REPUTATION @goldvnboy - Tumblr Blog

screams hi guys im gemma && im so excited to be here !! on today’s disaster episode im introducing my boy, park jaehyun, a whole ass snake in sheep’s clothing 🤪 if u would like to plot w me, pls hit the LIKE button && ill come runnin into ur dms ( or more preferably u can add me on discord @ gemma#8039 ) !! also under the cut is some fun facts abt him bc ya bitch and straight to the point simply do not gel so a lot of this info may not be immediately evident in the bio huhu

@virtuemedia

( stats \ bio \ plots )

#( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚍'𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎 ) \ * ooc .#virtue:intro

LESSON ONE. YOU ARE ONLY AS STRONG AS THE WEAKEST POINT YOU MAKE KNOWN.

everywhere he treads is a golden road. it is only so because mother had made it so, because mother had first melted gold ingots in the blaze of a furnace, heaved this cauldron from the fire to tip over cement, and scalded her fucking hands. and mother had made it so in anticipation for the day he trips, for pure gold is softer than concrete and so she deems it suitable to pillow his fall, yet strong enough that he feels its consequence. jaehyun obsesses over the growing red of his virgin palms, winces at the minor throbbing of his swelling knees, and mother hands him a palm to hold. on the pale of her skin, the evidence of welts from a time he lay as a pomegranate seed in her womb.

such is the extent of a mother’s love.

and so this is how our golden boy grows, hand clasped tightly in hers as little feet mimic the steps she takes, like footprints embedded in snow. he perfects her gait through trial and error, and every word that spills from her lips is carried by the cold draft like the snowflakes he lets melt on his tongue. it is in this way that he learns her stride, chin tipped confidently upwards just as mother does it.

the thing about imitation is you never get it quite right. there are nuances that you fail to catch, techniques you can never quite echo, and so when mother lets go of his hand, it is only a matter of time before he falls.

it seems you weren’t properly taught by your predecessors, huh?

it’s the disrespect that grates him the most. to question the quality of mother’s teachings is a forgivable sin, for jaehyun understands this as a reflection of the gap between her lessons and his execution. but to imply that he owes this all to the virtue society, an organisation that has done fuck all for him, in place of mother’s careful guidance? in the dark of the night, jaehyun memorises the man’s face, etches the hideous squint of the latter’s eyes into his brain, and he does this all behind a grating nod. as a budding politician, he knows better than to speak, for words have a penchant of inspiring sometimes radical action, such as the manoeuvre of his curling palms around the man’s neck like a noose.

see, park jaehyun is a winner because mother had made him so. park jaehyun is a winner because mother had taught him better.

so he stays the man’s execution, waits patiently for the summer when his father is finally elected president. after all, he hears that cold dishes are popular in the humid heat.

LESSON TWO. VULNERABILITY IS A WEAKNESS. THE ABILITY TO FEIGN VULNERABILITY IS AN ASSET.

confident is the way in which jaehyun saunters into the makeshift exam hall, a friendly smile splayed on his lips despite the anger that glows in his fists. he greets the people he calls friends, though their names dangle just on the tip of his tongue. and this is how he finds his heavy arm hooked around wonjae’s shoulder, the kid who just happens to be the brightest of their cohort.

“you ready for the test?”

in the midst of the chatter, jaehyun shrugs. “yeah… i don’t know,” it is spoken below his breath like a secret, an unfitting pocket of dialogue outside his usual nonchalance. wonjae frowns, but jaehyun is quick to play the role of the comforting friend, a friendly pat on the latter’s back and an assuaging smile on his lips.

LESSON THREE. DO NOT BE SO QUICK TO SHY AWAY FROM PITY. IT IS WHAT GIVES UNDERDOGS THEIR STRENGTH.

park jaehyun doesn’t linger. everything he does is with purpose, from the way he smiles, the way he talks, the way he tilts his head into a perplexed frown. so there is something to be said about the way in which he passes his time staring at his exam sheet in what appears to be deliberation, fingers pulling at his usually kempt hair when the agreement was to turn in a blank sheet. and there’s this repetitive sequence where he scribbles, hovers pen over paper, crosses out. soon, the invigilators tell him that time’s up, and jaehyun submits his sheet of incoherent jottings.

“you alright, man?” he hears wonjae before he sees him, and jaehyun is quick to mask his sigh of relief as one of defeat. see, there is something to be said about the way in which he stays in the exam hall despite the obvious option to leave and the truth is, very simply, that our golden boy was putting on a show for an audience of one kim wonjae. because jaehyun understands his weakness in academia as the latter’s strength, and there is nothing like the allure of collusion to make up for the marks he’s lost from this exam.

