#&audition boys kei

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Holes. Keys. What Have You.

I have full analyses I've been wanting to actually do and gather images for over the entire past year, but in the meantime, have this <3.

[berzahoes]

“slut!” | tom blyth

summary: in a word full of boys, tom is a gentleman.

an: takes place before filming billy the kid

warnings: mean names hence the title also if you care, reader is the same age as tom lol

“so keep your boyfriends hidden because y/n is newly single!”

“how many boyfriends has she had in the last four years?”

“clearly she’s the problem if she can’t keep a boyfriend.”

you heard it all. the names people called you, the headlines, news reports. it was always the same. people would rather shame you for your love life than be quiet. in the past you did joke that you went on many dates, clearly the media didn’t care if you were joking or not.

your manager had even banned you from looking at the really negative comments on your phone. twitter was having a field day with your love life.

“slut!” was the phrase often directed towards you. while your loyal fans defend you, you could still see all the hurtful things people said about you.

“do you want to cancel tomorrow’s interview?” lisa, your manager, asked one day. you hadn’t answered your phone at all and she was concerned so she drove to your new york apartment and let herself in with the spare key she had. she had found you in the darkness of your room curled up with your plethora of blankets.

“cancel everything. i just want to rest for a while.” you managed to say. lisa was like your second mom. she cared about you more than anything.

“we can do that.” lisa assured.

“lisa?” you turned to face her.

“yes?”

“thanks for checking on me.”

“always.”

after that conversation, lisa made some calls and any movie or tv show deal you had were quickly cancelled. over the next few days, the media found out that you pulled out of many movies from big franchises like marvel and star wars. it was always a dream of yours to be in anything marvel or star wars related, but for now, those projects had to continue without you.

many friends and colleagues reached out to you, but all you could do was send a simple ‘thank you’ and be done with it.

days passed and you were still in your apartment. you didn’t mind being alone, you liked it better that way. sometimes lisa or your parents would drop by or even your upstairs neighbor, mrs. davis, a nice old lady who knew that your favorite cupcakes were red velvet so she made you some to cheer you up.

it was a tuesday afternoon when you heard someone cursing multiple out in the hallway. you figured someone got locked out so you ignored it. pretty much everyone in the entire building got locked out at least once. you were ignoring the cursing as you continued reading your book and ate your red velvet cupcake that your kind neighbor had made you. a few seconds later, you heard a knock on your door.

“no.” you groaned as you stood up to answer the door. you opened it to find tom. you had only known him because you had a mutual friend so you were surprised to see him at your door.

“hi,” he spoke. “i called and texted . . a lot. i just wanted to see how you were.”

“i’m alive as you can see.” you said.

“i know you’ve been asked this question a lot lately but are you okay?”

that’s when you broke down. you couldn’t keep it together in front of tom, but he didn’t mind comforting you. somehow he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

he would often come over to keep you company when lisa or your parents couldn’t. he understood you didn’t want to step foot outside so he didn’t force you. instead, you two would go up to the terrace of your apartment building and hang out. tom would bring lunch or dinner depending on the time that he decided to visit. during that time, you two would talk about whatever would come to mind. tom did his best to avoid talking about work, but you always asked how his filming was going or if he had auditioned for anything new.

“i got the part,” he admitted. “i’m playing billy the kid.” he smiled brightly.

“I’m so happy for you, tom! you deserve it!” you hugged him.

“it’ll be announced next week. you’re the first to know, well apart from my manager.” he chuckled.

“you deserve that and more.” you smiled.

“you do too. other people should see that,” tom said. “you’re so talented and amazing and everything about you is so. . . incredible. i wish people see you the way i do.”

you were speechless.

“are you okay?” tom asked when he noticed you were quiet.

fuck. fuck. fuck FUCK he thought to himself

“you mean it?” you managed to say. you could feel yourself start to blush.

“every bit and more. i enjoy being with you and if i could be with you for the rest of my life then i would die a happy man.”

[snail-day]

I love your yandere fics so much!! You write them so well like how imagined them to be! Can i request a yandere!gojo with celebrity reader. Gojo is a smitten fanboy (he finally found his match a beauty that can be on par or surpass his looks) who then kidnaps reader and with somno and mindblowing smut (he is intimate and makes love, very sensual — but sometimes can be cruel when reader is not cooperative), very obsessive and possesive behavior, where reader eventually falls into a stockholm syndrome when she realizes he is the only one who can lover her like that.

Ah, anon, fanboy gojo is a horrifying gojo. I couldn't fit the somno in there my bad but I did let em get frisky. Yan!Gojo x Idol! Reader TW: Yandere Behaviors (Heavy in obsession & manipulation, stalking, trapping), Non Curse AU, Noncon / Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, Unbalanced power dynamic, Lifesize Doll, Gojo is just a fucking creep in this one. Reader has bad ending and is going through it. MDNI A/n: There's something absolutely horrifying about just anyone with too much money. Also, this one gave me an icky feeling, like really icky to the point where I had to go play some wii sports for some serotonin . So just fair warning on that everyone.

So this would definitely take place in a non-curse AU where the Gojo family reigns supreme over an empire of companies, including your idol agency. Satoru’s obsession with you began long before his parents handed him the keys to your career as a "gift" for his 21st birthday. By then, he already had an entire shrine dedicated to you—a collage of your debut album covers, grainy videos from your first audition, and meticulously preserved cut-outs of you in your signature frilly stage outfits.

He even went as far as purchasing your stockings and, disturbingly, a vial of your sweat from an online auction. Because when it came to you, no price was too steep, no boundary too sacred.

Satoru had been such a good boy, after all. He kept his record spotless, avoided any scandals, and played the part of the dutiful heir to perfection. So, for his birthday, the Gojo family rewarded him in the grandest way possible: a private concert (in their household theatre)  featuring none other than his favorite obsession.

Lucky you.

"Why do I always end up with the creeps?" you muttered under your breath backstage, steeling yourself for what was to come. You’d been expecting a small, exclusive audience—maybe a handful of elite guests alongside the infamous Gojo Satoru. Instead, the venue was eerily empty, save for one man sitting dead center in the front row.

Of course, it was him.

Satoru lounged in his seat, his long legs spread comfortably and his unrelenting gaze fixed on the stage. Those icy blue eyes shimmered with a kind of deranged excitement.

Still, you plastered on your most radiant smile, the same one that had been drilled into you since your debut, and stepped onto the stage. "Satoru-kun!" you called sweetly, your voice dripping with feigned delight.

That simple acknowledgment sent him into a visible frenzy. He straightened immediately, his grin stretching impossibly wide, the edges almost unhinged. His hands clutched the armrests of his chair as if holding himself back from leaping onto the stage.

"Satoru-kun," you repeated, your tone syrupy enough to mask the bitterness in your throat. The way his eyes sparkled, as though you’d just handed him the universe, made your skin crawl.

Why did he have to smile like that? Why did it feel like this wasn’t just a concert, but some kind of trap?

You swallowed hard and launched into your first song, your voice steady even as your heart raced. Through it all, his gaze never wavered, and you could swear that he wasn’t just listening—he was memorizing every note, every movement, every glance in his direction.

The worst part? You could feel that manic, suffocating grin even with your eyes closed.

The final note faded, and you lowered the mic with a practiced flourish, painting on a dazzling smile despite the tight knot in your stomach. Applause didn’t erupt—just a slow, deliberate clap from the lone figure seated in the otherwise empty venue. Each measured beat sent an icy shiver down your spine.

"Bravo! Amazing, as always," Satoru called, his voice laced with the kind of excitement that made your skin crawl. His bright grin stretched wider, his icy blue eyes fixed on you like a predator watching its prize.

Suppressing the urge to grimace, you clasped your hands in front of you and tilted your head, letting out a bubbly laugh. “Aww, Satoru-kun, you’re too sweet! You always know how to make a girl feel special!” Your voice was light, airy, laced with the charm your agency had drilled into you since day one.

His grin widened, if that was even possible, and he leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin in his palm. “Only because you are special, [Y/N]-chan.”

You swallowed back the bile creeping up your throat and gave a coy wave, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed the show!”

The second you turned and stepped offstage, the smile dropped from your face like a mask sliding off. Your jaw clenched as you made your way backstage, your mind racing. What is wrong with this guy?

Inside the dressing room, you immediately set to work peeling off your stage outfit and shoving your things into your bag. The faint hum of the mirror bulbs was the only sound as you yanked off your heels, wincing at the ache in your feet. “Just a few more minutes,” you muttered to yourself, your tone dark and venomous, “and I’m out of here.”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the momentary quiet. Your heart sank. “Just a minute!” you chirped, forcing the syrupy sweetness back into your voice. But your hands trembled as you zipped up your bag. He wouldn’t come backstage, would he?

The door creaked open without waiting for a response, and your worst fears were realized.

Satoru stepped in as though he owned the place—which, you supposed, he technically did—and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The sound of the lock sliding into place sent a chill racing down your spine.

You plastered on another sunny smile, turning to face him. “Satoru-kun! What a surprise! Did you come to say goodbye?” Your voice was an octave higher than usual, chipper and fake as it could get, but he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, it only made his smile softer, more adoring.

“Goodbye?” he repeated, tilting his head as if the very idea was foreign to him. “Oh, no, [Y/N]-chan. The night’s just getting started. I thought we could spend some time together. Just the two of us.”

You laughed, the sound forced and overly bright. “Oh, Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! I’m sure you’re busy, though, and I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

He interrupted by stepping closer, and you instinctively took a step back, your spine hitting the edge of the dressing table. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous now, something far too intense.

“I made sure I wouldn’t be busy,” he said softly, his voice unnervingly calm. “This is a special night, after all.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag, but your bubbly mask stayed firmly in place. “You’re so thoughtful, Satoru-kun! But really, I’m just so exhausted from performing—I don’t want to ruin your night by being a boring old workaholic!”

His smile faltered, just for a second. The glint in his eyes shifted to something colder.

“Ruining my night?” he echoed, his voice dropping a pitch. He stepped even closer, his long fingers brushing against the edge of your bag. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan, you could never ruin anything for me. You’re perfect. That’s why I waited so long for this.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Still, you kept the mask on, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. “Satoru-kun, you’re such a charmer!” you said with a giggle, though the sound nearly cracked under the weight of your fear. “But really, I—”

“Enough.” His voice was soft but firm, and it froze you in place. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something sharper. His hands found your hips, firm but not painful—yet. “You don’t have to pretend with me, [Y/N]-chan. I know what you really need. What you deserve.”

For a split second, the mask cracked. Your smile faltered, your eyes betraying the panic clawing at your chest. But you quickly forced it back into place, stretching your lips into something resembling a cheerful grin. This wasn’t just any creep—this was the owner of your agency. The man who could ruin your career with a single word. Rejecting him wasn’t an option.

“Oh, Satoru-kun!” you said with a bright laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “You’re too kind, really!”

His expression softened at your attempt, though the unsettling hunger in his eyes never wavered. “I want to show you something,” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy as he stepped closer.

Before you could react, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The sharp scent of his cologne—overly expensive and cloyingly strong—invaded your senses, making your head spin. You froze as you heard him inhale deeply, the sound sending an involuntary shudder down your spine.

“That’s it,” he sighed, as if your discomfort was the most intoxicating thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the wave of revulsion rising in your chest. “Y-Yeah, sure. Anything you want,” you said, forcing another fake giggle. The bile was starting to creep up your throat, but you choked it back.

Satoru straightened, beaming like you’d just granted him his deepest wish. Without another word, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along, his grip firm but not painful. His long strides made it hard to keep up, and you stumbled slightly as he led you down a long, opulent hallway.

“This way,” he said brightly, his excitement bubbling over as he opened a door at the end of the hall. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to show you this.”

The room you stepped into wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a shrine.

Your face froze in a practiced smile, but your stomach churned violently. Every inch of the walls was covered with photos of you, from professional headshots to candid moments you didn’t even know had been captured. A glass case in the corner held memorabilia from your career: props from music videos, outfits you’d worn onstage, and even a pair of shoes you’d discarded years ago. The bed, an enormous thing with crisp white sheets, was adorned with pillows printed with your image.

And in the center of it all, on a pedestal near the window, was a life-sized figure. You.

Your knees nearly buckled at the sight. It was a doll replica, eerily accurate down to the smallest details. The same smile you forced onstage, the same sparkle in your eyes. But the longer you stared, the more disturbing it became.

“Oh, this isn’t even the best part!” Satoru chirped, oblivious—or perhaps delighting in—your horror. He dropped your hand and strode over to the pedestal, gesturing at the figure like a proud artist showing off their masterpiece. “It’s perfect, don’t you think? Just like the real thing.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you clutched your bag to your chest. “I-I don’t even know what to say, Satoru-kun,” you managed, your voice strained despite your best efforts to sound enthusiastic.

