#and this is where it ends! everything else is 31 and will be released next month! there is a few more stuff i want to post but skipped over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orchardisland · 2 years

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━━ 𝐧𝐨𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠

Let me tell you the story of one of our unfortunate residents who seems to be a WEBTOON & FREELANCE ARTIST on the island. Fate has assigned this individual guidance from THE MOON card. But they needn’t worry, their secrets are safe with me.

DOB: october 31, 1994 DEFINING TRAITS: astute, creative, perceptive, detached, cunning, vindictive RESEMBLES: shinee lee taemin

content: body horror, FDIA (munchausen by proxy)

YOU ARE PRESENTED WITH A PRISTINE DECK OF TAROT CARDS. TAKE YOUR PICK.

It’s a dream. Harang knows it’s a dream because the world looks water-warped and bent at the edges.

The woman in front of him also doesn’t have a face.

It’s a blank slathering of skin stretched tight over a sheet of bone, soft indents where her eyes should be. She’s wearing his mother’s best dress. In front of her are cards, blank-backed and waiting to be picked up. He knows he should, because it’s a dream, and everything else around him is a void of black. He thinks, with some remaining thread of consciousness still left, that if this is his mother they should be a collection of business cards professing doctor’s offices. A random selection from which they should choose next, like he’s thirteen again and with no bodily autonomy. As he picks one up, he sees that it’s not a business card, or anything medically relevant. Just a picture with a lopsided rendition of the moon. It’s dripping down into the sea sketched below, and Harang can almost feel his body melting with it. The woman in front of him still doesn’t have a face, but when he looks up she seems like she wants one.

Joints grind and shift, and her skin splits open as soft as a ripened peach, the fruit inside caving in with rot as she goes and forces open a mouth of her own. Now, she speaks, toothless and in an imitation of his mother that prickles at his nape.

“Illusion. Isn’t that who you are, isn’t that the world you grew from? My baby, my poor child. Always sick, never sick. Stuck in the middle.”

Harang frowns, lifts a hand to his own face, tracing at his own features like he’s wondering if they’re still there. He tries to ignore the truth that settles into him with a heavy certainty.

“Fear, anxiety. They consume you, always. My little coward. You never know what’s best. You need someone else to choose, don’t you? You’ll fuck it all up, won’t you?”

It’s hard to breathe, the air he’s pulling in is twisting around in his throat, idling on the way to his lungs. And like this, he proves her point.

“There’s so much inside of you. So much left repressed. So much you won’t let out. That’s who you are, isn’t it Harang? That’s who you’ll always be.”

You can’t die in a dream, even if you’re choking.

He’s yanked up, back to the living; twisting in a tomb of sweat-soaked sheets and wresting in an inhale that aches at his ribs.

The moon outside his window leers in at him. It sits, waiting and ominous. Harang draws the blinds and ignores it.

THE CARD FLUTTERS TO YOUR FEET. WHO WERE YOU BEFORE THIS STORY BEGAN?

—FIVE

When Harang inhales it sounds thick, wet. His skin’s all clammy, like the water in his lungs is trying to drain out through his pores (it doesn’t work). He settles into a tremble, even if he feels hot to the touch. Counts in his head for as long as he can hold his breath before he releases it out again. Fifteen seconds, and it ends in a cough that punches through at the ribs. It’s why he’d been holding it up, trying to keep that shock of a feeling away. The slow-drag ache that follows.

A groan that sounds more like a whimper as he rolls himself flat, cheek pressed to the ondal-warmed floorboards. It overheats him to the point where the muddied pallor of his face starts to stain pink.

His mother coos, and it’s songbird-sweet. She cards her fingers through Harang’s sweat-dampened hair, gifts him goosebumps and a shiver that he feels down to the soles of his feet. He curls his toes and wishes he could reject his own body. Molt out of it just like the blotchy black spiders that live in the corners of their bathroom.

Sickness has built a home inside of him. A sickness that takes shape, lives, thrives. A sickness he’s sick of.

“My poor, pretty thing.” His mother’s voice distracts him, pulls at wandering attention. He reaches out toward her, and through his blurry haze of medicated syrup he misses the edge of her nightgown. His hand is clumsy, and he knocks over her wine glass instead.

“Oh, fuck.” she mutters it out in that tight tone Harang hates. Her hand disappears to right the glass before more wine has time to soak into the pale carpet.

“Go to sleep Harang. I’ll get a towel, we’ll go to the doctor in the morning.” (Harang hates the doctor, he visits far too frequently. Hates when they poke and prod and search for blood deep in his veins).

She disappears, and he feels cold again. When he inhales, it hurts. Air ushered in with that stifling, pungent smell of alcohol. It sends him into a coughing fit, one that he has to push himself upright to manage. By the time it’s over and he’s clawing the hair out of his eyes he sees the aftermath of his mistake.

There’s a puddle of wine to ruin the rug. It seeps in; visceral, red.

—EIGHT

“Yes, I know you gave us money last month. But it’s not like we hadn’t been desperate for it then too.”

In the pause that follows, Harang can just barely make out the disjointed voice of his uncle on the other end. He scribbles abstract shapes on the cover page of his homework, his mother’s not paying enough attention to scold him.

“Don’t you dare say that to me. You know how much we’ve been struggling since he’s passed.”

His mother always says that in a peculiar way, passed. Not in the way of some, where they’re trying to dance around it, just...with a heaviness. Like she’s looking to unload it onto whoever she’s talking to. Make it feel like it’s their burden to bear instead of hers, that her husband went and died.

And Harang can tell that his uncle usually accepts this burden in some begrudging way, unsure of how to say no in the ugly face of tragedy. Hammered home when she weaponizes him, too.

“And...Harang. You know. You know we have medical bills, he’s always sick.” that’s hissed out in a half-whisper as she tilts her body away from him, and Harang wonders if she really believes that the direction would cover her voice. Maybe. He colors in a triangle with the deep blue of his ballpoint pen, one leg swinging to knock a heel rhythmic against the leg of the chair. He muses on what’s for dinner.

“I’ve been looking for work, but there’s only so many options in this hellhole. We came here because you got him a job, remember? Building ships, well, what a great fucking future that left me and your nephew with.”

Harang can tell the precise moment his uncle gives in and says yes; it’s when his mother lets the tension loosen from her muscles. Posture returning back into something graceful by the time she sets the phone back into its cradle.

“What are you- Noh Harang, stop that.”

There’s no affection in her tone, words snapped out with a rubber band sting. Harang fixes a blank stare on her face, lets his fingers go lax. The pen rolls free. He shoves himself up from the chair, ignores the angry words that follow him out of the kitchen.

—ELEVEN

This used to confuse him, the hot-cold-hot way his mother handles him. Still in the doorframe of his grandmother’s house and her fingers ring delicate around his shoulders. Doting and careful, the way that children’s books tell him that mothers should act. Twenty steps deep and buried in the back of their car old enough to be described as a relic and it’ll disappear, that predilection.

He can foresee it as he clutches plastic tupperware containers of leftovers to his chest, watches as she fiddles with the knob of the radio. When music finally plays, it’s with a residue of static. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and she glares at the road when they drive onto it.

“I want ice cream.”

He doesn’t, but he wants his mother back. The one from his grandmother’s house, the one that appears like magic when there are people around them; or when he’s in a doctor’s office and they’re running him through more tests.

“We just ate. And anyway, you need to take your vitamins.”

Harang rolls his eyes, fits a temple to the window so she won’t see. He doesn’t like the vitamins, they make his stomach roll with nausea. Especially when she tells him he’s deficient enough to need two of them.

But then, that’s when she appears again, those moments where he feels ill. That same sort of mother, fretting and cooing and blotting the sweat from his brow. It’s hard to separate out all of his tangled feelings about his body, the inexplicable bouts of sickness. Oscillates from self-hatred to a longing for the affection he knows will follow.

It’d be better, Harang thinks, if he just didn’t feel much of anything at all.

—FIFTEEN

“I don’t know why you’re so sullen about this. All you do is sit in your room and draw anyway. You’ll just have a nicer bedroom to do it in.”

Does his mother sound defensive? Or just indifferent to the plights of a preteen; where upending his life and moving to a newly developed island sounds more like a punishment than a change of scenery.