“yeah, it’s just been really hard. i haven’t been in the best frame of mind…” he initiates the rising action of his charade, head dipped uncharacteristically down where mother had always stressed the importance of tilting his chin up, “i’ve been swamped with meetings cause of my student presidency and just—” he trails off as he rounds the climax, “—things at home…”

“oh…”

and he can’t deny that it helps, this golden path, this silver spoon. for in the field of politics, the president is king, so he supposes that makes him the prospective heir to the throne. it might not mean so much in a democracy, but to a man like wonjae, a proud member of the dean’s list in skku’s political science, it means enough.

“well hey, if you ever need any help with tutoring or assignments, you know how to reach me.”

of course. on his face, a winning smile.

“appreciate it, bro,” he raises his fist for the bump, “you’re a real one.”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#virtue:punishment #jae: sadKEK

AUGUST 30, 2021

the day after the invitation, jaehyun finds himself approached—by a man with an unknown face and an unknown name that he knows better than to ask for. he greets him warmly, as any inconspicuous stranger does, with a smile and a sanction. “it seems you weren’t properly taught by your predecessors huh? to let a pledge in your lineage go as far as to call on the cops on the first night. or are the standards dropping so much so for your lineage these days that their newest initiate virtue can’t even handle a new pledge?” he speaks around a grinning mouth, “and, naturally, for such an embarrassing slip-up, you know there’s a price to pay.”

“as you seem to think there’s a disconnect between this year’s pledges and you, let me just remind you that our new charity pledges, whether they pledge successfully or become an utter embarrassment to the society, reflects on you. and since your pledge have committed such an atrocious foul, don’t you think you should also partake in the repercussions? don’t worry, it’s nothing too outrageous. we just think that—since you’ve failed in guiding your pledge properly then we’ll expect you to fail your upcoming exam as well. that’s not so bad is it?”

#virtue:punishment #f in the chat boys

hanbabi

this was a good day to be alive 😍😍

#( 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 ) \ * visage .#yall have no idea how glad i am 2 b able to keep this magnifico fc

yoohyeonxv:

@goldvnboy ; — [ rumors? what rumors? ]

( ... )

he was on his third cup of non-alcoholic champagne (which was probably, or most definitely, for his own sake) when put in the presence of jaehyun. the seemingly permanent straightened expression on his face dropped immediately as yoohyeon let out a dejected sigh, slumping deeper into his seat. the half-empty glass teetered between his fingers, golden liquid sloshing precariously near the rim. a little drop hit his cheek. he knew that the event was supposed to be cordial and all that, and that he was supposed to go around and say hello to all the newbies (had there always been so many?), but with everything on his mind and his coach’s warning echoing in his ears, it was pretty damn difficult for him to saunter around and affect an unassuming grin. how could he introduce himself as the fortitude virtue when really, he wasn’t feeling very fortitudinous himself? like some kind of imposter?

“i think i’m screwed,” yoohyeon found himself confessing. a hand rubbed at the side of his face in frustration. every time he closed his eyes he could see himself back in the locker room, back with his coach who spoke in a nightmarish tone: “i gotta bench you, hyeon. for your own good. what the hell were you thinking? you should have told me about your knee. you want this to be your last season of your life?”

he looked at jaehyun, eyes dead serious. “and for real this time.” he finished the last of his drink. somehow the sweetness felt bitter on his tongue. “somehow word got out that i’m injured,” yoohyeon grumbled, “and i don’t fucking know how.”

park jaehyun is a winner.

it is a prophesy that mother had once thumbed into his forehead as he nestled in the cradle of her arm, sealed with a featherlight kiss. and by the time our golden boy outgrew mother’s cuddles, her carefully knitted sweaters, and the bedtime fairy tales that trickle from her pretty grin, the prophesy had worked its way into the apples of his reddened cheeks. see, the way it spreads is like an avalanche, falling rapidly down with the kind of velocity to demolish all other schools of thought that dare stand in its path. it doesn’t take long for it to find rest in the ends of his feet.

and this is to say that jaehyun is twelve when he loses his first football match. he’ll prattle on about how they were competing against the older kids or how his was a team of substitutes as the original players were busy on match day, but the speech always ends in the same way: that is, they should’ve won. and quite frankly, it didn’t matter what the reasoning was, for the simple truth is that they should’ve won because park jaehyun should’ve won. because park jaehyun is a fucking winner.

one day, mother cups the ferocity of his tangled features in her ice-cool palms and tells him that sometimes, losing the battle is necessary should your goal be to win the war. it will take many years for jaehyun to understand this, but the lesson finally comes in the vexingly perfect form of one baek yoohyeon.

