#Actress fitness Mantra

[likeanormalhuman]

The Soap Opera Milkman Scene

Below the break is the second chapter of my current Doppelganger Francis x Doorman fic. Featuring soap opera dream sequence. Chapter below the break, fic on AO3 here (Currently rated M).

Chapter 2: When the real milkman came through—fit in a clean pressed uniform without a single speck of scarlet milk on him—the doorman buried her feelings in her checklist.  Because if a doppelgänger didn’t kill her, then surely one of those days, her embarrassment would.

“Paperwork looks correct.  ID matches,” she said.  She hesitated a moment.  Then stood up and peered down the glass window.  Yep.  His pants and shoes were pristine white.

Francis Mosses gave her a look that might have been quizzical were he not so dead eyed and tired.

“Just, uh, checking.  You know.  For, uh, scarlet milk,” she said, tongue already tripping on its way to betray her.

“What?” Francis Mosses said.

“Well, uh, there’s chocolate milk and strawberry milk.  Maybe scarlet milk is the next big thing,” she said.  With her foot in her mouth already, it seemed like she ought to just place the whole boot in there too.

Francis Mosses didn’t quite frown at her, but the line of his mouth did seem to deepen into that direction.  “There is no such thing as scarlet milk,” he said after a beat.

“...Right.  You’re absolutely right.  And you would know, since, you know, you’re a milkman,” she said, mortified, and quickly went back to her papers.

What was she even doing? s he thought to herself as she stared at the blank space between the checkboxes.  The doppelgänger hadn’t even been able to pick up on puns, but had known immediately about her silly little crush.  She didn’t stand a chance against an actual human being like the real Francis Mosses.  The papers beneath her fingers crinkled, and she quickly dropped her gaze down and smoothed them back out.

This was ridiculous.  If she was going to go so far as to be ashamed of being ashamed, she thought, she might as well let the doppelgängers take her and be done with it.

Be brave.  Be bold.  Be like Henry, but better, she chanted the mantra to herself.

Henry wouldn’t get worked up over a crush.  Henry wouldn’t care if said crush knew about it.  Heck, Henry wouldn’t even care if a random doppelganger knew about it.  …Well, because Henry would have just exterminated all of them, innocent or otherwise, but still…

“Everything is in order,” she said at last, clearing her throat and marking off her checklist.  She pressed the button on the left.  “Have a pleasant day.”

Francis Mosses didn’t say anything in response.  He merely gave a brief, tired nod, and then disappeared from view.

Alone with only the dirty glass and dusty wallpaper to look at, the doorman let out a long breath.  She slumped down in her seat, all the professionalism leaving her posture, and hit the switch to close off the building for the day.  Heavy metal shutters slammed down, and her shift was at an end.

Mentally and physically and mortifyingly emotionally run through, the doorman stuffed her adverbs down with a TV dinner for one in the cramped apartment assigned to her at the back of the building.

“Too tired for two faced two timers?  Try Divorce Attorneys ‘R Us today!” said the chipper broadcaster on the telly that had come with the room.  “If there's reasonable doubt they're not a doppelgänger, you may not even owe alimony!”   

She stabbed at a half frozen pea and switched the channel.

“...Doppelgänger activity at an all time high.  Self proclaimed human lifestyle expert Frederick Franzber joins us now to teach our audience his top ten tips to tell if your date is truly human—”

She flipped through the channels, this time landing on a staticky soap opera.

“...oh, Lewis, my love!” the buxom blonde actress crooned.  “How I have missed you!  …but what is with the new mustache, my darling dearest?  You are always so clean shaven…”

“That is because I am not Lewis!” the chiseled chin man declared.

The woman gasped and pressed a hand to her cleavage.  “Then…can it be?  After all these years?”

“Yes!” The man grabbed her around her waist and pulled her close against his half-bared chest. “I am not Lewis, but his long lost twin brother Luis!  Here to take back the life he stole from me, including the woman I loved!”

“Oh, Luis!”

“Oh, Lois!”

The actors kissed passionately on screen.

The doorman quickly switched the TV off, and went straight to bed.

She opened the door and there he was.

He didn’t say a word as he entered.  He didn’t need to.  He simply stepped up to her, his shirt already undone, and took her in his limber arms, not even looking at her eyes like he already knew the sin of her soul.

“Oh, Francis,” she tried to croon, but her voice caught and made it sound more like a croak.

His arm tightened around her waist, and she curled closer against him, guided by her own yearning.  She reached out to brush against pale smooth skin, stretched taut over muscles dusted with fine, dark brown hair that she wanted to curl her fingers into.  The light was distractingly in her eyes, but she could trace his form clearly as she drew her eyes back over his shoulders, the unbuttoned uniform hanging loosely from them in long white stripes like he was one of those great marbled gods in their regal chitons.  He could be in a museum, she found herself thinking.  But she was glad he was not.  Otherwise she would never be able to touch him like this, would never be able to be touched by him like this…

“How I have missed you…  But you are already practically out of uniform.  And you are usually such a careful dresser…what are you even doing here?” she found herself saying, even though that was not what she wanted to be doing.  

He did not answer, but instead danced his fingers lazily down her sides in response, counting a slow rhythm along her ribs before trailing to the soft skin of her belly, and then dipping down lower, lower, lower…

She shuddered, and leaned in, wanting so desperately for more of him.   He touched her, but kept his face above hers, present and pressing, but not dipping low enough to meet her eyes nor to kiss her lips.  He was right there with her, yet out of reach.  Oh, she yearned for him to be closer.  Yearned for him not just between her legs, but flooded through every sense of her being: touched, seen, heard, smelled, and tasted.  

She wondered if he would taste like milk.

“That is because I am not Francis,” he said at last, breathing air into the space between them that she wished wasn’t there.

“How…  Can it be?...” her voice trailed off, losing its grip on the script.

“Yes,” he said.  “I am not Francis, but ‘Francis’.  Here to take the life stolen from me…”

And his lips parted wider.  

And she could see fangs.

And she tasted iron.

The doorman woke up, having bitten her tongue.

And that was how the doorman swore off watching soap operas before bed.

[suchananewsblog]

Just Janhvi Kapoor Making Us Feed Bad With Her Pilates Skills

Still From a video shared by Jahvi Kapoor. (courtesy: janhvikapoor) Janhvi Kapoor’s fitness mantra is too good to miss. The actress never fails to give major workout goals and how. So what’s the latest update? Janhvi has announced on Instagram that she loves her Pilates sessions. In the video, Janhvi is seen performing a range of exercises under the supervision of her trainer Namrata Purohit.…

[infifashion]

Best Fashion Magazines In India

Fashion magazines have long been a popular way for Indians to stay up to date on the newest fashion trends. Before Pinterest and Instagram, fashion magazines were the only place to find out about famous celebrity looks, trends, makeup, haircuts, workout mantras, wardrobe inspirations, vacation advice, and more. 

If you want to remain up to date on the latest style trends, check out our list of the Best fashion magazines in India. 

Vogue Magazine - Vogue is a top fashion magazine in India. This North American magazine was originally introduced in India in 2007 and has since been one of the most reliable sources for fashion news. The magazine features fashion trends, wedding clothes, beauty tips, wardrobe essentials, styling guidelines, horoscopes, and lifestyle updates. In addition, vogue magazine covers include celebrities dressed in the most recent designer collections from both new and famous designers.

Savvy - Savvy is a globally recognised fashion magazine that focuses on women's well-being. It is a well-known women's magazine that publishes articles on topics such as lifestyle, health, food, beauty, and travel, with a tinge of Bollywood flavour. This magazine is apart from other fashion publications in India since it discusses and distributes stories about Real Women, Real Stories.

Harper’s Bazaar India - Harper's Bazaar is one of the oldest fashion magazines, having been published in the United States since 1867. In 2009, the North American magazine produced its inaugural Indian edition, which brought together fashion photographers, artists, designers, authors, and celebrity icons to provide a fresh perspective on beauty and lifestyle.

Elle Magazine - Elle is a French fashion magazine that covers all elements of fashion, health, beauty, and travel across the globe. The journal has over 42 worldwide versions, which are published in 60 countries. Elle Magazine used to focus on home décor. It now covers fashion, travel, entertainment, celebrity news, lifestyle, and fitness suggestions.

New Woman - New Woman is an Indian fashion and lifestyle magazine that compares favourably to worldwide publications. The magazine's editor is Hema Malini, a famous Indian actress. Pioneer Book Company handles the magazine's publishing department. The journal discusses a variety of themes, including relationships, finance, profession, cinema, books, legal issues, businesses, and more. However, the majority of the content is focused on women's health issues, body sculpting, and exercise. It also throws insight on the needs, aspirations, and goals of ambitious Indian women.