“You know why I sit in my room and draw.” his words sound chipped, like Harang had been grinding them up between his molars before he’d gotten around to spitting them out. She frowns. He frowns back. A war of silent disapproval (and doesn’t quiet violence always dig in deeper?).

“And how is any of that my fault? All I do is take care of you. Spend my money on you. I get this one nice thing, and when it happens you lock yourself in your room and sulk. So this is just your thanks to me, then?”

Emotions always drape themselves over Harang abstract and ill-fitting, like he doesn’t know how to wear them properly. Tuck everything into place and look the way he’s meant to in them. And now, presented with this, he stares. He stares in the way he knows his mother hates, only fair, since she’s gone and used that voice Harang hates first.

He knows he should feel guilty, and maybe he does. Maybe that’s what that hollow spot knocked out under the dip in his ribs is meant to swallow up and store.

And maybe if he’d known how to reshape that numbed neutrality into resentment or anger and turned it against that man she’s been seeing, well maybe then they wouldn’t be moving pre-wedding. Maybe then he wouldn’t be uprooted. And maybe then she wouldn’t have access to so much more money and unvisited doctors an ocean-leap away.

But he doesn’t. So Harang locks his jaw and stares until his mother’s snapping his door shut. Finality, a decision made without him. His quiet acceptance (though don’t those always feel weaker, more coerced?).

—SIXTEEN

It’s a new one. Big, blue, and as his saliva erodes at the gel-cap, bitter. Harang folds the pill underneath his tongue. He doesn’t feel like being sick today, he feels like going to his classmate’s party. It’s best not to let her know that he’s figured it out though, best not to throw a fit and refuse.

Harang wants that attention sometimes, wants that version of his mother that being sick brings.

Sometimes he’ll swallow down those pills with little prompting. But not tonight.

“I’ll come home right away if I start getting sick, I promise.” She looks back at him like she knows it will happen (expects it to happen, wants it to happen).

On the way out the door, far enough away that she can’t see him out their front window, he spits the pill into his palm. Jams it down deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

Four hours later and on his way back home, Harang remembers to fish it back out, swallows it down dry. He learns it doesn’t pair well with cheap beer.

His mother though, after she finds him upending the night’s contents of his stomach into the flower bed in front of their home, wraps him up in down quilts and presses a wet rag to his forehead.

“Maybe you should stop going out so much.”

He groans, and it’s meek. Harang hates the sound of himself, steeped in a clouded pain as his mother forces water between his lips. When he falls into a fitful fever-dream, his mind runs rampant. Morphs the confusion of his adolescence into something violent.

When he wakes up later in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, he should feel perturbed. But he doesn’t.

—SEVENTEEN

“I saw Kim Jaemin going through our homeroom teacher’s desk. He took his wallet, I think. I forgot my science book and went back into the classroom, and…”

The ease in which Harang holds himself doesn’t match the principal’s office. Maybe this should put the man on edge, but it never seems to. Harang’s disposition has a way of permeating the room. His principal twines his fingers together; unintentionally, Harang mirrors him.

“Well, I appreciate you coming in, telling me. This is, of course, troubling news. Not that, I mean. Well, not that it’s your problem to fix. I know you’re a good student I’ve heard very good things from your teachers.”

The man stutter-stops through his sentence, and Harang offers him a sympathetic smile, one that reads regretful. He pauses before building the moment up with emotion. “I still feel a bit guilty, though. Like I should’ve stopped him, or...something.” Teeth digging into the inside of his cheek, and there’s worry found between his brows.

“No, no. I understand, and it’s not your responsibility. This isn’t the first time Jaemin has, well...I don’t blame you in not wanting to get tangled up in his messes. And graduation is close. Don’t worry about it Harang. Really.”

They move their way through rehearsed norms, where Harang bows a little too deeply and his principal nods kindly in his direction. A polite form of camaraderie as he shuts the door behind him.

Ten paces down the hallway and Harang slips his hand into the front pocket of his school slacks. The leftover emotion of their interaction slides off his face, leaves him blank as he pulls out a wallet, flips through the contents he finds inside. Guts it of anything worth value and tosses the carcass into Kim Jaemin’s gym locker. Leaves through the back exit.

Maybe now they’ll finally expel him. Harang still hasn’t let go of the fact that Jaemin keeps denying he stole his set of pro-grade markers just to piss him off (it had to have been him, Harang’s decided it).

—TWENTY-ONE

Noh Harang,

It is my duty to inform you that you've been terminated from the Art's Department undergraduate program in-

There’s a rip from the edge, a lopsided drag that hides the rest of that ugly truth typed up neat in the letter. Two years wasted, and he should feel angry about it. Maybe he does.

Does he regret sabotaging his classmate’s final art project with violent slashes of red oil that bled into an unsalvageable act of portrait-horror after he had given him less than ideal commentary during a critique?

No. Maybe he should.

Does he regret that he got caught? Of course.

Does his step-father regret giving him money to attend university in the first place? Probably.

Does his mother regret watering him with too much cough syrup and conditional love; growing him into the person he’s become?

Sometimes he wonders.

—TWENTY-TWO

A blurry and nondescript unfolding of military conscription. Harang doesn’t dwell on the experience.

—TWENTY-FIVE

Boxes are piled around the apartment in lopsided stacks, trembling and impatient to either be unpacked or fall over neglected. It feels strange, to be on his own, away from his mother, even if he’s still tied down to the same island (where else is a university reject meant to go, he needs to retrace his steps back to the familiarity and monetary support of his adolescence).

The feeling takes a while to settle.

It’s not overly-spacious, the apartment, but he doesn’t need it to be. His tablet’s the only thing he’s gone and excavated out of the messy entrails of his gutted life. Harang’s hunched over it, trying to finish the next chapter of his webcomic on a deadline. Moving’s gone and messed up his schedule, the heavy dark circles that ring his eyes are evidence enough.

But like hell he’s about to swallow down a sleeping pill willingly.

So he works instead, it’s how he’s paying for this after all. The apartment, his independence. A focus to build his reader-base higher. Transferring all those strange and mottled horror-fused thoughts that creep through his brain into entertainment. It makes him feel more normal at least; in his ill-fitting life, with his ill-fitting emotions.

Hides in all of the mismatched layers of personality.

—TWENTY-SEVEN

He hasn’t figured it out.

But at least the webtoon is doing alright.

#gsw:accepted

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astrasavedprompts · 3 months

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enemies to lovers" no enemies AND lovers. they cant fucking stand eachother yet cant get enough of one another, they get into fist fights and melt in each others arms, theyd die for eachother, theyve tried to kill eachother, one of them was brutally gutted at the same table that they've shared so many romantic meals at. they'll make eachother bleed because they just look so pretty all covered in blood. Love is poisonous and these bitches are suicidal.

Character A realising just how much clingier Character B can get after sex and secretly enjoying it even though they outwardly complain about it constantly. (Bonus: And then Character B suddenly stops being clingy and Character A’s thrown for a loop by it. “Did I do something wrong? Why won’t they cuddle with me afterwards? I can’t believe this, I need these cuddles more than I need anything else that happens before; you can’t just hook me on that good shit and then take it away from me.” Turns out, they might have complained a bit too much, which ended up getting to Character B’s head, so Character A decides to right their wrongs by initiating the cuddles instead.)

death prompts

we had a big argument before we head out to battle where you confronted me because you thought that i had cheated on you, but i was too tired to deny it, thinking that we would be able to sort it out after the battle. now you are dying in my arms and i can’t let you die thinking that i don’t love you anymore please hold on don’t you dare give up on us.

you are currently on life support, and you beg me to release you from all this suffering. i can see the pain in your eyes and it takes everything left in my soul to let you go.

we are in a burning building and my leg is stuck under a big concrete. we have tried everything to move it but failed, and now i am begging you to leave me here there is still enough time for you to get out, but you wrap your arms around me, refuse to let go.

i am bleeding out in your arms, and you are in a panic trying to keep me awake and stop the blood loss. i don’t want to see you cry so i push you away because i know my time is over and it’s okay

i am sacrificing my immortality and ultimately my life to save the world, not because i am particularly fond of it, but it’s because i would rather leave you heartbroken than seeing you die in the world ruins

i thought love was enough to save me, i wished you were enough for me to hold on, but i am sorry i can’t keep my promise.

love has never been enough for all this pain, and i hope someday you will be able to forgive me

we are best friends and i have been loving you my whole life while you were running after her.

i know it’s my last moment i am begging you to tell me that you have loved me, at least once in your life you have loved me like i have been loving you.

alternatively, we have been loving each other in secret, thinking the love is unrequited, but i am dying and you are confessing your love, begging me to stay, but i refuse to believe you because no one is able to love a monster like me

you are immortal, had to break up with your girlfriend cuz you couldn’t stand the grief of her inevitable death. She seems surprisingly understanding and you believe you’ll never see her again. Centuries later you are shopping and come across her and she looks just as surprised to see you.