His gaze snapped to you, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. “Say you love it,” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

“I love it,” you echoed immediately, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you might vomit right there on the pristine floor.

Satoru’s grin returned, softening into something almost tender. “I knew you would,” he said, stepping closer until he was mere inches away. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that made your skin crawl. “It’s because it’s all for you, [Y/N]-chan. All of it. Everything I do is for you.”

Your smile wavered as you nodded, the muscles in your face aching from the effort to keep it in place. Inside, you screamed.

He began to ramble, his voice drifting into an almost giddy monologue as he circled the room. “The doll is great, don’t get me wrong,” he said, gesturing at the figure with a flourish. “But it’s not you. It doesn’t feel like you.” His words trailed off into something quieter, almost wistful. “At least… not yet.”

You didn’t want to know what he meant by that, and you weren’t about to ask. Instead, you kept your fake smile plastered on and nodded along, praying he’d lose interest and let you leave.

“But…” He stopped mid-sentence, turning to face you with that same soft, disarming smile that would’ve melted hearts if it weren’t attached to someone so terrifying. He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed up, only to find the edge of the bed pressing into the backs of your knees.

“You can be the real thing for me, right?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if this were some innocent joke between friends. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, deceptively gentle as he guided you to sit down.

“Satoru-kun…” you began, your voice high and airy with forced politeness. “I-I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Oh, come on.” He crouched down to your level, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, [Y/N]-chan. I mean… heh…” His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, but the threat behind it was crystal clear. “Imagine if the media found out we did something together? Your career would be over, wouldn’t it?”

Your blood ran cold. The bile that had been simmering in your throat threatened to rise, but you swallowed it down, forcing another laugh. “Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! You know I’d never want to disappoint you, but—”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” His interruption was immediate, his voice firm but still unnervingly calm. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was eager to solve. “You’d make me the happiest man in the world, [Y/N]-chan. That’s all I want.”

The weight of his hands on your shoulders grew heavier, and for the first time, the mask you wore faltered completely. You could feel the edges of your resolve cracking as panic clawed at your chest.

“I—I think I should go,” you stammered, your voice trembling now. “It’s been such a long night, and I’m so tired—”

“Shhh.” His finger pressed lightly against your lips, silencing you. “No need to rush. You’re home now. With me.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, as he gently pushed you back onto the bed.

You felt caged, trapped beneath him as he leaned down and kissed you with a fervent passion that left no room for doubt. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that sent heat spiraling through your body, surprising you with how skilled he was. How is he this good? you wondered, a flicker of reluctant curiosity slipping into your thoughts. For someone with a room like this, you didn’t expect him to know his way around intimacy so well.

When his kisses trailed down your neck, you couldn’t suppress the small sounds that escaped your lips—tiny, breathy moans that only encouraged him. You hated how natural it felt, how easy it was to let yourself melt just a little under his touch.

His hands moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your soft frilly blouse and sliding it down your arms. The fabric fell away without ceremony, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. He unhooked your bra without even looking, his attention fixed on you as if you were the only thing in the universe.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re real.” His voice was thick with awe, the kind of adoration that would have been flattering in another context. Here, it only added to the strange, heady mix of fear and something else stirring in your chest.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your mind a blur of conflicting emotions. Part of you screamed to push him away, to escape this madness before it consumed you. But another part—a quieter, insidious part—was starting to crave the way he made you feel. The way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

When he pulled out a condom, your breath hitched. He held it up with a playful smirk, his icy blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Can’t have my favorite girl off the stage because of a baby,” he teased, the words delivered so casually it made your head spin.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your body caught between tension and reluctant desire. “S-Satoru-kun…” you murmured, your voice softer now, less forced. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—if you were trying to stop him or if you were giving in.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry, [Y/N]-chan. I’ll take care of everything. Just trust me.”

And for some reason, at that moment, you did.

His actions surprised you. For all the unsettling obsession and the manic energy that seemed to define him, he was unexpectedly gentle. Every hitch of your breath, every flinch, had him pausing immediately, his hands soothing against your skin. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your jawline, as if trying to reassure you, as if trying to prove that this was about more than just possession.

Each movement was careful, each thrust deliberate, his pace slow and measured, as though he was determined not to hurt you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice how his body seemed to move in perfect rhythm with yours, how his touch sent shivers coursing down your spine—not from fear, but from how good it felt. It felt almost too wrong for it to feel this good. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “So much better than I ever imagined. So much better than… than her.”

You knew exactly what he meant by her—that unsettling doll that resembled you sitting in the room. But there was no malice in his tone, no frustration, only unbridled awe. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a breathless babble. “So warm, so soft… so real.”

His hands caressed your sides, trailing down to grip your hips with a reverence that made your chest tighten. “You don’t understand, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve waited for this. For you. I’ve dreamed of having you here, like this, for so long.” His lips found yours again, and this time, you kissed him back. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of obligation—or perhaps something else entirely, something you weren’t ready to confront.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. His hips ground against yours with a practiced ease that sent shivers through your body, small, involuntary moans slipping from your lips. You weren’t even sure anymore if they were fake.

His icy blue eyes softened, a vulnerability shining through that you hadn’t expected, a strange mix of desperation and adoration. “So happy you’re finally here with me. You belong here. With me.”

The words sent a wave of unease crashing over you, yet his touch—so deliberate, so intimate—made it harder to hold on to that feeling. His pace quickened, his rhythm building into something that pulled soft cries from your throat, cries you weren’t sure belonged to the person you thought you were.

And then it was over, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the tension in your body refusing to dissipate even as the room fell silent.

Silently thankful for that condom.

Satoru, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He snuggled into you with a satisfied sigh, his face pressed against your chest, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

His white hair tickled your skin, and without thinking, your fingers found their way into it, absently threading through the soft strands. The motion felt automatic, like muscle memory from a life you weren’t supposed to be living. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, questions you didn’t have answers to. Yet, as he murmured something incoherent against your skin, his voice content and heavy with sleep, you found yourself continuing the motion, stroking his hair in a way that felt far too natural.

Because even if it’s love from some creep, maybe that’s the kind of love you crave.

The thought sat heavy in your chest, an unwelcome truth that made your stomach twist. You’d never had someone hold you like this, never had someone look at you the way he did—as if you were the entire world, as if you were the answer to every question he’d ever asked. It was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet…

It was something.

Your fingers paused in his hair for a moment, hovering as if they’d been burned by the thought. But then his arms tightened around you, his face nuzzling deeper into your chest, and a soft, contented sigh escaped his lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Maybe you didn’t deserve something better. Maybe this was all there was.

So, you let him hold you. You let your fingers tangle in his hair again, let yourself relax just enough to make it through the moment. Because even if it was wrong, even if it wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, at least it was real. At least it was something.

[chunniwritesalot]

lessons with the hamiltons - lh44

in which reader is a teacher, but hates kids

HIII OKAY THIS IS JUST A SILLY LITTLE THING I STARTED AND THEN I COULDN'T STOP WRITING LMAO!! i might make a part 2 if someone asks! dont mind the no lewis header i have no time to make one hahah

cw: ksi's new song mentioned, cursing maybeeee, lewis being a bighead

wc: many

“I hate kids.” You huffed as you walked into the apartment you shared with your husband, kicking off your shoes with an aggressive thud. “Hate, hate, hate them.”

It was ironic, of course. Being a teacher meant you were surrounded by children all day, one of the few jobs where you were supposed to like them—or at least tolerate them. Good thing you were also an amazing actor, masking your exhaustion with a smile every time you stepped into that classroom.

Lewis looked up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a teacher,” he said, as if reminding you of the obvious. “You’re literally paid to not hate them.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing your bag onto the floor before flopping onto the couch beside him. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for the revelation, Captain Obvious. Match my freak for once, would you?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that even mean? Is that… new slang or something?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious but clearly out of his depth with your words.

“Yup, some of the kids started saying it,” you replied with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. “I guess I picked up on it without thinking.”

Lewis chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You teach 12 year olds. Doesn’t it freak you out a little to be adopting their slang?”

“Nah,” you said, leaning your head against his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. His warmth and the familiar scent of him—a mix of cologne and home—started to ease the tension you had carried through the door. “What freaks me out is how much I despise them today.”

He smiled at your melodramatic groan, rubbing small circles on your back. “What happened this time?”

“Everything. The noise, the constant whining, the way they somehow always know how to get under my skin. It's like they have a radar for it.” You shut your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s exhausting pretending to like them.”

Lewis kissed the top of your head, his voice a little softer. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You let out a long breath, feeling some of the weight lift. “I know,” you whispered. “Thank God for that.”

There was a brief moment of silence, the kind that lingered just long enough for Lewis to think you’d finally calmed down. Then you broke it with a frustrated huff.

“You know what I had to deal with today?” You asked, your voice rising with the exasperation that had been bubbling beneath the surface all evening. You didn’t wait for him to respond before launching into your story. “Two boys in my class��two—decided to break out into song right in the middle of my lesson.”

You paused for effect, locking eyes with him to emphasize the absurdity of it all. Lewis raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for the punchline.

“And they wouldn’t shut the hell up, mate,” you finished with a dramatic flourish, throwing your hands up in frustration.

He let out a low chuckle, trying to keep a straight face. “What were they even singing?”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Something ridiculous. Some TikTok trend or whatever, something about being on a screen and then a ring... Doesn’t matter, though—they were so off-key I couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.”

Lewis shook his head, biting back a smile. “And let me guess, they thought they were absolutely killing it?”

You shot him a look. “Oh, of course. They were acting like they were auditioning for a Broadway show. Hand gestures, facial expressions, the works. Like, I was just waiting for them to ask for a standing ovation.”

Lewis laughed outright at that, the sound of it making you feel a little less annoyed, though you’d never admit it. “And what did you do? Join in?”

You gave him a deadpan stare. “I kicked them both out of class.”

He snorted, covering his mouth to hide his amusement. “Classic. Just no patience left today, huh?”

“None.” You sighed, leaning back and closing your eyes, allowing yourself to relax for the first time all day. “Zero tolerance for teenage karaoke. I just wanted to get through my lesson without a circus.”

“Well, Mrs. Hamilton,” Lewis teased, emphasizing your formal title with an exaggeratedly prim tone. “I’m sure you handled it all with grace and professionalism.”

You let out a scoff, shooting him a sideways glance. “Yeah, if ‘grace and professionalism’ means nearly chucking a whiteboard marker at them, then sure.”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’re everyone’s favorite teacher,” he added, a grin tugging at his lips.

You snorted, throwing your head back against the couch dramatically. “Oh yeah, I can just feel the love. Nothing says ‘favorite teacher’ like the daily chorus of, ‘Can we go home early?’ or ‘Miss, this is so boring.’”

“They only say that because they can’t handle your brilliance,” Lewis quipped, giving you a knowing look. “You’re too much for their fragile little minds.”

“Oh, definitely. I’m just intellectually overwhelming,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes. “How could they ever appreciate my passion for algebra?”

Lewis burst out laughing, pulling you closer. “Exactly. They don’t even realize they’re sitting in the presence of greatness. Legends are never appreciated in their time.”

“Legend? Please,” you said, swatting him lightly. “If anything, I’m the stuff of nightmares. The teacher who ruined their dreams of becoming TikTok stars.”

“Hey, at least you’re memorable!” Lewis smirked, leaning in a little closer. “In 20 years, they’ll be telling their kids about the time Mrs. Hamilton shut down their music career before it even began.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Fantastic. I’ll be a cautionary tale.”

“Better than being forgotten,” he teased, raising his eyebrows. “Plus, you’re probably giving them some quality meme material. They’ll thank you later.”

You shot him an amused glare. “Oh, so that’s my legacy now? Being the ‘meme teacher’?”

“Hey, memes are forever,” Lewis said with a mischievous grin. “That’s practically immortal in today’s world.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous logic. “I hate that you’re kind of right.”

Lewis leaned back, smug. “I’m always right.”

“You were just confused about slang 10 minutes ago,” you pointed out.

“Details, details,” he waved a hand dismissively. “The important thing is, your students secretly adore you. And if not, well…” He shrugged. “At least you’ve still got me.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered playfully, sinking back into his arms with a contented sigh.

“Hey, not everyone is in the presence of a seven-time Formula One World Champion!” Lewis shot back, puffing out his chest dramatically and poking your cheek for emphasis.

You groaned, shoving his hand away with a playful glare. “Your ego is huge, Lew. Like, it barely fits in this apartment.”