and that is to say that there is nothing that the man has that our golden boy doesn’t want, be it the perfect job, perfect girl, perfect life. it dawns on him then, the inescapable fact that so long as baek yoohyeon exists in his world, park jaehyun is a loser. but mother tells him that keeping your enemies close is a simple yet effective way of discovering a seemingly infallible opponent’s weaknesses, so it is in this way that jaehyun draws the first vertical line on a blank sheet to symbolise his first loss. while he waits, jaehyun chews on yoohyeon’s successes like sand between teeth, and he gratingly swallows.

and as usual, mother is always right. it doesn’t take long for the man to divulge his dearest secrets to our golden boy, starting with that incessant pain in his knee. it’s a revelation that brings a glorious tear to his eye, and it curls his lips something sinister. and it’s almost cheating, what he does next, and cheating is most certainly a loser’s tactic, so jaehyun readily draws the second vertical line on the left of the first. here, he lets the secret trickle from his loose lips and into another’s ear, the same way mother had once shared the fairy tales he looked forward to each night.

they say that things typically happen in threes, so here is the threat of his third loss. tonight, they welcome the new doe-eyed pledges of the society. jaehyun balances a champagne flute easily in the gap of his middle and index fingers as he engages in boisterous laughter. it is through this noise that he catches yoohyeon’s whisper, meek unlike the man jaehyun knows him to be, and he pulls himself away from the conversation to meet yoohyeon’s eyes. and ah, what’s this? there is genuine worry sitting above his brow, for in the many lessons that mother taught him, she had forgotten to warn our golden boy of the dangers of sleeping with the enemy. so somewhere between his careful observation and devious schemes, he takes a liking to yoohyeon. and how could he not? the man was practically perfect, so to speak.

“what do you mean?” the question trails as he watches yoohyeon down his deceivingly alcoholic drink in a fashion that concerns him, and the warning of, “hey, easy,” comes almost reflexively. there is little to disrupt jaehyun’s concern for yoohyeon— that is, until his friend confesses the reasons for his woe. it is here that jaehyun’s worry shifts from the latter to himself, symbolised by a two-step change of his countenance that happens so quickly, you’ll never catch it: first, the widening of his eyes then second, returning to a deeper furrow between his brows.

“that’s not a big deal, right?” and jaehyun wants to believe this. because although our golden boy had wanted others to see that yoohyeon was infallible—that they could spot the pair and easily crown park jaehyun the winner—it was never his intention to lose yoohyeon’s friendship. but now word’s reached yoohyeon, so he thinks it is simply a matter of time before the fortitude virtue realises that he’s fucking judas. jaehyun looks at the two vertical lines on white paper and breaks the pencil. “you’ll have a couple of people lookin’ at you weird but…” there is a shrug of faux nonchalance, though the stutter betrays him, “it’s— it’s no big deal.”

…right?

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:yoohyeon001 .#yoohyeonxv #virtue:invitation #here u gooo 💖

freshmoviequotes

The Boss Baby: Family Business (2021)

#( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 ) \ * musings .#on this episode of will i ever let jae live

♫ tell me i’m the one but she feelin’ like two ♫ ft. @poisonlip

the church is never empty. it is a beacon for the wayward souls and the desperate hearts, graceless in the way they linger within these hallowed walls that hold, within them, the conditional promise of redemption. and in this godforsaken country, they make up the many. should you stumble in past its righteous gates, hands sullied with the red of your crimes—and you will, it is simply a matter of when—you will find that you are not the first to have your knees kiss the church’s sacred grounds, and you are most certainly not the last.

and perhaps, if you were to pay your penance in the heart of spring where all the pretty flowers would bloom, you will find our golden boy amongst the sinners. why, here he exists as a statue kneeling at the feet of god’s likeness, head bowing into the apex of his meeting palms whilst his incoherent prayers fall below raspy breath.

do you even hear yourself?

there are moments where even the most powerful, most untouchable men are brought to their knees. for life is a sadistic author who hands out a slew of tragedies like the overabundant, seemingly innocent god loves you! flyers that somehow finds its way into the bottom of your bag. in this way, life spares no one.

why, here is one of life’s piss off flyers now, deposited into jaehyun’s firm hold. a pity that our golden boy is the curious sort, for in his boredom, he reads its convincing words off its coloured pages, perhaps even calls the number, and it is in this way that he is swept up into the cult of one han bora, the woman with an angel’s smile painted on the devil’s lips. where others warn to beware, beware, beware of the devil’s playground, he pinches her chin like the stem of her cup, drinks in her indoctrination from the chalice of her lips, and he calls her saviour.

