for us.”

The others looked surprised.

“Mikey,” Takemichi began cautiously, “we don’t even know her—”

“I know enough,” Mikey cut him off. “She fights like someone with nothing to lose. That’s valuable.”

You should have been offended. Instead, you felt a strange relief at being so perfectly understood.

“What would I do?” you asked.

Mikey smiled that disconnected smile again. “You’re from Gotham. Home of criminals and bats. I bet you know how to plan.”

And just like that, you found your place.

The Kanto Manji gang became your new family. Takemichi treated you like a little sister, always checking if you’d eaten or slept enough. Hakkai taught you Japanese street fighting to complement your formal training. Chifuyu, discovering your knack for strategy, spent hours discussing territory maps with you. Mitsuya even designed clothes specifically for you - practical but stylish outfits that became your signature look.

And Mikey… Mikey watched you. At first, it was unsettling - those empty eyes following your movements across rooms, his sudden appearances outside your apartment, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as if marking territory.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Hakkai warned about three months in. “Be careful.”

But the truth was, you didn’t mind. After years of being invisible, Mikey’s focused attention felt like water in a desert. He saw you. Really saw you.

Your tactical mind proved invaluable to the gang. You planned their operations with precision Batman himself might have admired - if he had ever bothered to notice your intelligence.

Within a year, your reputation spread through Tokyo’s underground. The foreign girl with the cold eyes and brilliant mind who stood at Mikey’s right hand. Some called you “The Ghost” because of how you seemed to appear from nowhere, always one step ahead.

Not once did Bruce or any of the Bat Family reach out. Not a call. Not an email. Not even Alfred. It was as if [Y/N] Wayne had ceased to exist the moment her plane left Gotham airspace.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, Kanto Manji threw you a party that lasted until dawn. For the first time since arriving in Tokyo, you allowed yourself to fully relax, to laugh, to feel genuinely happy.

As the others finally passed out from too much sake, Mikey led you to the roof. The Tokyo skyline glittered before you, so different from Gotham’s gothic spires but beautiful in its own way.

“Happy birthday, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, producing a small black box.

Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“Mikey, it’s beautiful,” you whispered as he fastened it around your neck.

“You’re mine now,” he said simply, his fingers lingering on your skin. “My strategist. My ghost.” His empty eyes seemed to fill with something like hunger. “My everything.”

You should have been frightened by the possessiveness. Instead, you felt a thrill. Someone wanted you. Not your sister. You.

When he kissed you, it felt like claiming and being claimed.

“Yes,” you agreed against his lips. “Yours.”

The next two years passed in a blur of power, respect, and a strange kind of happiness. Kanto Manji grew under your strategic guidance and Mikey’s fearsome leadership. You moved into his apartment, your foreign clothes mingling with his in the closet, your strategic plans spread across his dining table, your body wrapped in his arms each night.

His obsession never faded. If anything, it intensified. Mikey wanted to know where you were every moment. He called randomly just to hear your voice. He left marks on your skin where others could see them.

“It’s not healthy,” Takemichi told you once.

You just smiled. “Nothing about my life has ever been healthy.”

Besides, you thrived on Mikey’s attention. On being the center of someone’s world. On mattering.

You hadn’t spoken the name “Wayne” in three years when the past finally caught up to you.

It started with a text from a number you didn’t recognize:

They’re coming for you. Wayne Industries expanding to Tokyo. Family accompanying Bruce for the opening. Be prepared. - A

Alfred. It could only be Alfred.

You stared at the message for a long time before showing it to Mikey.

His reaction was immediate and intense. “They abandoned you. They don’t get to come back now.”

That night, he called an emergency meeting. The entire gang gathered as Mikey explained the situation.

“Wayne,” Baji spat the name like a curse. “The bastard who threw away our [Y/N]?”

“The same,” Mikey confirmed, his arm possessively around your waist. “They’re coming to Tokyo. Business, they say.”

“But really for [Y/N],” Hakkai finished, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want to do?” Takemichi asked you directly. “It’s your call.”

You looked around at the faces watching you - these men who had become your brothers, your protectors, your true family. And Mikey, whose empty eyes filled only when looking at you, whose obsession had become your safety net.

“I want them to see exactly what they lost,” you said finally. “And who I’ve become without them.”

The gang nodded in unison.

“Then that’s what will happen,” Mikey declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ll see our Ghost. And they’ll regret the day they sent her to us.”

A week later, Wayne Enterprises opened its Tokyo branch with a lavish party. You watched from across the street as limousines delivered Gotham’s elite to the red carpet - including five tall, well-dressed men and one woman in a shimmering gown.

The Bat Family had arrived.

And they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A/N: There is a part 2 for thiss Please wait for itttt

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell – and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.

[writesvani]

dear me | 08

lawyer! jeonjungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: death of a loved one, grief, childhood trauma, emotional vulnerability, mentions of smoking, mentions of hospitals, funeral themes, themes of loss, nostalgia, emotional dependency, performance anxiety, fear of failure, complicated parent-child relationship

comment here for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 6,3k // date: 28th of April

CHAPTER EIGHT — Fifteen Years and a Pinky; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hi gummies, how are you? here’s the ch 08. now, i know i told you this chapter is supposed to be 9k long and you may be surprised that it’s only 6.3k, but—listen. this chapter was originally supposed to include the night at the house too, but when i reread it i realized that three (3!!!) separate scenes would be like throwing your feelings into a blender and then stepping on it. and because the scene before the house night is raw (like steak tartare levels of raw) i didn’t want to ruin the flow. so here we are. soft. emotional. holding pinkies and sobbing.

this chapter is a bit heavy and personal for me, so if you’re thinking about sending hate asks or comments... respectfully, go touch grass. and maybe hug your grandma too while you're at it.

anyways, note goal for this chapter is 420 notes. if we hit it, you get chapter 9 which is lowkey spicey but not really but like... i sprinkled some ✨specs✨ of something in there okay. patience is a virtue, babes. see you soon.

The music at The House is doing exactly what it’s supposed to — vibing in the background like a low, steady heartbeat, not blasting your eardrums into oblivion like most places would. It's early, but a few brave locals are already perched at the bar, clutching their coffees like lifelines and pretending to be scandalized by Alex’s latest story. Honestly, half the chaos is in the fact that it’s barely 9 a.m. and he’s already causing a scene.

You can’t help but love mornings like this. Especially when the playlist is this good — Jezebel by Sade melts through the speakers, smooth and rich, and you bob your head to the beat as you sip your espresso like you’re in some cheap movie.

You and Jungkook had smartly claimed a booth instead of the bar. The bar is for nights when you need bad decisions and worse tequila. The booth? That’s strictly reserved for existential crises over coffee. Classy.

It’s almost funny how most people don’t even realize The House runs in the mornings too — it’s like an unspoken VIP pass to a secret world. Mornings here feel untouched, sacred, like you’re living inside a memory.

The place hasn’t changed.

The boy next to you — sprawled out, looking entirely too comfortable for someone with a cappuccino in hand — hasn’t either.

But you? Him? You’re not the same kids who used to think the world owed you something.

And maybe that’s the magic of it.

Or maybe it’s just the espresso talking.

“Vicky literally wanted to murder me yesterday,” Jungkook sighs, taking a small sip of his coffee.

“I think she did,” you agree, leaning back in your seat like the weight of the whole performance exhausted you. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you made it out alive.”

“She gave me a death glare that could’ve set the entire room on fire,” he says, laughing under his breath. “I think my soul left my body for a second.”

“She’s just... passionate,” you say, trying not to snicker.

“Passionate about hating me?”

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, maybe don’t exist so loudly next time.”

Jungkook presses a hand to his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Brutal. Betrayed by my own favorite.”

You smile into your coffee cup, trying to hide the way your heart trips over itself at his words.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, and you hear a loud crack echo from his neck. He winces, rubbing the spot.

"Jesus," he mutters, "I don’t know if I’m just getting old or what, but my neck’s been killing me lately. Like, constantly."

You snort into your coffee. "Join the club. For me, it’s the shoulders. Doesn’t even matter how I sleep—on my side, my back, curled up like a shrimp—bam, wake up feeling like someone beat me up in my dreams."

He chuckles under his breath, nudging your foot under the table. "We’re literally falling apart and it’s not even noon."

"Speak for yourself. I’m thriving. Pain is my lifestyle choice now," you say, dramatically stretching your arms and instantly regretting it when a sharp pinch runs through your shoulder.