He smirked, unbothered. “What can I say? It’s all part of the package.”

“Oh, is that what it is? A package?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Well, I hope it comes with a refund policy because this ego is too much.”

Lewis laughed, pretending to think for a moment. “Nah, sorry, no returns. You’re stuck with me—and the ego. Non-refundable, no exchanges.”

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Great. Just what I wanted. A husband and his oversized confidence.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “It’s not confidence. It’s facts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Right. ‘Facts.’ I swear, if you had an award for every time you talked about your seven championships, we’d need a separate room just for the trophies.”

Lewis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Funny you mention that. I was just thinking we could clear out the guest room and—”

“No,” you interrupted, giving him a playful shove. “Not happening.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Fine, fine. But you can’t blame me for being proud. You did marry a legend, after all.”

You snorted. “A legend with an ego the size of a racetrack.”

“Hey, you’re the one who chose this life,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. “No refunds, remember?”

You sighed, leaning into him with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll just have to live with it.”

“Sooo,” Lewis started, drawing the word out with that familiar grin you knew meant trouble. “Ever think of wanting… kids together?”

You blinked, then slowly turned to face him, squinting suspiciously. “Kids? Together? Us?”

Lewis grinned wider, leaning in. “Yeah, you know—tiny humans that look like us, say funny things, and maybe, just maybe, follow in my footsteps. Mini-Hamiltons.” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, clearly enjoying the moment.

You raised a hand to stop him. “First of all, you’ve clearly forgotten the part where I just said I hate kids. Secondly, tiny humans that are half you? Lewis, I barely manage one of you.”

He laughed, completely unfazed. “Come on, you love me. Imagine—little curly-haired kids running around, making you laugh, driving you crazy. It’s the dream.”

You snorted. “The nightmare, you mean. I already have to keep your ego in check. Now you want me to manage a whole pack of baby egos that think they’re Formula One drivers straight out of the womb?”

“Exactly,” Lewis teased, poking your side. “Imagine—little racers, pulling wheelies on their tricycles, practicing pit stops with toy cars. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “No. Absolutely not. I already see it—them racing in the house, breaking things, you teaching them how to do donuts in the living room.”

Lewis gave a mock shrug. “Well, they’d have to learn from the best, right? Legacy, babe. It’s all about legacy.”

You buried your face in your hands, laughing in disbelief. “A legacy of destruction. Fantastic. Let me just call the furniture store now and order everything in crash-proof material.”

Lewis leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Okay, but imagine this: family go-kart days, mini helmets with Hamilton written across the back, and you as the team principal. We’d be unstoppable.”

“Team principal?” you deadpanned, lifting your head from your hands. “Lewis, if I’m in charge, the first thing I’m doing is banning anything with wheels in this house.”

Lewis burst out laughing, pulling you into a hug. “Alright, alright, no go-karts in the living room… yet. But seriously, can’t you see it? You’d be an amazing mom.”

You paused, softening a bit as you looked up at him. “I don’t know, Lew. I mean, if our kids inherit your energy, we might need to hire a whole pit crew just to keep up with them.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That’s what makes it exciting. We’d make a great team.”

You sighed, half in amusement, half in surrender. “We’ll see. For now, let’s focus on surviving you, okay?”

“Deal,” Lewis said, laughing as he held you close. “But I’m telling you, one day, we’re gonna need matching family race suits.”

You groaned, but smiled. “God help me.”

-fin-

PLEASE SEND REQUESTSSSSSS IM BEGGING OMFGGG I'M FINALLY A LITTLE BIT FREE

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL PHOTOGRAPHED AND INTERVIEWED FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE.

ABOUT BEING RECOGNIZED

Like most people, Ewan Mitchell is accustomed to anonymity.

So during a recent trip to Manhattan, he was surprised by what a hotel doorman asked when he arrived: “You haven’t packed your eye patch?”

The actor is still getting used to strangers making the connection in public.

“I wouldn’t think people would recognize me, but they do.”

“I think it’s because of my strong chin.”

“When I’m dressed up as Aemond and catch myself in the mirror, he scares even me a little bit.”

When he’s not in character, Mitchell is soft-spoken and occasionally flashes a boyish grin, though he retains much of Aemond’s seriousness and quiet intensity.

He is also very private: He stays off social media and in the past has shied away from sharing much with the public.

“Once you lose the mystery, you can’t really get it back.”

HE KNOWS THAT AEMOND'S KEY ROLE IN S2 MEANS HE MUST ALSO EMBRACE THE SPOTLIGHT

“There is a point where you have to go, now’s the time to pull back the curtain.”

Like Aemond, Mitchell is a second son.

He grew up in Derby, an industrial town in the middle of England, and his parents expected him to follow his older brother’s footsteps and work at Rolls-Royce (the aerospace and industrial technology company, not the carmaker).

HIS INSPIRATIONS AND BECOME AN ACTOR

Inspired by films like “Citizen Kane” and “Taxi Driver,” Mitchell knew early on he wanted to become an actor.

When he was 13, his teacher asked each student in his class what they wanted to do when they grew up.

“Then it came to me, and I said, ‘I’m going to be an actor,’ and everyone laughed at me.”

His family could not afford tuition for drama school, so Mitchell attended a two-year vocational school, where he studied design and technology while working part-time at a restaurant and in customer service at a local soccer club.

Midway through the program, at 17, he was accepted into the Nottingham Television Workshop, a drama group that trains young people in acting.

Through the Workshop, Mitchell landed a leading role in a 2015 short film called “Fire,” about a young man who leaks fire from his hands.

Once the short was released, Mitchell downloaded it onto a dozen CDs, took the train to London and stopped by the offices of every agent he could find, handing them each a copy.

The one person who called back continues to represent Mitchell.

“By hook or by crook, I wanted to make sure that I was going to be in this business.”

ABOUT BEING CASTED AS AEMOND TARGARYEN

Aemond’s growing prominence in the show requires Mitchell to embrace the spotlight as well.

“There is a point where you have to go, now’s the time to pull back the curtain.”

But being cast as Aemond in “House of the Dragon” has been his biggest professional turning point by far.

“Since landing him, I feel like I’m able to now steer the course of my career.”

Mitchell had been rewatching the classic Hollywood adventure film “The Vikings” (1958) and musing about how he wanted to play a morally dark character similar to the one played by Kirk Douglas when he received an email inviting him to submit a taped audition for Aemond.

When he eventually auditioned in person, he left a lasting impression on Ryan Condal, the showrunner for “House of the Dragon.”

“When Ewan came into the room, he just had this presence to him that I can best describe as unsettling,” Condal said.

“It was kind of quietly terrifying the way he performed it, and it was totally different than everybody else. And then he thanked us very politely and left the room.”

Condal recalls asking Kate Rhodes James, the casting director, “Is he always like that?”

She replied, “Oh no, he’s just a very intense northern boy.”

To prepare for his role, Mitchell did not watch “Game of Thrones.” Instead, he read portions of “Fire & Blood,” the book by George R.R.

Martin that inspired the show, and studied the performances of Michael Fassbender in “Prometheus” and Peter O’Toole in “Lawrence of Arabia,” each playing a figure who wields power for his own ends.

ABOUT MATT SMITH AND DAEMON TARGARYEN

On his first day on set, Mitchell consulted with Condal and decided that he would avoid interacting with Matt Smith, who plays Aemond’s similarly menacing uncle and rival, Daemon, in order to heighten the tension between the two characters.

Mitchell had grown up admiring Smith’s performance in “Doctor Who.”

But on set Mitchell avoided any eye contact with him, keeping his distance until the climactic scene near the end of the first season when Aemond and Daemon finally face off.

“There’s this addictive kind of quality when you’re in the shoes of a character.”

“When you lose yourself for a moment, it’s almost like a dream.”

ABOUT HIS HOME AND HIS DOGS

When he isn’t acting, Mitchell still lives at his family home in Derby and spends time with his dogs, three whippets named Eva, Bella and Bonnie.

“Now that I’m on it.”

“I’ve just got to stay on the dragon.”

[dontcallthedoctor]

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus! Announcement (+ Auditions and Casting Call)

Hiya, fellas! I've got a very special and important announcement to drop out of the blue today. For the past couple months, I've been hard at work starting up pre-production on an Amazing Digital Circus fan film!!!

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus! is a passion project I've been slowly developing with some close friends of mine, including @mikiib, @cluelesscleo, @jeggyweggy, @tomatertate, @endomentendo, @apatchydragon, @pizzycrisisline, @sillycringychaoskitty and MANY, MANY more! You all are some of the funniest, sweetest, most talented people I've ever known and I love you all so much. I am so honored and thankful to be able to call you all friends <3

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus is, in it's current state, intended to be a feature length animatic. It acts as both a continuation of Digital Circus' story, and as unofficial backdoor pilot to the Skittles universe. I originally envisioned it as being fully animated, but of course if we took that route, we'd end up working on this twice as long as we need to. The compromise is that it'll be made as a (hopefully) colored animatic (just the key frames with limited animation), fully voiced and scored.

(Note: It'd be a good idea to look at my previous post where I discuss the character Skittles in-depth, otherwise some aspects of this story might not make sense!)

Premise:

The story (so far) follows Skittles, a pre-teen axolotl boy who, while browsing Gbay, finds a listing for a blank disc with the words "TADC (NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION) scrawled on it in red, blue, and yellow marker. After checking the description, he realizes that it's a recovered copy of the game The Amazing Digital Circus, described as "an experimental early/mid-ninties game of mysterious origin and design". Skittles likes the sound of it and buys it. After some initial trouble with the installation process, Skittles is sent an email from a mysterious sender who claims to be someone trapped inside the game. They plead with him NOT TO PLAY THE GAME, but to look into it and figure out a way to free them from the outside.

So Skittles does what any of us would do. He plays the game after this obviously-disheveled stranger pleads with him NOT to. Of course, this leads to him being sucked straight through his monitor into The Amazing Digital Circus! Once inside, he meets the circus gang and is given his orientation by Caine.

As the humans get to know Skittles, they begin to notice a few strange things about him. For starters, unlike them, he (apparently) looks the same here as he did before he dropped in. He also remembers his name and retains most of his memories from the outside world. It isn't until the next morning, when Caine awakes without his powers, that things get really odd.

Evidentially, sometime in the night, some fluke in the game's code causes Skittles to be bumped up in the digital hierarchy, giving him all of Caine's powers, effectively making him the ringmaster by default! Caine becomes disheartened, feeling this is some divine punishment for his shortcomings as ringmaster and his constant inability to please his guests. Feeling unwanted and useless, Caine leaves behind his hat and cane and exiles himself from the circus, travelling far off into the Void where he can't cause anybody and harm.

Meanwhile, the bewildered circus gang are left to deal with the newly appointed Ringmaster Skittles, who makes it clear that he has no idea what he's doing. Despite his newfound powers, he's still just a kid and proves to be utterly incompetent at running the circus. Not only is his young brain not mentally ready for the responsibility, but the "ringmaster protocol" gradually starts to take over his mind, making him just as bonkers as Caine was if not worse. With the fate of the circus hanging in the balance, it's up to the circus crew, realizing how much they truly need Caine, to bring him back and restore order... or the Digital Circus may never be the same...

Originally, this started off as more of a "what-if" scenario with no real story behind it, but the more I mulled over it with friends, the more we realized this could actually make for a really cool story. Once it was decided that Skittles should take over the circus and become the ringmaster, the rest of the premise fell into place. Granted, the story isn't completely plotted out yet, but the beats are all there. In the end, Skittles helps the circus gang to further appreciate one another, but most importantly, to appreciate the asset they have in Caine. For his part, Caine learns how to listen better, to relate, and also how he can make life in the circus better for everyone, hopefully without compromising his vision or ideas.

Currently we're looking for artists (concept/storyboardists, line artists, background artists mainly) voice actors (for Ragatha, Jax, Kinger, Caine and Bubble) a couple writers and composers. Production isn't super far along in terms of content, but I'll post a handful of sketches and concepts that everyone's drawn up!

If anyone is interested and would like to take part, feel free to DM me, either here on Tumblr or at my Discord (anunmadebed)! I'm really looking forward to working with ppl and hearing what y'all think Abt this! Words cannot describe how damn EXCITED I am I'm stimming so hard rnnn

(So sorry if that seemed like a mess, I get really nervous talking about things I'm passionate about in public ^^)

[dastardly-imbecile]

Prom, 1968

Junior year. There was nothing dramatic, no fallout, no shouting—he thinks that that’s how Lucy would’ve liked it to go, maybe, which perhaps makes it worse—simply the fact that, halfway through the year, she stopped showing up. That was during his concert circuit, when he bought this suit, when he was going to New York and London and Chicago, playing in front of faceless crowds, and by the time he was home long enough to realize she’d stopped showing up, it was quite too late to ask. --- Prom night. Schroeder's already missing out on practicing, but the only thing that can make it worse is that Lucy is Charlie Brown's date.