Cosmopolitan India - Cosmopolitan is one of India's most popular fashion publications, with circulation in 110 countries. The US-based periodical began as a family magazine and grew into a solemn publication. The Indian edition of the magazine covers topics such as health, horoscopes, fashion, beauty, sex, relationships, self-improvement, and careers.

Femina Magazine - Do you recall the popular beauty pageant 'Femina Miss India'? Femina is a prominent fashion magazine in India that also hosts and supports beauty pageants. This Indian magazine is one of the most popular fashion publications that tells the stories of Indian women.

Verve - Verve is one of India's leading home-grown premium international fashion publications, having been launched in 1995. The journal features interviews, Bollywood news, the newest style trends, beauty tips, food, travel, arts & culture, worldwide fashion, and more.

[gyanfashion]

Here's How Catherine Zeta-Jones Stays In Shape? Her Secret Mantra

Catherine Zta-Jones shared a short video on her Instagram account where she showed off her enviable moves. Catherine, dressed in a crop top and athletic leggings, danced to The Weeknd’s I Feel It Coming. Earlier in an interview, Catherine Zeta-Jones also revealed that her fitness routine includes “swimming, tennis, peloton, home gym, and tap dancing. Hollywood actress Catherine Zeta-Jones is a…

[newssy]

Kashishh Rajput Says "Thin Is Out, Fit Is The New S*xy" As She Reveals The Secret Behind Her Perfect Body

“Thin is out, fit is the new sexy” says actress Kashishh Rajput as she reveals the secret behind her perfect body In an industry where actors & actresses are always aiming for six pack abs and size zero body, actress Kashishh Rajput has a different take on it. “I have a simple mantra -One must be comfortable with their body and should be fit”. Kashishh who made her acting debut with Telugu movie…

[tezlivenews]

Shilpa Shetty से कम नहीं टॉलीवुड एक्ट्रेस Seerat Kapoor का टोन्ड फिगर, बॉलीवुड फिल्म 'ZID' में आई थीं नजर

Shilpa Shetty से कम नहीं टॉलीवुड एक्ट्रेस Seerat Kapoor का टोन्ड फिगर, बॉलीवुड फिल्म ‘ZID’ में आई थीं नजर

टॉलीवुड एक्ट्रेस सीरत कपूर (Seerat Kapoor) काफी लंबे वक्त बाद सुर्खियों में आई हैं. आखिरी बार अभिनेत्री तेलुगू फिल्म ‘Maa Vintha Gadha Vinum’ में नजर आई थीं. अभिनेत्री ने विनोद अग्निहोत्री द्वारा निर्देशित बॉलीवुड फिल्म ‘Zid’ से एक्टिंग में डेब्यू किया था और इसके बाद उन्होंने तेलुगू सिनेमा में अपनी किस्मत आजमाई. जानकारी के अनुसार वे इन दिनों अपने दो फिल्म प्रोजेक्ट पर एक साथ काम कर रही हैं लेकिन…

[thejantalk]

Woman's Fitness : अभिनेत्रियाँ इतनी जल्दी अपना वजन कैसे घटा लेती हैं?

Woman’s Fitness : अभिनेत्रियाँ इतनी जल्दी अपना वजन कैसे घटा लेती हैं?

अक्सर हम देखते हैं कि हमारी पंसदीदा अभिनेत्रियां फिल्म में अपनी भूमिका को सही से निभाने के लिए कभी वजन बढ़ा लेती हैं, तो कभी घटा भी लेती हैं | चूँकि वजन बढ़ाने (Woman’s Fitness) को लेकर किसी को कोई समस्या ही नहीं हैं, हमारा वजन तो अपने आप ही बढ़ जाता है| असली चिंता तो वजन घटने को लेकर है, इसलिए अक्सर ये सवाल मन में उठता है कि आख़िरकार इतनी जल्दी अपने वजन को ये अभिनेत्रियां घटा कैसे लेती हैं…

[bhaskarlive]

Disha Patani’s style mantra: Thigh is the limit!

Bollywood actress and fitness enthusiast Disha Patani looks drop-dead gorgeous in a new post she has shared with fans on Saturday.

In the Instagram image, Disha sports a midnight blue, fitted thigh high tube dress. She leaves her hair open and opts for a smokey-eyes impact.

“Hair and makeup by me,” Disha wrote alongside the image.

[m-y-fandoms]

Blood on Our Stage - Vampire Nagito Komaeda x Human Female Reader -Part 1 (Slight/Platonic Female Reader x Hajime Hinata)

So, this is an old fic I updated to fit these characters because I want to continue it :)

NEEDED CONTEXT FOR THIS AU: Hajime and Nagito are step brothers, (Y/N)/Reader is a human, Hajime and Nagito are vampires, and Hajime did indeed get into the Main Course at Hope’s Peak, for acting.

The paycheck… It's all about the paycheck...

   You took a deep breath, reassuring yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time that year… or that hour.

Smile, s-smile. Breathe, lean into him. It has to look real, (Y/N). God… it’s a whole new level of crackhead when you stutter to yourself in your thoughts.

 Dissociate. 

What are we having for dinner? How many more steps ‘til that damn egg hatches? If it’s another fucking Diglett I swear I’ll go apeshit. 

You shifted to your right, the most forced of grins creeping onto your cosmetic-plastered face. You let your head fall onto Hajime’s shoulder. Convincing right? Touching is convincing. Random gentle displays of affection are convincing... 

By this time, you were nearly blind from the flash of some fifty or so cameras in your face, anyway, so why not just pretend that the photographers and press were blind as well?

  Why not, why not?

 You pretended in every other aspect of your life.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Hajime’s voice shook you out of your trance, and you turned your head, letting go of his arm, which you had grabbed out of habit. His sparklingly white teeth - sharper than the average man's - gleamed down at you, and you felt that usual pang of fear run down your spine and chill your bones. Even attached to the gums of the sweetest boy on earth, you’d never get used to the sight.

It's all a show, (Y/N), a game. Pretend. "Fangs for the fans, and all that" 

How long would that farce last until people started to realize?

  What had Hajime said earlier that month? You retreated into yourself, thinking deeply, trying desperately to calm the anxiety that rose with at the sight of his flesh-tearing canines...

   _______________________________________________________________

"I can bare my fangs at interviews, photoshoots… you know, when the paparazzi are around. It’s what my dad wants,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Don't worry about it, (Y/N). Honestly, you freak out over the silliest things sometimes.” He ruffled your hair. “It will look like I'm dedicated to the role, or something like that… whatever. People will love it, trust me."

      ___________________________________________________________

But you never could. How could you? A monster with a secret, stupidly displaying that secret openly to the world? No… trusting meant removing little stones from that carefully built wall, which sub-sequentially meant getting hurt, and not just emotionally. You recited this mantra to yourself almost routinely; something you’d picked up from someone very close to your heart. Isn’t it funny how we steal little bits of personality from those we love most?

You knew Hajime just followed whatever his father commanded, that he’d do anything to feel like he mattered, that people cared. He’d done all this: the acting lessons, depending on daddy’s money, the unless studying and promoting himself, just to get into that stupid school and kickstart his illustrious career.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)??" Hajime tenderly brought his hand up, stroking your shoulder awkwardly. The clench in his jaw, however, wasn't friendly at all. You couldn’t really blame him, though. He was doing it for your sake, after all. You had to get through this, and he knew he had to pull you through; everything depended on it.

How could this flock of idiots not tell the “chemistry” was forced???

"Uh… o-of course! Yeah!" You smiled, a fake chuckle escaping your lips, and the crowd of reporters and internet journalists roared in front of you. Of course they did… wasn't everything the disciplined and people-pleasing boy beside you said fucking hilarious? You sighed, returning your gaze to the mass of people below you as you and your leading man sat raised on a platform behind a pretentiously high table.

    Just let Hajime handle all the questions, you thought to yourself indifferently. You always did. They rarely directed them at you specifically, anyway. So much for your dream: to stun the world as an independent starlet, a crimson-hot femme fatale. It was always ‘Hinata Hajime’s doe-eyed leading lady!’, ‘Hajime’s little love interest!’, never ‘(Y/N) (L/N)... featuring Hajime Hinata!’ But... you were famous, and with no little chunk of change to boot… you should’ve been thankful… right?

So why weren’t you…?

  Your eyes scanned the faces before you, and you realized that you hadn't… really looked at them until now. Yes, the usual prolific online bloggers and huge theatre junkies were there, and Mr. Hinata of course. He wouldn't miss out on one of his company’s press meetings for the world, especially with his money-making beloved son in the spotlight. He was so anal, how could anything possibly go off without a hitch unless he was there?

You wondered if the girl next to him knew he was a ravenous monster as well, but thought better of it. Of course, she didn't know. You shouldn't have even known. But you did, and it plagued you every day of your life.