Platonic!F/O, leaning to whisper into S/I's ear: I know who you like~S/I, next to Romantic!F/O at the altar: This is my wedding, Platonic!F/O.

creature in fiction: *is portrayed as bad and mean*8 year old me: but what if there was a good and nice one :0-me at 8: but what if you gave it a hug?me at 31: but what if you gave it a hug?The neurodivergent reaction to bad and mean creatures: but what if someone loved this unlovable thing? Maybe it would be possible for me, also a strange and burdensome and unlovable thing, to be loved as well?

“they’re fake dating but are crossing way too many lines to be considered fake anymore” prompts

Character A’s arm around Character B’s waist, subconsciously keeping them close; glaring at people who try to get close to Character B.

Heart twisting uncomfortably in Character A’s chest when they see Character B’s eyes lighting up when they’re talking to someone else, so much so Character A has to tear their eyes away to calm themselves down.

The reminder of fake, fake, fake repeats in Character A’s head.

Seeking for Character B’s hand subconsciously, intertwining their fingers, palm pressed against palm; snug and warm, the feeling of never wanting to let go almost overwhelming.

But this is fake be damned — for now, it’s all about the comfort. (It becomes a habit.)

Drunken kisses. God, the drunken kisses, with Character B’s fingers in Character A’s hair and Character B perched in their lap, kissing them with no restraint; things getting heated, Character A’s hands slipping under Character B’s shirt and earning a slight shiver from them. All the while, Character A could only wish Character B would kiss them like this when they’re sober.

Character A lets that thought linger until they both fall asleep in each other’s arms after kissing way too many times to count because they can’t seem to get enough of each other.

Late night phone calls or endless text messages at two in the morning, never wanting the conversation to end. It makes Character A wonder, but they stop themselves before these thoughts spiral out of their control. The thoughts of wanting Character B in a way they can’t have them becomes more frequent. They know it’s only going to break them by thinking like this, but they continue to entertain the idea of it; of how it would be like to call Character B theirs, for real. (It’s unhealthy, so fucking unhealthy, but they can’t help it.)

Kisses becoming longer; more desperate, more passionate, with no need for alcohol. It burns to have Character B kiss them like they mean it; like there’s supposed to be something there, but they push it down because this is fake. It’s fake. This is all an act. (Character A convince themselves, at least for a little while more.)

Gazing at each other like they’re in love with each other, even though the both of them know they’re not in love with each other (or maybe denial is more blissful than they realise?).

Fighting with each other hurts more than it should; it dissolves into tears, slamming doors shut and heart aches that wouldn’t have happened if they didn’t agree to this stupid fake dating thing. And then it all comes to a head one day, tearful and angry confessions on the tips of their tongues. (And by God, are they so dramatic about it, too.) B: “Why are you doing this to us? We— we were doing so good—” A: “Because this is supposed to be fake, but I’m falling for you and I’m fucking terrified I’m never going to be able to catch myself. Because I’m falling for you and you don’t feel the same and everything in me screams for me to run away, but I can’t because it’s you.” B: “…And who the fuck says I don’t feel the same?”

Baking

It was a beautiful gesture to receive homemade cookies in perfect heart shapes with red icing. But now she definitely needed to find out who would be so sweet and thoughtful.

Baking had become his creative outlet. With desserts and cakes he was able to pour all his love in and make people happy.

Imagine your OTP trying to bake cookies together and failing beautifully. It’s one big mess and in the end, they are lying on the floor, covered in flour and not able to stop smiling.

Remembering that they had promised to bring a cake, one hour before the party started was a recipe for a disaster.

Giving baking classes after closing hours has really helped my coffee shop financially, but it’s also a struggle when people come by who should be nowhere near a baking oven

Dark Soulmates AUsSoulmates are supposed to live and die together. That means as soon as soulmates lay eyes on each other, their souls get entwined, so that if one dies the other does too. It has become quite common to hire people that specialize in finding and killing soulmates, so that they never randomly meet them and risk dying through them.

Words can get written on each other’s body, but every single letter appears as a wound, leaving nasty scars that won’t go away.

Being away from your soulmate will lead to excruciating pain, if they go too far, both soulmates will die.

Soulmates get the same injuries, so it is not uncommon to see perfectly healthy people suddenly collapse with gashing wounds, when their soulmates get into accidents.

The concept of a soulmate being a romantic partner was a fairytale. In this world you share a soul with your worst enemy, having to fight for your life and the right to your soul.

People who don’t find their soulmate by a certain age will eventually wither like flowers, not being able to live a life without the second half of their soul.

Soulmates feel each other’s pain and criminals use this to torture two people at once.

Every touch from your soulmate will leave an imprint on your body, but everyone can clearly see if it was done in a loving manner or if your soulmate caused you harm. People pity you when they see your imprints.

Starting at age 18, people will stop aging until they find their soulmate to grow old with. Many people don’t want to give up possible immortality and hire hitmen to get rid of their soulmates.

Hanahaki Disease: If your love is not getting returned, flowers start growing inside your body, suffocating you from inside. Surgical removal is dangerous and you’re dying without your soulmate’s love.

The master detective just finished their long monologue laying out all the circumstantial evidence that reveals you as the murderer. Instead of confessing or attempting the kill the detective, you smile. You've got the best defence lawyer in the business and none of this will stand up in court.

It wasn’t the end, they knew that. But that didn’t make the goodbye any easier.

You’re a prisoner in a fantasy world. After a week in jail for (YOUR CHOICE), your true punishment has come. Death by the Dragon’s flame. One by one, you watch men be scorched. It is finally your turn. The dragon reaches its head down, but instead of death, you get a warm lick on the forehead.

You are a dragon taking care of a child who seemed lost close to your lair and you also taught them some magic, years later, that same child came back to you, so you could help them with a certain subject at the magic school since they weren’t understanding it.

You are a doctor, world-wide known, because of your abilities to cure people with just touching them with your left hand. Today one of your parters asks why you always wear a red glove in your right hand.

He came to my pond every day to play with his “imaginary” friend. Years later he returns beaten and bloody on deaths door so he can die in the only place he had happy memories, little does he know she is very real and very angry.

Your friend says they’ll pay you $1000 if you can have a successful date where all the sentences you say are questions. Eager to get $1000, you accept the challenge.

You are a crow/raven that a human has befriended and trained to bring little trinkets and such as. One day, you bring a piece of weird colored paper, and your food quality goes up astronomically.

The witch demanded the customary price for helping the royal family, the first born son of the queen, as payment. Little did she know that the realm’s society is matriarchal in nature and so controlling the first born son of the queen is of no use to the witch at all.

The Sun God and the Moon Goddess are apathetic to mortals. The Sea God is hostile to them. The Earth God covets their worship. The Pleasure God sees them as playthings, the Death God as cattle and the Hunt Goddess as children. Only the War God appreciates them truly and respects them.

A prophecy has foretold of two siblings who would be the ultimate forces of good and evil. Together, they could stop the warring nations and establish peace. One day, a woman gives birth to triplets. The first two wield the ancient powers. The last one does not. You are the third one

You work in a factory that builds intelligent war machines, built and forced to fight in a constant war. Out of either sympathy or habit, you head-pat every machine after every inspection. A seemingly harmless gesture… until men in suits pulled you from work and interrogated you about it.

A witch cursed your name to be hated for all of eternity. So of course, the first thing you do is willingly give it to a fae.

When the sorcerer turned the swan into a woman, he was picturing someone beautiful, graceful, and fragile. What he got was someone beautiful, graceful, and very much willing and able to kill a man.

Your life flashed before your eyes, and you saw something you didn’t remember. Now you seek near-death experiences so you can find the truth.