---

Wordcount: ~3.4k

“For heaven’s sake,” Schroeder says, “you look fine, Charlie Brown!”

“Do I really?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his suit. Schroeder reaches over and straightens his tie, runs a hand down the front of the smooth black suit jacket to brush away any remaining motes of dust. His own clothes are perfectly pressed and perfectly straight. Bought the suit a year ago, when he went up to New York to play Beethoven’s fifth, and it still fits just fine. 

Charlie’s, on the other hand, fits like a glove on a four-fingered hand, but if he tells him that, then he’ll just work himself into another tizzy and they’ll never get to the dance. 

The other two in the room, Linus and Franklin, both sitting upon his bed with legs dangling above the ground—both fully dressed and ready half an hour ago, delayed only by the constant changing and tweaking of Charlie’s suit—lean over Schroeder’s shoulder to look. 

Linus is the one to speak. “Yeah. Don’t worry. We need to pick up the girls.” 

“Right,” Schroeder says, giving Charlie an encouraging sort of push—or, it’s supposed to be encouraging, but seems to do nothing but put him off-balance—and walks towards the door. The girls are at Linus’s, the boys at his own house, which is more than a little convoluted—he never did see why they couldn’t simply get ready in the same building—but the girls want to be picked up and to gossip in peace, or whatever it is they’re doing. 

“We’re gonna be late,” Franklin observes idly, on the speedwalk through the living room. Charlie intakes a sharp sort of breath, that that preludes the spilling of many worries, but a simple shoulder-check stifles all that in his chest. 

He doesn’t know why Charlie’s taking it all so seriously, honestly. It’s prom, just prom, pick everyone up and spin around a streamer-sprawled gymnasium for an hour or two, get a strip of photos from some janky old booth, all decked out in feather boas and cartoonish glasses. 

In all honesty, he should be practicing. He has an audition in a week, perhaps the most important of his life, for entrance into a great, glass-domed conservatory up in New York. He knows Beethoven’s Sonata No. 23 as well as he knows himself, keys falling like water under his fingertips, but he can always be better. 

Front door opens, closes with a final click. Out front, there are four cars. His own is a sleek red mustang, low to the ground, freshly-washed. The same color as the toy piano that he used to love. He quashes that niggling annoyance that says I could be doing something else. 

Senior prom. A night with the friends he’s known since he was four. This isn’t productive, but that’s okay. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of entertainment. This is good. 

“We all know the way, right?” Charlie asks, hand half-poised on his own car, which is actually his mom’s white station wagon. Three heads nod in unison. “Okay,” he says, “okay. I look good, right? The suit’s okay?”

“Yes.” 

He swallows. “Alright. Sorry. I just don’t want Lucy to…”

And then, suddenly, it’s not so good anymore. 

—

Schroeder is the first to arrive, but he lingers alone in his car, unwilling to get out until Linus’s blue Road Runner parks rather crookedly against the curb. Only then does he unfurl his legs, unstick himself from the seats. By the time that Linus is out, the other two cars rapidly approach. Down the long line of the sidewalk, the house is a mural of cream and red and green, straight siding and the crispness of new paint. Though the windows are drawn over by curtains, he can make out many shadows moving behind them.

“Do we knock?” Charlie asks, reaching up in an attempt to straighten his tie. He just re-crooks it. Schroeder suppresses a sigh. This is normal behavior for him, always worrying in that endearing way of his. He doesn’t know why it’s putting him so on edge. 

Well, he does know. 

He just doesn’t want to admit it. 

Before any of them can answer that question, the red door swings open, pushed along by Patty, who bounds out without waiting. She’s dressed in a boxy sort of green number that reaches her ankles, belted around the waist by a thick bolt of satin. 

“Heya!” She half-yells. He winces in support of Linus’s neighbors. Not far behind her—as could be expected—is Marcie, in red, a shorter, frillier sort of thing that he would not have placed her in, but which looks surprisingly cohesive. Then, Sally, in pale, blush pink, lace at the shoulders and the hem, small rhinestones sewn into the seams. Frieda, in knee-length purple, hair eschewing traditional straightening to instead continue its free bounce around the corona of her head. No doubt all the girls coordinated so they wouldn’t pick the same color of dress, same style, all different, all unique. 

He almost thinks that that is all, until the final one rounds the corner, pale hand steadying herself upon the doorway. Black hair, drawn back by a navy headband, a blue dress that cuts its way close to her chest and falls, shining sleekly, to trail on the ground, no decoration but for the shine that oscillates across each ripple under the rapid dusk. 

She doesn’t need a name. He can practically taste it anyway, thick and cloying in his mouth. 

Frieda to Franklin, who slides a violet corsage onto her wrist. Sally to Linus, neither of them quite looking at the other as they perform that respective ritual. Lucy walks towards them, and he almost, in some deep, dumb part of his psyche, expects her to keep going to come to him, but the notion shatters as soon as her steps turn fractionally. 

Turn towards Charlie. 

Schroeder helped him pick out her corsage. Thick white rose in the center of the band, surrounded by blue ribbons and dyed flowers. Lucy accepts it with a wry sort of smile, leans forwards to carefully pin a boutonniere to his lapel, some bright azure thing that’s been wrapped in dark velvet. He’s so preoccupied with watching that motion, with trying to push down the sudden queasiness in his stomach, that it takes Patty snapping her fingers in his face to remember that he has one for her too. 

Strangely, not-so-strangely, she doesn’t seem mad. 

“Sorry,” is all she tells him, as he perfunctorily snaps the rose onto her wrist. 

All of them have a match, technically, except for Marcie, but as they climb into the car, he’s fairly sure that he’s the real odd one out. As evidenced by the fact that both girls sit in the backseat together, chattering in quiet tones that he can’t quite distinguish. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

—

All through elementary school, a black-haired girl leaning against his piano, running her fingers carefully over the beveled edges. Middle school, sitting on the ground, back against one of the legs of the grand, telling him that she could feel the vibrations thrumming through her spine when he played especially loud. Smashing his Beethoven bust. Theorizing about married life. A half-hearted attempt to get him to teach her how to play, only for him to end it because he could not get the smell of her perfume out of the piano after two sessions of practice. 

He can’t pinpoint, exactly, when it changed. Freshman year, she still came over, but would sit on the far couch instead of the floor. Less talking, more of her silence, hunched and poring over homework, thumbing through dime novels. Told him that he was like her personal radio. If only they made you portable!

Sophomore year, more of the same. Less visits. Thrice a week to twice, to once. He’d slam down the end of a piece, let the notes echo out in the silence, look towards the living room expecting a radiant audience, and find nothing but the emptiness of pleather couches. 

Who’s he kidding?

It was junior year. 

He has the time to think of all this, of course, because he’s alone at the white-clothed table, nursing a glass of punch and a half-eaten cookie. Marcie and Patty are gone, poring over the food on the other side of the room, sweets and finger sandwiches and plates of withered produce. The others, as far as he can tell, are dancing. He doesn’t look for them. He doesn’t want to see. 

Absently, his fingers tap out a melody on the tablecloth. The only other person here, sitting alone, is Pigpen. He’s on the same level as Pigpen right now. That’s depressing. 

Junior year. There was nothing dramatic, no fallout, no shouting—he thinks that that’s how Lucy would’ve liked it to go, maybe, which perhaps makes it worse—simply the fact that, halfway through the year, she stopped showing up. That was during his concert circuit, when he bought this suit, when he was going to New York and London and Chicago, playing in front of faceless crowds, and by the time he was home long enough to realize she’d stopped showing up, it was quite too late to ask. 

Besides, it didn’t matter that much. The absence was a good thing. Her presence’d always been a nuisance. Always scratching at his piano, distracting him with her voice, her eyes, her…

He screws up his eyes, takes a deep breath, exhales. It’s the routine that he uses to cleanse himself of nerves before big performances, but whatever breed of anxiety is bubbling in his chest right now, it feels like they might be immune. 

Patty and Marcie weave back through the crowd, the former with a plate piled high, the latter holding the drinks. At least he’s not alone, anymore—but the prospect of sitting here and listening to other people talk feels like it might be worse. 

Maybe Patty notices this, because she hesitates, turns towards him and around a mouth full of cupcake, says, “did you wanna dance?”

He didn’t, really, but he would take any lifeline that got him out of sitting here and moping over something that he’s not supposed to grieve in the first place. “Okay,” he says, tries to push a bit more enthusiasm into it with a followup, “yeah.”

“Be back in a minute,” she tells Marcie, who nods dutifully. 

“Okay, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” she snaps back, feigning irritation, but the thread of fondness, of an inside joke, is unmistakable below that, and it makes his heart do another uncomfortable twist. He should get that checked out. He never should have come.

They walk onto the floor. Shove is a more appropriate word, bully through the crowd, mostly Patty elbowing other dancers until they’ve cleared out an approximate space. His hand about her waist, hers slung over her shoulders, and he knows that both of them are profoundly uncomfortable. 

When the decision to go to prom as a group was made, it was halfway clear-cut. Linus and Sally, Franklin and Frieda. Would’ve been simpler if Patty still liked Charlie, but she’d gotten over that years ago, and in any case, it was Lucy who cleared the problem up before it became a stalemate. 

Meaning, of course, she asked Charlie. 

His stomach flops once. Maybe there was something bad in the punch. 

The song, some sort of peppy pop piece of the genre that he’s never bothered to do more than skim, ends. When the first notes of something slow begin to unfurl in the air, he meets eyes with Patty, and by mutual agreement, they let go of each other immediately. 

“I should get back to Marcie,” she rushes out, and without further ado, turns to begin hitting her way back to the edge of the crowd. It closes back in around him almost as quickly, and he turns, suddenly disoriented. Tries to shove weakly at the back of someone before him, but they do not budge whatsoever, turns to find a gap, and then-

And then, there is a glimpse of blue. 

His eyes snag on it, and he takes an instinctual step towards the scrap as it vanishes around another clump of people. Weave around, follow the path it leaves. A bit of satin blue here, a flash of black hair there, until he finally breaks into the refreshment of cool air near the back of the gymnasium. 

And, before him, one of the back doors snaps closed. 

Whatever—whoever—he was chasing is outside. He half-turns, looks behind at the thinner crowd, many couples swaying back and forth under dim purple lights, until he finally makes out first the rumpled back of a wrinkled suit. Traces that to Charlie’s face, to the girl he’s holding.

Red hair. 

Oh. 

With a deep breath, he pushes the door open, and steps into the night. 

—

She sits upon the back stairs of the school, head nestled in her knees, shoes discarded like some modern Cinderella. Her skirt is hiked up, clenched in her left hand, and seems to be being used quite improperly as a tissue. He hesitates on the lip of the stairs. 

There’s still time to leave. 

To go back to the silence of the house, to the silence that’s accompanied him for a year, no girl chattering at his side, no commentary as he played, no applause when he stands and bows theatrically. 

He can’t do that. 

And, what self-respecting gentleman would leave a girl crying?

Slowly, he lowers himself onto the step, wincing as he practically feels the suit wrinkle. Don’t scuff, he needs that for next week, for the audition. 

“Lucy?” He asks. 

“Go away!” She snaps immediately, “I don’t need this right now!”

“What happened?” He asks, like he doesn’t already know. She’s silent for a long moment, but just as he begins to scoot away in fear of an impending explosion, her head turns fractionally to reveal half her face. Her eyes are red, makeup smeared, brow furrowed in a frown. 

“Do you care?”

“You’re crying.”

She lets out a husky laugh. “Don’t rub it in. Some ginger chick asked Charlie to dance. He said yes. That’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Again, there’s that peculiar feeling in his stomach, anger at Charlie, anger at himself. He wouldn’t have done that. Why does she care about someone who would?

“I don’t even care,” she spits, head rising fully, revealing the other half of her face and scrubbing one final time at her eyes, “he’s too wishy-washy! I didn’t even like him!”

A flicker of something that feels almost like hope. “Why’d you ask him, then?”

She cuts an askance look at him, mouth tightening. “Who else was I gonna ask, huh?”

Point taken. He looks down at his shoes, unsure of how to answer. 

She continues after a moment, floodgates fully opened. “I know he’s been in love with that girl. Good for him! I’m just tired of… of always being second. When is it my turn to be the first choice? When will someone pick me?”