"Yeah," Jungkook smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like you're thriving real hard over there.”

"So, Mr. Neck Pain," you tease, swirling your coffee, "what’s next now that you’re all settled back in town?"

Jungkook groans, slouching deeper into the booth. "Ugh, don’t even ask. Nina’s on this mission to redecorate my mom’s house. I can barely keep up with everything anymore."

"Redecorate?" you blink.

"Yeah, why?" he asks, eyeing you curiously.

You shrug, playing it off. "Nothing. I just always thought you loved that house the way it was."

"I do," he says, running a hand through his hair, "but we want it to be, you know, a good place if we ever start a family."

Your brows knit together, something tugging at your chest. "But we—I mean, you—grew up there. It's already a good place."

He smiles a little sadly. "True. But you know how Nina is—she loves the latest trends, new aesthetics, all that HGTV bullshit."

You force a chuckle, but your heart isn't in it. "Yeah... I know." You pause, tracing the rim of your cup. "I just thought… there were too many good memories there for you to change it."

Jungkook’s expression softens, and he leans forward, elbows resting on the table. "We're not tearing it down, just giving it a facelift. Besides..." he trails off for a second, choosing his words carefully, "there were a lot of bad memories there too, you know."

You gulp, regret washing over you in waves.

As much as you loved that house, the memories, the time you spent there with Jungkook, you know better now. When you left, he stayed. They all stayed behind. In there.

"Shit, Kook, I’m sorry," you mumble, your voice quieter than you intend. "I wasn’t thinking."

Jungkook glances at you, his expression neutral, but you can see the tiredness in his eyes. "It’s okay," he says, but it doesn’t sound as reassuring as it should. "Really. You didn’t say anything wrong."

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. "Still... I always run my mouth before thinking."

"It’s fine," he repeats, more firmly this time, though it doesn't quite ease the tension between you. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply like he’s been holding his breath for too long. He seems like he wants to move on, but you can tell the weight of the conversation hasn’t shifted for him.

There’s a pause as he stares down at his coffee cup, swirling the contents absentmindedly. "Speaking of the devil… He called me last night."

Your stomach sinks, a tight knot forming in your chest. "How does he even know you’re back in town?"

Jungkook shrugs, looking like he’s trying to make light of it, but the slight crease in his brow gives him away. "Maybe a neighbor mentioned something. You know how it is. Small town, everyone talks."

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "He said he misses me. Wants to see me."

You take a breath, your heart pounding a little faster than usual. "Kook..." Your voice softens, and you try to hold his gaze, willing him to understand. "You don’t have to go see him. You don’t owe him anything."

His eyes dart to yours, but they don’t hold the same certainty you’re used to. There’s a flicker of something there—maybe guilt, maybe doubt. "I know," he says, the words thick with hesitation. "But he’s still my dad."

You lean forward, putting your hands on the table as if grounding yourself, trying to find the right words. "Jungkook, I get that. I do. But look at what he did to you. To your family. You don’t owe him a damn thing. Not after everything he’s done."

A flash of pain crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with a forced shrug. "Maybe he’s changed." His voice is small now, as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You feel a pang in your chest as you watch him. His words sound like a plea, a hope that hasn’t faded, despite everything. "Maybe," you say, your voice quieter than before. "But... Kook, you’ve given him so many chances. How many more does he need to mess up before you stop waiting for him to change?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stares at the table, his jaw clenched. His hands are folded together, knuckles white from the pressure. The silence stretches between you like a tension-filled rope, and you hate how long it lingers.

Finally, he lets out a long, slow breath, his voice almost inaudible. "I just... I don’t know. Part of me keeps thinking that maybe one day, he’ll realize what he lost. That he’ll finally see everything I’ve done for myself. But I’m still his son, you know? I still want him to be proud of me."

Your heart aches for him, and you find yourself reaching across the table without thinking, your hand brushing against his. "Kook..." You pause, unsure how to say what you want. "You don’t need his approval. You never have. You’ve made your own path, your own life. You don’t need him to recognize that."

He meets your eyes then, and for a moment, the world outside fades into the background. He’s so tired, and it’s not just the physical exhaustion. It’s the emotional weight he carries, the years of longing for something from his father that he may never get. "I don’t know if I can just let it go," he admits quietly.

You squeeze his hand, offering him a small but sincere smile. "I know it is. But you’ve been carrying this for so long. You deserve peace, Kook. You deserve to stop wondering if he’s going to come around."

He nods slowly, but the doubt still lingers in his eyes. "I’m just... not ready to give up on him yet. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to let go. But not now."

You nod in understanding, even though you wish he didn’t feel this way. You’re not sure if he’ll ever let go of the hope that his father might change, but you’ll be here for him—whether he wants to see his dad or not.

Because even if he can’t yet walk away from that, you’ll be the one to catch him if he falls.

"So..." Jungkook leans back, stretching like he’s trying to shake off the whole conversation. "You want another coffee or what?"

You huff out a laugh, sensing the way he’s desperate to change the subject. You’ll let him. For now.

"Sure. Let’s drown our trauma in caffeine," you say, clapping your hands once.

"Aki!" you yell across the room like a drunk girl at a party.

Alex's head snaps up from behind the bar, his expression pure chaos. "I KNOW you are not hollering at me from across the damn room at 9 AM!"

You press your palms together in mock prayer, batting your lashes at him.

He points a threatening finger your way, but he's already stomping toward the coffee machine. "You better be glad you're cute. And that you called me Aki. Otherwise? I'd be filing a noise complaint on your ass."

Jungkook cackles next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the booth lazily. "Don’t blame her. She’s been a menace since birth."

"And YOU!" Alex spins dramatically toward Jungkook. "Mr. Ex-Drummer-Wannabe over there—you even THINK about ordering like that and I’m dragging you out by your sad little hair bun."

"I cut my hair," Jungkook defends, laughing so hard he almost spills his cappuccino.

"Good. One less handle for me to grab when I throw hands," Alex fires back without missing a beat.

You’re crying with laughter now, doubled over in the booth as Alex aggressively slams the espresso shots into the machine like he’s personally offended by your existence.

"Two coffees! Extra espresso! And a prayer for your broken souls!" he yells over the sound of the steamer.

You wipe a tear from your eye. Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed pink from laughing.

The tension between you? Gone. Completely obliterated by the unholy spirit of Alex at 9 in the morning.

When Alex brings over your coffees, he doesn’t just drop them off and head back to the bar like a normal person. No, of course not. Alex being Alex means he slams the mugs down with a dramatic flourish, making a few drops slosh over the rims—and then, without so much as a warning, slides right into the booth beside you like he owns the damn place.

You blink at him. "Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, working?" you deadpan, scooting over an inch, not that it does anything to deter him.

"Babe, I am working," Alex says, fake-fanning himself like he’s starring in some bad soap opera. "Quality customer service. Mingling with the clientele. Boosting morale." He flashes you a smile so wide it’s practically criminal.

"You call this customer service?" you snort, narrowing your eyes.

"I call this excellence," he corrects, snapping his fingers in the air.

Jungkook leans back, grinning. "Remind me again why George hasn't kicked your ass to the curb yet?"

"Because," Alex says, stretching out his arms along the back of the booth like a king surveying his kingdom, "nobody else is stupid enough to work as a barista, bartender, waiter, and unofficial therapist at the same time."

"Unofficial therapist," you cough, laughing into your cup.

"I’ve seen things, alright?" Alex says gravely, glancing around the café like someone might overhear. "The shit people cry about at two in the morning over whiskey shots would make your hair fall out."

"You mean like that one girl who thought her cat was psychic and warning her about her cheating boyfriend?" Jungkook grins.

Alex gasps. "That girl was a treasure. And honestly, her cat probably was psychic. Men ain’t shit."

You and Jungkook crack up, nearly spilling your coffees.

"But seriously, why are you still here, Alex? You could probably have an actual desk job by now."

Alex sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Because I love this place. And because I love the poor lost souls who stumble through that door looking like they need either a double shot of espresso or an exorcism."

"You saying you love us?" Jungkook teases, winking.

Alex points straight at you without missing a beat. "Yeah. But I love her more."

He leans his full weight against you, feigning a swoon.

You shove him half-heartedly, laughing. "Jesus Christ, get off me."

"Can’t," Alex hums. "We’re bonded for life now. Future spouses. Bar booth besties. Trauma buddies."

You shake your head, hiding your smile behind your coffee cup. No matter how loud or outrageous Alex could be, moments like this reminded you why you kept coming back to The House. Why it still felt like home, even when everything else around you had changed.