  Fuck... you just wanted to go back to your room and overthink in peace. It was embarrassingly uncomfortable to do so in public

Mr. Hinata sat sternly upright, with his polished, slick hair, in his polished, slick shoes and extravagantly tailored navy suit, his secretary at his side, brushing his hand unnoticeably between the chairs. His wife would never care, anyway. To their right sat a rosy-cheeked intern, spunky and full of character. Holding a clipboard between perfectly painted nails, the only thing that spoke louder than her bright smile was her neon miniskirt. She must not have known, either. No human simply knew, and still managed to look that innocent and lively. The PR girls loved press conferences, and each new show only yielded fresh publicity. This most recent show, set to premiere the following night, was a tale of romance: A vampire lord and his human lover: a medieval era period piece. Of course, for this reason, Hajime did nothing to hide his all-too-real fangs. 

You loved a good historical romance, and loved being in one even more. It had always been your goal as a starting actress to take the lead in at least one period play, be it Victorian, colonial, medieval.. but... it had not turned out quite the way you planned...

   A few other members of the Hinata family accompanied their revered head of  the household… or was it head of the clan… coven? Whatever, it was expected. The murderous bloodsuckers always clung to their leader’s side, and could always be found lurking around Hinata’s estate, if they weren’t already crammed up his ass looking for approval.

A flash came from the reporter to the left, directly into your vision, and left you dazed.

 Fuck… you seethed internally. Calm down. Calm down. The paycheck. That's it. This is almost over, anyway. Why did you always find yourself spacing out at the worst possible times? You acknowledged that it was how your body coped with the overwhelming urge to break down, but damn if it wasn’t inconvenient at the minute. Nothing screamed ‘I have something to hide’ like acting shady in front of a hundred people…

You leaned into Hajime again. Sell the relationship. Sell the love.

You exhaled in exhaustion. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Hajime… you did, just, not like this. Never like this. Lying to millions of fans and the press, pretending Hajime was anything other than a brother-like figure to you just to line his father’s pockets, tore you apart more than keeping his immortality a secret. Denying you both a chance at real love for fear of scandal… you were sure that there was no phrase you’d ever grow to hate more than “The Hinata Theatre Company!” Ironic, wasn’t it, that at one point in time, you begged to be here?

You found that scoping out a crowd lowered the anxiety you had about actually being in front of them. It's funny, many people asked how you could possibly be afraid of crowds or public speaking when you were a damn Broadway-level star. Your answer was always the same: your rush of adrenaline and passion for theatre got you through a show, but anywhere else but on that stage, and a crowd turned your mind to jelly. It was different… walking out for a performance tamed the butterflies that flew around inside your stomach.

  Of course, there was always the fact that your boss could tear you apart at a moment’s notice that contributed to the anxiety, but you obviously couldn't share that little bit of information with anyone. It was all so hard to process, that this kind young man beside you could be something so fearsome, that your whole life was a public sham. You’d never forget the day you’d found out… how it changed everything. You shouldn’t have to be afraid of your best friend, you just shouldn’t. But how could you ever truly trust him again?

Your eyes bounced once, twice around the room.

  ...No

   You gasped, breath catching in your throat as your eyes caught on something that caused you to jump slightly in your seat.

"You ok?" Hajime whispered, the crowd going noticeably silent for a moment. Mr. Hinata glared in your direction. A silent warning, reminding you that even one wrong move made his company look bad, and that would not end so well for you. That was the shining aspect of Hajime’s personality, that he was nothing like his father.

"Yeah, y-yeah," you spoke airily, cheeks heating. "I just slipped to the edge of my seat a little, almost fell!" You lied timidly, a small laugh.

They'll eat that shit up. Soft-spoken, innocent, clumsy girls are all the rage! Of course, Hajime picked up on the lie immediately, catching the change in tone, the skipping of your heartbeat. Being an immortal freak had its perks.

The bright-eyed boy beside you patted your arm, the crowd chuckling politely before returning to their bombardment of questions.

Your eyes flew back to the corner of the room, back to the object that had you startled in the first place. You tried to tell yourself you’d imagined it, but there was no mistake,

 It was him...

 Standing there in the entranceway, so dimly lit, he hid in the alcove. There was no mistaking his favorite jacket, the fabric ripped and weathered from use. There was no mistaking the intricate, almost root-like pale green veins which spiraled up his arms, told a story across his milky collarbone, tumbled down his wrists, and made him all the more intimidating. Intoxicating. There was no mistaking that full head of tousled hair, brightly standing out even in the meager lighting in that disregarded corner of the room, messy whisps branching out dangerously; an air of nonchalance and bored irreverence. Smug bastard…

And there was absolutely no mistaking the way those bright eyes illuminated his white skin in contrast, a frightening and ethereal glow shooting off of him in waves. Hajime’s chestnut-brown eyes never mimicked that terrifying iridescence, but then again, Hajime never took his life-sustaining drink from a human host. Your hands began to subconsciously shake. From fear or the itching desire to… you didn’t know, throw your arms around him, touch his cheek just once... ? You never knew with him. He was a wild thing, a beast untamable. But why the hell was he here?

Carelessly he leaned against the door frame. His tongue shot out predatorily, running along his lower lip in one fluid motion. His knuckles raised, brushing against the green of his coat and coming up to scratch the side of his face.

❘ What are you doing here?! ❘ You sent your thoughts out in waves so loud you might as well have been screaming. You knew immediately that he had taken them in, absorbing your mental cursing and inner toil like sun rays. It was a power and privilege only those of his kind who were purebred enjoyed.

He did not answer, but merely tilted his head, the corner of his lip rising in that maddening grin he always threw at you. An impish smirk hiding mischief and chaotic intentions, you were sure.

You knew it would be mere moments ‘til your flawless "boyfriend" beside you noticed his presence as well, and you feared what might become of this night that was supposed to be of celebration. Almost as if on cue, Hajime’s words halted to a stop. That evil smirk only widened, a small snort shaking the intruder’s chest.

"Nagito..." Hajime murmured through clenched teeth, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist. "He's here."

  "I know..." your words shook, just loud enough for any non-human in the room to hear. Now it was time for you to be Hajime’s rock. Nagito's head bobbed, looking down at his old ripped jeans, and you saw Mr. Hinata's eye twitch before you, his vampiric hearing triggered immediately upon hearing your quiet exchange with Hajime.

Mr. Hinata followed your eyes to the back of the room, his fiery glare landing on the face of his eldest and only step-son in the shadows.

Was it too late to run back into the dressing room and never come out?

You could feel the tension in the air, a line of electricity connecting the three vampires like mental twine, ready to break at any moment. It was like watching three animals square off, sizing up their threat on a National Geographic documentary. The other Hinata coven members, all also fierce bloodsuckers in their own right, merely sat forward politely, sensing Nagito's aura but knowing better than to give him the time of day. After all, alerting the press to his presence would certainly not be a wise way to stay on Mr. Hinata’s good side.

  No one outside of the family even knew about the existence of the elder brother. He was an embarrassment, a stain on Mr. Hinata’s designer tie. In the packed room, he looked so out of place, with dark, torn clothes in a sea of try-hard collared shirts and dresses. Sure, everyone who was anyone in the media world had turned up for this interview, and would also return for the opening night the next day, but everyone who was anyone never included Nagito. He made sure of that. He just had to stick out, be different, didn’t he? Even among a bunch of immortal freaks, boy… was he a freak. 

Oh no, mommy remarried some rich man then got herself killed, better act like a little ungrateful little prick. Woe is me, I have super good luck that is sometimes super bad! No one understands me!!!

He sickened you, the way he did his best to destroy what he and Hajime’s family had built, all in the name of his backwards and twisted idea of “hope.” As if he didn't live like a prince because of the Hinatas’ hard work. Don’t get it twisted, you hated Mr. Hinata and would love to see the Hinata empire burn, but this company, the desire to be recognized and worth something, was all that held dear Hajime up. It was his only dream, and he deserved it. Nagito didn’t have a right to tear Mr. Hinata down if he had to wreck Hajime to do it.

     He disgusted you, you’d decided months back, to make it all easier on yourself. Everything he’d done, the trouble he’d caused, the hurt he’d caused so many people. Routinely, you reinforced to yourself that you hated Nagito Komaeda

   ...You were disgusted by the way you… just... couldn’t hate him. It didn’t feel right. Something felt… wrong in hating him.

  Your heart lurched, meeting his eyes again.

Why not? Why not just hate him, (Y/N)? Like everyone else…

Why was it so hard? You were supposed to be with Hajime. And Hajime hated Nagito. Everyone who knew Nagito hated Nagito. But… telling yourself you were anything but infatuated with that dangerous creature… was a lie. You owed everything, good and bad, to that feral, insane man.