“I never…” he starts. Before the first word even fully falls to the ground, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to say. Lucy’s head whips towards him, eyes narrowing. Before any sort of tongue-lashing comes, however, her face falls almost as quickly. 

“Yes, you did. You chose your stupid piano.”

“The- the piano?” he splutters, taken utterly back, “how did I choose-”

“You can’t date,” she lists, “because you want to be like Beethoven, a bachelor. You can’t go out, because you’re practicing. You can’t talk to me, because you have a competition in a week! I go to your house, and the door is locked and- and your parents tell me you’re playing in another country and you didn’t even, didn’t even tell me!” 

The last words come with a fresh spring of tears. He grabs at his suit, pulling out the handkerchief from within the pocket. Tries to proffer it to her, but she ignores it, instead choosing to swipe her dress over her eyes once again. 

“...I’m sorry,” he offers after a moment. Again, there is no response. 

“I didn’t even get to dance,” she says, voice muffled by the fabric, “a real dance. That’s all I wanted tonight. Augh!” Sharply, she yanks the headband out of her hair and chucks it into the ground. It bounces, rolls once, and lands—rather unsatisfyingly—at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. 

“I have to wait for that blockhead to finish.”

“I’ll take you,” he replies, and again, her head bobs up. When she considers him this time, it’s with the cunning that’s now rising to the forefront of her gaze, rising up over all that anger and distraught-ness. 

“Will Patty and Marcie..?”

“They’ll be fine,” he replies, standing, holding out a hand to help her rise as well. Her gaze flits towards the hand, then to his face, then to his hand again. 

Slowly, she smiles. “What a gentleman.”

Taking it securely in hers, she rises.

—

“This is your house,” Lucy points out, as he pulls into a stop. He nods. 

“Come on.”

After a brief hesitation, she follows him out of the car, down the walkway and into the front room. Inside, it is vast and dark and empty, and he fumbles for a minute on the walls until a flick of the switch allows light to flood in once again. 

“I haven’t been here in ages,” she observes, stepping in. He doesn’t respond instead crossing over to the piano at the side of the room, sliding open the lid and sitting down upon the seat. 

“You wanted to dance?” He asks. She nods warily. 

Slowly, he begins Beethoven’s German Dance. It’s been a long, long time since he played it last, but it’s simple, stumbling over the three flats, ¾ meter, and when he half turns, expecting to see her moving, she is-

Entirely still. 

Slowly, he peters out. Her mouth is downturned. 

“See,” she snaps, “this is what I’m talking about. You and your piano! You play this, and what am I supposed to do? Dance alone?”

He hesitates. In quick, large strides, she reaches him, grabs his upper arm and yanks him up. 

“If I’m gonna dance,” she says, placing his hand upon her waist. He brings his other one up before she has to prompt it, and she locks her arms behind his neck. 

“There’s no music.”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” he says eventually, “I guess not.”

It’s slow at first, uncertain, no beat or rhythm, but she’s certain enough that he can catch on easily. Step this way, step that, follow the tug of her body and the push of her hips, let her take charge. She closes her eyes. Rests her head, after a moment, against his chest. Makeup is still streaking down her cheeks, and her hair is tangled from the headband extraction, and she is beautiful, just as beautiful as she’s always been. 

The end of the dance has none of the awkwardness of the beginning. They come to a stop by slow, mutual agreement, feet scuffing against the hardwood in smaller and smaller arcs, until she finally looks up, hands loosening a fraction around his neck. 

“What took you so long?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. 

She snorts. “You’re an idiot, Schroeder.”

“Maybe,” he replies. She tilts her head, just a fraction, lips quirking up in the beginnings of a smirk, and he cannot take it anymore, this feeling that’s been slowly bubbling up for over a decade, finally boiling, finally bursting over the edges, and he leans down, presses his lips to hers. She reciprocates immediately, tightening her grip once again, pulling him down. 

When they break, this time, it’s for good, hands falling to their sides. He’s not quite sure what to do with them—usually, he’s so sure, but now, they’re clammy and feel too large too conspicuous. 

“...I should get you home,” he says eventually. She nods slowly. 

“Yeah. What a night.”

What a night. 

—

Her house is different at night, all muted colors, hardly discernible other than as differing shades of black. Linus is home already, as evidenced by the car in the driveway. 

“Lucy,” he says, as she places a hand upon the door handle, “come by tomorrow?”

“What?” She asks. 

“Tomorrow,” he repeats, “I have an audition next week and I think I do… I practice better when you’re there.”

She breaks into a grin. “I knew you liked it. Yeah, Schroeder. I’ll be there.” 

He watches as she cracks the door open and leaves, vanishing in that small interval between the car and the porchlight, and this night wasn’t a waste, after all.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Actor Matthew Settle, having personally auditioned with Tom Hanks for a number of leading roles, won the part by delivering steely performances of key scenes. During the casting process, Hanks branded Speirs “a dark character.” Settle unequivocally embraced this categorization as filming commenced in England.

[...]Ron conveyed to Dick. “This TV business is all smoke and mirrors anyway. They can put my nametag on some guy and pretend it is Sparky. They are faking the combat scenes with a stand-in playing Sparky, so why not finish it up that way? I am just not up to the hassle and pressure of an interview. This is not what you want to hear, but I want to be candid about my situation.” Few were more disappointed in Speirs’s decision than Matthew Settle. Many of his fellow actors forged enriching relationships with the veterans they portrayed. Settle was denied this luxury. “It seemed as though he wanted to shy away from the whole process of Band of Brothers,” Settle later noted of Speirs. “He wasn’t quite sure in what light it would leave him.” Because filmmakers lacked Speirs’s direct input regarding his more controversial traits, they “presented the idea to the audience and let them decide whether or not he had killed prisoners and perhaps his own men,” said Settle. “I think that was tastefully done. But perhaps that was why he wasn’t open to being spoken to.”

The absence of Settle’s mysterious character in episode one of Band of Brothers permitted the actor to discover his character in other ways. While the rest of the cast shot the series introduction in England, Settle retraced Speirs’s steps across Europe on an odyssey of his own. He visited France, toured museums, and sought out sites where Speirs had fought. Settle ventured into the Bois Jacques, discovered Easy Company’s foxholes, and was warned to watch out for live ordnance as he did so. At Foy—where Speirs embarked on his iconic run—the actor traversed the wide field and was amazed to see dwellings in town that still bore scars of battle. He ventured all the way to the Eagle’s Nest in Germany. “It made it really come to life for me,” Settle said of the journey. “I’m very happy that I was able to do that.”

Deprived of the ability to converse with Speirs, Settle searched for perspectives on leadership in battle. In addition to reading several Ambrose books, he leaned on Captain Dale Dye—the film’s technical advisor who himself was a decorated combat veteran. “You gotta help me find this guy,” Settle implored to Dye. “Who is he? What’s his tone?” The subsequent coaching greatly benefited his performance: “I had a natural finality that served his character well.” On film, Speirs was stern, direct, and honest. Settle relished interpreting the Speirs mystique—a colorful balance of bravery and secrets. He naturally considers the Speirs scene at Foy his favorite of the miniseries.

[...]A 1,000-person tent was erected on site for a gala and the screening of a ninety-minute compilation of Band of Brothers scenes. Amid all the activities, Matthew Settle finally conversed with his character in the flesh. “When I actually met Speirs, he seemed like he was stoic and quiet and passive,” Settle recalled. “He definitely seemed like a person that may have been hurt once or twice in his life.” The actor’s observations of Speirs during the debut itself were even more affecting. “I sat next to him and Winters as they watched the invasion on screen together,” said Settle. “I honestly just watched the two of them. I couldn’t help myself…. It was powerful. They were reliving it.”

Settle regretted that his interactions with Ron were so fleeting. “I never really got into any deep conversations because Speirs was always very hesitant to talk about anything deeper than just the weather. A lot of the vets would approach him and he would say, ‘Which war?’ I don’t know if he was pretending not to remember them or what.” Speirs’s question was likely an earnest effort to distinguish those who served under him at different stages of his career. Self-consciousness of his hearing loss further precluded him from active conversation.

~ Jared Frederick & Erik Dorr

[dodorimo]

WIP Wednesday

Theater director!Raphael x Tav

He's supposed to be kinda creepy here, so yeah, this is a warning.

· · ──────  ❊  ────── · ·

It is a disaster, a travesty.

He wonders. When Tacitus beheld the charred remains of his beloved Rome, did he feel a similar way?

Chorus girls look to each other for guidance while lead actors traipse over the stage, painfully off-key. He has seen high school productions with more verve than this one.

That he has to share a room with such insipid talent. It is truly heartbreaking.

With a weary sigh, his eyes survey the stage for the weak link, and that’s where he finds her. A girl in the back row, looking a little lost and scared out of her mind.

“Dear God, who does casting these days?” he laments to no one in particular, crossing his legs on the leather seat.

“You do, sir.”

Raphael turns to look at the man beside him, taking in his ill-fitting suit and old-fashioned glasses. Poor fellow. He has neither the knack nor the grip for the job. And the syndicate thought sending this boy would keep him on his toes?

“Oh, I didn’t audition this one or I’d remember her.” There’s a pause while he mulls over his thoughts. “Tell me, Jameson,” he says and ignores when the other man voices a correction. “Why is she here?”

“The girl has promise,” comes the curt response. “She was highly recommended.”

The vague answer does nothing to placate his quickly dampening mood. “Recommended by who? Her parents? Her elementary teacher, perhaps?”

A few cleaning women choose this moment to walk past their seats, prompting the man to lower his voice. “The Royal, sir.”

Raphael reclines back in his seat. There we have it.

What these newcomers fail to understand is that admission to a fancy college isn’t nearly enough accolades for his standards. He didn’t build his reputation by bowing down to paper-pushers and sycophants. In this theater, he dictates the rules. In this theater, he is king.

With a wave of his hand and a few scathing words, he orders the session to be dismissed, much to the relief of those present.

“May I suggest a break instead?”

“You did well today, Johnson. You may take the rest of the day off,” he replies, his tone final.

The man opens his mouth to protest, but turns to leave the room instead. The buzz of conversation slowly dwindles as cast and crew head backstage. They turn off the lights on their way out, leaving the theater in semi-penumbra.

Despite his predisposition for pomp and extravagance, Raphael always thought he worked better on a smaller stage.

“Not you.” He points to the girl tailgating the group. “I’d like to have a word.”

The girl stops in her tracks, a thousand emotions flashing across her face, before settling on fear.

While he waits for her to come around, he pulls two chairs and rearranges them facing each other in the middle of the stage, right below where the headlights shine brightest. The girl moves to sit on one of the chairs, shaking like a foal standing on its hind legs for the first time.

“Fear not. This will only take a moment,” he says, his smile deceptively warm—a skill honed after many years in the business.

She is a pretty little thing, this new choir girl. But then, again, most choir girls are. If her theater career falls to pieces, he can imagine a profession or two where she would excel at. 

“What do you say we start from the beginning of act two?” he suggests, tone amicable as to not alarm her further.

The girl scrambles to flip through the pages of the script, her eyes skimming over the words in rapid succession.

This won’t do. An easier question, then.

“What is your name, dear?”

“River, sir. My name is River.”

“My man told me you came from the capital. Do you like it there?”

“I like it very much, yes.” The small talk seems to calm her enough to allow her to find the right page. What she finds there, however, does not please her in the slightest.

“Sir, this is a scene for two…” she trails off, eyes fearful.

“Make the best of it. Improvise. I can play the part of your would-be lover if you wish.” The abrasive approach isn’t to his liking. Unfortunately for this girl, he is short on patience.

If he had any hope that under the veneer of the ingénue might hide a true thespian spirit, it vanishes the moment she utters the first line.

He stands up and paces aimlessly around the stage. The girl stares at him, dumbfounded.

“You have been on the run. This man, this stranger, offers you solace and a roof above your head. He is charming and not too hard on the eyes. You feel indebted to him. You’re young, naive and you’ve never been properly courted.”

The deviation from the script wouldn’t pose an issue. He is the author, after all, and the play, a successful piece from his earlier career. “Updated” for modern audiences. The word alone is enough to make him grit his teeth. None of his plays needed “updating”. Younger audiences can take their grievances back to their food-stained couches. They had no respect for the classics.

His little summary provokes the intended reaction. He sees the pieces falling into place in her mind.

“Harlequin…” she tries again, this time with more passion. And is that the hint of tears he sees in her eyes? “I've never met anyone like you. If only I could repay you in kind.”

“Good, good… much better.” He returns to his seat.