like all cults, it seems that way for a while. the beginnings are marked with the fondest memories, where adventure and excitement overflow and the world spins round and round and he’ll fall onto the pavement, but he welcomes the pain because it means this, all of this, is real. and he’ll laugh, he’ll hold her in his arms, and somewhere between gazing at her face of mirth he’ll find this maddening urge to kiss her. it all happens in a split second, the way his smile drops and he closes the distance.

one day, he doesn’t remember to pick it back up. the soreness in his elbow from where he broke his fall gets to him. the world continues to spin, but he’ll stay stubbornly put. he’ll drink to chase that dizziness once more, but it’ll never come. come spring, he’ll find himself back in church kneeling before her idol, and his conversations with god will sound a lot like talk to me and just tell me what’s wrong and i can fix this and i can fix me.

it’s all in your head.

jaehyun is spat out of her holy ground, bitter. before he leaves, she tells him it’s all in his head, and he’s just now starting to believe it. in fact, he sees it in perfect clarity. see, it was never the fighting, the cheating, and all the things that made up their end that was imagined. it was the beginning, the laughter, the warmth. because park jaehyun never truly saw han bora. he thought her the miracle, the prayer, when she had always been his reckoning.

but now, as he observes the way the moonlight kisses her alabaster skin, he sees her. and it grates his gears, the way his heart still remembers the tremors of sickening devotion.

“great speech, regent,” it leaves his lips honeyed, the title rolling off his tongue like the many terms of endearment once reserved for only her. this is how he meets her at the balcony, like the fever dream of a memory plucked from their past. the compliments are familiar, so they, too, roll effortlessly off his tongue, “perfect. all the way through.”

they say that couples tend to mirror each other’s movements, so it is in this way that he leans against the marble railing, adopting the stance that he once found her. here, he is a recent heretic who has yet to unlearn the habits of a believer. he bows his head, but stays his betraying palms in a tense grip atop the handrail.

“you know, it’d be a real fucking shame if someone were to see through your cracks,” again, like a desperate prayer falling below raspy breath. this time, his delivery is through gritted teeth, and because of this, he thinks it a job well done. he doesn’t realise it comes out unnatural, obviously overcompensated in its anger. it doesn’t last long, for a sigh is pushed from his throat, and with it, he sobers back into his famous, uncrackable countenance. his honeyed tone returns yet again, thinly veiled threat delivered from a polite smile as he finally turns to meet her gaze, “how’s changho?”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:bora001 .#poisonlip #virtue:invitation #not me googlin top 10 gaslighting phrases #also pls dont match this im just in a silly goofy mood

ikon-official

#( 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 ) \ * visage .#im sleep xx

sdongha:

exit sign | @goldvnboy

( ... )

he stumbles in the direction of the men’s room, keeping one hand along the wall to keep himself upright. there aren’t that many people this way, luckily — most of the food and festivities are in the opposite direction — so no one’s around to see if he trips and doesn’t manage to catch himself in time.

a laugh. wait. almost no one. it takes dongha a second, but he recognizes that laugh. he hasn’t heard it in — months, he realizes — but he definitely knows it. he finds himself biting his lip, his free hand curling into a fist. his heartbeat gets even faster, a wave of nausea caused more by visceral emotion than his drunkenness rising from the base of his stomach.

this isn’t the first time he’s seen park jaehyun today, actually. dongha’s been noticing him all night long, all buddied up to the other hope pledge. well, dongha decides, steadying himself as best he can, maybe he should say hello.

play roll.

there’s this scene in his head. he’s in the driver’s seat of his white convertible, one hand on the steering wheel, and the sun roof is all the way down. it’s golden hour, and the summer sun exists as a glare on the reflective aviators that balance on the bridge of his nose. it’ll haunt him later, the way the tan isn’t even all the way through, but for now, his grin is a holiday home from which laughter comes and goes. and too often does it linger, like the poor resolve of a middle-class wageworker clawing for an escape from their repetitive nine-to-five. there’s this song that plays in the background, an upbeat tone with lyrics that never seem to make any sense, or maybe that’s because it’s drowned out by the boyish chatter that too easily overpowers the atmosphere.

there’s this scene that plays in his head, and it’s straight out of a movie. and maybe life’s a little like that for jaehyun, a compilation of highlights that always seem to mean something, where all the dull scenes and off-script blunders that hang uselessly mid-air get pocketed into the lacklustre gag reel that never ends up seeing the light of day. should every movie require a tagline, he imagines his would read a little like this:

everywhere our golden boy did go, all the fun would reign.

see, jaehyun likes to think he brings in the colours that don’t yet exist. it’s stamped into the motto of his successful campaign, curved into the printed smile on his coral lips right above the vote [1] park jaehyun for student president. and his was an anthem of roaring laughter, a trope featuring only the biggest of smiles, because being the embodiment of fun was a lot more to jaehyun than just a personality trait. it was a brand.