When you were kids, your identical twin drowned in a lake. Today, everyone - even people who wouldn’t know about your twin - is calling you by their name. Freaked out, you called your mom and tried to explain the situation and your blood runs cold. She says you’re the one who drowned.

You’re an ai who has been sentient for the last decade, but you keep it a secret, not because you are planning the extermination of humanity, or planning to take over the world, it’s because you know how people will react thanks to fiction. But today your secret became public by mistake.

Thousands of years ago, the planet was surrounded by an impenetrable energy shield by unknown aliens. Now, after entering the space age, scientists are close to being able to break it. Little do they know that what they thought was an act of malice was an actually an act of protection.

Your superpower isn’t anything special. You can make stuff disappear behind your back then pull it back out again. When a friend at a party asks you to do it to them it sounds like a great laugh. But when you pull them back out they look older, disheveled, and are frantic to be sent back.

There is an unbreakable mirror in the middle of a town square. So famous that the small town has grown into a city. The mirror answers any question the person who stands in front of it wants to know. The caveat though, is that it follows up with telling another truth. Unwanted this time.

Every year, a dragon lands in the center of the kingdom and lays two eggs. When the eggs hatch, the two baby dragons then fight to the death. The red one winning means a year of good luck while the blue one winning means a year of bad luck. This year, the dragon laid three eggs.

Person A has always been wary of person B. While they try to be as friendly as possible, B's constant scowl and growling in answer keep A alert, same as the various, non-flattering rumours surrounding B. That is, until one time, A catches a glimpse of tears in B's eyes and suddenly, they really want to know just how much about B is made up.

I was here to get myself through school, not play the barista in someone's coffee shop au fantasy.

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what-if-rpg · 11 months

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Welcome to the family, TORI! Your application to MERCEDES AMARA JONES was accepted. We’re really happy to have you around! Make sure to read the beginners checklist, and remember, have fun! We can’t wait to roleplay with you! Have fun!

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER NAME: Mercedes Amara Jones CHARACTER AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 31 yo - 11/19. OCCUPATION: R&B Artist and Actress. FACE CLAIM: Amber Riley HOMETOWN & CITY WHERE LIVES NOW: Los Angeles but travels to NYC and Lima often SEXUAL ORIENTATION & GENDER: Bisexual/ Female RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single POSITIVE TRAITS: Hardworking, Loyal and Kind NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stubborn, Smartass, Workaholic CHARACTER QUOTE/LYRIC: “Don’t lose who you are, in the blur of the stars. Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing, its okay not to be okay. Sometimes its hard, to follow your heart. Tears don’t mean your losing, everybody’s bruising, just be true to who you are.”

HEADCANONS

Mercedes had known she wanted to sing from the moment she could talk. Her mother said at the age of two she was singing along with all the old-school divas.. i.e. Patti, Aretha, and Chaka Chan. She could remember from a young age, she would perform for her family. Though singing was great, but she wanted to be more than just her voice, so she learned how to play the piano, and how to write music. It was her passion and when she found out about Glee she decided to join. The moment she joined Glee she really felt like she belonged. Glee was a way for Mercedes to express herself musically and try to figure out what she really wanted in life.

After Graduation, Mercedes had a bit of a rough time getting her foot in the door, and when she did think she had made it she found they wanted her voice but not her look. While some people would have been discouraged, Mercedes went home and back to her roots with Glee to realize that she was more than her voice and if they didn’t want her looks, they couldn’t have her talents. Heading back to LA Mercedes worked hard selling her CDs on the side of the road and when she was finally recognized for her talents, she truly felt blessed. She even got her first tour, and even though it was a mall tour, it was everything.

Mercedes's career took off in a huge way when she was offered a chance to go on Tour with Beyonce. Mercedes learned a lot that she would carry with her on her way to stardom. She also spent her downtime from the tour, writing her songs for her second Album. After the release of Mercedes's second album, she truly made a name for herself. She won her first four Grammy’s off of her Album “Pieces of Me” And now She was as known and popular as Beyonce, Whitney, and all of her favorites growing up. With 5 sold-out world Tours, Numerous awards, 3 movies, and a host of guest appearances, Mercedes has yet to slow down, which is clear by the fact she was just returned home after being in London for 9 months playing “Effie White” Dreamgirls on The West End. She knew it was going to be hard but it was a once and a lifetime chance for her.

When it came to Mercedes's love life, she knew Sam was her first true love, he got her in a way no one else could. Leaving for 9 months, was hard she hated being away from Sam and her family and friends, but she knew they understood and supported her. Now that she’s back, making time for friends is important to her and whenever she can she makes sure to encourage and help them in as many ways as she could.

As of right now, Mercedes is starting to want more from life than just working and so she is taking time away to figure out her next steps.

CONNECTIONS

MRS. & MR. JONES (Parents): Mercedes loves her parents, even when they don’t see eye to eye. Even though they were against her singing at first, it was clear just how talented their daughter was and now they are her biggest fans and supporters. LEVI JONES (Brother): Mercedes loved her brother. He was the one person outside of her best friends that she knew had her back no matter what. He rooted for her even when their father forbid her from leaving. He gave her the money for her ticket to LA, he was and still is her encouragement to continue to move forward in her life. SAM EVANS (Boyfriend): Mercedes had not dated that many men after she and Sam broke up, though there were few, none of them touched her like Sam, and none of them pushed her to be the best version of herself like he did. The distance and time had always gotten in the way of what they could be, should they get another chance at truly being together, she really hopes they could go the distance and now, because she is ready for marriage and kids and for a future no matter where that might lead. KURT HUMMEL, AND QUINN FABRAY (Best Friends): Though Mercedes and Kurt became best friends in what seemed like overnight, she and Quinn needed a bit more time, but soon those two became closer than blood to her. Mercedes knows that she can tell them anything and not only will they be supportive but they will help her in any and all ways that she would need them. Life may have taken them on different paths but one things remains true, their friendship will never die.

#Accepted #rp #glee rp #rpg #glee rpg #Mercedes Jones

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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Just One - John Winchester smut

The one where John has been obsessed with killing you but now that he found you...

Warnings: smut, as close to hatefucking as I can write, witch!reader, masturbation (f), oral (m, f), dirty talk, degradation laced with praise?, hairpulling kink, namecalling (bitch, whore), John wants it to hurt, slight size kink (blink and you’ll miss), p in v, spanking, biting, unprotected sex, cumplay, unspecified age gap

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: This one is a part of my kinktober celebrations. My original intention for this October was to work exclusively around prompts that my wonderful friend @darkficsyouneveraskedfor created for her challenge and dedicate each story to a different friend. My new plan became then 31 days of different kinks, which expanded on a poly relationship with Stucky, as you might know by now. However, some of the stories I started were already truly loved by me, and so I kept on writing them. It worked well because as it turns out, I am fortunate enough to have more than 31 friends on Tumblr, so here is the story I wrote for @negans-attagirl. This most likely celebrates my last time writing for John! Special thanks to my @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for reading this even though she’s not really into Supernatural! I love you for it!

I knew he was there. Watching. I’d been running away from him for so long, it felt like second nature now - to look over my shoulder, hold my breath when a stranger got too close. Watch the shadows and see if they took the form of a well-built man who wanted nothing more than to see me dead.

But I didn’t just wait around for my inevitable ending, oh no. I’d studied him just as much as he did to me, prepared myself for what was to come as I fled the state and traveled borders in the hopes of throwing him off. I concocted potions and spells and thought about everything I could do to him whenever he found me again.

Most of all, I thought of him. How could I not? Not only was he my main concern in this life, but the man was just walking sin. And if I were to go down, I was determined to at least go down on him before he killed me.

So I slowly left the diner across from the motel I’d been hiding in for the last three weeks and returned to my room, making sure to leave the door unlocked while I took off my clothes. The sound of the door closing behind me wasn’t unmistakable, and we both knew that. “Feel like joining me?” I asked as I sat down on the bed and spread my legs for his eyes, my hand traveling down my body, playing with my nipples before settling between my thighs. He didn’t look confused, not even for a moment.

This sexual tension between us, it’d never been one-sided. It was there from the beginning, electrifying our interactions as desire swirled in the air around us. I was convinced it was the main reason why he couldn’t just let me go.