“Say the word and my body will be yours.” She leans forward, exposing just enough of her cleavage for his eager eyes. It’s a bold move, but not unwelcome. His fingers twitch on his lap. This little dove may surprise him still.

Raphael recites the words that have become second nature to him. “Columbina. I’d rather you not return to your old ways. If you choose to lie with me, it must be of your own free will.” If his voice sounded more condescending than the play requires, it’s just an act of improvisation on his part.

He points to the script in her hand. It’s the cue for her musical number.

If the girl clearly struggled with the finer nuances of the text before, here she needs no assistance. Hers is a voice of singular beauty, the likes of which emerge once in a generation. He suddenly understood why James was so hellbent on bringing her here. It wasn’t just the charming Harlequin who was finding himself enthralled.

When it’s done, he takes off his glasses without saying a word and puts them carefully in his pocket.

“Oh dear, this is…” Beautiful, stupendous, awe-inspiring, his mind supplies. “A little crude, if you don’t mind my directness.”

The girl looks positively devastated, her lips quivering as if about to cry.

“But even the roughest of rocks can be polished into a beautiful piece of jewelry. Isn’t this what they say? Meet me at my office after tomorrow’s rehearsal. I expect you to be well acquainted with the text by then.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Call me Raphael.”

“Raphael…” Her voice rings like angelic bells to his ears. “Until tomorrow.”

[blue-jisungs]

alcohol free

song inspo. alcohol free — twice

summary. in which your best friend yoongi gets to know your secrets while you sip on various drinks. with each one, he’s more shocked… and amused.

warnings. well, not to alcohol free bc there’s a lot of it actually LMAO, bit of crying, swearing, readers mentions she has insecurities about her nose :( + friends to lovers teehee but they’re both dumbasses >:T

a/n. man i love piña colada 😔😔

yoongi and you knew each other since childhood, so it was no shock to him that your alcohol tolerance isn’t the strongest. especially when you - apparently - quit drinking. so even a fool would know how this would end. this, as in:

“i’m not an alcoholic but look, he have to celebrate” you yelled, raising a bottle of champagne. yoongi scoffed, shaking his head. you had the keys to his place and informed him you’ll be there in 5.

so you were, all giddy and giggly, knocking your shoes off.

“you finished the tour big boy! now… what?” you hummed, placing the bottle down.

and now, after a couple of glasses in and your cheeks rosy, you shook your head.

“remember how heartbroken was i when you left be a trainee?” you whined suddenly, his brows furrowed.

“of course i do, there’s no need to remind me that. i felt like shit too” he grunted, heart aching. oh he hated that back then. but he knew that’s if it’s meant to be, you’ll end up together again. and you did.

“did you know… i considered auditioning for hybe so i could be near you?” you mumbled, looking at him. catching a glimpse of his amused look it was all it took for you two to burst out laughing.

“yeah? and what would you do? because not sing, obviously” he teased, chest filling with laughter.

“no! i’d rap!” you puffed your chest proudly, making a dramatic gesture and almost knocking the empty champagne glass “give me a beat, rapper boy!”

it was hard for yoongi to contain his laughter. after he did, he started beatboxing – or rather tried – and you freestyled. quickly giving up, you two were a giggling mess again, yoongi reaching to pout more champagne in.

a peaceful hum left your mouth when the pleasant sunshine hit your face, sounds of yoongi’s footsteps approaching reached your ears. you had your eyes closed so you only guessed he’s coming back with the meat.

“aish, y/n! i told you to wait!” he hissed upon seeing that you already opened the wine bottle. you giggled, shaking your head.

“i was impatient and hungry. and the wine was tempting” you mumbled. yoongi sighed, putting the meat on the grill.

the weather was perfect: sunny and with a light breeze. birds chirping in the background lulled you to sleep and you didn’t even eat yet. just when you thought about that, there was a sound of sizzling meat.

“yoongs…” you sighed, crooking an eye open. maybe drinking the wine before eating and in full sun wasn’t the best idea but…

“hmm?” your best friend hummed, busy on his task.

“what would you name your kids?” you asked, closing your eyes again. he frowned, wondering.

“i don’t know, i haven’t thought about that. you?” he replied genuinely, turning his head to look at you.

“if it’s a boy, jin or ian. if a girl then… summer” you hummed, a lazy smile blooming on your lips. he nodded in acknowledgement before realising.

“wait, jin?!” he whined, causing you to giggle.

you grunted, plopping down on the couch next to yoongi. he looked at you curious, namjoon stopping the conversation to give you a question look.

“the music sucks, seriously” you huffed, grabbing your tequila. you have it a quick stir before taking a sip, namjoon’s girlfriend raised her own glass.

“agreed” she hummed and you clinked glasses, taking a big sip. the song came to an end, another one playing. a soft, slow beat caused the couple in front of you to look at each other

“now we’re talking” namjoon laughed. his girlfriend put down the glass and he grabbed her hand, placing a soft peck at the back of it “may i have this dance?”

“oh of course” she sighed dreamily and they left, namjoon winking at yoongi. you wolfed down the rest of your drink, leaning your body on the table with a guttural groan.

“what is it?” yoongi asked, amused.

“they’re so in love it’s unfair” you mumbled, looking at the pair disappearing in the crowd of sickeningly big amounts of couples “i guess i was always jealous of them, just a bit”

yoongi tilted his head, interested. that’s new…

“you can see how much she loves him just by the way she looks at him” a quiet murmur left your mouth, barely audible. but yoongi heard it, features softening.

you jolted up, your back meeting his arm that - you didn’t even notice when - was resting on the back of your seat.

“anyway! lemme grab more tequilas… you want some?” you asked, grinning. your best friend just shook his head, amused.

“how do you do that?” you asked, eyes flickered between him and the whiskey in his hand. yoongi let out a quiet, heart-warming laugh.

“i just like whiskey. i don’t feel the need to taste every possible drink on the menu, unlike someone i know” he teased and you faked a offended look, pulling your margarita closer.

“i just feel like having margaritas today, what’s wrong with that? you’re just boring” you mumbled and took a sip.

“yeah, well, at least i don’t get drunk after having two drinks” yoongi grunted. you scoffed, punching his arm

“i’m interesting when i’m drunk, so you shouldn’t complain” you hummed, glaring playfully at him. he titled his head

“yeah? who told you that?” he shook his head, grabbing his whiskey.

“i tend to share secrets” resting your chin in the palm of your hand, he cocked an eyebrow “like… i never went skiing”

he let out a dramatic gasp.

“unbelievable. shocking. i never saw that coming” he giggled and you punched him again.

“i swear! i never told anyone that! why do you think i always turn down namjoon’s girlfriend when she asks me to go with her friends?” you mumbled, grabbing your drink. yoongi let out a scoff, frowning. that would make sense, he always thought you were simply busy.

“i’ll teach you one day” yoongi smiled sweetly, noticing how your eyes lit up.

sipping on your mojito with lime, you flipped the pages of a random beauty magazine laying in the table. yoongi looked up from his notebook, scanning you.

“oh, i know this actress!” you hummed to yourself, placing a finger on her cheek. your brows furrowed in thought, trying to recall where you saw her before. he leaned closer, taking a peek.

“oh, her” he hummed “she’s pretty”

you nodded, weird feeling washing over your stomach.

“yeah…” you agreed quietly, taking a sip of your mojito “she has such a pretty nose”

“that’s a specific thing to say” he giggled, coming back to his notebook filled with lyric ideas.

“i don’t know, i always payed attention to noses since i don’t like mine…” barely audible murmur left your mouth, causing him to freeze.

“you don’t like your nose? i think it’s cute” yoongi said seriously, slowly looking at you. a blush formed on your cheeks, trying your best not to smile too wildly.

“that’s… thank you” you hum, continuing to flip the pages.

the horrendous pounding in your head would stop a normal person from drinking. but, as yoongi reminded you often, you’re not normal.

taking a sip of your sweet mimosa you groaned, the night breeze making you shiver a bit.

“hey… what are doing here… alone?” your best friend’s voice brought you back to reality. you looked up and sent him a soft smile.

“thinking… and also its so loud inside, i had to catch some fresh air” you hummed, leaning against the railing “and you?”

“i saw that my favourite person is missing” yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, standing next to you “what are you thinking about?”

“y’know… first crushes… what ifs…” you sighed, swirling your mimosa, the piece of orange almosr falling inside. your friend’s brows furrowed. now that’s interesting.

“first crushes? how come i did not know you even had one?” he teased, nudging your arm

“well i never knew about yours so we’re even” you grunted, causing him to scoff.

“i think… my friend crush was a classmate of mine but man, it was so long ago. i heard she’s married now” he said shyly, watching you sip on the drink. you didn’t know why your heart was hit by a sudden pang “and yours?”

“but don’t laugh at me or i’ll throw you off the balcony” you send him a threatening look, pointing at the railing. yoongi rose his hands up as a i give up sign. you sighed and looked around, making sure no one hears you “my first crush was hobi”

“what?!” yoongi yelped, causing you to fly and cover his mouth. both erupting with giggles, you shook your head.

“shut up! it was when you debuted, okay?! he was cute and mysterious… shut up, don’t look at me like that! and don’t even think about telling him!” you whined, his laughs making you grin too.

your friends watched you two from behind the door, sharing whispers about how cute you look right now.

“oh no…” yoongi murmured upon seeing you and the empty glasses on the table. you were finishing your fourth piña colada, a drink you always had when you felt extremely sad. ‘to have some contrast in your life, since piña colada is a happy drink’ was your explanation. he sat down in front of you, nudging your leg “what happened?”

you just sniffed, teary eyes looking at yoongi’s worried ones.

“you’re so dumb”

“excuse me?” he scoffed, leaning forward to grab your hand. you smacked his, even more tears gathering ar your waterline

“see! that’s what i’m talking about! you’re so cute and sweet to me all the time and you don’t even know how many damage you do because of that!” you whined, shaking your head and wiping your tears. yoongi was truly dumbfounded. was this another drunken confession…?

“i don’t… i don’t understand” he whispered, standing up to sit next to you

“i love you, yoongi” you blurt out suddenly, causing him to freeze “i can’t do this anymore. i wanted to tell you while not being drunk but it just came down on me, and i for sad because i started thinking what if i ruin our friendship and i got drunk and accidentally confessed now… my life is a joke and i hate you”

“that was… a lot to unpack. also i don’t understand one thing: you hate me but you love me?” he asked, amused and sat down next to you, titling your chin so you were looking at him

“yes, because you don’t see it! everyone sees it! even jungkook asked me when were planning to tell them were dating because it’s so obvious there’s something going on! and you… you don’t see it” you whined, leaning towards and hiding your face in the crook of his neck, bursting out crying.

yoongi would lie if he said he wasn’t amused by all of this but he hated seeing you cry; besides it all made sense now. now that he’s thinking about it, you really were really obvious about his feelings.!

“‘m sorry, don’t cry, okay?” he chuckled, pulling you back a bit. one hand cupping your jaw, the other wiping your tears. you pouted, a small smile forming in his lips “and don’t… don’t do that”

“why not?” you jutted your lower lip even more dramatically

“because i’ll kiss you” he hummed nonchalantly, wiping the last tears. you froze, feeling like all the alcohol left your body

“what?” you whispered, blinking slowly.

“y/n… you’re so cute it hurts. we’ve known each other for years… basically our whole lives… and why come do i learn about you the most ridiculous things when you’re drunk? it’s a funny habit and i’d never thought it would be contagious” yoongi said slowly, hands slowly cupping your face and squishing your cheeks gently “like… right now. i’m not drunk but i just learned a new thing about myself…”

you frowned, not fully understanding what he’s saying.

“that i like you. i like you too. i had this weird feeling lately but sometimes you need to hear it out loud” he breathed out, stomach filling with butterflies. there it is, that funny feeling again “so what do you say? do we give it a chance?”

“can i kiss you?” you asked eagerly, placing your hands on his. yoongi just nodded and leaned closer.

when you placed your lips on his, he could taste the sweet piña colada you had before. the kiss was something he’d never even dream of; soft and tender… loving.

you pulled back, giggling.

“i feel like i’m drunk…” you grinned, causing him to roll his eyes “…on you this time”

bts masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @mirxzii ,, @kazmura ,, @primoppang

[mariacallous]

“I can look into it,” Elon Musk posted on X on March 1. He was responding to a comedian named Terrence K. Williams who had written, “ELON MUSK!!! I’m begging you! Please ask President Trump to get rid of this ridiculous BOI rule that Biden Created It’s targeting conservatives and small businesses!” As part of the post, Williams claimed that he had received an email saying he needed to fill out a beneficial ownership report or be fined more than $500 per day and risk prison time.