Jungkook watches the two of you with amusement flickering in his eyes. For a second, the weight on his shoulders seems lighter. His smile less forced. You catch the way he lingers, looking around at the chipped wood tables, the battered jukebox, the dusty light pouring through the windows—and you realize it’s not just you clinging to the past.

“So,” you start, drumming your nails against the scratched surface of the table, “anyone interesting playing tonight?”

Alex perks up immediately, a sly smile curling his lips. “Why, you guys thinking about stopping by?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question,” you groan, tossing your head back dramatically against the seat, earning a low chuckle from both Alex and Jungkook.

“Still so easy to rile you up,” Alex teases, nudging your arm with his elbow. "But fine. Yes, there’s someone playing tonight. Some high school senior band. New kids. Pretty decent."

He glances toward Jungkook, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his blue eyes. “You’d love them if you came to watch. Especially the drummer.”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, his mug pausing halfway to his mouth. “Yeah? They any good?” He phrases it like a question but there's a lightness there—something almost hopeful.

Alex leans back against the booth, arms crossed, grinning. “Real good. Their drummer reminds me a lot of you, actually. It’s crazy."

For a moment, something shifts in the air between them—some old memory or unspoken thing passing by. You catch it, the way Alex's voice softens at the edges, the way his posture straightens just slightly when he says it.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He just hums, a quiet sound, before taking a slow sip of his cappuccino. When he sets the cup down again, there’s a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You were amazing, you know," Alex says suddenly, voice lower, more serious now as he turns his head, eyes drifting toward the small stage at the front of the café. "Everyone loved seeing you up there."

"I was nothing special," Jungkook mutters, shrugging like he's trying to make himself smaller. He rolls his shoulders, like the memory sits a little too heavy on them.

"You were," Alex insists, almost stubbornly.

You stay quiet, just watching Jungkook carefully, feeling your chest tighten a little.

He was special. He is special. But you know he struggles to see it sometimes.

“Well," Jungkook says after a beat, laughing under his breath, "thank God we have new generations now. I’m way too rusty these days anyway."

"Rusty?" Alex scoffs like it's the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. "You could still kill it. I bet you could pick up a pair of sticks right now and blow everyone’s mind."

Jungkook laughs again, but this time it’s softer, almost bashful, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "Nah, man. Really. I can’t even remember the last time I touched a drum kit."

"Doesn’t matter," Alex shrugs. "Some things you don’t forget. It’s in you, y’know? Like breathing."

You smile a little into your coffee, feeling something warm bloom in your chest as you watch them.

Because you see it—that flicker of pride, of something almost childlike—lighting up behind Jungkook’s eyes.

No matter how much he tries to brush it off, no matter how much he plays it down…

There’s a part of him that still holds onto that love.

That part hasn’t rusted at all.

“Wanna bet?” Alex leans forward, elbows on the table, a wild grin spreading across his face. “If you come by tonight, get on that stage, and play like you used to, you owe me the fattest tip The House has ever seen. I’m talking, like, a thousand bucks.”

“A thousand?” you splutter, nearly choking on your coffee. Your eyes whip between Jungkook and Alex like you’re watching a live tennis match. “Are you insane?”

Alex just shrugs, looking completely unbothered, like he didn’t just casually ask for a month’s rent.

Jungkook’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, the way it always does when he's considering something reckless.

You can practically see it happening—the slow spark, the glint of mischief flickering to life behind his eyes.

“Yeah?” Jungkook says, voice low, teasing, almost daring. “And what if I suck? What if I’m absolutely terrible?”

Alex grins wider, if that’s even possible. “Then I’ll cover all your drinks. You, anyone you drag in here with you, free tabs for the next three months. No questions asked.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “What if I’m bad on purpose?”

“You can’t be bad on purpose, Jungkook,” Alex says, voice almost affectionate, like he’s stating a universal truth. “You don’t know how. It’s not in your DNA.”

You laugh under your breath because, honestly, Alex isn’t wrong. Jungkook could try his absolute hardest to mess up and somehow still end up being stupidly good at it.

And now you see it happening, right there in front of you—the battle playing out in Jungkook’s head.

Because no matter how calm or grown-up he pretends to be these days, underneath it all, Jeon Jungkook has never met a challenge he didn’t want to destroy.

His fingers tap restlessly against the mug, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He’s thinking about it. Seriously thinking about it.

For a second, you think he might laugh it off.

For a second, you think he might shake his head and say, “Nah, not tonight.”

But there’s a part of you—quiet, selfish—that hopes he doesn’t.

Because seeing Jungkook now, here, with the stage in the background and the hum of The House around you, feels so strange it almost aches.

Like a part of your life that belonged to someone else entirely.

And yet, it did happen.

Right here, between these old walls and scratched tables and buzzing neon lights—Jungkook was alive once.

So alive, it made your chest hurt just watching him.

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat, forcing a smile onto your lips.

You want to see that Jungkook again.

Just for one night.

Just for a song.

Maybe, just maybe… you’re not the only one who wants that too.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, crossing his arms lazily behind his head, his body slumping back into the booth like he couldn't care less.

You and Alex whip your heads toward him at the same time.

“Okay?” you both blurt out, voices overlapping in pure disbelief.

Alex’s jaw actually drops a little. His whole face lights up like someone just handed him front row tickets to his favorite band.

You swear you see sparkles in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a casual shrug, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just agree to revisit an entire part of himself he’s been quietly avoiding for years. “Game’s on. Don’t get too excited about it.”

You can’t help it.

You squeal.

Loud.

Like a literal teenager seeing her One Direction live.

“Oh my god, you’re really playing tonight?” you practically shout, bouncing in your seat.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you over the rim of his mug, hiding a small grin.

“Yeah. Only for the free drinks though. Because I know I’ll be terrible.”

Alex shoots you a look across the table—the look that screams I'm so winning this bet and you better remember this moment forever.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, pretty boy,” Alex sing-songs, leaning back with a smirk. “I’m getting that one grand tip tonight. You’re gonna play like an angel and you know it.”

Jungkook snorts, setting his coffee down with a loud clink. “Dream about it, Alex. I’m washed up. I’m bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Alex says, waving him off. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m bathing in bills later.”

You shake your head, heart thudding against your ribs, still trying to wrap your mind around it.

Jungkook is playing tonight.

In this place.

On that stage.

The same one where he used to tear the house down with nothing but drumsticks and a grin.

You steal a glance at him—at the way he tries to act unfazed, too cool to care.

But you see it.

The way his fingers twitch slightly on the table.

The way his knee starts bouncing under it.

He’s excited.

Terrified maybe.

But excited.

And somehow, you feel like you're about to see a version of Jungkook tonight that’s been hiding for a long, long time.

You smile into your coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into your chest.

Tonight’s gonna be special.

You can feel it.

"Alright," Jungkook says, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"You don’t have to pay me yet, you know," Alex grins, lounging back in his seat like he’s the king of the damn world. "Everyone knows I’m winning this anyway, but still—appreciate the enthusiasm."

"Bold of you to assume that," Jungkook mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes with a small smirk. He peels a few bills from his wallet and hands them over. "This is for the coffees. Nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up."

Alex whistles low under his breath, dramatically tucking the money into the pocket of his apron like it’s sacred treasure. "Coffees are on me, but I'm keeping this. Just so you know, when you lose tonight, this is going straight into my ‘Victory Drinks’ fund."

"Dream on," Jungkook says, already pushing his chair back.

You laugh, grabbing your jacket and slinging it over your shoulders. "We’re heading out before you two start slapping each other with money."

"Already?!" Alex pouts dramatically, sticking out his bottom lip like a child about to throw a tantrum. "But this was just starting to get fun!"

"We’ll see you tonight, babe," you tease, leaning in slightly as you adjust your jacket. "Try not to miss us too much."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Alex calls after you, tossing a mock salute your way as he saunters back behind the bar, already chatting up a new group of customers like the social butterfly he is.

You glance over your shoulder once before stepping outside, the cold air nipping at your cheeks.

The door swings shut behind you, cutting off the warm hum of The House.

And as you and Jungkook walk down the sidewalk, shoulders brushing every few steps, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

"I can’t believe I’ll see you on the stage tonight," you say, your voice soft, almost quiet.

The city moves around you — the low chatter of couples at outdoor tables, the distant barking of a dog, the steady thrum of cars in the background — but right now, it feels like it's just you and Jungkook, walking side by side.