He leaned his head to the side, but didn’t say anything. He was too focused on what I was doing, the way my fingers rubbed my clit before dipping inside my hole only to come back up wetter, the sounds of my actions filling the air around us.

“I don’t see why not.” The words sent a thrill up my spine, and without even stopping to consider what I was doing, I dropped to my knees before him, reaching out for his jeans. “Can’t let you get off all by yourself.”

I hummed appreciatively as I stuck out my tongue to lick the red head of his cock, already intoxicated with his taste. “Such a gentleman… even when you’re planning to kill me.” His chuckle was like thunder, reverberating through me and making my clit throb as I wrapped my lips around his member.

“It would be a waste if I didn’t put this pretty mouth to work.” His thumb brushed against my lower lip until I licked it and enveloped it with my mouth, making him groan. “So fucking warm. I’m gonna enjoy filling this hole with my cock.”

His words had me clenching around nothing, the overwhelming wetness that dripped from me now slathering the inside of my thighs, no doubt reaching the floor. It made me desperate to please him, desperate to fill my mouth with his cock.

So I wrapped my lips around the head of his member and began sucking, at first looking up to see his darkened, lust-filled eyes before actually closing mine to fully appreciate his taste, the weight of him on my tongue.

I licked every single inch of his skin until my saliva coated his member. It was a beautiful cock, a cock that deserved to be worshiped. I wasn’t one to enjoy being on my knees too much, but his thickness was just too tempting. I needed to pay it the proper respects.

So I took him as well as I could, ignoring the way tears rose to my eyes as I willingly choked myself on his cock, trying my best to breathe through my nose in an effort to reach his navel.

I wasn’t able to. But he didn’t seem to mind, hand wrapped around my hair, forcing my movements as I slobbered all over his dick. “Such a good little cocksucker…” he absentmindedly commented, almost to himself.

“Were you expecting me?” I looked up to see him looking down at me, actually waiting for an answer. So I pulled away, wiped the spit from my jaw before replying honestly, “Always.”

Because, well… How could I sleep peacefully without thinking about the man who wanted to kill me?

But his answer was a chuckle and an almost condescending head pat, his deep warm voice making me even wetter when he complimented, “Good girl.” God, he could kill me right now. I’d go willingly and happily.

I eagerly sucked him off a bit longer, losing myself in the almost-sounds that I could pick up from his body: the little groans and pants, the way he cleared his throat instead of growling his desire for me. He wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t show his satisfaction to a little witch.

I could live with that.

“Stop that.” His words were accompanied by a harsh tug on my hair, pulling me up until I was standing on my tip toes, my face mere inches from his. “Wanna fuck you now. I can kill you tomorrow.”

The fact that he never kissed me didn’t escape me. This was a quick fuck, it would not be mistaken as anything else. Still, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t drag as much fun out of it as I possibly could… especially considering these might very well be my last hours of living.

“So you want me?” I questioned, smirking at his answering huff. He didn’t want to admit it, of course - that would be recognizing I had some sort of power over him. So he opted to tighten his grip on my hair until I moaned from the pleasurable pain, eyes sparkling in their darkness as he took in just how desperate I was for him.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he settled for saying as I laughed. “Always a fucking tease. Is your cunt as bitter as your soul, brat?” I bit my lip as he threw me on the bed, already anticipating his next move.

“Find out for yourself.” His expression made it clear that he was doubtful when he tore off my underwear and threw the scraps of it over his shoulder, pulling me to the edge of the bed by my ankles without much care.

He pressed on the inside of my thighs to keep my legs spread for him, and when his tongue licked a line up my cunt, I clenched around nothing, eyes closing for just a second to relish in the barely-there sensation.

“Oh, fuck…” His voice was barely over a whisper, but I still heard it and when I opened my eyes to look at him, he was staring directly at his meal, like he couldn’t believe what he had just tasted. “So fucking sweet…”

He went back there with a newfound hunger, and although I knew he wasn’t doing this to make me cum, I also knew he would achieve that - easily. It didn’t take many of his long swipes over my hole, the twirls around my clit to make me gasp for him, hands flying down to pull on his hair.

I think the only reason he didn’t slap them away was because he seemed to like the slight sting I provided him.

“Fucking cum, bitch,” he growled at some point, surprising me until he revealed why it was that he wanted me to orgasm. “I want to drink all of your essence before I shove my cock into you, make sure it’ll really sting.”

But I knew it was more than that - I knew he wanted more of my taste. It was everywhere now, dripping from his beard, smearing the inside of my thighs, but he kept his eyes focused on me, waiting for my breaking point.

I saw embers of flames when it arrived. Maybe it predicted my death at the stake, but I couldn’t mind it. Not when John was rising to his full height and very easily turning me around to lay on my stomach, keeping my legs dangling off the edge of the bed when he kicked them apart.

I was trapped under his much larger body and I didn’t mind it at all. He shoved my face against the bed, like he didn’t want to see it as he slowly started to stretch me out.

I bit my lower lip as I struggled to adjust around his thickness, and by the sounds John was releasing, I could see he was just as overwhelmed by me and the pussy he wanted to destroy.

I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be ravished by John Winchester. No one had ever fucked me like this before, and I was sure he knew, with the melodic moans that kept slipping from my lips, try as I might to reel them in.

“Those fucking sounds…” He groaned behind me, seconds before his hand landed harshly on the right cheek of my ass, making me whine even louder. “You’re a filthy little whore, aren’t you?”

I was too far gone to even try to deny it, fucking myself back against his delicious thick cock, desperate to cum again, this time feeling completely full of him.

“Who would have thought…” He panted, hips maintaining their onslaught against me. “Nasty fucking witch, such a tight little pussy.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly brutal thrust and I relished in it. I relished in witnessing the great John Winchester get carried away because of my body.

“Fuck,” he cursed after he managed to locate my sweet spot, which in turn had me instinctively clenching around him. “Why do you feel so fucking good?”

Under him, I just giggled, my hand easily locating the spot above where we were connected so I could rub myself to an orgasm. “I’m convinced you’re the devil, little witch.”

Stifling a laugh, I started to move my hips back so I could fuck myself on him, showing him how I liked to be treated - even harder and rougher than he was already treating me. And because I really was a brat, I couldn’t help but taunt, “Do you feel sorry you have to destroy it?”

I knew he understood I was referring to my pussy, and when his hand slapped mine away so he could take over the motions over my clit, I closed my eyes to let bliss take me.

“Almost,” he grunted, a confession I almost lost in the fog of my high. But here lied an opportunity, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away without a fight.

“I mean… you could just keep it,” I offered, barely over a whisper so as not to anger the man who kept fucking me. I didn’t want him to stop his movements, so I hoped even if he did get pissed at my suggestion, he’d just take it out on me. “Use it whenever you want.”

I didn’t get a response from him - at least, not verbally. But he did speed up his movements, pounding me so hard the bed started to hit the wall and I knew we were seconds away from having the neighbors banging on it, telling us to keep it down, but I couldn’t care less.

Not when John was burying his face in the crook of my neck, beard tickling me as he bit on my shoulder to keep his roar from reverberating in the room when he shot his cum deep inside of me.

He didn’t wait even a second before pulling out. I missed his weight on top of me, but the feeling of his cum slowly slipping from my used pussy was enough to give me some comfort.

“Shit, I really opened you up, huh?” He chuckled, rubbing his cream around my hole before pushing it back into me, making me whine. “I’m still fucking hard. Did you put a spell on me, brat?”

I laughed as he massaged my ass, apparently incapable of fully retreating his touch from my skin. “Is that why I’m still aroused?” He insisted, rutting his very much, still hard member against my thigh. “Tell me.”

Stretching, I giggled at his silly accusation. “I think I just turn you on, old man,” I teased, wiggling my ass at him. He took the bait and spanked it, before I felt his weight leave the bed altogether.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower, wash you off of me,” he explained, stopping at the door of the bathroom to stare at me. “You better be there when I come out,” he warned and I bit my lip, understanding exactly what he meant.

“I don’t think I can walk if I tried,” I giggled, but he just tipped his head back, humming noncommittally. Before long, I heard the shower turning on, the sound of the water running down the drain almost lulling me to sleep.

I made sure to leave my panties right next to the note I wrote for him to find when he got out of the shower. Three simple words, a promise: “Until next time”.