Your nerves and the hairs on your arms pricked up like an agitated cat. Why why why? Why would he even do this? He knew what showing up here would start. He was born to start shit, to brew altercation, to cook up conflict. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps he finally came to an event to support his darling step-brother, but the way he bore his fangs when his eyes met Hajime’s said otherwise.

❘ Leave. Just Leave. You're just here to antagonize me and I won't let you be a problem. Not today. This is my day… ❘ Hajime spat mentally, and his thoughts burned through your own and, you're sure, Nagito’s.

❘ Aren’t all the days yours, Your Majesty? ❘ Nagito’s thoughts were more severe, yet more playful, taunting, careless, a venomous snarl behind every synapse pulse.

❘ ...Leave. ❘ Hajime pulsed back in warning.

❘ ....Or what? ❘ Nagito’s own ominous threat reverberated through your cranium. You pressed a hand to your temple, an angry, stinging sensation pulsating through your head. Having a vampire read one’s mind was uncomfortable enough: feeling the slight probing and perhaps needing an aspirin after, but being the third line in a purebred pissing match… it was a call you desperately wanted to hang up on. But.. humans didn’t naturally hear a vampire’s thoughts on accident. No, you were hearing this conversation because you were meant to, someone wanted you to. You had no powers of your own, but Nagito kept you trapped in this nonverbal battle, strung up betwixt two immortal minds. You brought the back of your free hand up to your nose, wiping away a stripe of red vitality that began to flow from both nostrils. The panging inside, the angry shouting in your mind only got louder.

[infifashion]

Top Fashion Magazines in India

Fashion magazines in India have been one of the most traditional forms of learning about the latest style trends. Before Pinterest and Instagram, fashion magazines were the only avenue to check out popular celebrity looks, trends, makeup, hairstyles, fitness mantras, outfit inspirations, travel guides and more in top Fashion Magazines in India.

Here is a list of few top Fashion Magazines in India

Vogue Magazine - One of the most popular fashion publications in India is Vogue. Since its debut in India in 2007, this North American publication has grown to become one of the most dependable sources for fashion news.

Savvy - A well-known fashion publication with a focus on women's health is called Savvy. It is a well-known magazine that focuses on women and offers articles in the lifestyle, health, culinary, beauty, and travel genres with a dash of Bollywood flavour.

Harper's Bazaar India - One of the first fashion journals, Harper's Bazaar debuted in the United States in 1867. In order to bring together fashion photographers, artists, designers, journalists, and celebrity icons and offer a fresh perspective on the beauty and lifestyle industries, the North American magazine published its debut issue in India in 2009.

Elle Magazine - A French fashion publication called Elle sheds light on all facets of fashion, health, beauty, and travel across the world. The magazine publishes in 60 countries and has more than 42 worldwide versions.

New Woman - Indian fashion and lifestyle magazine New Woman compares favourably to international periodicals. The magazine's editor is the well-known Indian actress Hema Malini. Publisher Pioneer Book Company is in charge of the magazine's publishing division.

Cosmopolitan India - One of the most read fashion publications in India is Cosmopolitan, which is distributed in 110 nations. The US-based publication began as a family magazine before changing into a solemn publication.

Femina Magazine - Do you recall the eponymous "Femina Miss India" competition? One of the most well-known fashion publications in India, Femina also hosts and sponsors beauty pageants.

Verve - Verve, one of the top domestic luxury international fashion publications of India, was established in 1995. Numerous interviews, Bollywood news, current fashion trends, beauty advice, food, travel, arts and culture, worldwide fashion, and more are all covered in the publication.

[gyanfashion]

Celeb Trainers Of Shraddha Kapoor, Aditya Roy Kapur, Sushant Singh Rajput Share Fitness and Lifestyle Mantra

Celebrity trainers Praveen Nair and Maahek Nair have worked with many famous actors and actresses in the past like Kartik Aryan, Abhishek Bachchan and Aditya Roy Kapoor helping them achieve their fitness goals. They have been credited with being the reason behind the hot and toned body of Shraddha Kapoor, which can be seen in the movie “Tu Jhooti Mein Makkaar”. In addition to Kapoor, they have…

[demcnsinmymind]

random lemon-y headcanon for the day cos sinday

Though Lance fits a lot of criteria regarding the sleazy California producer kinda guy who’ll go over dead bodies to get what he wants, he’s very strict when it comes down to the treatment of women and sex for the / on the job. And since I also headcanon that despite some of his behavior and general act, he has a deep respect for women and prefers friendships and non-romantic relationships with women, it goes hand in hand with the fact that he would never do anything shady with colleagues or cast/crew while on the job and for the job. Like, this is the one line he won’t cross and take up on under any circumstances, even if people were offering sex to be on the show or work with him in any way. Especially if they feel desperate, don’t have any other options and have been preached the toxic ‘producer couch’ mantra, thinking it’s the only way they can get a career. He outright hates that type of treatment of cast and crew in the industry. He’ll also refuse to sexualize women or any part of history on his show for the sake of getting better audience ratings. In fact, he despises producers and other ‘colleagues’ who’d ever take advantage of their position and fame like that. He considers actresses, DOPs or other female/nonbinary people on cast and crew as his equals, not as somebody to be exploited in terms of sexuality. He didn’t get Sasha on the show so she could be ‘eye candy’ as the pretty goth, but because of her knowledge about history and the paranormal, and also because she’s his best friend. I just headcanon him as the type of dude who kinda can act like a producer douchebag in a lot of ways, but who still got his morals in check and just wants to produce a fun show with some genuine history behind it. Sure enough, he’ll lie through his teeth, say stupid and inconsiderate things, he’ll make up stories, bribe people to get them to say what he wants, and he’ll talk over people (men, women, nonbinary) to steal the limelight if he feels like he’s got to famewhore again. But he won’t ever go down that type of path. Turning it around though? He absolutely has no qualms about using his own looks and sex as a means to get what he wants for his show and fame. No matter how paradoxical it may seem. In fact, I headcanon that he actually kind of digs using sex as a means to an end in that regard. Kind of like a kink almost, because it’s not just fun, but also because it makes him feel like he’s valuable currency worthy enough to be exchanged for things that have value to him in return, such as his show and getting it places. But he’s big on mutual consent here and that it won’t ever turn into a decision and offer that is made out of sheer desperation and due to lack of alternatives. It just makes him feel all the more desired and ‘special’, which he needs at all times.

[wonderrdies]

if love be rough with you - pt.1 (pypfc)

In which you and Harry are professors at a prestigious Art and Language university but can’t stand each other. Well, you can’t stand him. 

disclaimer: I fucked up and won’t finish the thing in time for the pick your poison fic challenge (thank you and I’m sorry to @for-fucks-sake-h​ @oh-honey-styles​ @andwhenshesays​) so I’ll split it into two parts. Once I post the second one, I’ll link it down here. 

warnings: so far, so good. there’s gonna be fucking in the next one, though. 

word-count: about 4,000 words

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

(Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare)

Your copy of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet fell to the wooden floor of classroom 103 with a dull thud. It was not your favorite play by any means, but teachers didn’t get much of a choice when it came to the syllabus at Markham. Art and Language students there had been learning the same things for generations, walking through ancient hallways with the pretentiousness of people who know they’re special because of more than just daddy’s money. 

Daddy’s money was still a big part of it, though. The fact you didn’t have it made it very obvious that, despite your mid-20s looking face, you were staff and not a student. Which, you said to yourself back when you started teaching at Markham, was fine. You made a mantra out of it in the beginning: It’s fine. I’m fine. When older professors and students didn’t take you seriously, when you were lonely, when the stone walls made you feel claustrophobia instead of wonder, when you had to begin working with Drama students instead of sticking to your comfort-zone in the Literature department. It’s fine. I’m fine. Three years later, it was true; you fit right in. You had learned to focus solely on the bright side of the school and the role you had to play, dressing and speaking and teaching like the classy and stone-faced intellectual you always wanted to be. With all your weaknesses safely tucked away, you felt like you probably were a better actress than most of your students. 

Considering you were 20 minutes ahead of schedule and no one was ever this early for class, bending over in your pencil skirt to pick Romeo and Juliet up didn’t seem like  a big deal. Until you heard the whistling. 

“All this for me?”

You took your time standing up, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be gross,” you laid the book back on your desk, crossing your arms as you stared at the man by the door. “Professor Styles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he flashed you a dry smile, but his green eyes showed amusement. “Darling.”

The eye-roll couldn’t be held back any longer. “Piss off.”

No need to say you weren’t a classy and stone-faced intellectual when it came to Harry Styles. 

“Can’t piss off from my own classroom, can I?”

Seemingly not minding your frown, he walked into the room holding a worn leather case for what you could guess was an acoustic guitar. If he weren’t dressed in his usual expensive and obnoxious clothes, you’d be able to mistake him for a very handsome hobo. 