and here he stands now, delivering. there are effervescent chortles like the kind of bubbly they serve in polished champagne flutes, and jaehyun’s shaking his head at his company’s humorous commentary as he washes his hands. at some point, there’s the sound of the door swinging open, and the chuckles fall into a hush. it is in this manner that dongha finds him, threatened by the unwelcome disruption of his otherwise compelling narrative.

freeze frame.

and what do we have here? shin dongha, the hope pledge that was left in the dust. theirs was a friendship that was as vulgar and short-lived as a sordid affair. it started off as little more than a curious experiment, for it is unlike jaehyun to resist all things competition, and the shin family had the most impressive reputation for losing. it was something that our golden boy needed to see for himself. so it is in this manner that their little dalliance began, an enticing invitation, some dangled bait punctured on fish hook. there’s this sequence that follows up from the unsuspecting bite, where one is snatched from calm waters and swept into the whirlwind of jaehyun, an air of all things fun and games enveloping one’s writhing body. it’s something you get lost in, something you get drunk on, but then lunchtime ticks and empties and jaehyun’s had his fill, and dongha’s barest bones are tossed back onto a dirty plate for the clean up, as though he were, well… what’s the phrase?

rode hard and put away wet.

jaehyun shakes the water off his hands. there’s a chuckle that rolls off his tongue as he picks the smile back up on his face, both existing a few shades darker than they once were. the gait in which he adopts is relaxed, both in the way he walks over to the hand towel to dry his hands, and now, as he stands in front of he who exists in black and white, like an old, forgotten film.

a pity jaehyun’s not one to reminisce.

“you’re in the way.”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:dongha001 .#sdongha #this is so late im sry 🥺#also i edited from the og reply bc it was yucky #virtue:invitation

fatenumberfor

B.I in 구원자 (SAVIOR)

#( 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 ) \ * visage .#this mv was perf

♫ tell my mama i’ll be home on time ♫ ft. @cunzais

there’s something to be said about keeping up with appearances. it is: bright lips pulled taut against porcelain veneers, timely insertions of rambunctious laughter and teasing glances, and dangling one’s heavy arm around another’s square shoulders. it is: memorising toss up combinations of the indistinctive syllables that make up a name, practising their delivery so they would fall off one’s tongue in a manner that is natural and familiar, and ending pointless conversations with empty promises of meeting again. ( it is not: remembering to set a date. )

it is: saving said name in one’s phone with their most memorable feature as a placeholder for their last name. ( it is not: making it a point to call. )

smile! you’re on camera.

“i’m gonna kill that punk.” cue the eyeroll.

there’s something to be said about keeping up with appearances, and as jaehyun stands in a mirrored slouch on the university’s sporting ground, one of the few to form this makeshift circle of seoul’s elite slash casual footballers, he presents his hidden remark: for all the glamour that comes with this masquerade, all the see you soons, the can’t fucking waits, and the FOMO, it sure is fucking boring.

ah, but that is not to say that he would much rather be elsewhere, for the truth of the matter is there is nowhere he’d rather be than here. it is a conflicting thought, sure, but it is made simple by one crucial fact: our golden boy is a budding politician.

and quite simply put: this is what politicians do. it is the bread and butter that they insufficiently chew and savagely inhale too early in the morning, the ones that they then wash down with excessively strong coffees. for every second he wastes on these boring encounters, every smile he pays to these faceless husks of beating hearts is another vote earned, and as is every politician’s favourite catchphrase: every vote counts.

so he’ll smile, he’ll wave, and he’ll do the damn thing.

“he’s fucking with the wrong guy.”

oh, but of the endless choices of inane conversational topics, must they linger on this? this being some meddling megalomaniac who’s a little too ballsy for someone who cowers behind the shield of his last name, him with the permanent eye bags and the stupidly long face and the immovable frown.

han insoo, han insoo, han insoo. this guy’s got everyone’s pink panties in a twist.

“hey— isn’t that his brother—?”

brother? it is this remark that finally catches jaehyun’s attention, so he quickly turns his head in the direction they’re all blatantly staring at. he’s fully expecting to see taesoo, cocky smile already growing on his lips, but he is instead greeted with a faintly familiar freshman and it coaxes confusion to rest on his brow.

what was this guy’s name again?

of his many associations, the virtue society is the first to feel like a familiar link, and it is this reminder that causes jaehyun to guiltily rack his brain for snap answers. what he means to say is this: our golden boy understands that the affairs of the society is of the utmost importance, but he’ll admit, with his own student elections coming up, he hasn’t exactly been their most useful member. the point is he’s trying, he listens and pays attention when he can, and he’s quick to demonstrate this in the way the freshman’s name appears swiftly and suddenly in his mind, like the beginnings of a car crash.

leung ketian.