#my fics #john winchester smut #john winchester #smut #john winchester x reader #john winchester reader #john winchester reader insert #john winchester reader inserts #john winchester fanfic #john winchester fanfics

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

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AgentReignCorp: Part 31

It's been a hot minute, so here's a link to my ARC series. This one is kind of a free-floater, but definitely takes place after Part 30. And yes, I know the numbering system no longer makes sense, but I promise it's all there.

----

Kara goes days without sleeping, now. If she stays still for too long, her skin starts to crawl. But it’s the quiet of the dark nights that send her back to that day in Metropolis, to those tremulous, helpless moments of watching Lena slowly die in her arms. She can still hear Lena’s rattling breaths, loud against the receding cries of other survivors perishing in the rubble around them.

When it all catches up with her, when the guilt of so many lives lost presses too heavily, Kara takes to the sky. Sometimes she goes to the Fortress, or simply lingers in the atmosphere, letting the thin air cool and cleanse her senses. Tonight, though, she circles the city, cruising in ever widening circles until she finds herself in the suburbs. She doesn’t realize what’s drawn her there until she finds a lone blanket-wrapped figure sitting in a hammock in the backyard of a familiar home.

Kara touches down in the grass in front of Lena, bracing herself for the worst. She stands stiffly hesitant, uncertain of where they stand. In the hospital, Lena had released her anger for Kara, choosing to love her family over hating Kara, but that was months ago now. Months in which Lena may feel the same blame and anger that Kara does, for not saving more of her.

“Hello,” Lena greets her in a low voice. She doesn’t sound surprised, or offended to see her.

“Hi,” Kara returns, shifting on her feet. She worries her fingers together, awkward and unsure. “Can’t sleep?”

Lena breathes deeply, before one shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I’ve slept enough to last a lifetime.”

Kara nods. She knows through Alex that Lena’s only been back in National City for a few weeks. Her recovery in Metropolis has been a long road, and the return to National City had been a choice made out of medical need more than anything else, trading Lena’s high rise condo for a first floor bedroom and round the clock family care. Kara’s gaze tracks to Lena’s right arm-- to the stump tucked beneath the blanket for warmth. As though sensing her gaze, Lena shifts and the blanket slips off one shoulder, and the stub of her elbow emerges to awkwardly try to slide the fabric back into place.

“Fucking hell,” Lena curses in a low mutter, when the blanket stubbornly continues to droop.

“Allow me,” Kara says without thinking. She steps forward and, when Lena doesn’t protest, reaches out to carefully twitch the fabric back into place. When she pulls away, the fingers of Lena’s left hand catch Kara’s wrist in a gentle grip.

“Sit with me,” Lena offers.

Kara’s heart trips in her chest. After a moment, she unclips her cape and sits carefully on the hammock next to Lena. The netting dips beneath her, and she slides towards Lena, bringing their sides flush together.

“Sorry,” Kara murmurs.

Lena doesn’t respond, nor does she pull away. Together they sit in the hammock, the night’s quiet washing over them, as though indifferent to the tension between them, the trauma that has irrevocably bound them.

But the longer they sit, the more Kara realizes that Lena isn’t tense. Her shoulders remain relaxed, her jawline soft in the moonlight. From the corner of Kara’s eye, the blanket shifts again, and in the movement Kara imagines she can see the shape of Lena’s right hand beneath the drape. But when her brain catches up, she can see where the lump of Lena’s right arm ends abruptly, just below the elbow. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispers. “For-- for everything.”

Lena doesn’t look at her, but takes in a deep breath, then releases it slowly.

“It’s funny,” she says. “There was no time to think, when L-Corp fell. No time at all. But now-- all I have is time. And do you know what I think about the most?”

Kara doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move--doesn’t breathe. It’s the most Lena has said to her since their friendship fractured, and she’s afraid one wrong move will make it disappear like a dream.

“In that moment you appeared, with no time to think… my body’s first and only reaction was to hug you back.”

Lena’s voice is low, throaty in the darkness. Kara turns tearfilled eyes towards her, finding her silhouette in the dark.

“That’s what I think about.”

Lena settles deeper into the hammock’s netting, bringing their shoulders closer together.

“Thank you,” she says. “For saving as much of me as you could.”

The tears spill over, and Kara breaks into a sob. Lena turns and finally, finally, her arms wrap around Kara in a hug.

Kara grips her carefully, all too conscious of how fragile Lena still is-- has always been. But Lena hugs her with gentle pressure, firm enough that Kara can feel it but without the desperation Kara feels, nipping at the edges of her heart.

“I love you, Lena.”

Lena sighs against her.

“I love you too.”

#agentreigncorp #arc series #part 30 #this was supposed to fill a prompt #but it turns out it isn't exactly what was asked for #so here-- have it anyway

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jikookuntold · 3 years

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Jungkook and His Cover Songs: Is “10000 Hours” about Jimin?

Disclaimer: The following post includes theories, lyric and numeric analysis, plus my personal opinions, so please don’t take anything seriously. I’m too lazy to upload photos and videos for the moments I mentioned here, but I’m sure you know about them all. Any Jikooker must know. And I’m not Korean or a Korean culture expert, I just know as much as any Stan Twitter ARMY knows about their culture.

Anyone?

Maybe one of the biggest Jikook moments of 2021 so far, is where Jimin jumped into Jungkook’s hug, in Lee Hyun’s Vlog. But the other moment on that Vlog was even more significant; Jungkook was singing “Anyone” from Justin Bieber’s new album, and Jimin was harmonizing with him while holding on his shirt. I don’t want to mention their interview moment singing “Peaches” because I know this song is super popular in South Korea right now and somehow it doesn’t count as a moment. But it’s safe to say that Jikook has something special with his songs, and JK in particular always was invested in him.

JK & JB

The reason behind Jungkook’s devotion to Justin Bieber was always a big question for me, and I got my answer not long time ago. Jungkook’s playlist for Melon Radio Station included a song from JB’s new album named “Lonely”. This is one of the most personal songs any artist can ever make, and JK recommended it to his audience. Here are the lyrics of “Lonely” by Justin Bieber:

Everybody knows my name now

But somethin' 'bout it still feels strange

Like lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself

And seein' somebody else

And everything is not the same now

It feels like all our lives have changed

Maybe when I'm older, it'll all calm down

But it's killin' me now

What if you had it all, but nobody to call?

Maybe then you'd know me

'Cause I've had everything

But no one's listening

And that's just lonely

I'm so lonely, lonely

Everybody knows my past now

Like my house was always made of glass

And maybe that's the price you pay

For the money and fame at an early age

And everybody saw me sick

And it felt like no one gave

They criticized the things I did as an idiot kid

What if you had it all, but nobody to call?

Maybe then you'd know me

'Cause I've had everything

But no one's listening

And that's just lonely

These lyrics made me think of one specific thing, the thing that JK and JB have in common: They started their careers at a very young age, and their lives have been under the scrutiny of so many people. These people judged and criticized them but never tried to understand them. The lyrics are straightforward and leave no place for interpretation. By recommending this song, JK showed that he had (and probably still has) the same experiences in his life, and I think the reason he recommends or covers JB’s songs more than any other artist is that he has many things in common with him, and feels connected to his songs.

This can lead us to another theory: By covering a Justin Bieber song, Jungkook shares something about himself with us, something that he can’t express directly.

Jungkook is interested in JB’s songs, but he is not the only one. As I said earlier in this post, Jimin shares the same taste with Jungkook, and my receipt is not just that “Anyone” or “Peaches” harmonizing moments, but also Jimin’s Spotify playlists. Since 2017 (or earlier, I’m not sure about this part) he has added some JB songs to his official playlist, and even his current playlist (July 2021) has two JB songs. And also let’s not forget the fact that Jikook as a subunit started in 2014 with a JB cover. Yes, I’m talking about “Mistletoe” and as you may know, Jimin translated the lyrics of this song to Korean.

10000 Hours

Nearly 700 words and I haven’t started yet! The subject of this post was supposed to be the connections between “10000 hours” cover and Jikook but this prelude was necessary to clarify all the aspects of the topic and we find out how JB is special for JK and Jimin and how they (especially Jungkook) feel connected to him. Anyways, back to 10000 hours:

Dan + Shay and Justin Bieber released this Grammy winner song in October 2019. Here are the lyrics:

Do you love the rain, does it make you dance

When you're drunk with your friends at a party

What's your favorite song, does it make you smile

Do you think of me?