He kicks a small pebble along the sidewalk with the toe of his boot, the rhythm of his steps syncing perfectly with yours.

"Me either," he says, chuckling under his breath. "I’m gonna suck."

He tries to brush it off with a joke, but you catch it — that slight dip in his voice, the way his shoulders curl inward, the way his teeth sink into his lower lip like he’s trying to keep the doubt from slipping out louder.

"Kook," you whisper, reaching out without thinking, your fingers wrapping gently around his elbow, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. "There’s no way in hell you’re gonna suck."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s searching for something — maybe faith, maybe reassurance, maybe just a familiar face who remembers who he used to be.

"I literally bet against myself," he mutters, half-laughing, half-defeated. "I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming."

You shake your head, smiling so much it almost hurts. "I’m with Alex on this one. You’ll be great. You’ll be better than great."

Jungkook scoffs, looking away as a faint blush creeps onto his cheeks. "I’ll embarrass myself," he says, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"You could trip and fall flat on your face and people would still cheer for you," you say, bumping your shoulder against his lightly. "You have that thing, you know? That... energy. People just wanna root for you."

He laughs — a real one this time, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep, somewhere maybe he thought he buried a long time ago.

"You’re dangerous," he says, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips now, one he can’t quite hide. "You’re making me think I can actually do this."

"You can actually do this," you say simply.

For a moment, he just stares ahead, the sunlight catching in his hair, painting gold into the brown strands.

And you realize — he’s not scared of being bad.

He’s scared of remembering how much he loved it.

And maybe, deep down, he's scared of wanting it again.

"C'mon, let's go eat something," you say, grabbing a fistful of Jungkook’s jacket like a child dragging their favorite toy behind them.

Your steps turn rushed, half-skipping across the street, and you hear him laugh behind you — that soft, warm laugh that makes your chest bloom.

"Okay, okay, you don’t have to pull me," he chuckles, letting himself be tugged along, the heels of his boots scraping the sidewalk.

"You’re too slow and I’m too hungry," you shoot back, ignoring the string of playful complaints he tosses about you destroying his ‘new, very expensive, limited edition jacket.’

He doesn't actually try to break free though. He just follows, like he always does when it’s you.

You pull him into a small, tucked-away restaurant, the kind where the air smells like fresh bread and melted cheese, where the noise is low and comfortable.

Without even asking, Jungkook lets you choose the table — a cozy little booth by the window.

And somehow, as you both sit down, flipping open the greasy menus, it feels like nothing ever changed.

Not the years that passed. Not the hard things you both carried inside your chests.

Sitting across from him now feels exactly like it did when you were both younger, less guarded, less afraid.

The food comes quickly — baskets of fries and sandwiches stacked high — and you both agree without saying it that tonight's performance is off-limits, at least for now.

It’s a silent pact sealed with the clink of your water glasses.

"So you’re working tomorrow, and what after that?" Jungkook asks, stuffing a fistful of fries into his mouth, looking so casual you almost forget how his nerves had been rattling earlier.

"I think I’m gonna go to the cemetery after," you say lightly, twirling a fry between your fingers.

You don’t say it like it’s heavy.

Because it isn’t anymore.

It’s a routine. Like brushing your teeth. Like calling your mom.

It’s just something you do.

His chewing slows a little. "Nana?" he asks gently, voice dipping lower like he’s trying not to make the air around you heavier.

"Yeah," you smile a little, taking a sip of your drink. "Tomorrow’s the 15-year anniversary. Gotta go and visit her."

You joke about it, the same way you always do when you talk about it out loud. Not because it’s funny.

But because if you don’t laugh about it, it might feel too real. Too much.

Jungkook doesn’t prod.

Doesn’t tilt his head and give you the pity look.

Doesn’t say I’m sorry like everyone else does.

He just nods, tearing off a piece of his sandwich.

Because he knows.

He knows you visit her grave every month like clockwork. Knows you sit by the little marble headstone and tell her everything you can’t tell anyone else.

Knows that, as weird as it sounds, it’s almost comforting now.

Like a monthly check-in with someone who’s still somehow listening.

"It’s weird," you say suddenly, voice quieter, like you’re not sure why you’re even saying it. "Fifteen years sounds like forever. But it still feels like she’s... close. Sometimes."

Jungkook’s eyes lift to meet yours, soft and full of understanding.

"That’s because she is," he says simply.

You just smile, a real one this time. One that makes your nose crinkle.

And Jungkook smiles back, pushing the basket of fries toward you like he’s offering something bigger than food — like he’s offering comfort without making a big deal out of it.

And in that small, simple moment, you’re grateful.

Grateful that some people in your life — no matter how much time passes, no matter how much hurt sneaks in around the edges — always just get it.

"You know," you say, a small smirk playing on your lips, "I think I’m gonna bring her a pack of ciggies tomorrow. She’d be happy."

Jungkook laughs under his breath. "She’d be thrilled. I can already picture her up there in the sky, chanting, 'Smoke one for me!'"

"Literally," you snort, "that’s so her."

"Bring her some coffee too," he adds, nudging your foot gently under the table. "She only ever smoked when she had coffee."

"Maybe you can bring her the coffee," you tease.

His face softens, the teasing moment slipping into something gentler.

"You’d want me to come with you?"

You glance down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

"Yeah... Only if you want to. No pressure."

"Of course I would," he says instantly. Then his smile fades just a little. "I just didn’t think you’d be comfortable with that. We haven’t gone there together in... ages."

"Yeah..." you trail off, the memory of old visits brushing against your mind like a ghost. Then you pause, the realization creeping up your spine. You lift your head slowly.

"Wait," you say, squinting at him, "are you saying you’ve gone to visit my Nana’s grave... alone?"

The air between you shifts — heavier, thicker.

He gulps. His shoulders tense slightly, but he doesn't back down.

"Yeah," Jungkook admits, voice smaller than before. "Whenever I came back here to visit... I’d stop by and see her too."

You blink at him, stunned.

Your heartbeat violently pulses in your ribcage — not from anger, not even from sadness, but from a fierce, overwhelming surprise.

"You..." you start, then falter. "Why?"

He fiddles with a paper napkin, his fingers slow, deliberate.

His voice is rough when he answers.

"Because you loved her so much. And because she’s the only one I ever trusted to keep an eye on you when..."

There’s a crack in his voice that he doesn’t bother hiding.

It splinters something deep inside you.

"And because..." he clears his throat, like the words are caught there, too heavy to say. "Because I miss her too, you know."

You don’t realize you’re crying until your vision blurs and a tear slides down your cheek.

You wipe it away quickly, embarrassed, but Jungkook just gives you the softest look — patient and understanding — like he knew you would.

"I think," you say, voice shaking despite yourself, "I think she'd be really happy you still visit her."

Jungkook lifts his eyes to meet yours — and for a moment, the busy restaurant, the cold food between you, the people outside — all of it disappears.

"I think she'd be happy about a lot of things," he says quietly.

You don't ask what he means.

You don’t have to.

Instead, you reach across the table and brush your pinky against his — tentative, testing.

He smiles and hooks his pinky around yours without hesitation.

It’s small.

It’s quiet.

But it feels like something sacred.

"Then let’s make her happy tomorrow," you whisper.

"Deal," Jungkook smiles, and you feel a rush of emotions flooding you all at once — a tidal wave you don't even try to fight.

"You know..." you start, gently smiling at him, "I never got to thank you."

His smile falters just a little, confusion slipping onto his face. His eyes lock onto yours — steady, unwavering — and you feel yourself shrink a little under the weight of his gaze.

"For what?" he asks, voice low.

"For being there for me," you say, heart pounding, "when she died."

He shakes his head immediately, brows knitting together.

"Nonsense. You don't thank me for that. Ever."

"I have to, Kook," you whisper, feeling the lump build in your throat.

"No," he insists, voice firm but gentle. "You don't."

But you remember that day like it was yesterday.

You were still in middle school. Barely thirteen.

It was lunchtime, and you sat with your friends, Jungkook included — laughing, pretending everything was normal.

You'd told them how your Nana was sick. How you’d overheard your parents whispering late at night that the doctor said she didn’t have much time left. That it was only a matter of days.

You remembered the way everyone had reassured you.

How they promised she’d pull through.

How they smiled too big and said she was strong. That she would be fine.

You remembered coming home from school that day.

The house had felt... too quiet.

Only Leah and Vicky were there, small and scared, faces pale with something they didn’t fully understand.

Your youngest brother was at the neighbor’s house.