“No, but you can piss off from mine,” you pointed to the metal numbers on the door. “We’re in 103, Styles. I have it for the next three hours.”

“Funny,” he said before laying his guitar on the desk. It pushed your book away until you had to grab it so it wouldn’t, once again, fall to the ground. “Because my schedule says that I have it for the next three hours.”

“Indeed,” Romeo and Juliet falls on leather harshly, the sound pretty similar to the one it made while hitting the floor. “Hilarious.”

The rumbling of what could only be a herd of students began before Harry could come up with any clever remarks, making his head turn to the door expectantly. His pearl necklace accompanied his movement, and you tried not to stare too hard at the expanse of his neck or imagine what it would look like with a couple of bruises under those pearls. 

You snapped out of whatever that thought was before there was any need to overthink it. Over your colleague’s shoulder, you could see students, not all of them yours, entering the room. If it wasn’t clear before that there had been a mistake, it was now; Drama and Music students looked at each other suspiciously, whispering to their classmates like they were in primary school instead of university.

“Professor?” someone called. Both you and Harry turned to the desks arranged in a circle, all of them occupied. One of his students, standing on the corner, moved uncomfortably under your glare before speaking again: “Where should we seat? Is this a joint lesson or something?”

A joint lesson? You cringed at the idea. “No,” you said harshly. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his voice breezy when compared to yours. “We’ll sort it out, guys. Give us a few minutes.”

He made the two of you sound like a team, which was outrageous. The collar of your sleeveless turtleneck was, all of a sudden, way too tight. 

“You look constipated,” he muttered under his breath so only you could hear him. “Let’s go outside.”

“What for?” But you were already following him to the hallway. “Look, just get another classroom.”

“Why don’t you, if it’s that simple?” Harry asked while you closed the door behind you. 

“Because it’s a good classroom, the best in the building!”

“Is this how you plan on making me give it up?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning on the stone wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t. 

“Harry,” you sighed. Your hand went to the tiny gold cross in your neck, nervously messing with it. You knew you were about to start pacing like a madwoman. “You could play that guitar anywhere on campus. Just let me have the damn room, alright?” 

“Do you think that’s all my lessons are?” He sounded upset.

A brief moment of guilt didn’t stop you from snapping at him. “Do you think I care?”

“No, I don’t,” Even though his voice remained calm, Harry straightened up. “I would never have such high expectations for you, darling.” 

You looked at him with a blank stare. Those green eyes without a hint of malice, the soft brown curls of his hair, the delicate pearls over a pastel blue sweater that had a fucking baby chick on it; seeing him, it was hard to believe he could be mean enough to hurt you. But he had, so you went with the most mature and eloquent answer you could muster: “Whatever,” mumbled under your breath.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go to the administration and get this shit over with.”

His tone, finally bordering on annoyed, gave you some satisfaction. Maybe you two had more in common than you thought.

— 

Things between you and Harry hadn’t always been this hard. Back in university, among mutual friends and copious amounts of alcohol, he had been nicer. So had you. But Markham made the differences that seemed meaningless at 19 years old feel like deal breakers for any sort of healthy work relationship; his laid backness, so charming all those years ago, drove you insane now. He was a brilliant musician, of course, but was that really all it took? While you searched for the perfect balance between serious faculty member, approachable but slightly intimidating mentor, cultured academic, reliable friend and well-rounded human being, Harry simply seemed to always be a little late for everything that didn’t involve robbing you of your preferred classroom. Also, he flirted way too much, dressed like a sexy grandmother and never submitted grades when he was supposed to. 

“Hey,” he said, then called your name softly. “I think that’s enough.”

For a second, you thought he meant enough reasons to dislike him. Then you looked down at your overflowing cup of water and the puddle forming on the teacher’s lounge counter.

“Fuck,” you hissed, putting the glass jar back in its place.

“That sounds familiar,” Harry sipped his coffee like he hadn’t just said that in a room filled with ancient Markham professors.

You were torn between giving him a death glare or ignoring him altogether, so you just settled for a death glare directed at no one in particular while you wiped your wet hand on the side of your black skirt. 

“Professors,” greeted one of the Plastic Arts teachers, a sweet-looking old lady. She walked up to the counter so she could pour her coffee, standing between you and Harry in the process. “I take it the 103 debacle hasn’t gone smoothly.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Thomas,” Harry said, a playful smile suddenly on his lips. “Someone here doesn’t know when to give up.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, Professor Styles. It’s not cute.”

Mrs. Thomas laughed like the two of you were performing a stand-up comedy show. “God, you two are adorable.”

You frowned while she walked away, and even though Harry’s smile stayed plastered on his face, you could see the furrow between his brows. “Adorable?” he asked, voice low. “You?”

“Piss off,” you said for the second time that day.

The 103 debacle, as your elder colleague so eloquently put, hadn’t gone smoothly. At all. Administration admitted to making a mistake and offered, oh so kindly, to relocate one of you to an empty classroom upstairs. Both Harry and you just stood there, looking at each other as if saying “Well, there you go” and waiting for the other to eagerly take room 214. Dark, humid, cold and small 214. After a couple of minutes of painfully awkward silence, the secretary responsible for room assignment suggested a sort of alternation: since the conflicting lessons were taught twice a week, Harry could get 103 on Mondays and you could have it on Thursdays. Neither of you liked the idea, but no amount of “But Sophie…” would change her mind once she came up with a supposedly perfect solution. 

“She’s only saying that because she hasn’t seen your eye twitching while you try to refrain from having a mental breakdown over a classroom,” he said, ignoring the fact you had just told him off. Harry leaned in, annoying smirk on his lips, so only you would hear him when he said: “You can be adorable when you’re whining for more, though.”

He was too close, and you could smell the cologne on the collar of the shirt he wore under his sweater. It was vanilla, sweet and strong like he had been before he turned out to be the kind of guy who insulted you and bragged about having fucked you, all in the same breath. 

“Classy, Styles,” you drank the rest of your water in one gulp so you could get rid of the cup and put some distance between the two of you. He just smelled too good. “You shouldn’t be so quick to make fun of my eye twitch, though. I wasn’t the one using “the humidity in 214 is bad for my hair” as an argument.” 

“I hate that room,” Harry muttered as you walked away. 

Well, that made two of you. 

—

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” you announced to your students. Sunshine flooded the room, casting light on their focused expressions. “You’re going to go through act one again and select a snippet of text so that we can discuss it, and you have to make it so your point —” A determined knock on the door interrupted you. Before you could say anything at all, about a dozen people entered room 103 as if it were expected from them to do so. Strangely, it took you a second too long to realize where you knew most of those faces from: three days ago, they were among your own students as they waited for their professor. One by one, they sat in rows on the floor just like they would in actual desks. None of them made a sound. “Make it so your point about the chosen quote is character-driven,” you continued, choosing to simply not acknowledge any disturbance for a moment. 

Still, there were twelve too many sets of eyes looking up at you. It was unsettling. For the next few minutes, there was a silent agreement between you and the Drama students; the lesson proceeded as they exchanged puzzled looks while pretending to skim the first act of Romeo and Juliet and you anxiously played with your cross necklace. What kind of sick mind game was Harry trying to play here? You wish you knew what reaction he was expecting, only so you could deliver the exact opposite of it. 

“You have ten more minutes,” you said, reminding your students. A few of them nodded as they took notes, but the people sitting on the floor remained quiet and still, eyes on you. “What do you want?” you blurted out. 

“What do you mean?” a girl asked, and you could tell they were expecting you to continue pretending they weren’t there until the lesson was over. Bingo. 

“I mean, what is your goal? Did your professor send you here just to spite me? Is he wasting your time as well as mine? Or are you supposed to learn something by attending my class without my previous consent?”

By then, your own students had dropped their books and were waiting for one of the Music kids to speak up. 

“Today’s lesson is about civil disobedience and other forms of rebellion and how they relate to the cultural and/or artistic aspects of music,” the same girl said. You couldn’t help but admire the way she took the lead, just as you couldn’t help but question Harry’s methodology. 

“What’s your name?”

“Kate.”

“Kate, don’t you think this exercise fails to convey the gravity of civil disobedience? The environment seems a little low-stakes, to be honest.”

“Having low stakes is what makes it an experiment, though,” someone else muttered from behind Kate. 

“You can speak up”, you said. “And yes, it’s an experiment, but it still feels too far-fetched, not even close to a parallel. Once you’re done with the lesson, you should let me know how Professor Styles managed to turn this into a Thoreau analogy. Maybe he should have just taught you how to play Another Brick In The Wall and called it a day.” 

Some of the Drama students snickered from their desks, but Harry’s class didn’t seem to find you amusing at all. Oh, well. You couldn’t please everyone. 