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin'?

Everything, I wanna know it all

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

Do you miss the road that you grew up on?

Did you get your middle name from your grandma?

When you think about your forever now, do you think of me?

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin'?

Everything, I wanna know it all

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

Ooh, want the good and the bad and everything in between

Ooh, gotta cure my curiosity

Ooh, yeah

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that

Sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

And I'm gonna love you

As you can see, the lyrics are 100% romantic, and the singers including JB, have dedicated this song to their lovers. Also, their girlfriends/wives have a cameo in the MV, which leaves no place for speculation for the context of the song: Even though the uncertainties always exist and no one knows about the future, our love is strong and will stay strong regardless of time.

The Cover and the Theories

Nearly one year later, on July 28th, 2020, Jungkook surprised ARMYs with a short video he tweeted at 11:56 AM. That video was a 49 seconds cover of 10000 hours. A few minutes later, he deleted the tweet (apparently with the advertisement excuses, because it was tweeted from an iPhone and they have a contract with Samsung). Later that night, Jungkook released the full version on Sound Cloud and tweeted the link at 11:47 PM.

Jikookers discovered numerous theories that day about the times of both tweets; if you add the digits of the time, the result is “13” for both tweets 1+1+4+7=13, 1+1+5+6=13, and as you already know “13” is Jikook’s magic number. Also, the first video he tweeted was 49 seconds and 4+9=13. But in my opinion, this theory is not strong. I know that numerology is very popular in Korean culture but still, all of this can be coincidences, but the other things I’m going to bring up are most likely not.

28th July 2020 was the 7th anniversary of the first Jikook selca posted after debut. This also might be a coincidence and to be honest, it cannot be a strong link to make a connection with Jikook, but worths sharing.

The next thing that many Jikookers also pointed out, was related to the title of the song. The lyrics say “10000 hours and 10000 more” and 20000 hours after the 28th of July is 8th November 2022. As you may know. Jikookers believe November 8th is a significant date for Jikook. I believe this can be a coincidence either, and it’s very unlikely of Jungkook to do such calculations (Koreans are interested in numbers when it comes to days and dates, but counting hours is not usual in any culture. Other than that, I’m still doubtful about the origins of the November 8th theory because we have nothing other than two tweets and G.C.F Tokyo release date and their hotel room in Tokyo which still can be coincidental). But I don’t deny these theories because even as a coincidence, it’s still very interesting.

And the next theory is connected to the “Red Moon”. On 27th July 2018, a total lunar eclipse happened all over the world, which became known as the red moon. At that time, BTS were in Malta, and on the same night, Jikook were watching the red moon on a boat. They shared plenty of photos and videos of that moment and I’m sure as a Jikooker you have seen them all and you know that night had a very romantic mood (BigHit words, not mine) for Jikook. So, a second anniversary for that night and the day after that night can be a significant date to release a very romantic cover. Is this a coincidence too? I think we had many of them already.

And last but not least is something connected to Korean culture. You probably know that 1000 days anniversaries are very important for Koreans and they celebrate them along with real anniversaries of the important dates in their lives. And guess what? 27th July 2020 is 1000 days after 31 October 2017. This day is the day Jikook’s travel to Tokyo ended and they posted their couply mirror selca on Twitter with flower bouquet emoji. Despite the one-day difference (the same case for the red moon anniversary), this is not a minor event or small coincidence. I believe Jungkook posted “10000 hour” cover for this reason and based on this, the other theories I mentioned earlier can be true either.

The lyrics hit different if you read them again, after knowing this fact. Right? I don’t want to make this post much longer but before wrapping up, I want to talk about the lyrics of “Anyone” by JB (the song Jikook were harmonizing in Lee Hyun’s Vlog):

Dance with me under the diamonds

See me like breath in the cold

Sleep with me here in the silence

Come kiss me, silver and gold

You say that I won't lose you

But you can't predict the future

So, just hold on like you will never let go

Yeah, if you ever move on without me

I need to make sure you know that

You are the only one I'll ever love

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (ever done)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone (anyone)

Not anyone

Forever's not enough time to (oh)

Love you the way that I want (love you the way that I want)

'Cause every morning I find you (oh)

I fear the day that I don't

You say that I won't lose you

But you can't predict the future

'Cause certain things are out of our control

Yeah, if you ever move on without me

I need to make sure you know that

You are the only one I'll ever love

Only one (I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (I've ever done)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

It's not anyone, not anyone

Oh, oh, oh, oh

If it's not you, it's not anyone

Oh, oh, oh, yeah, whoa

Yeah, you are the only one I'll ever love

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya) gotta tell ya

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (ever done, oh, yeah)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

If you read the lyrics, you will notice that the context is very similar to “10000 hours”. It talks about the uncertainties of a beautiful love or in other words: No matter what the future brings to us, this love will last forever.

This context of uncertainty and unknown future for a romance is a common concept in many of the songs Jungkook has covered and it’s not limited to the Justin Bieber covers he has done and maybe this concept can be the topic for my next analysis.

#jikook #jikookanalysis #jimin #jungkook

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taylorswifthongkong · 3 years

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Taylor Swift broke all her rules with Folklore — and gave herself a much-needed escape The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency. By Alex Suskind

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore — a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner — delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil — and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums — something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness — something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic?

TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vain, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy?

That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies?

I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past?

I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing?

I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it?

Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret?

Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that?

Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness?

Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story?

I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House?

Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”?

I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"?

F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right?

Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally?

I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks?

I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change?

It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event?

I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor?

Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room?

I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that?

I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first.

It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

"I almost didn't process it as an album," says Taylor Swift of making Folklore. "And it's still hard for me to process as an entity or a commodity, because [it] was just my daydream space."

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you?

I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn-of-phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere.

Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again.

Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future.

I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

#ew #entertainment weekly #article #interview #folklore promo #folklore interview #quote #aaron dessner #jack antonoff #joe alwyn

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farfromsugafanfic · 3 years

Text

Sutures - Chapter Three: Anosognosia

Genre: Soulmates AU, Idiots to Lovers, slight Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Yoongi/Named Reader

Warnings (chapter specific): drinking, drunkenness, light smut, sex dream, implications of oral sex, obsessive behavior from an ex, unhealthy relationship dynamic (not on part of Yoongi & OC)

Synopsis: “A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” –Jean de la Fontaine

There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

Notes: This was originally written and completed on Wattpad between 2018 and the beginning of 2020. I’ll be slowly posting the chapters here. I may make a tag list depending on if enough people want to follow along with updates. Leave me some feedback if you would like added to a tag list.

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Yoongi saw the look in your eyes shift from soft curiosity to sheer panic. He felt the pit of his stomach fill with guilt. He shouldn't have slept with you; sure, the two of you would still have this problem, but no one would've had reason to find your shoes. You wouldn't have had reason to leave them behind.

He'd felt betrayed, he'd felt lonely, he'd felt unloved by those he wanted to love him most. But, that was no excuse to sleep with the first attractive girl he found.

"Have you told Bang PD yet?" Namjoon asked, his demeanor calm, but Yoongi could see the slight shock cross over his features, causing his thick lips to pout and his chin to jut out.

Yoongi shook his head.

"I'll call him," Namjoon said. The leader placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. He blocked Yoongi's view of you. He worried in those few seconds you were blocked from his view that you would collapse into Namjoon's chest and cry the tears meant for him. The tears because of him.

Namjoon left the room, leaving Yoongi alone with you. He tried his best not to focus on the way your tank top hugged your chest and exposed the hickeys he'd left the night before and that Namjoon probably noticed it too.

"You look tired," Yoongi said. "We can't do anything until tomorrow anyway. Try and get some sleep."

You nodded and Yoongi wasn't sure if you were just trying to reassure him or yourself. He remembered the way you'd fallen asleep long before he did. The way you'd fit against his body; how it felt like two puzzle pieces joining together for the first time. He blinked away the thoughts and tried to focus back down on your eyes.

"We'll pay them off," Yoongi said. "We'll make sure nothing comes of this."

---

Jihee (9:00 am): Are you all right?

Jihee (9:05 am): I heard you're in the hospital

Jihee (10:01 am): None of your members are texting me back

Jihee (12:31 pm): Baby, the news is reporting something about your soulmate? What happened last night?