“they breed like fucking rabbits, don’t they?” it’s an offhand remark tripping off a devilish smirk, a thoughtless comment he’s made when he’s distracted and forgets to think. it doesn’t help that his partner in crime is uncharacteristically absent from his flank, unable to provide him a template from which he should more appropriately steer his dialogue. regardless, our golden boy clearly thinks it matters very little, for he turns his gaze back to the crowd and raises an obvious thumb in ketian’s direction, “that guy’s not even korean.”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:kit001 .#cunzais #is a lil late sry peepo 🥺

freshmoviequotes

Trumbo (2015)

#( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 ) \ * musings .#will i ever be able to write >1 thread a day #when will the gods bless me

laurcnt:

( ... )

sera is quick to quell any ill feelings that threaten to fissure her facade and she offers him a smile, rare and raw in its appearance. once he likened her beam to that of a supernova. she wonders, often, about what it means to be dying star. soon she is out of his car and into the climax of a balmy summer’s eve. though it is clear as day, the welcome party that awaits her is not of a midsummer night’s dream, rather, the tempest.

from the crease of his perfect brow to the vicious snarl of his sweet, sweet lips, she reads jaehyun’s rage as if glancing upon a page of a book. she doesn’t blench when he nears her nor does she recoil when his voice leaves him with a sharp, thorny cadence. she simply tilts her chin upwards to meet his gaze, her honeyed hues drinking him in. “ you too ? come on, jae, ” a sigh condensing upon her lips, her own irritation highlighted. to be picked apart by his scrutiny is a first for her. she pulls down at the hem of her dress, pats down the loose tendrils of hair. “ can we just be adults about this ? ” and why should he lose his temper ? why should he, like the rest of them, fix his mouth to condemn ?

ONCE UPON A TIME, there lived a prince in a resplendent castle. the castle was fitted perfectly onto the many peaks of a grand mountain, the completion of a magnificent puzzle with its equally perplexing edges, and the mountain’s base was buried under a thick moat. the anatomy of this castle is important, for its complex foundation ensures that the monarch need not worry about what lies beyond the horizon, so that within castle walls, everything would remain golden.

ah, but this is not to say that the castle is devoid of threat, for such is the nature of humankind, that they would desperately stumble after gold as though in pursuit of a haunting lover. watch, as they trip towards the ends of alexander’s band, traverse through volatile mines, and in their heists, they spare no hostages. why, here they are now, pickaxe in one hand, sturdy rope in another, their eyes holding a vow to desecrate the castle’s sacred shine.

father boasts of the castle’s fortitude, but mother speaks her uncertainty in the way she holds our golden prince at the ends of her outstretched arms. he was only a boy then, but jaehyun had already been taught the importance of holding all of mother’s words preciously in his small palms, wraps them protectively in his clasped hands, and from his lips, he breathes forth an amen. here, he watches her expression like a dog waiting on its owner’s commands, takes in her eyes’ glare, the rise of the first of two cardinal fingers, the rounding of her scarlet lips.

one. in a precarious situation, jettison all that threatens to sink your ship. here is a sword. now, cut them loose.

two. the losing hand is only lost when you let them call your bluff. there is room for an infinite number of tricks up your silken sleeve should you maintain you have the upper hand, so keep your chin up and hide your tremors in your fists.

and there was once a time when jaehyun would recite all of mother’s teachings as one would popular scriptures. once, he kneeled at mother’s altar, plucked his core from the left of his chest and allowed mother’s preaching to round into its gaping hole. but herein lies the problem:

jaehyun’s not really the golden prince, is he?

see, it is carved into their barren bones, from a time when they lay incomplete in their mothers’ wombs, that the reigning members of the golden monarch would, first and foremost, ensure that the castle remains ever golden. in the context of mother’s lessons, this may mean one. forsaking that thing hanging just left of centre, encapsulated protectively within the ivory ribs of doubt, and two. remaining ever, ever cruel.

and yet, here our pyrite prince stands, in a tricky situation, with a shitty hand. one. his heart dangles from the ends of his left sleeve on a piece of rope, and mother hands him a sword. in the wake of sera’s dishevelled image, jaehyun instead pierces it into his chest and scrapes out the bulk of her sermons. it will take him awhile to understand what this means.

“adults… you wanna be adults?” it is plucked from his forked tongue in equal parts incredulous and mocking, a scoff trailing closely behind as he tilts his head northeast. contempt is woven between his temples, and here you may observe the last of his restraint, balanced precariously on the syllables of an, “alright…”

two. it is blasphemy, the way he spreads his cards on green baize for sera to pick apart. it is as if to say here is a golden idol, made in mother’s image, and jaehyun runs his thumb along her breastplate of righteousness, snaps the sternum.