“Since you’re already here, you’re going to learn something. It’s unrelated to civil disobedience but that’s not really my fault, is it? Find a partner that’s actually enrolled in the class about narrative elements in Drama; work on the passage together, from a character-focused perspective, and see if you can relate any of it to your knowledge about art and culture in general. I’m certain someone has taught you about that, even if Professor Styles couldn’t.”

There was a beat of silence, all twenty-four of them staring at you hesitantly. 

“Well? Get to work.”

And so they did. 

—

You zipped up your bag, mind already drifting to the bottle of wine and comfortable blankets waiting for you back home, when someone’s knuckles tapped the door to the classroom. It was neither 103, with its smooth stone walls onto which you could project any material necessary with perfect lighting, or 214, with its moldy smell, but a perfectly decent middle-ground. You had just taught your last lesson of the first week of the semester to a group of eager Literature first-years and even though you were much better at it now than when you first began, it wasn’t an easy job by any means. Shoulders aching with tension, you turned to the door. 

“No,” you said before Madeline could utter a single word. She was your sweetest colleague, and also technically your boss. Madeline was the head of the Literature department and the person who recommended you to the head of Drama when they needed someone to teach a couple of classes on the narrative aspects of plays the students would later perform. Even when you hesitated to take the job and said you weren’t experienced enough to do it, she wouldn’t take no for an answer; Madeline was the closest thing you had to a mother in Markham, always toeing the line between authority and encouragement. 

But she would have to take no for an answer now, because you knew that face. And contrary to her motherly status, she wanted you to go out for happy hour. “Just one drink,” she didn’t even bother denying it. “Everyone’s coming.”

“Everyone who?”

“Everyone!”

Everyone almost certainly didn’t involve faculty over 65, so that left you with less than ten people total. You decided not to bring it up since Madeline could get sensitive about age talk. She was 58 and absolutely outraged by people over 60 that started “acting like they had already dropped dead”. Her words. 

“Professor Styles will be there,” and then she wiggled her eyebrows. Oh my God.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said, offended, grabbing your purse. You turned off the lights and closed the door, all while she played dumb.

“Nothing, really,” Madeline said with a shrug. “Thought it might be nice to hang out with a fellow young intellectual, ‘s all.”

“Oh, spare me.” 

“You could also figure your shit out before HR needs to get involved,” she paused to see your reaction. There was none. “Just a thought.”

“HR? Are you for real?”

“No,” she said, honestly. “But the two of you can’t keep this up forever, honey. It’s entertaining to watch, but it looks exhausting. You should put an end to whatever this is, if only so you can have a little more peace of mind. You’re both smart people trying to get their job done, that’s all.”

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t want to fight Madeline on this. Harry was… complicated. You hadn’t seen him at all since yesterday’s class and even though you were proud of how you handled the situation at first, you couldn’t help but second guess every move you made while his students were in your classroom. Maybe you should have just made them leave. Maybe you shouldn’t have questioned Harry’s authority so explicitly by saying it was a bad exercise.Maybe you should have just pretended they weren’t there at all. Maybe you should have walked up to Harry himself and thrown a fit because he disturbed your lesson. 

But there was no use dwelling on what should have been. In the end, the lesson was actually productive. Fun, if you might say so yourself. His students proved themselves to be very reasonable people, and the contrast between their perspectives as musicians and those of your students, as actors or future playwrights, contributed to multiple interesting discussions.

“Just one drink,” you found yourself saying to Madeline, not that it mattered. You were already walking together towards the parking lot, where her car was, instead of your usual route. 

“That’s my girl.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked by her side, your black heels making it hard for you to walk on the gravel of the parking lot. The uncomfortable shoes, unfortunately, played a big part in your whole “fake it ‘till you make it” brand of confidence. 

—

The whole table shifted as you and Madeline walked into the pub. You could see Harry from the corner of your eye, fuzzy cream sweater and lilac pants, the shadow of laughter still on his lips from whatever joke was being told before you walked in. 

Two more chairs were placed at random spots, and before you could say anything you were squeezed in between Harry and another professor from the Music department, with Madeline four seats away. This had been a terrible idea. Your thighs were pressed together, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing against your skin; there was no move you could make without somehow touching him. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, turning to you. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek. “Did you have a nice class yesterday?”

Despite all the imaginary fights you had with him on the last 30 hours, you smiled. Harry Styles had some nerve. “Which one? I teach a few classes everyday, Professor.”

He laughed under his breath even though you both knew you weren’t a particularly funny person. “You know what? You are adorable.”

You could feel your cheeks flaming instantly. He rendered you speechless for a couple seconds, each one making his smirk grow. You licked your lips and then, with less confidence than you’d like, you said: “I know. Still not as adorable as your little backfiring prank, though.”

“First of all,” he started, still with that damn smirk. “It wasn’t a prank, it was an exercise.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It was! And it absolutely did not backfire. Shouldn’t you know what backfiring means? Aren’t you a book expert or whatever?” 

“Very cute, Styles.”

He murmured a ‘thank you’, choosing to ignore your dripping sarcasm. It drove you crazy. 

Someone cleared their throat, and you realized as soon as you looked up that the whole table was waiting for your order and most definitely paying attention to yours and Harry’s conversation. Your face burned even hotter while you stuttered out the name of your cocktail. 

Your first cocktail, that is. As a storm started outside, one drink turned into two, then three. 

“I should get going,” Madeline said at some point, half the table already gone. Even with all the extra space, you and Harry had shown no intention of moving. “Do you need a ride, honey?”

You thought of your empty kitchenette, a few miles south of Markham, and all the time it would take her to drive you home and back to her house, and her family, under such a downpour. A quick “No, thank you” and she was gone. You turned to the nearest window, your arm brushing Harry’s in the process, to watch the storm outside and figure out if the weather would make it impossible for you to leave, which meant you had made a terrible decision by declining the ride. Sure enough, it was pitch black and the rain was as violent as ever. Oh, well. 

“You have goosebumps.”

“Huh?”

“You have goosebumps,” Harry repeated himself, laughing a little. As opposed to you, he hadn’t had a single drink to slow his thinking. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” but you weren’t. Through your protests, he took the beige coat hanging on his chair and draped it across your shoulders. Once you shivered at the touch of his fingertips, there was no lying anymore.

 Harry raised an eyebrow, and you didn’t know what was more infuriating: his smirk, the amazing smell on his absurdly fashionable coat or your uncalled-for horniness, so you decided to ignore all of them. “There’s really no need, Styles,” you said quietly, already reaching to give him back his coat. “I need to get home.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not driving.”

“Well,” he scoffed. “Obviously.”

You furrowed your brows, suddenly very glad you couldn’t see the drunk pout that had just formed in your lips. “Bye, then.”

He grabbed your hand before you could take off his jacket. “No. Let me take you.”

“No fucking way,” you protested. Realizing the three or four remaining coworkers at the table were paying attention to your conversation, you continued much more calmly: “Thank you, though.”

“Come on, Professor,” he teased. “I owe you this one, I guess.”

The gin made him sound so reasonable. He did owe you one, for being such a jerk at all times through the don’t-give-a-shit attitude and how he often brought up that stupid fucking night. Not to mention the 103 debacle and the disruptive prank. He owed you many, actually. 

“I guess?” It sounded more aggressive in your head, but that would do.

So you both said your goodbyes and left, his expensive coat hanging off your back while you walked to his expensive car, as if whatever was his were meant to be shared with you simply because you looked good in it. 

part 2 !

[bananaofswifts]

In the new Taylor Swift documentary, “Miss Americana,” which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival Thursday night, there’s a montage of derogatory commentary about the singer that has appeared on cable shows over the years. One of the less nasty remarks: “She’s too skinny. It bothers me.”

As it turns out, it eventually bothered Swift, too.

In one of the most revealing and surprising segments of the Netflix film, Swift talks for several minutes about having struggled in the past with an eating disorder.

After being pictured facing a phalanx of photographers after she emerges from her front door, Swift is heard in voiceover saying that “it’s not good for me to see pictures of myself every day.” Although she says “it’s only happened a few times, and I’m not in any way proud of it,” Swift admits there have been times in the past when she’s seen “a picture of me where I feel like I looked like my tummy was too big, or… someone said that I looked pregnant … and that’ll just trigger me to just starve a little bit — just stop eating.”

Swift elaborated on what she’s gone through with that in her interview with Variety for this week’s cover story, saying that it was difficult for her to speak up about it for the documentary.

“I didn’t know if I was going to feel comfortable with talking about body image and talking about the stuff I’ve gone through in terms of how unhealthy that’s been for me — my relationship with food and all that over the years,” she tells Variety. “But the way that Lana (Wilson, the film’s director) tells the story, it really makes sense. I’m not as articulate as I should be about this topic because there are so many people who could talk about it in a better way. But all I know is my own experience. And my relationship with food was exactly the same psychology that I applied to everything else in my life: If I was given a pat on the head, I registered that as good. If I was given a punishment, I registered that as bad.”