You remembered asking them — what's going on?

You remembered how tiny Vicky’s voice was when she said it.

"Mom said... Nana died."

You remembered standing there, rooted to the floor, unable to breathe.

You remembered the way the world cracked open under your feet.

And you remembered calling Jungkook.

Hands shaking. Voice breaking.

The only person you could think of to call.

He had answered before the first ring even finished.

And he had come over immediately, sneakers barely tied, hair a mess, face open with worry.

No questions. No hesitations.

Just him.

Just Jungkook.

Sitting with you on the cold kitchen floor.

Letting you cry into his chest until your sobs turned into hiccups.

Until your whole body hurt from it.

Until it hurt a little less.

You remember Jungkook holding you, Leah, and Vicky — small arms trying to wrap around all three of you at once.

He was just a kid too.

He loved Nana just as much.

You remember him hiding his own tears, trying so hard to be strong for you.

You remember him picking up your little brother from the neighbor’s house, walking all of you to the corner store, and buying you ice cream — like it could somehow patch up the hole inside your chest.

You remember falling asleep that night with your face buried in his shirt, your sobs wrecking your body until you were too exhausted to cry anymore — and him just holding you through it.

You remember the funeral, too.

How your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

How the world felt too big and too loud and too empty without her.

And how, without saying a single word, Jungkook hooked his pinky around yours — small and trembling — and didn’t let go the entire time.

Back then, it felt like a promise.

Like even when everything else disappeared, he wouldn't.

Now, sitting here with him years later, pinkies still finding each other without thinking, it feels like the same thing.

Maybe it was always the same thing.

"As I said," Jungkook’s voice cuts through your memories, pulling you gently back to him, "nonsense."

His tone is soft but steady, his eyes kind.

"We’re family. I’d always do that."

And without thinking, without meaning to, you tighten your pinky just a little around his.

Just to make sure he’s still there.

"I remember everything, Kook," you whisper, voice shaking.

"And you don’t even realize how much that meant to me."

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you, the softness in his eyes enough to pull the air from your lungs.

"I’m glad I was there," he finally says, voice thick. "I’m glad you called me."

You smile, watery but real.

"Me too.”

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon @joonwater @choijay-07 @notsevenwithyou @mononoaware16 @sky-23s-world @auroresce @sadgirlroo @arcadiaem @kokoandkookie @nakyra2 @kissyfacekoo @butterymin

[hamliet]

Jentry Chau Vs Netflix

So, I watched Jentry Chau Vs. The Underworld.

If you like beautiful (and unique) animation, complex storytelling, themes of coming of age and grief, and references to my favorite band (shout out NCT127), this is a story you should definitely check out. I would recommend it highly, even though I'm going to critique later on in this review.

Complex People and Complex Love

Gugu was a very complex character whom you could both hate as someone who was clearly manipulating Jentry in an almost unforgivable way after doing the unforgivable to her family. And yet, the series opening literally had Gugu sacrificing her life for Jentry, so no matter what was revealed, you always had to handle the uncomfortable reality that Gugu really loved Jentry.

And therein the series explored complexities in love and life, an understanding that comes with growing up and brings on its own grief. The people who raise us, our heroes, turn out to have their own lives and worlds too, their own motivations, that are often not exactly altruistic. We are not at the center of their world as much as we, as children, thought we were.

Jentry's wrestling with her relationship with Gugu was complex and interesting. The handling of Gugu's character was consistently the best in the series, and I loved it even if I'm still not sure I like Gugu. That's a good character--someone you're left pondering the legacy of.

Grief

Jentry working through her grief was a major theme of the series--grief for her parents, and grief for Gugu, not just in terms of her actually dying (which does happen), but in terms of her understanding of who Gugu was and who her parents were.

Jentry's grief journey contrasts with Gugu's grief for Iris and of course Cheng's for Xiao Lan. Which is why Jentry reaching out and healing her inner child through saving Xiao Lan was ultimately a beautiful way of handling her arc. She saw a child who was scared and didn't know what was going on, and destructive in that pain, and saved her.

If you look at the series, Gugu was scared and didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions and destroyed Jentry's family as a result. Kit was scared and didn't understand how to be human and was destructive in that pain.J entry too grieves Kit and projects that fear onto the possibility of losing Michael, which leads to a rift in their relationship. And some of that fear is not understanding who they wanted to be. To quote C.S. Lewis after the death of his wife:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. 

Grief and fear intertwine in many ways in Jentry Chau, including through Moonie allowing herself to be possessed by the Mogui to get her husband back. This also then leads to Gugu's second death.

Gugu's farewell at the end had me full-on sobbing. In a sense, Jentry's entire arc throughout the story is a symbolic way of working through her grief for Gugu, settling with her accepting via choosing to focus on Gugu's love for her, and carrying her memory on in a literal form (the necklace). After accepting Gugu loved her, Jentry loses her fear of the underworld and her powers, and her fear of losing the people closest to her as well.

A Soul Is What You Choose

Jentry's ultimate power isn't burning, but it's being able to see people for whom they want to be. Kit and being human. Ed and being scary. Michael and joining the band.

In a world where everyone, demon or human, is trying to be what they think they need to be, trying to please others, Jentry asks them to be who they want to be, to live how they want to live.

The Best Character and the Worst Writing: Kit

Kit is by far the most compelling character. He's continually sympathetic (while Gugu is somewhat not), conflicted, and torn between how desperately he wants to be human and the inhuman acts he believes he has to commit to be one. Plus, he doesn't understand what it means to be human, nor the complexities of human relationships.

The scene where he helps Jentry create a skinsuit is really a metaphorical sex scene--like fairly obviously. It isn't subtle.

It starts in a bedroom (and yes, animators know what they're doing when they choose setting and objects).

Then we have talking about looking under layers.

Then we have some yonic symbols and this.

Like. And he uses a knife (a traditionally phallic symbol), and the next thing we see is cloth falling... with literal the next frame being clothes (ie, clothes coming off).

Sticking a brush (another traditional phallic symbol) in a vat of wet paint (yonic).

Kit: I've never done this before. It's strange. Jentry: I stand by what I said in class. You do have a soul, and you're more human than you know.

Also note the hand clasped position.

It ends with them literally "becoming one" in Kit embodying a Jentry skin to help Jentry uncover the truth--in other words, they help each other be human.

Which is why what happens next really doesn't make storytelling sense, and is actually kinda offensive.

Love Triangle: What Not To Write

The love triangle pretty clearly was supposed to represent Jentry's links to the supernatural (via Kit) and her links to the human world (via Michael). Great potential for a love triangle, a trope I generally hate because it's almost never well done.

This was not well done. What makes it even more frustrating is that it had a ton of potential to be well done via the thematic and symbolic potential.

Having Kit suddenly go aggressive ex who can't take "no" for an answer was lazy writing, nonsensical within the characters they'd set up, and offensive. Offensive, primarily, because you absolutely should never introduce a triggering element like, oh, harassment and controlling men if you don't plan on dealing with it in the story. And they didn't. At all.

The only reason that element was there was to resolve the love triangle in a clear way--oh, Jentry should be with Michael because Kit acted threatening, even though he never had before. That's just bad writing, because if there's a clear choice in a love triangle, you gotta actually write it. Make Michael the more compelling love interest. (More on how they didn't do this later.)

The entire sequence with Kit makes no sense. Jentry tells him he's actually "hundreds of years old," parroting Tumblr-esque anti arguments about Twilight and every other paranormal love story ever. Except, the story had always explicitly framed Kit as a child being abused by Cheng and "parented" by puppets. His journey to understand who he was, that he mattered, that he could be a human too, was clearly a coming-of-age story.

You don't tend to end coming-of-age stories with death, but they did, pretty much because after the threatening scene there was no coming back.

Plus, Jentry's treatment of Kit actually was pretty bad. Now, there's never an excuse for a threatening ex, but--Kit was right about her hypocrisy in terms of how she treated demons like Ed and himself, something that Jentry isn't really asked to reckon with.

If they wanted Jentry to end up with Michael, that's fair, but her decision was taken away from her because they just decided to stamp Kit with a lazy and offensive development and then kill him off in a redemptive death that emphasizes everything that can go wrong with that trope.

Michael Deserved Better

I feel like they didn't know entirely what to do with Michael. He started off with a cool arc, torn between his desire to be a band geek and his talent for football. His indecision leading to conflict with Stella and Jentry was also a great flaw, especially given that he also has visions of the future. An indecisive teenager with precognition has a ton of potential.