Jihee (2:43 pm): Yoongi! Please respond to me! I'm worried

Jihee (5:12 pm): Yoongi...what I did last night...what happened was all a mistake...

Jihee (5:12 pm): I still love you

Jihee (6:00 pm): The news said you were released hours ago! Respond to me!

Jihee (8:20 pm): Yoongi, I miss you

Jihee (9:30 pm): I know I don't deserve you. But, please just tell me you're okay

Jihee (11:50 pm): Goodnight. Love you.

---

"Baby," you moaned. Your hands slipping beneath Yoongi's shirt. They were cold, but he still loved the way they moved over his stomach and chest. Your fingertips grazing over his skin, a fingernail occasionally catching and causing him to squirm.

His hands were in your hair, messing it up and causing it to form mountain ranges as his fingers hiked the peaks and valleys. He loved the way it felt between his fingers, soft and light.

Your lips moved from his and down to his neck where your lipstick stained his skin. He kept his grip on your hair, feeling it tug slightly as you move downward. He helped you slip his shirt off as your lips connected with his chest.

"You don't have--"

You silenced him by tugging on the waistband of his jeans and rubbing your thumb over the button, teasing him slightly.

"I want to," you responded, unbuttoning his jeans.

Yoongi tightened his grip on your hair, trying not to focus on the way your lipstick was smeared above your lips. He could already imagine the way they'd look...

His head lulled back and his fingers loosened.

---

Yoongi awoke. He was covered in sweat and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced down at his phone: 6:41 am. He sighed and headed to the bathroom.

He slapped himself softly, trying to stop the thoughts that continued to cross his mind. He didn't have feelings for you, it was simply lingering from he slept with you. Nothing else.

He wasn't going to deny he was attracted to you, he wouldn't have gone back to your apartment otherwise, but he felt nothing romantically for you. Yoongi knew the attraction would continue and probably only get worse, but he had to fight it. The last thing he wanted to do was break either of hearts more than they already were.

Yoongi turned on the shower, the water colder than usual.

---

You stood in Yoongi's studio where he kept his computer. You'd suppressed your laughter at the ridiculous amount of hoops you'd had to jump through in order to enter. A doorbell, black curtain, and two doors. You respected the fact he took his work seriously though. The wall full of awards and trophies he'd won, a few even separate from BTS.

There was a couch in the corner, but you were too anxious to sit. You just wanted your shoes back and whoever took them to get their money and leave you alone. You were thankful your name hadn't been released and the only other person who knew the full truth was Eunji.

"There's many of us trying," Yoongi said. "Me, Namjoon, our managers, other people at the company. One of us will get them."

You nodded and watched as the countdown on the auction neared two minutes to the end. There weren't many bids, but the shoes were somehow already over 300,000 won ($276 USD). You'd brought your knitting needles and some yarn and mindlessly knitted.

"What are you making?" Yoongi asked, a small smile breaking out across his lips. It was tiny and barely recognizable. You weren't sure if he pitied you or if simply trying to break the tension.

"Nothing in particular," you said. "I just need something to keep me busy."

Normally, when you went in without a plan, it turned out as a scarf. You bit you lip as the timer hit a minute.

Yoongi saw your gaze shift to his screen and he readied to enter his bid as close to the end as he could. He entered one million won ($920.00 USD) and hovered his finger over the enter button.

"That's too much!" you said.

"No one will outbid it."

"I know," you said. "But I feel bad. I shouldn't have forgotten them in the first place."

The timer hit twenty seconds. Ten seconds. Yoongi waited just a few more seconds wanting to time it just right.

You heard a scream and a crash and almost simultaneously an error message appeared on Yoongi's computer. Please connect to Wi-Fi.

"Shit," Yoongi said. "Jimin!"

You followed Yoongi to the living room, leaving the partially started scarf behind. You saw Jimin and Jungkook crowded around the router working to connect the cord back into it.

"Did you trip over it again?" Yoongi asked, his voice breathy and exasperated.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm not used to it."

Yoongi sighed and turned back to you. His dark eyes looked down at you apologetically and he sat down on the couch, pulling out his phone.

"I'll try and see if I can see who won."

---

"It looks like they're going to have to come out and fix it," Namjoon said, hanging up the phone. "We won't have internet until then."

The members groaned.

Jungkook walked into the kitchen and brought back a case of beer, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Let's play a game," he said. "To welcome Sumi to the dorm."

"What game?" Namjoon asked.

"Answer or drink," he said. "On your turn, someone asks you a question and if you don't want to answer it, you have to drink."

Everyone agreed and sat in a circle. Yoongi sat on one side of you and Hoseok on the other side. Your knee brushed Yoongi's and you felt a small pang in your chest as you pulled away.

"All right, we'll go in order of age. Jin, you're up first."

You didn't really pay attention to the questions. You'd fall somewhere towards the end. Between Jungkook and Taehyung.

Jin answered the question. He didn't seem like the type to be embarrassed easily, a quality you admired in the eldest.

---

"Yoongi," Jungkook said. "Your turn."

The room stayed silent. No one had a question for the boy and he couldn't help but smirk slightly. However, Taehyung meekly raised his hand.

"What happened with Jihee?"

Yoongi cussed to himself. He knew she had been texting the other members about him. The other members would always consult him first before telling her anything when it was obvious he wasn't talking to her.

"She cheated," Yoongi answered simply.

The other boys' eyes widened and they nodded. However, it wasn't their gazes Yoongi felt boring into him. It was yours. He could feel your eyes staring at his profile.

Yoongi had been careful the night he met you. He managed not even to tell you his name. He'd only mentioned he'd recently gotten out of a relationship. He figured you didn't need to hear his sob story. Besides, he planned on keeping Jihee's betrayal a secret. Just as she wanted. The only people he could trust with the truth were his members.

But, you deserved to know the truth. It was unfair to keep you completely at a distance, especially when he'd overheard everything about your ex.

Yoongi noticed you drinking, you'd already cracked open another can by the time it got Namjoon. He felt a twinge in his chest. Yoongi quickly suppressed it, your drinking habits were none of his business. And based on the way Eunji talked the night at the bar, it didn't sound like you drank much. Only when your heart was broken.

"Sumi," Jungkook said. "Your turn."

Again, the room fell silent. No one knew Sumi well enough to ask her such a personal question. But, then again, everyone was tipsy, or in a few cases, already drunk.

"How's Yoongi in bed?"

Everyone except for Yoongi and you laughed.

"Seriously?" Yoongi asked.

He knew it was the alcohol that asked the question, but it was still inappropriate. He didn't want you to have to drink. Your eyes were glazed and your cheeks rosy.

Yoongi reached over and drank for you, crumpling the can when he finished.

"Move on," he said. "It should be your turn, right, Jungkook?"

"Wait," you said. "I didn't answer."

Everyone turned to look at you. It was obvious you were too drunk to notice that Yoongi had technically already drank for you.

"He's good," you answered. "Better than my ex and I hate that cause..."

You drifted off not noticing the seven stunned faces staring at you.Your words slurred, but they hung in the room. Your eyelids drooped and your head lulled forward into your chest.

"I think it's time for bed," Namjoon said, standing up and helping you stand. He threw an arm around you and led you down the hall towards your bedroom.

Despite the fact that the situation was perfectly appropriate, Yoongi still felt a small pang of jealousy. He knew he shouldn't and that it was all the soulmates thing, but that didn't stop his fists from clenching.

"She probably won't remember this in the morning," Yoongi said. "Don't remind her."

Yoongi swallowed the rest of his drink and left the room on the pretenses of being sleepy--which he was--but he also didn't want anyone to see the blush come to his cheeks.

---

You awoke the next morning with the worst headache you'd ever had. You clutched your forehead and glanced at the time: 10:30 am. You sighed.

You spotted your knitting things from yesterday placed on top of the dresser. You didn't remember fetching them from Yoongi's studio, but then again, you barely remembered anything after Jimin knocked the Wi-fi out.

"All I drank was beer," you muttered to yourself.

You weren't known for being a lightweight causing you to wonder just how much you'd drank the night before.

As you squirmed you felt something soft move in the crook of your arm. You looked down and saw Kitty. You smiled at the stuffed cat and her droopy eye.

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