The exchange seems to have been the impetus for a major change in U.S. anti-money laundering and countering the financing of terrorism (AML/CFT) policy. The shift has caused regulatory chaos, especially for small businesses in the United States.

Less than 24 hours after Musk made his promise to Williams, the U.S. Treasury Department sent out a series of five X posts stating that the agency would not enforce any “penalties or fines against U.S. citizens or domestic reporting companies or their beneficial owners” with regards to adherence to the Corporate Transparency Act (CTA). The act, passed during the first Trump administration with overwhelming bipartisan support as part of the 2021 National Defense Authorization Act, requires companies to identify who ultimately owns and/or controls them and bans the formation of anonymous shell companies in the United States. Shortly after the Treasury posts, President Donald Trump jumped on Truth Social to say:

Exciting news! The Treasury Department has announced that they are suspending all enforcement of the outrageous and invasive Beneficial Ownership Information (BOI) reporting requirement for U.S. Citizens. This Biden rule has been an absolute disaster for Small Businesses Nationwide. Furthermore, Treasury is now finalizing an Emergency Regulation to formally suspend this rule for American businesses. The economic menace of BOI reporting will soon be no more.

The CTA is one of the most important AML/CFT laws passed in decades, and while experts are still parsing out the full implications of its rollback, so far at least four key issues stand out.

First, lifting the enforcement of this law undermines anti-money laundering efforts, puts the United States out of compliance with international anti-money laundering standards, and even undermines some of Trump’s other executive orders.

While the rules governing the CTA were indeed written during the Biden administration, the law itself was passed after Congress overrode Trump’s veto. Its passage had been a priority for law enforcement groups such as the Fraternal Order of Police and good governance advocates for decades. Trump’s first treasury secretary, Steve Mnuchin, testified to the House in 2019 in favor of the CTA, and then-Sen. Marco Rubio (now Trump’s secretary of state) spoke in strong support of it in 2018. The ability to form anonymous shell companies has been a major reason why the United States was long considered the easiest place in the world to launder money.

Getting the CTA passed had been a bipartisan—but nonetheless decades-long—endeavor. The war on drugs and the fight against terrorism finance, especially after the 9/11 attacks, had shown a spotlight on the role that shell companies could play in undermining U.S. national security. Meanwhile, leaks of documents from auditing and law firms including the 2014 Luxembourg Leaks, 2016 Panama Papers, and 2021 Pandora Papers further highlighted the role that anonymous shell companies played in a host of illicit activities that were facilitating drug trafficking, sanctions evasion, corruption, and myriad other crimes. A 2012 study found that U.S. corporate service providers offered some of the easiest ways to set up anonymous shell companies, even when those seeking to open shell companies displayed significant red flags for possible ties to terrorism. By 2016, the United States—formerly a leader in anti-money laundering legislation—was out of compliance with international standards. Countering lobbying from the National Association of Secretaries of State and various business lobbies, law enforcement bodies such as district attorneys and police organizations tipped the balance of support toward enacting the legislation, with the CTA finally passed on Jan. 1, 2021.

U.S. efforts at beneficial ownership legislation largely mimicked European efforts, albeit with a lag. The European Union as well as more than 100 other countries either require or are implementing beneficial ownership registries for businesses. Yet, despite its national security importance and international AML/CFT standards, the CTA never entirely shook off its detractors. The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025, in its Treasury Department chapter, advocates for the law’s repeal and a review of all AML/CFT legislation and rules. As the comedian Williams pointed out, there were also concerns over the cost and time to input company beneficial ownership information, plus privacy concerns. In a standard limited liability company, however, providing basic information on a company beneficial owner is a simple matter and requires basic information such as the names of the owners and that of the business, the address, and the owners’ dates of birth. The Treasury Department estimated that it would only take 90 minutes to register companies with simple beneficial ownership structures; I was able to register the beneficial ownership of my own limited liability company in about 15 minutes.

Moreover, until a few days prior, the Trump administration had still been defending the CTA in court, with the National Small Business Association filing a series of lawsuits against it. To say that this freeze on nearly all CTA enforcement is a surprise is thus an understatement.

Freezing the CTA puts the United States grossly out of compliance with Financial Action Task Force (FATF) standards. The United States is due to be evaluated for its compliance in early 2026, and failing could land it on the FATF gray list as a jurisdiction requiring additional AML/CFT monitoring. Should the United States join countries such as Syria, Venezuela, and Mali on the gray list, American individuals and businesses will find it harder to do international transactions, especially banking.

Not only is this change in policy undermining the U.S. fight against money laundering, but it is also undermining the Trump administration’s own executive orders. For example, a Feb. 4 order about sanctions on Iran called for the FATF to evaluate beneficial ownership thresholds to constrain Iran from using shell companies and similar financial machinations used to avoid sanctions. But how can that happen if the United States—the country that incorporates the most companies in the world—will no longer gather hardly any beneficial ownership information? This rule undermines a host of other Trump priorities, such as fighting fentanyl trafficking, since narcotraffickers often use anonymous shell companies to launder their funds. It is also out of keeping with the feelings of Trump’s voter base: A recent survey by a conservative polling firm found that 81 percent of respondents agreed that small businesses doing 20 minutes of beneficial ownership paperwork was acceptable in order to fight “drug trafficking, terrorist financing, and other financial crimes.”

It is the executive branch’s job to enforce the laws, but the Trump administration has increasingly decided not to. The Treasury Department on March 2 announced a new rulemaking whereby only foreign reporting companies will be required to declare their beneficial owners. This “interim final rule” came into effect on March 26 concurrently with the public comment period on the new rule. But Congress specifically legislated that nearly all companies—foreign and domestic—must declare their beneficial owners. Assuming the interim final rule continues to hold, more than 99 percent of companies will continue to be exempt from the CTA statute.

Another law within a similar subject area—the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (FCPA)—is likewise not being enforced, at least in theory. Nonetheless, despite the enforcement freeze, jury selection has begun for two executives charged under the FCPA for paying bribes to Indian officials, making an already confusing legal situation even more chaotic. Individuals and businesses are increasingly finding themselves in a no-win situation.

The full ramification of this bizarre policy shift is still being sorted out, but the resulting havoc will continue.

[basu-shokikita]

My Analysis on The Duel

Over the course of my stay in the MTL fandom I've seen several takes on what The Duel means so I wanted to throw my interpretation!

For the record, I used the isolated guitar tracks of Toki and Skwisgaar that user crystalsmeth made for this. Here is Toki's version and here is Skwisgaar's version of The Duel, so feel free to listen to them while you read this. Or you can also listen to the regular version Spotify with your headphones or something.

As we know, Toki walks into the auditions late and begs Dethklok, Skwisgaar specifically, for a chance to prove himself. Skwisgaar accepts and immediately starts playing, leading to the legendary battle.

From the beginning of the song until 0:12, Skwisgaar is the one playing. He's doing the call and he's reckless, unafraid to destroy Toki the way he destroyed every other auditioner.

As such, an afraid but determined Toki answers from 0:13 to 0:20. The rest of Dethklok are shocked, since no one else before him was able to hold against Skwisgaar for even a verse.

While they're metaphorically transported into the sky and turned into mythical beasts, the call and answer dynamic continues. Though their verses are much shorter than the beginning.

Side detail: Toki's verses here are a bit clumsy and improvised, reflecting of his nervousness.

However, around 0:25, a change occurs. When Skwisgaar plays his part, he doesn't stop to listen to Toki's response. On the contrary, he continues playing, and thus creating an harmony with him.

Visually, this is the moment where the tension starts building up, both of them wanting to overcome the other though Toki is visibly behind Skwisgaar.

Toki catches up at 0:38 and they face each other. The call and answer dynamic resumes briefly and intensely as they shoot beams at one another.

While spinning so fast that you can barely tell them apart, the harmony once again returns (0:51). The whirlwind of pink representing Skwisgaar and teal representing Toki only grows bigger, and they're entangled with each other.

There's a sudden cut at 0:55, and in comes the baroque segment. They're still harmonizing but the musical style has changed and so have their clothes and attitudes. They have unimpressed, smug faces, akin to the aristocracy of the time.

But then, around 1:10, their expressions change, indicating the end of this relatively low-pressure part of the exchange. Their fighting is about to resume.

It's 1:15 and they're playing together. But here's the key. It's not call and answer, it's not a harmony they're both fighting off either. It's lead and rhythm guitar. But it's not Skwisgaar playing the lead.

It's Toki.

That's right, go ahead and listen to the isolated tracks I linked at the beginning of the post. For a brief moment, Toki is playing the lead guitar while Skwisgaar takes care of the rhythm guitar. And guess, what? They're happy about it!

As they soar into the skies, they're smiling at each other. Yes, it's faint but you can see it. Both Skwisgaar and Toki joyfully staring at each other, while playing together. Skwisgaar, who minutes ago was defeating auditioners left and right. Skwisgaar, who said they didn't need another guitarist in the band. Skwisgaar who didn't think anybody could match him, less alone conquer him.

That Skwisgaar, relegated to playing the rhythm guitar to this boy he just met and actually enjoying it. I tend to believe this is the moment where he decided he wanted Toki in the band, and by this point on he was just playing for the fun of it, rather than to defeat Toki.

From 1:23 onwards, they're harmonizing though there's something different about it this time, and this is better appreciated with earphones, by the way!

So far, we've had Skwisgaar's guitar come from the right channel, and Toki's guitar come from the left channel. But here, their guitars come together, right in the middle. You can try it with your earphones, if you take off the right or left one during this part, you can still listen to the harmony perfectly, whereas before where you would effectively mute Toki or Skwisgaar's guitar depending on which one you took off.

While Skwisgaar and Toki play in the beautiful skies, surveilled by their animal spirits, their music has fused into one. They have become a single entity.

The call and answer dynamic returns at 1:40 and so do the guitars to their respective channels. The conclusion to this fight is near and the visuals mirror it too, as they turn night-like.

While Toki technically loses the battle, he doesn't lose the challenge, as he's accepted into Dethklok because of his playing and that was the whole point of the auditions.

So, here you have it, my lengthy analysis on The Duel. I haven't really seen people talk about the fact that Skwisgaar, even for a few seconds, allowed Toki to play lead. And it's a fact that drives me insane! I mean, we're talking about Skwisgaar, the guy that truly believes himself to be better than anyone...It really goes to that he respects Toki's playing more than he'll ever admit. Musical soulmates, man...

[asterifish]

Here Always... // Seungmin x male reader

Synopsis: Seungmin has always looked up to and idolized m/n. After the two found out that they would be MCing together, Seungmin wrote a song for m/n, wanting ro impress the older male.

Type: One-Shot

Genre(s): 🍂(see pinned post for key)

Extra Notes: Reminder that 🪐 stands for M/n, and happy reading!! I know i said I'd post on Wednesday or Friday, but this story was available, so im posting it. Two stories will still be out on Friday!!

Story below the cut!!

"Seung, are you sure about this?"

It was early in the morning, and Seungmin had dragged Hyunjin and Chan to the studio to work on a song with him(everyone knows Chan wasn't sleeping anyway).

"Yes hyung, I really want to do this." The younger responded. He was currently spinning around in the studio chair, kicking his legs giddily.

It was 2 days ago that JYPE informed Seungmin that he was going to be MCing with Kang 🪐, and Seungmin was overjoyed. He'd run to Minho and wouldn't shut up about it. On Bubble and Fans, Seungmin would talk to STAYs about how excited he was. STAY (of course) noticed Seungmin's change in attitude, and were quick to spread the news.

"Okay mong-mong, tell me the story again." Hyunjin said, leaning on the chair across from the younger. Chan laughed and nudged Hyunjin, but didn't protest. He wanted to hear the story of how Seungmin and 🪐 had met.

"Seriously hyungs? I just told this story! Were you not listening?" Seungmin complained, but wasn't against the idea of telling the story again.

The two had known each other when they were children. 🪐 was 4 years older than Seungmin, so the younger had always looked up to 🪐. When they were in middle school, 🪐 had grown distant from everyone. Seungmin found out in highschool that 🪐 had started as a trainee and had missed a lot of class. When Seungmin graduated highschool and auditioned for JYP, 🪐 debuted and they lost contact.

"Aw Minnie, I'm sure he'll really like the song, don't worry about how things ended," Chan smiled and ruffled the youngers hair. "Here let's go over the chorus again, yeah?"

. . .

Day of Music Core, Seungmin was really nervous. He had gotten to the studio an hour early, and was anxiously locking and unlocking his phone. He'd greeted the group he was supposed to be interviewing, but he knew none of the members so he stayed at a distance. 🪐 had showed up 30 minutes after Seungmin got there, and was talking happily with the idol group, seeming to know 2 of the members.