But, Michael's arc vanishes after the festival. Instead he's just... kinda there. Jentry chooses him because she wants to be a normal, human girl. But this isn't a good reason, because she's not (and arguably, he's not either!). Yet this isn't unpacked--the idea that everyone in this triangle is both human and supernatural, to varying degrees.

One interesting idea I spotted during the scene where Kit (as Jentry) gets asked out by Michael is that--well, it's a romantic-coded scene with two men, even if Kit turns him down for Jentry.

But it also coming on the heels of the metaphorical sex scene kinda seemed to almost hint at a throuple. Plus the scene after Kit's death where Jentry views them as merging, and where Michael expresses that Jentry views them the same. This would have actually been a very interesting turn for the story to take in future seasons, if they get those (especially since Stella x Tokki is apparently a thing?).

Because ultimately:

Netflix: The True Enemy

Honestly, almost all of the writing flaws I've talked about come down to the writers just not having enough time. If they had a guarantee of further seasons, they wouldn't have needed to rush to finish the love triangle. They wouldn't have needed to kill Kit. They wouldn't have needed to abort Michael's arc and conflict with Stella.

And really, Netflix continues to disappoint me in emphasizing just how much they focus on profits and money over art. They prefer fast food over an actual nutritious meal. They give shows like one season to get record ratings and if they don't, they get axed. Of course writers are going to rush to cram their story into a single season, because there's no guarantee of another season. Series aren't given any leeway to explore their interesting elements, or to find their footing. It's bad for art. However, Warner Bros exists so Netflix can't fully win the crown for worst example of capitalistic corporations killing art just yet.

I continue to be disappointed that series with no actual story that the writers want to tell (merely a concept of a plan) get renewed for seven seasons based on the writer's reputations (that they then tank with their terrible non-writing) while interesting stories with beautiful art and animation, complex ideas on grief and growing up, have to scramble to beg for another season.

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

[miaoua3]

Hug It Better

Pairing: joshua x gn! reader

Genre: comfort, a wee bit of angst (reader had a bad day and joshua makes it better), fluff

Description: to say that you had a bad day is understatement-everything that could’ve gone wrong, did. luckily, your boyfriend joshua is always there to pick you up when you’re down.

Note: very self-indulgent, i need a hug from my little shua booa😔

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

to say that your day sucked is an understatement. first, your alarm didn’t go off, so you woke up late for work. then it started to rain as you were sprinting to your work and it just so happened to be the day you had forgotten your umbrella that your boyfriend got you awhile ago.

to make the matters worse, as you were impatiently waiting to cross the street, a car drove by and over a big puddle of rain, sprinkling it everywhere.

and all over you.

when you finally got to your office, you got an earful from your supervisor for being late.

the things only seemed to progress for the worse as you keep on making stupid little mistakes that your colleagues had to point out to you.

the day has been so stressful, that it was only as you were walking through the door of your and your boyfriend’s apartment that you noticed that you haven’t eaten anything the entire day.

as you were quietly taking your shoes off, from the right side where the kitchen is,you see a head pop out.

looking up, you see your boyfriend smile at you, “hi, welcome home love. come and see what i made for you”.

it’s only then that you smell a delicious smell spreading all throughout the apartment.

still a bit confused, you walk to where the kitchen.

and the sight in front of you makes you speechless.

the table is set, brimming with all your favourite dishes, a little candle lit in the middle of the table, a bouquet of your favourite flowers sitting on your undesignated but kinda designated chair.

“look babe, i made hotpot, i started making it like 2 hours ago so it could be cooked all the way through, and look!- my mom sent us some kimchi so i took a bit out too, and then we have some bibimbap, and i made us a desert as well! see, i wasn’t really sure what you were feeling so i just decided to go with…”

joshua was so excited to show you what he prepared for you, focusing all of his attention to the table in front of him, that he didn’t really look at you to see your reaction.

until a sniffle broke out of you.

snapping his head to you, his shocked face comes to see silent tears streaming down your face, your teeth biting your bottom lip harshly to stop the sobs from escaping your mouth.

joshua, still in disbelief, starts to ask “baby, wha-“, but before he can finish his question, you suddenly start wailing loudly.

you sobs are so loud that you think that not even a newborn baby could beat you in this game.

you just kinda stand there, fists balled up next to your body as you sob and wail. if you weren’t the one crying, you were sure that you would find this whole scene hilarious.

joshua, with eyes as big as saucers, approaches you quickly, gently taking your face in his big hands.

“woah woah woah, baby, what’s wrong? what happened? w-why are you crying? do you not like this? i can just call one of the guys to come pick this up as a dinner, really, it’s no problem at all, im so sorry baby, i didn’t mean to upset you-“

before he can continue with his rambling you let yourself fall into him, arms wrapping themselves around his waist, your probably snotty and wet face hiding in his neck as you continue to wail.

joshua hugs you back just as tightly as you’re hugging him, his hands rubbing your back in comfort.

after a few moments, still sobbing and hiccuping, you try to say “i-i love you s-so much, what d-did i do to dese-deserve you, y-you are literally my-my angel, a-and i love you so mu-much. i had such a-a terrible day, and then you-you come and pull all of t-this a-and i just-“ you stop yourself just to let out another loud wail, your hands balling up his shirt in your fists.

joshua, concentrating really hard to understand what you were talking about through your sobs, softens as you interrupt yourself with your own cries.

in response, joshua lets one of his hands come up to your head to scratch it in comfort, feeling his eyes close in relief that it wasn’t him that upset you.

“shh, it’s okay my love, i got you now. i will make it all better”.

and you were sure that he will.

because with joshua by your side to comfort you, even the worst and hardest days don’t seem to be that bad.🤍

[rainofthetwilight]

I saw someone on twitter point out how that this dadsy scene is literally the entire message of S5 in the first episode and oh my god it's making me ill

the whole “you can follow the written recipe to a tea but you’ll still change it to your taste” is how MK figured out how to solve everything with the colored stones, cause MK followed EVERYTHING the guardians said to do, what nuwa had made him to be!! but he did it to protect his friends, so even when he fought so hard to accomplish what he thought was right, it wasn't enough. cause he didn’t follow what he thought was the right way, he didn't follow his tastes

when he followed the recipe on his own, it didn’t taste right until pigsy helped him- HIS DAD, his FAMILY. It connects to how he listened to the guardians, listened to nuwa, even xiangliu! but it wasn’t right because he was alone through ALL of it! It wasn’t until he was with his family when he found the right answer, when he was reminded of who he was and what he wanted. he did everything the recipe said, but only when he added his tastes- AKA his family- is when he was satisfied with the outcome!!

god. I'm sobbing I love this show so much

[playstation-dreamcast]

The Gods (AO3 writer curse) have struck me down (given me strep) for my hubris (babysitting) so I've been like- dying dying. Still working, but in the meantime here a commission I did!

Physical touch headcanons with Wesker that got outta hand, pure fluff here. A little angst, but that just comes with the Wesker territory. Rated T for suggestive themes

Okay, so Wesker is actually a velcro captor boyfriend who always wants to cuddle with you- but he wasn’t always like that. You had to unlock that DLC. Before, any sort of physical touch was commonly initiated by him, and often led to the bedroom. He was under the impression that that was simply the sole purpose of physical touch. It was the only time he had ever experienced it at least

He was never really sure what to do when you were struck by The Emotions™️. He hardly knew what to do on the rare occasion when he was struck by The Emotions™️. So, he typically treated you the way he wanted to be treated, which is to say he left you the fuck alone. He knew he liked about a mile and a half worth of space on the yearly occasion that his heart decided to beat, so naturally you did too. Right?

Wrong, absolutely wrong. You found him, eyes glossy and rimmed in red, sniffling softly. And he felt that annoying clench in his chest, that unbearable need to protect you from whatever had upset you. But, he still couldn’t quite find it in himself to be soft. “What?” It was cold, and harsh, but also exactly what you were used to from him at this point.

“Look, I just…I’m having a really bad day, will you just hold me?” you asked through choked back tears. Odd. He genuinely couldn’t imagine you wanting to be intimate while crying, and honestly while he was in no way above dacryphilia, he preferred it to be from overstimulation as opposed to…whatever it was that had you upset now. The man hadn’t even thought to ask, my god. Still, He could be a good sport if you genuinely thought it would help.