In the quiet of a hotel suite, she goes into greater detail on how formative an effect that one early tabloid torpedo had on her. “I remember how, when I was 18, that was the first time I was on the cover of a magazine,” she says. “And the headline was like ‘Pregnant at 18?��� And it was because I had worn something that made my lower stomach look not flat. So I just registered that as a punishment. And then I’d walk into a photo shoot and be in the dressing room and somebody who worked at a magazine would say, ‘Oh, wow, this is so amazing that you can fit into the sample sizes. Usually we have to make alterations to the dresses, but we can take them right off the runway and put them on you!’ And I looked at that as a pat on the head. You register that enough times, and you just start to accommodate everything towards praise and punishment, including your own body.”

She hesitates. “I think I’ve never really wanted to talk about that before, and I’m pretty uncomfortable talking about it now,” she says quietly. “But in the context of every other thing that I was doing or not doing in my life, I think it makes sense” to have it in the film, she says.

Wilson, the director, is proud of Swift for taking up the subject with such candor. “That’s one of my favorite sequences of the film,” she says. “I was surprised, of course. But I love how she’s kind of thinking out loud about it. And every woman will see themselves in that sequence. I just have no doubt.”

The filmmaker points out that there were clearly plenty of people who didn’t think Swift was too thin back in the mid-2010s. “You can also just not notice people being really skinny, because we’re all so accustomed to seeing women on magazine covers who are unhealthy-skinny, and that’s become normalized.” Even with non-celebrities, Wilson says, everybody’s a body critic. “It’s incessant, and I can say this as a woman: It’s amazing to me how people are constantly like ‘You look skinny’ or ‘You’ve gained weight.’ People you barely know say this to you. And it feels awful, and you can’t win either way. So I think it’s really brave to see someone who is a role model for so many girls and women be really honest about that. I think it will have a huge impact.”

As much as Swift may be seen as a role model for speaking frankly on the subject, she’s got her own favorite artist, so to speak, when it comes to advocacy for women’s bodily self-image issues.

“I love people like (actress and activist) Jameela Jamil, because she says things in a really articulate way,” the singer tells us. “The way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. If you read her quotes about women and body image and aging and the way that women are treated in our industry and portrayed in the media, I swear the way she speaks is like lyrics, and it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down. Because women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty. We’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have harmful or unhealthy thoughts. So she’s one of the people who, when I read what she says, it sticks with me and it helps me.”

In the film, then-and-now photos illustrate just how thin Swift had gotten during the “1989” era, versus the still svelte but healthier look she sported by the time she toured behind the “Reputation” album in 2018. Swift says that her under-eating in that earlier time severely affected her stamina on tour.

“I thought that I was supposed to feel like I was going to pass out at the end of a show, or in the middle of it,” she attests in the documentary. “Now I realize, no, if you eat food, have energy, get stronger, you can do all these shows and not feel (enervated).” Swift says she doesn’t care so much now if someone comments on a weight gain, and she’s reconciled “the fact that I’m a size 6 instead of a size double-zero.” Swift says she was completely unaware that anything was wrong in her double-zero era, and had a defense at the ready should it come up. If anyone expressed concern, she’d say, “‘What are you talking about? Of course I eat. …. I exercise a lot.’ And I did exercise a lot. But I wasn’t eating.”

Few women viewing the film will fail to nod their heads as Swift describes the impossibility of any body shape or size living up to all the standards for beauty. “If you’re thin enough, then you don’t have that ass that everybody wants,” she says in the film. “But if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, your stomach isn’t flat enough. It’s all just f—ing impossible.” As she became aware of the problem, Swift says in the film, it would cause her to “go into a real shame/hate spiral.”

The word “shame” comes up elsewhere in conversation with Swift, who by virtue of becoming one of the most celebrated women in the world has also had to deal with more catty comments than almost any celebrity in the world — and hasn’t always succeeded in shaking it all off.

“I was watching a Netflix Brené Brown special on shame, because I read a lot of her books, because I have dealings with shame every once in awhile,” Swift tells Variety. “She was saying something like, ‘It’s ridiculous to say “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me,” because that’s not possible. But you can decide whose opinions matter more and whose opinions you put more weight on.’ And I think that is really part of growing up, if you’re going to do it right. That’s part of hoping to find some sort of maturity and balance in your life.”

She continues, “I don’t expect anyone with a pop career to learn how to do that within the first 10 years. And I know that there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s gone on recently, a lot of really hard stuff my family is going through, and a lot of opposition and feeling pressure or suppression of one kind or another. But I am actually really happy. Because I pick and choose now, for the most part, what I care deeply about. And I think that’s made a huge difference.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Should… | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Emma Masters) | Chapter 2 | … I Tell Him?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Emma Masters

Summary: Five years ago, Emma Masters just landed her first big acting gig on a soap opera. While it is not much, it is an opportunity to grow. While out celebrating, she meets up with a fellow actor, Tom Hiddleston. While she doesn’t recognize any of his work, the two hit it off. Before they know, they are getting hot and heavy in the elevator up to Tom’s room. Like ships passing in the night, the two never manage to meet again.Now five years later, Emma is a heavy hitter in the prime time drama world and Tom is a Golden Globe winning movie star. Their paths cross again but things have changed. Will they do what they should or fall to their deepest desires?

This Chapter:  Emma never expected to run in Tom again, but yet here he is in the same restaurant, five years later. Will he spill the beans on that one night and what will become of the sparks between the two of them!

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, drunk sex, oral sex, cheating, unhealthly relationships

-

“It is not that funny, Thomas,” Emma chuckled, digging her nails into Tom’s arm.

Tom took an empty seat at Emma’s table and Corrinne leaned in closer to Tom. Even though Corrinne worked as a publicist, she still swooned over celebrities—good-looking male celebrities. Tom fit that bill to a T. Tom squeezed your arm back.

“Well, maybe I exaggerate.”

“Come on you two, spill.” Corrinne urged on.

“I happened to be in New York when I partook of the hotel bar. Em and I ended up sharing a table.”

“I just won the part of on All My Heart and celebrated with a few drinks. Tom and I ended up talking for the rest of the night.”

Corrinne’s eyebrows arched up; she wanted more and Emma refused to cooperate.

“Although, she didn’t know who I was.” Tom added, giving Emma a playful punch in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Not her proudest moment.

“Emma! How did you not recognize him?” Corrinne said, aghast.

“I wasn’t into superhero movies five years ago! Sue me!”

Tom chuckled. “It was quite alright.”

“And?” Corrinne asked, wanting the rest of the story.

“And…” Tom continued, “we exchanged numbers with plans to meet again in three weeks when I returned to New York, but this one stood me up.”

Tom nudged Emma in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Thank God for Tom’s discretion. The gossip magazines would have a field day.

“I did not! We mutually cancelled!” Emma protested.

“Ah, no. I made plans, and you cancelled by text. Something about rehearsals. I assume someone got scared.”

Tom wiggled his eyebrows at Emma. Corrinne leaned back in her chair and looked at the two of them. Tom and Emma laughed at some unheard joke and Corrinne laughed along.

“But enough about the past,” Corrinne interjected, “What brings you to L.A., Tom? I thought you lived in London.”

“True. I am here for work.” Tom chattered on nervously, “I have some screen tests, auditions, and what not for an upcoming project.”

“I would assume a big movie star didn’t audition anymore.”

“Stories of my fame are exaggerated I am afraid. The auditions are for the leading lady in the project. You understand, Emma.”

Emma nodded.

“Yeah. I hate those chemistry tests. All those eyes on you.” Emma scrunched up her nose. She didn’t have Tom’s star power, so auditions took up a significant chunk of her time when she didn’t have filming.

“And what about Em? I thought you lived in New York?” Tom asked.

“Uh, I moved out here about two years ago. My series films out here.” Emma responded. She would never tell him but she followed his career and life in the papers over the years; she hoped Tom did the same, but his comment dashed her hopes.

“Oh, your series? Isn’t the show called something like Silver Surfer or Silver Fox?” Tom quipped, twisting his face into mock contemplation.

Tom lied. After that encounter in New York, he spent the following years keeping tabs on Emma’s career; the two Daytime Emmys for her role on All My Heart, Silver Sable, all of her accolades and successes.

“Silver Sable.”

“Right! And what kind of TV show is it? An action show of some sort?” Tom commented, relentless in getting the response he wanted.

“It’s a superhero show.” Emma muttered.

“I was under the impression you didn’t like superheroes?”

Corrinne chuckled at the banter. These two baited each other left and right.