Sighing, the younger male headed to the bathroom to wash his face with cold water. After standing there for a few minutes with the water running, a hand turned off the faucet. Almost jumping out of his skin, Seungmin turned around. Of course it had to be 🪐. Seungmin gave the male a small smile and moved to leave, but 🪐 took his hand.

"Hey Min? Can I talk to you for a few before we start?" 🪐's voice was quiet, but echoed in the empty bathroom. Seungmin looked up, eyes bright at the nickname. "Yeah! Whats up 🪐-hyung?"

🪐 smiled before taking a towel from the rack. Holding the youngers face, he began patting it dry. "Min... you've messed up your make up!" He smiled softly, but 🪐's smile faltered after a few seconds. Seungmin made a mental note of this and frowned, "Is everything okay?"

🪐 nodded and then took a makeup kit out of his pocket. "Here, sit down so i can fix this mess you made." 🪐 said, leading the younger to the window ledge. As 🪐 fixed Seungmin's make-up, the two caught up a little bit. Seungmin told 🪐 about his members, and 🪐 seemed really happy for the boy.

"I'm so glad you're following your dreams Seung! And... Im sorry we fell out of touch... I really just didn't know how to..." 🪐's voice trailed off as he moved away, done with the younger's make-up.

Smiling, Seungmin hopped off of the ledge. "Don't worry hyung! I promise im not mad or anything, everyone has their own reasons for why they do things! Im just glad that youre safe."

🪐 almost cried at Seungmin's words, pulling him into a hug. "Oh Seung, what would I do without you?"

"Probably die." The younger teased. Now that the two had talked, seungmin was less nervous. "Oh hyung... before we go back.. Can I show you something?"

🪐 smiled and nodded "of course! Whats up?"

Seungmin took out his phone slowly and took a deep breath. "I.. wrote a song for you... Chan-hyung helped me because I...."

Tapping Seungmin's shoulder, 🪐 smiled. "It's okay Minnie, I'm sure it turned out great!" Seungmin nodded and then pressed play on the track. Hus eyes watched 🪐 closely. The older male was swaying side to side, a small smile ln hus face.

When the song ended and the two were ealking towards the set, 🪐 nudged Seungmin. "I really liked the song Minnie, I'm really proud of you!"

Seungmin smiled and bowed his head shyly, fiddlibg with the mic in his hands. When it was time to record, instead of standing across the room from each other, they stood very close to each other. The recording went great, and 🪐 hung out with Stray Kids a lot more afterwards.

Works belong to @asterifish | reblogs and likes help me a lot!

[eisforeidolon]

Question: Has there ever been a moment on set or in a series that has made you so seriously contemplate quitting acting and like who was the person [audience laughs] - No! Like who was the person who helped you stay, who was your grounding stone that really made you want to keep in this career? Or has there just been a moment that's made you say I'm done with this and what helped you stay in the career?

Jared: Great question. I think I know what you're asking. Uh, there was certainly several moments - there were countless moments where it's like this is more than I got. And more often than not, it would happen on set, I was on set with Jensen or I worked with Jensen, so it's like hey, we got it, we've been through harder. You know, like, let's figure this out, just get through the day. And there was always that great feeling at the end of the day, we did something you didn't think - that prior to that day you didn't think you were capable of doing? There was certainly some uncomfortable scenes or sequences or - You know it generally didn't have to do with acting or the character, that I kind of - I - You know I'm not a writer and so I've accepted as an actor that I'm largely telling somebody else's story and hopefully able to weave in my own where it's possible and learn from their story when possible? So it hasn't really had anything to do with what my character did. It's usually when something - just like with everybody, when something is going on in your head or in your [finger quotes] real life? When you're at work, like I don't like anything right now. I don't wanna do - not that I don't wanna act, I just don't wanna be here, I don't wanna be anywhere. And I think a lot of that was Ackles, you know when I was experiencing that, with work, at work I think a lot of - yeah, the most I ever wanted to leave acting was frankly, when I had to leave Austin and fly to Vancouver. You know, Vancouver - as many of y'all know, many of y'all are from there - is one of the most beautiful cities on the planet. It's amazing, nice people, great food - yeah. [Jensen nods and pounds his fist over his heart] Loved our crew, loved our cast, but there's something about when you're gonna see, when you're saying bye to your kid 6 pm on a Sunday and they say when do you come back? And you say I'll be back in, uh, twelve days, but I'll FaceTime you - and they start crying. And then I'll have to leave for the airport and I'm running late? That sucks. That's rough. And I feel for parents, for anybody who has to leave on a regular basis. That was probably the most rough. But he and I could also talk about that, like, it sucks. Like, JJ has a teacher's appointment on this after this or Tom has a teacher's appointment or whatever, you know? We were missing a lot of key moments. And so it's just, it's difficult to have to leave, I guess.

Jensen: Any moment on The Boys. [Jared laughs] Has not only made me question my career choice, but also my life. Um, no, I think there was only one moment in my life that I can remember where I was contemplating walking away. And it was very early on. I had just turned 19, and I had just come off of a television show called Mr. Rhodes that was my first, like, real gig when I moved out to LA at 18. And I worked for a full season for NBC at Universal Studios and I was like, oh, this is amazing. And then that show got cancelled. And by that time, all my friends back home were all in college, and they were sharing all these incredible stories and I was also a kid, I was 19 and I was really, really homesick. And I wanted to go home. I was like, I don't know if I want to do this. And I had - I was up for a job, I'd had one audition and I had a callback coming and this was the moment where I was like I don't think I'm gonna do this, I don't wanna do - I wanna go home, I want to go to college and just go that path that I abandoned. And I was like, I'll tell you what, if I get this role, then I'm meant to stay. And it was Days of Our Lives. Yeah, and I signed a three year deal, so I couldn't go. But I was literally like, already starting to pack my stuff, and just had it riding, put it all on that one - and I didn't think I was gonna get it. It wasn't like, oh, I'm gonna get this so you know. Cause I literally thought I was not getting that role. I was the youngest guy that was up for the role, I was certainly the least developed muscularly? Like all those soap guys were just all jacked and ripped and I was like - I was just some skinny kid from Texas. And I thought there's no way they're gonna go with me, they're gonna go with some, you know, some big Adonis pretty boy guy. And they went with the skinny kid from Texas and that's why I'm still here.

[nhularin]

TUMBLR.COM

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ZERO: delulu user

SYNOPSIS being a writer is hard, especially when you're a hardcore stan on tumblr.com. so when the legendary niki writer disappeared out of the blue, the readers were naturally heartbroken! but! what happens when their beloved nishirikithinker got revealed as THE yn of the hot new girl group?!

2020 - AGE FOURTEEN.

︶꒷꒦︶ YOU SAT AT YOUR DESK, the soft glow of your laptop illuminating your face, fingers tapping away at the keyboard, trying to weave words together to create a world, a story that unfolded in your mind. you were deep in the realm of fanfiction, your favorite pastime, and your favorite subject was none other than your favorite new rookie idol: nishimura riki.

your friends called you obsessed, spending way too much money on albums, in hopes of getting his photocards but you knew better, your love for him was healthy (thats what you told yourself over and over again).

for months, you had written different stories that brought your favorite idol to life in cute little scenarios. from worlds where he was a superhero, a time traveler or your highschool boyfriend, each narrative a testament to your admiration.

your fingers danced across the keys, a smile tugging at your lips as the story took shape. putting niki into your own fictional world filled you with a sense of connection, a way to express the love and respect you held for the boy

late into the night, yoy would eagerly refresh your tumblr profile, waiting for comments and feedback from others who shared your passion. the encouragement you found within the community fueled your creativity (and delusions), pushing you to delve deeper into publishing more works.

you werent an ambitious person, always imagining marrying the first rich man and spending the rest of your life on the beach in bali or shopping in singapore.

but everything changed when you received a notification from twitter. It was an official announcement! hybe was holding auditions! a glimmer of excitement sparked within your heart. this was your chance to step out of the world of nobodies and into reality, where you could pursue your dream of being an idol yourself and maybe meet yuna from itzy

eagerly, without telling your parents, you dedicated yourself to the grueling process of auditions, training, and fine tuning your skills. days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and eventually, you were part of the training group set to debut

with your busy schedule, you unintentionally abandoned your beloved account, closing one chapter of your life and entering a new, brighter one. but enhablr was in shambles

where was nishirikithinker???

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TAGLIST open! @neighborhae @cha3w0n-hearts @misokei @avocarua @sayescomfortplace @luvistqrzzz @he4rtsforjihoon @jmluvclub @porcelain-moths @wonqr @hyhees @kjrcrz @ilurvriki @luvrgirlkumi @suvgs @cha0thicpisces @mitsukifilms @saintriots @wqsty @ggggghost @backintomykpopphaseagain @eumppattv @tiissuebox-blog e @miko1ly @lunavixia @byunrieu @leep0ems @mrchweeee @sngvhs @sobun1est @luvkpopp @arizejkt19 @hannahhbahng

[vampiresareqt]

WHY Iñaki HAS BEEN Luffy SINCE THE BEGINNING!!!

A summarised history of Iñaki Godoy Jasso and his parallels to Monkey D. Luffy

I'm sure Iñaki tried to keep his composure so hard. (Our Cry Baby) But on his way home he broke down in tears and laughter (Such a Joyful boy)

Just to make this video even stronger; Iñaki's goals as a child were to make people laugh and to use his genuine smile to make others smile. He CRAVES freedom too!

And at one point he even wanted to become a competitive eater, 'cause HE LOVES FOOD!

REACHING HIS GOALS

Source: [x]

How much did he want to reach his goals? He was once bailed on by one of his partners in a play where he had the role of the mischievously grinning Cheshire Cat (Also fitting wtf) He was like 8???

And while he was panicking at first, he improvised his way out of it, saw the smiles and laughter of the crowd and DID NOT WANT TO GIVE UP. He felt the freedom of acting and expression and the joy of seeing people laugh. He literally said he wanted to continue acting CAUSE OF FREEDOM!!!

He later pursued comedy, 'cause of his love of cheering people up...

If you don't really remember the significance of "freedom" when it comes to Luffy,

"Sometimes, an honest smile is more than enough."

He values smiling and making others smile. And just like Iñaki, one of Luffy's key assets is his wide smile! So when Iñaki did his research on Luffy he didn't want to make it too complicated at first. He narrowed him down to that smile we love and aimed to perfect it. And of course, as the smiley person he is it came naturally.

This also kinda parallels Luffy's "Don't care about the story, just get me to do something." mindset. In this case, Iñaki going for an audition kind of blind, then simplifying Luffy's character and then building on it with 100% determination is so reminiscent of our boy. He ended up appreciating and admiring Oda-Sensei so much after getting involved. And making him laugh came naturally to him as well.

Helping people is important!

He loves doing charity things. Especially knowing his little sister endured a lot of hardships, he as a young child did a campaign against bullying and to raise awareness... "The Jasso-Godoy Family are the group leaders of CAP Grupo Mexico in Mexico City, Mexico and their own non-profit!!!"

"Mia is beautiful the way she is. Any way she is, I'd still love her. If there is someone at school... or anywhere, be nice to them, okay? I am her brother."

Watch the heartwarming video below!

He is very flexible in ways he can do so many things, versatility, but also physically, he loves jumping around and doing tricks and even when he gets hurt he smiles, cause he learned from it and had fun...

In this video he is introducing himself and talking about his versatility. Saying "Whatever you want me to do, I'll be at your service." So if you have goals in your movie or show, he will do his utmost best to make it a reality.

Hope I translated it correctly...

Always a Pirate

He has also always had something with the sea and pirates... Foreshadowing

In the same TikTok he was talking about his mischief he showed us a pic of him as a kid, where he is wearing a pirate themed Spongebob T-Shirt. EVEN THE POSE IS VERY LUFFY!

In one of his Insta posts, while he was on his 80 day trip around the Caribbean he posted an even older pic of him and his sister Mia WEARING PIRATE OUTFITS.

I immediately said he bares a striking resemblance to young Luffy smiling.

UNCANNY!!!

So in the end...

Even without mentioning any of these childhood things Iñaki experienced before finding One Piece. Just that short audition clip made Oda laugh instantly and overwhelmed Oda with Luffy vibes. JUST FROM IÑAKI'S GENUINE ENERGY!!!!!

So people saying Oda's Haki predicted Iñaki is like... I could kinda believe that. Or maybe the reason why the Live Action did not start production till about 4 years later, is because we had to wait for Iñaki to grow up to the same age as Luffy, 17, for Oda to meet the person who best represents his beloved main character.