Wesker was notoriously a man of few words. He doesn’t just out right tell you to crawl into his lap. Instead he would just lean back in his chair and you just kinda gotta get the message. And he’s fully prepared for things to get weird. It’s physical touch, getting weird is a requirement- it’s why it exists at all. Right? He was bracing himself for salty, tear filled kisses and sloppy sobs in between thrusts. He was almost tense thinking about it.

He was going to let you take the lead here- a rarity for him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest as you sniffled. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close and resting his head on the top of your own. It was shockingly soft. A tender moment that caught him a little off guard if we’re all being honest here.

Wesker was typically pretty good at reading into people’s ulterior motives. He was quite literally trained in it. But, he was a little lost here. He was fully expecting this whole ordeal to lead to sex, but the entire scene was just so…innocent. You seemed to genuinely just want to curl up in his arms for…fucking reasons, he guessed??? It went against his entire view of physical touch. Could you really just want to be held?

If you were paying attention, You would have seen the moment of breakthrough. The moment his eyes got a little wider as he realized what he had been missing out on this entire time. You weren’t paying attention though. You were too lost in his comforting warmth and familiar scent. Maybe you truly had lost it, but you did find safety in Wesker's arms, even if he was the most dangerous creature in the room at any given moment. He had told you once that he would never hurt you intentionally, and you believed him- no matter how foolish that might have been.

He let out a soft sigh, releasing some of his own tension from his shoulders. His hand slowly ran up your spine, comfortingly rubbing your back. You found yourself softly crying again. A part of you expected him to push you off his lap. Hell, a part of himself expected him to push you off his lap. You were both shocked when he softly rocked you instead, kissing the top of your head. You were safe to fall apart in his arms, he’d hold you together

Slowly you started to calm down. You adjusted in his arms, correcting your posture to better hold him as opposed to him holding you. Of everything in this world that Wesker understood perfectly, he’d never truly understand how you always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Slowly he melted right back into your arms, hiding from the rest of the world in the little bubble of delusional safety the two of you had made both with and for each other

You shifted, and you felt his grip tighten- silently begging demanding that you stay longer. So you got comfortable instead, far preferring this gentler (if you could call it that) side of Wesker that was at this point so often kept from you over his normal ice. You were sure Wesker had some sort of feelings for you, but where exactly you stood with him was an internal mystery. At least with moments like these it felt a little clearer. 

He wasn’t sure when you fell asleep, he wasn’t sure if he had joined you in sleep or not. But at some point twilight turned to night, and you were softly snoring in his arms. He rubbed your back, taking a moment to feel the weight of you against his chest. To take in the full gravity of the situation he found himself in and how hopeless it was. How dare his human heart still beat, and how dare you hold it as if it was never his to begin with. Maybe it wasn’t. Actually it definitely wasn’t, there had to be a reason it had only ever stirred for you and like- two other people ever. (Oh Birkin. Oh Chris.)

That was different though. Birkin was his equal on all fronts, and Chris was just so fucking pristine Wesker felt like he had to dirty him; to own him and possess him then drag him through the mud to bring him down to Weskers level. You didn’t fit into either of those categories. You were something that defied categorization itself. It was no wonder you had captivated him so much more than they had. You had- quite literally- crawled into his lap and showed him that human touch, with zero sexual promise, was not only possible but in some cases preferable. He was not going to be normal about this information, he was never going to stop holding you. 

Finally he stood up, still holding you in his arms as he took you to your shared bedroom. He laid you down, put a blanket over you, then had to take a second to realize what the fuck he was doing. Wesker had long since accepted that at some point you stopped being just an experiment and became something more when he wasn’t looking. But it was nights like these when he wondered what life with you could have been like if he was different. If he could access this caring side of his on command rather than it having to be slowly coaxed out of him.

Oh well. No use getting lost in what ifs now. He wasn’t that man, and he had no desire to be that man. Your current reality suited him just fine, and he’d make it suit you eventually.

That next morning was the first morning you woke up to find him in bed with you, arms wrapped around you and holding you tightly to him. It would remain a rare occurrence, Wesker often working long into the night and waking up early to get back to it. Bio terrorism never rested, so therefore he never rested either. Still, it was always a nice surprise when it happened.

[hrrtshape]

okay but what's wrong with barbie?? thought we all loved it???

girl. we do. we do love her. but love isn’t blind. love has a phd. love knows when the glitter starts to reek of corporate compromise. look. i went three times. cried every time. laughed too. i am a woman. the "mother" montage got me. was sobbing. the pink made me giggle. america ferrera said "you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t" and i said "girl you’re quoting foucault and you don’t even know it." but also. like. come on.

nothing is wrong with barbie. and everything is wrong with barbie.

okay. let me pull up with my own allegory. the barbie movie is like if plato’s cave was a sephora, everything is pink and reflective and you think you’re seeing the light but really it’s just a sponsored post. and that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… frustrating. like watching someone skim the surface of a lake while you’re drowning in the trench. like. yes!!! say girlhood is beautiful and tragic and painful and funny and culturally constructed and ripped from us in adolescence!!!! yes girlie speak on it!!!! and then they do, but like, in a way that makes you go "huh. that was a little instagrammable wasn’t it."

feminism-as-funko-pop. like, yes. let’s critique capitalism by... releasing the most aggressively marketed film of the decade??? like the critique is literally sandwiched between two sponsored action sequences. they had a chevy chase scene with mattel oversight and expected me not to notice??? had to distance myself from the narrative.

and the patriarchy thing.... god. i wanted a scene of america ferrera holding a copy of sexual politics and sobbing in a car. i wanted greta to quote adrienne rich and give little girls a crisis. but instead we got "patriarchy is when ken wears fur." and okay, sure, that’s funny!!! and accurate in its own ironic little ken-coded way!!! but it also made me feel like i was getting an andrew tate explainer from someone who just discovered tumblr in 2022.

and the tone whiplash????? it was like flipping between a powerpuff girls rerun and a college admissions video essay. "everything is pink and good!! oh no, problem!!! real world. sad......catcalling. here’s a dance break! now cry about mothers! now a kendom musical! now existentialism for toddlers!"

also can we talk about ryan gosling. like yes he’s funny. yes he committed. yes he looked like a malibu himbo version of every man who’s ever explained kafka to me wrong. but the entire narrative pivoted around him. it felt like barbie was the side character in her own film. and sure, maybe that’s the point, maybe greta was doing a little bit, a little meta-narrative sleight-of-hand. but girl. i came here to cry in glitter. not to watch ken go through his fight club arc. (and yes, i get the irony of me comparing it to fight club. greta wins this round.) girlhood is not the b-plot !!!!!! i want radical deconstruction with my dance number. i want barbie to go post-structuralist. i want her to read lacan and say "i am the signifier, bitch. i will rattle the bones of every man in wall street." (and i know for obvious reasons they didn't because men on twitter are already calling it woke. what do you mean woke. WHAT DO YOU MEAN WOKE)

also !!! and i say this lovingly and in turn misinterpreting the film because i suppose this was on purpose but at least i'm self aware. that "real world" scene with the girl in school who tells barbie she’s a fascist???? reddit atheist pipeline. it’s giving "i read the communist manifesto once and now i correct my english teacher on misandry." been there done that. girl what are you doing. barbie didn’t start the war in iraq. shut up she's trying her best atrodai kaip blet centrine !!!!!!!

anyways, this is all to say.....yeah. i love barbie. i love her like you love a little cousin who makes killer cupcakes and sometimes posts girlboss quotes on facebook. she is flawed. she is shallow. she is tender. she is deep. she is everything and nothing and a deeply compromised artefact of late-stage feminist media. and i would still die for her.

in conclusion: barbie made me cry. but i’m crying in the club. and the club is called discourse. (and this is really fucking long holy shit)

[gailsfrog]

HES BACK

PUZZLES IS BACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

I Literally amost cryed bro ive been screaming that entire 41 min runtime idk abt yall-

Ok first off Karen/Katana's Dynamic with Mr. WPNZ IS SO INTRESTINGG ghgfkjgh sdkg Like OMG are they gonna be a fam again? no :(

Guys im TOTALY normal with him- HES TOTALY NOT FKUCKIN HOT ghkfghgh

HEAD GUN >:3

Ok but the eye thing tho??? ?????

He has Chainsaw hands >;3 MURDER DRONESSS

hehe Rizz

Katana thats COOOLL

BAHEAHE FRR

I screamed very loudly.