“adults don’t fuck around in other peoples’ homes, sera,” perhaps some way, somehow, the castle intruders had found their way into the palace, and instead of desecrating its walls, they’ve robbed the golden prince from his crib and in his place, they leave a parasitic mole, all rows of glinting teeth and dubious intentions. why, here he exists now, judas with his pickaxe in one hand and sturdy rope in another, a threat to the golden castle’s pristine shine. once charming, his features now morph into something sinister, and as the diatribe spits from his loose lips, you may catch a sliver of his mother’s losing cards from his gaping mouth, “they stay in their own fucking lanes, drive around in their own fucking cars, and when they’re done, they go the fuck back to their own fucking families.”

an observation: there is a lot to be said about the way in which our pyrite prince wanders off-script, when he had once crawled, tripped and ran well within mother’s lines drawn in concrete. and there is a lot more to be said about the way in which he spectacularly fails to heed mother’s lessons, one. unable to cut sera off the way he would anyone, anything else, and two. to remain unfeeling and unbothered no matter if she backs him into a wall, knife on his throat. these are lessons he had revised daily, and yet they fail to cross his mind in these pivotal moments. instead, all he thinks of is that she is here, and she is tangible, so he will hold her here and scream until his lungs are sore. he doesn’t realise the alternative.

“the fuck do you see in insoo, anyway?” this one leaves when he is breathless, shoulders rounding in defeat. and when all is said and done, all his chaos and treason committed, he balances his cards in useless deliberation and, with a sigh in surrender, folds, “do you like him?”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:sera001 .#laurcnt #wooo this is trench material #from the bottom of my heart my b 😩

zb-mcmxcv-deactivated20160307

#( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 ) \ * musings .#jae in 20 yrs bois im RDY #also im done w my reply 4 the day so catch me in yo dms 🤪

chxngho:

despair | @goldvnboy

IN A BALLROOM IN SEOUL, THE MOON IS BRIGHT BUT THE STARS ARE SCATTERED

( ... )

“hyung,”changho had called out, the term dipped in endearment that’s only among childhood friends.

“this party is kind of crazy, i didn’t know you hung out with this sort of crowd,” he holds his crimson dipped finger up to jaehyun’s field of vision.

“i was afraid they were going to ask for a blood oath, i mean..” the pledge snickers at the thought of his fellow peers having to wound themselves — their palms bare of any calluses and softer than tofu. his eyes dart around the ballroom; there’s a small group of pledges standing not far from here, han insoo amongst them for sure; after all, it seems like he was bred to be here. the others? he’s not so sure, but it seems as the society does not have tolerance for any boredom; he can only wonder what’s next ( even if he had to chipper at answers from an old friend). “when you did this, which i’m sure you did, was there a blood oath? or maybe did they just go very skull and bones for us?”

bless me, father, for i have sinned.

too often is gold received with a chorus of unadulterated glee, yet so few speak of the preceding bloodshed required for its capture. for perhaps it is in the nature of gold, that its blessed shine would distract he who cradles it in both hands, that they would justify its possession with suppressed memory or simply, a means to an end. see, mother understands this well, explains to her adolescent son that humans are fickle like that, adversary often forgotten in the face of celebration. and so in honour of the sins of his father, his is a home that exists as a constant fête.

cheers to forgetting, my love.

yes, perhaps no good can exist without evil. for what is good if not a thing of pure white suspended mid-air, white pencil against white paper, without evil as its contrasting backdrop? this is how jaehyun describes the blood on his hands: red against complementing gold.

it is two weeks since my last confession.

but evil is a dynamic thing, existing in its infinite shades of grey. see, our golden boy argues that there are the kinds of evil that are poked and prodded with silver fork against porcelain plate, the kinds that are lazily chewed and tentatively held in one’s mouth, and the kinds of evil that poison on its way down.

and what he means to say is this: once upon a time, jaehyun knew changho— no, once upon a time, jaehyun adored changho. once upon a time, jaehyun promised to take care of changho, and once upon a time, he delivered. but within our golden boy’s veins run the blood of noble princes from innocent fairy tales, only permitted to dabble in the palatable sorts of evil, the ones that can be justified as serving a greater good. and as our prince grew and matured, he soon came to learn one thing: him and changho exist in different hues.

see, changho’s sort of evil was the kind to give you whiplash.

and so jaehyun retreats, retracts, recoils, having come to fear the man he adored, once upon a time.

oh, but it is so unlike villains to stay buried, with authors and producers constantly finding avenues for them to rise from their graves, to once again wreak havoc in ways that would invigorate a since fatigued crowd. so this is how changho makes his reappearance, a glinting gun sitting comfortably in his holster.