“I’ve changed.” Emma snapped back, a smile on her face.

“So it seems.” Tom’s eyes raked over Emma’s body and she blushed once again.

Corrinne choked on her drink.

“But enough about me. What is—” Tom started before a gentleman tapped on his shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt. Tom, we need you back at our table.” he said.

Tom rose from the chair.

“So sorry, Luke. I will be right back.”

Emma sighed in relief. With Tom leaving, her secret remained safe. Tom started off back towards his table but he spun on his heel, pulling his phone from his coat pocket.

“Before I leave, Em.” Emma popped her head up to look at him, “I need your number, the old one doesn’t work.”

Emma didn’t expect him to still know her old number. When her fame rose and her personal number somehow made its way into her fans’ hands, she changed numbers.

“Of course, Tom!” Emma rattled off her personal cell as Tom punched the digits into his cell.

“Perfect.” Tom leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. His lips still soft like Emma remembered. “I will call and we must do lunch!”

Tom jogged off before Emma responded. After a few minutes, Corrinne cleared her throat. Emma turned and narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Spill it.”

“So… there is more to this. Care to share?”

“No comment.”

“Fair enough. So he seems nice.”

Emma blushed.

“And sexy as fuck.”

“Corrinne!” Emma spat.

“What? That man is sex in a suit. So when are you going to tell him?”

“When I’m ready.” Emma mumbled as she returned her attention to her salad.

-

Tom texted her once so she would have his number too, but Emma guessed she wouldn’t run into Tom again for some time. It wasn’t as though the two of them ran in the same circles. Their only professional link was their portrayal of Marvel characters. She hustled through the next few days in a bit of a fog. She never expected to run into him again. And she didn’t expect all those feelings and emotions to rear their ugly head.

“Earth, Emma!” Mary, her assistant, yelled.

Emma jolted in her seat.

“Ahh!” Emma waving her arms about catching herself before she fell on her face. “Yes, Mary.”

Mary suppressed a giggle.

“Okay. you have auditions all afternoon. The first one is in an hour and across town.”

Emma groaned. Some days she regretted living in Brentwood. She enjoyed the space and privacy but hated that it meant driving for hours in Los Angeles traffic. Emma, a native New Yorker, never developed the taste for sitting in traffic for hours to go 30 miles.

“Fine. I will leave in fifteen minutes.” Emma rose from her chair to go get ready. “And since I will be gone for the rest of the day forward the calls to your cell and take off around 3.”

Mary’s face lit up.

“Thanks, boss! Don’t forget the last audition is at 4 and a chemistry test, so bring a change of clothes.”

Emma took off to her bedroom and took a quick shower. Fixing her hair into a simple ponytail, she applied a light amount of makeup and dug through her closet. She settled on some simple jeans and a nice top and packed a body-conscious dress along with some heels and a small bag of makeup for her last audition. Twenty minutes later, Emma took off in her car.

As predicted, Emma sat in traffic for an inordinate amount of time and made it to the studio with no time to spare. The audition process still bothered Emma. Although Emma’s career was well established in television, her agent hoped to use her success as Silver Sable to push Emma into film roles. That meant auditioning. Six months in and no one took the bait. Perhaps she should stick to TV.

The first audition was for a period drama. Emma could smell the Oscar bait a mile away. Based on the reaction Emma got when she walked into the room, she did not fit the role at all. The whole ordeal took ten painful minutes. Emma repeated the process two more times with varying degrees of success.

Once she reached her final audition, she ducked into the bathroom to change. Emma already went through several auditions for the part in a new romantic comedy. Now she came in for a chemistry test, the part she hated. Chemistry tests made Emma feel like an object, not a person. But these types of auditions were the cost of doing business.

Emma shimmied out of her jeans and slipped into the dress. The neckline was lower than her usual outfits but whatever. She pulled her hair down from the ponytail, letting it fall around her shoulders and retouched her makeup and added some extra mascara and blush. Emma examined herself in the mirror.

“Here goes nothing,” she said to no one in particular.

Emma walked back out into the hallway and took a seat with three other actresses. They all looked about five years younger than Emma, with their boobs cinched up to their chin and hems flirting with indecent exposure. Emma grew disheartened. All these other girls looked like they stepped out of the pages of a magazine, Playboy to be specific. Emma’s aesthetic was more akin to In Style. She looked over the lines as they called one of the other girls into the room. She could feel the butterflies; no matter how many times she did this, Emma always got butterflies.

After about 15 minutes, they called her in. She straightened out her dress as she walked into the room.

“And you will be reading with our male lead…” the PA explained as Emma looked up from the lines to see Tom standing in the room.

“Tom Hiddleston.” Emma finished.

Tom smiled.

“In the flesh, Emma.” Tom extended his hand, Emma shook it in a daze.

What the fuck is happening? kept repeating in Emma’s head, a mantra. She took a few deep breaths. She realized the people in the room were still talking.

“… so I will be kissing you in this scene.” Tom’s voice punctured through Emma’s mental haze.

She nodded, and the scene began as they took their places.

“Do you mind?” Emma started as she pushed past Tom.

“Do you mind? This is my room and my bed. You are a guest.” Tom countered.

“Really, that’s not what you called me last night.” Emma smirked as she moved closer to Tom, his blue eyes glittering in the lights.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

“Oh, you mean dumb, blonde, and young. Then you would be right!”

“If there was any other choice here, I would gladly take it.” Tom moved in closer, his nostrils flared.

“Keep to your side of the bed tonight. Your snoring kept me up.” Emma huffed out the line, her breath puffing into Tom’s face.

“Touch me with your cold feet one more time and see what happens.” Tom sneered as he leaned into her space. The tension ran high.

“You and what army?!” Emma barked as Tom pulled her into a kiss. She pushed at his arms but he held firm. She relented and melted into the kiss. The memories of that night flooded back to her. They parted and turned to look at the six other people in the room. For once, everyone looked Emma and Tom rather than staring at their phones or drinking their coffee.

“Uh… We’ll be in touch.” one of the men said.

Tom shook her hand again, and she walked out of the room. Emma got about halfway down the hallway when a voice rang out.

“WAIT!”

Emma stopped and turned to see the PA from earlier.

“Wait. Can you come with me?”

Emma blinked but followed the petite girl to another room. This one was empty, save a couple chairs and a couch.

“Just wait here, please.” the assistant asked as she gestured towards the couch.

Emma plopped down and kicked her heels off. She pulled her phone and started replying to emails. Twenty minutes passed and then forty-five minutes. After an hour and fifteen minutes, the PA returned and took Emma back into the same room. She expected to see the same group of people as before, no one remained. Except for Tom.

“What’s going on?”

Tom looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact and pushing a nonexistent piece of lint with his shoe.

“I was hoping you would accompany me to dinner?”

“Is that why I have been sitting in a room for over an hour?”

Emma’s face turned red. Tom’s face fell.

“In part. The casting directors wanted to bring you for another reading after everyone else finished, but I insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

“Are you saying I got the part?”

Tom smiled.

“Unofficially, yes. But wait for your agent to give you the news in a few days. Try to act surprised.”

Emma squeed out loud and did a little dance. Without considering the situation, she jumped up and kissed Tom on the lips. He blushed at the sudden contact.

“Does that mean yes to dinner?”

Emma nodded, not realizing what she agreed to until they pulled up to the restaurant.

[adampascalfan]

Thoughts about the Batwoman casting spoiler

With the mystery of is or isn’t Kate alive being a central theme so far this season and Ryan out right asking what happens if Kate does come back to Mary I am not shocked to find out the show is recasting.  Maybe it’s the soap fan in me but the mantra is no body on screen, no death.  And giving the audience some space between one actress leaving and another one coming into the role is pretty standard in soaps as well.  and a plane crash leading to disfigurement is a credible reason why Kate would A-look different and B- possible brain trauma issues as to why she hasn’t yet reached out to her family.

Plus Kate’s return is juicy juicy stuff to play with.  Mary and Luke dealing with their feelings about Kate returning and their friendship with Ryan.  Jacob dealing with getting his daughter back now knowing she was Batwoman and she was helping Mary with her clinic.  The Sophie drama of all of it. Ryan trying to figure out where she fits in this new dynamic.  Kate having to weigh if she even wants to return to Batwoman’s cape (I mean she struggled with it last season....now with someone who wants to take her place....does she let Ryan do it? Is she jealous of the way the team worked with out her?  Does she become the woman in the cave working next to Luke causing hilarity for us all to watch? Does she and Ryan split nights so they can have a life?  Team up and one takes up a new name? ) this is good stuff that can run the rest of this season and season 3. 

(i mean not for nothing do we also develop a triage between Kate/Sophie/Ryan? I mean i’m voting yes and i know this fandom  so....)