Buisnes partners. Ok them together back then kinda sweett

Bro left to get the milk 💀

I never expected to hear the word 'pregnent' in SMG4 (asside from Smg3's serch hisory ep lol)

The playfull bickering for a sec hereeeeeee

teehee THIS IS SO GOOFYY MR. WPNZ LOOKS ADORABLE AJEKAE HAEL

OK BUT THEIR CHEMISTRY IN THIS WHOLE SCENNEEE AEEEE

Its soo cutteee

tehehe

Ok but Mr. WPNZ has a point lol

Our kid IM GONNA DRAW HIMMMMMMMM EAHEAK E

OK BUT THIS TO THE SCENE BELOW MEE AAEE

I thought they gonna kiss for a sec lol

HELLL YEAHHHHHHHHHH HE IS SOO A MODERCYCLE GUY (Now put puzzles on the back hehehehe)

First biggest plot twist.

Their wepond limbs :D (cool idea >:3) So ig Mr. WPNZ Geneticaly was born a gun. :T

CRIES* THIS IS CUTEEE

Ok by this point i was likE O m g gh fd ghksjdf g and then like wheres 4???

DA CASTLLEE

Bros drinking milk insted of alkihol lol

SMG4!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR OKAYYYYY Awh he bandeged :(

(Ima start typing b4 my pic number runs out :')

Ok but Smg4 is like a bartender here EE

Smg4's voice is so sweeeettttt (Smg3 i get you bro)

Ok those lill guys are so cuteeeee

*4 reaches hand across* Hes so supportave for herrrr hgkjsdh kdfg Like a husband but like their more of freinds lol

*Mario getting a sandwitch* It dont look like they have beef ok lol

Im quoting this blue man bro cuz its gonna take like 5 screenshots :P

SMG4: "You can't change someone for who they are... But maybe... That's okay, That's why you're there, right? To teach them when they mess up. To be there when they need it... You're in their corner of the ring through it all, supporting them so they can grow and be happy (sobs) "I imagine as a parent... That's what you'd want more than anything" *Mario chokes on the damn microwave*

OK BUT FRR SMG4- BRO COOKED ON THISS LIKE WOW

"My grandpa gave me that microwave" Bro you were birthed out of a USB you dont have Grandparents-

Wpnz guy heist:

*gets annoyed with kids* :'o yeah Karen right :T

Yeah he a villan alright.

dang you know it intence if they dont bleep stuff out

Ok but the fight scenesss (PEAKK)

Do the red eye thing have importantce? Gives me smg0/niles vibes a bit. and when puzzles screen goes all realistic eyeballs

Declawed :( oWW probably hurtsss

poor karen bro 😭

yay the kids saved her :>

They kick ass here tho

Him being all "AAAAAAAAAAAAA" goofy ass

Cant be dead right?

Ok where are karens glasses bro

:3

My reaction to the whole MR WEPONDS AND PUZZLLES AHAEAEAE

Fu last pic opTION hg jkhkdfg

im wording this :0

HES ALLIVEEEE fgjfhkjfdhkjdh

grey light?

SHadow guy??? Marty Huh?? The HITMAN INC GUY??? ?????

TV STATIC HUH???????? "cat got your tounge" Pun intended.

And allone" IS THIS PuZZ?

" A FREIND" DEAD GIVE AWAY I WAS LIKE AEEEEEE *Screams* NO WAY- ITS PUZZLES

BRO WHILE THE SCREN WAS GLuTCHING I WAS LIKE

NUH UH

NO WAY BRO NOO WAYY

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

MR PUZZLES???

MR PUZZLEs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*walks arround room screeching*

*REPLAY* MR PUZZZLES

*TRYES NOT TO CRY* *curseing* HES BACKKKKKKKKK

Mech is Cute btw hehe

Ok but for like Mr. WPNZ and Mr. Puzzles. Ive seen post abt the ship YES >:D and now they gonna be freinds?? Its gonna be * I N R E S T I N G* >:D Cuz their like oppisite Puzzles has a tee hee voice and WPNZ has a lower voice. But their both mechanical ee and It seems Mr. WPNZ might have Screen-ghost powers? Im currious on how their dynamic is going to work. Cuz Mr. WPNZ Is like A helluva boss ahh Assassian and Mr. Puzzzles Is an Ex-Tv show guy I wonder if puzzles is more cold hearted after the Puzzlevision stuff and Puzzle park stuff. I hope hes a goober stillllll EE. It'd be SOO COOL to see Mr. Puzzles lock in possibly with the help of Mr. WPNZ and ACTUALLY Kick ass at being a villan LIKE What if he gets a new model or something where Mr. WPNZ Gives him weponds or they fuse?? Like if they fuse what if Smg3 and Smg4 Fuse LIKE (I still cant think what 3 and 4 would look like fused :T)

Also, remember how Mr. Puzzles has like Daddy issues? since im pritty shure his dad was abusive and and an asshole. (screw that guy idk if hes still allive.) and Mr. WPNZ is litarally a dad. GUYS THIS IS INTRESTINGGGGGGGGg AEEEEEE

As for Marty, I think hes gonna be a reoccuring side villan. I think Smg3 used to be like that. YEaarrrsss ago so yea :> im guessing next week were either gonna get a Mario reacts (fr karen???) or like Smg3 and Smg4 talking abt stuff, or a remastered lol :3

[librathefangirl]

i've already watched the new ep too many times so... SOME OF MY FAVORITE DETAILS OF THE MELIODAS VS ARTHUR FIGHT

The Full Counter! (Meliodas swooping in at the last moment to protect his loved ones will never not make me sob)

The first sate sate sate of the season? With that epic pan over him holding his sacred treasure?? Also with him saying it in a way that reminds me of the sate sate sate of the Kingdom Infiltration arc??? HYPE!!

my sweet baby arthur what happened to you?? 😭😭

Meliodas managing to shield Tristan behind him AND looking intimidating while doing so (despite the height difference!)

Oh my pretty beautiful man, I've missed having you on my screen 😭🥹

The fucking power and destruction behind these attacks! Just the sheer visualization of it 👌

The way the new characters are FREAKING OUT and the old ones are like welp his majesty's got this, let's get out of the way

Tristan's wings!! I LOVE the black feathers (especially how they actually fall off in all the action)

i can't capture this through the screenshot but- The way you can just see and hear how much more uncontrolled and rage-driven Tristan's attacks are

Meliodas flipping the tables on Arthur! (the way Arthur goes from nearly landing a potentially fatal hit on Tristan to having to jump out of the way of Meliodas' attack)

Meliodas' demon mark! (and the way it only comes out AFTER Arthur almost harms Tristan 😭)

Trillion Dark!! The love I have for this move! And it looks fucking amazing here!

The oh shit look(s) on Arthur's face

Kick that racist, baby! 👏

The sound effects of Tristan's out of control darkness here... 👀

Tristan's reaction to realizing Meliodas got hurt 🥺 The gasp! The look on his face!

Okay. I wasn't gonna include any dialogue details here (because I've mostly been able to watch without subs) but... The dialogue that I know is happening here 😭 the how can I be a king if I don't care about my son bit from Meliodas and the to be a king we have to set aside our own feelings from Arthur, and this especially in light of Meliodas' past with his own father and his lack of care for his sons and opinion on personal feelings/emotions🥺😭😭

Meliodas immediately going to Tristan's side (even putting away his weapon and turning his back on his very powerful enemy because he loves his kid so much)

THE WAY HE'S HOLDING TRISTAN (I could make a whole post about everything I love about this one shot)

Despite how many characters can fly in this universe, there's something unnerving and powerful about the way Arthur does it in this scene - like. specifically the way he lifts off the ground

Meliodas willingness to die protecting his family is also something that will never not make by sob 😭😭

There's something about Percy's scream for Meliodas, and the way it's visualized, that just hits hard (and especially considering how he actually just met him)

Not the shook on his face 😭 he was fully prepared to take that hit

That catch!! 🥺

And the way he holds him 🥺🥺 and the worry in his voice 🥺🥺

The way he's just so happy that Tristan is okay and back to his normal self and nothing else matters at that moment 😭

Blurry background family!

And I'm gonna stop now because this was supposed to be about the Meliodas Vs Arthur fight and not the entire episode - but some final things I loved: Lancelot and his dramatic entrances, Percy literally vibrating with his want to help fight Arthur, the casual way Lance fights, Donny and Gawain's expressions/reactions throughout the whole thing (which tbh deserves its own post), and of course-

THE WAY THE OTHER SINS WERE READY TO PULL THE FUCK UP BECAUSE THAT'S THEIR FAMILY YOU'RE MESSING WITH DAMMIT!!