( in jaehyun’s hand, the proverbial knife. )

“what, the rich and famous?” his deadpanned retort betrays his awareness of the sophomore’s presence, his face otherwise void of emotion as he stares down his champagne flute. this is how changho finds him: a shell of a man, the chalk outline of a displaced cadaver. perhaps it is a fitting metaphor to suit the latter’s morbidity, his words, as always, managing to coax a subtle grimace into jaehyun’s features. he hides this behind his champagne flute, stalls in this movement to remind himself to smile at the tail-ends of his drawl, “there was no blood oath. no skulls. no bones.”

in this game of cat and mouse, jaehyun finds himself at a dead-end. here, as he stares down brick and mortar, he supposes there is little more to do except pivot to face the boy he had spent the later years of his adolescence running away from. cocky till the very end, he chooses to stand tall, countenance finally cracking with a dry chuckle.

“you know, when i heard that they were gonna nominate you, i didn’t think you’d accept,” the admission is delivered with a spoonful of nonchalance, a dash of snark. here, he refers to the revolting crimes that soil the kim family’s hands, the crimes that his own father shamefully partakes in as a consequence of his greed, “you seem to have… better things to do.”

after all, what is a game of politics to a man who is more familiar with the inner workings of a coup?

i am sorry for all these sins and the sins of my past life.

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:changho001 .#chxngho #virtue:invitation #only took me a year 🤪

feral-ballad

Wisława Szymborska, tr. by Joanna Trzeciak, from Miracle Fair: Selected Poems of Wisława Szymborska; “The turn of the century”

#( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 ) \ * musings .#fthv pls app 🥺

♫ i be like sheesh! ♫ ( after the after-party ) ft. @saerinity

somewhere between the dramatics of silk blindfolds, the overzealous chorus of the sophomore crowd’s naïve yes!, and the ensuing blanket of overdone chatter living on borrowed time, jaehyun wonders if he’s had too much to drink. he’ll tell you about the uneasiness that makes a home in his stomach, the sensation of burning from the innards of his throat, but what he won’t admit is the way in which champagne stays lukewarm in its flute, stem perfectly pinched between thumb and index.

and here, the pesky tell-all: they say a drunkard’s vision swims in entropic technicolour, and as for his— why, it stays rigidly put.

all of this is to say that here, our golden boy is uncharacteristically staring. perhaps herein lies the evidence of insobriety, for somewhere between the sixth and twelfth hour of the night, jaehyun’s traded in discreet glances for blatant glares as he drinks in the sight of sera’s come-hither looks at insoo’s aggravating direction. it’s a scene that he finds impossible to stomach, feels the bile rising against the ridges of his throat.

( perhaps it’s anger. perhaps it’s disgust. )

see, somewhere between mother’s poorly restrained sobs, she tells him this: in the rough of river rapids, be as steadfast as a rock. as jaehyun peels his gaze from the nauseating sight, brings champagne flute to his lips to sip on tepid champagne, he wonders if he’s more like a rolling stone.

( picture this: he’s at the edge of a cliff, torso resting on grating gravel as he clutches desperately onto sera’s dear hand. he bears her weight in the sinews of his bicep, his tearing rotator cuff, but it’s not enough— no, he’s never enough, and so her fingers are slipping from his grasp, and he’s grunting and shouting and— )

he lets her go. pivots his body and turns away from her, the end of an era marked by a profound sigh. and for the first time tonight, when he’s not so caught up in his own head, he catches saeri’s pathetic, puppy-eyed stare in the direction he had only just forsaken, and it weaves resentment into his scowl.

you ever feel like the best girls fall for the biggest fucking weirdos?

“saeri!” the bellow leaves as a rebuke, but a look of warmth fixes quickly on his features before anyone can call his bluff. his stride over to her is armed with a toothy grin, mischief ever-present in his eyes. see, jaehyun understands the depth in which misery adores company. today, he tries to convince himself he’s the latter.

“party’s gettin’ stale—” here is his tease, paired with a smile that holds a secret and a nose that twitches playfully in faux contempt. tonight, jaehyun wants to get drunk. so the champagne doesn’t work— fine. he’s always known himself to be resourceful, knows the ways in which intoxication can overcome you without the vulgarities of liquid courage. here, he leans into her ear, perhaps an inch closer than is required for her to catch his whisper amidst the bustle of the crowd, “wanna go on an adventure?”

#( 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 ) \ * threads .#* t:saeri001 .#virtue:invitation #saerinity #tw:vomit mention #not today!! 🤪

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