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crookedndelicate · 6 years ago

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#4 | casual affair

a/n - based on casual affair by panic! at the disco. i’ve had this idea in mind for like... two months? two and a half? before my catfish gig for sure. postponed it as always, had some free time and no wifi the other day and voila. as always, dedicated to @cosmic-hero75 for reading every single draft I had for this thing. and yeah this is still lowkey awkward but whatever.

warnings / word count: umm... smut, as always. 4k words. it’s becoming my brand, innit?

Clothes on the floor, hands gripping the white sheets, mouths clashing against each other. Moans, sighs, soft cries and names called out repeatedly, like a mantra. Scratches decorating his back and love bites on your collarbones. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers running through your hair, accompanied by the bittersweet knowledge that you might never see him again. Fingers gripping the bedsheets, knuckles turning white, a hug and the door closing behind him.

The first time you and Van had hooked up was after their All Points East performance. With your friends busy at work, you’d decided to go alone – you weren’t going to miss this. And in spite of your inner romantic wanting to tell the story differently, the truth was, both you and Van weren’t entirely sober. You’d bumped into him and Larry after their set and offered to buy them a pint. It was sunny in London, and with the buzz you got from a day of live performances, your head was spinning; you felt invincible.

Soon, you and Van found your common ground. Both fresh out of serious relationships, neither of you was looking to get involved. You’d had your heart broken too many times to care for that. And Van, a rock star with a broken heart and the world at his fingertips, was finally learn to take advantage of that. Maybe if life was a fairy tale, you would have fallen in love and changed your mind; he would’ve asked you out, and you would’ve lived happily ever after. But life wasn’t a fairy tale, and neither of you was looking for anything more than immediate gratification.

You’d exchanged numbers anyways, mostly because you enjoyed each other’s company. You were sharp and Van was witty; you weren’t used to finding someone so in tune with your sense of humour. The banter went on and on, and by midnight you were back in his hotel room, his necklace dragging along your bare skin.

***

What you thought was a one-night stand turned into a tradition. Whenever Van was in town he’d call you up and you’d get together, usually at yours. He’d come around with your favourite beer and a cheeky smile, a smile you – like many others before you, you found irresistible. You’d torture him a bit before letting him in and you’d spend the night together, chatting, drinking, and eventually curled up in bed, hands all over each other.

“Hands up,” he mumbled and you obliged, allowing him to take off the t-shirt dress you were wearing. He pressed his lips against your collarbones, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down your stomach. You could feel him grinning against your bare skin, his fingers stroking your inner thigh, dangerously close to your wetness. You felt your breath hitching as you lost your self-control, devoting every inch of yourself to his touch.

“Van,” you let out of a sigh, eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he focused his tongue on your weak spots. You’d always found it funny how Van seemed to enjoy touching more than he enjoyed being touched, and suspected it was a praise kink he’d never admit. Seeing you, your knees weak and body arching to the touch of his fingertips was enough to drive him wild. Hearing you beg for it, call out his name, was enough to get him rock hard and aching for more. Onstage, he got off people screaming along his lyrics and girls calling out his name. In bed, when it was just the two of you, he wasn’t any different. You found out oddly endearing.

Soon, he started staying the night. You’d share your bed, and for a day at a time, you’d get to wake up to a messy haired, sleepy Van. You’d watch as his eyes fluttered, his freckles brighter in the morning light. He’d pull you closer, almost instinctively, pressing his lips against your bare shoulder. Unlike the night before, those kisses were always softer, almost cautious. As if you’d ever kick him out of your bed.

***

You kept telling yourself it was nothing more than a casual affair. You hooked up when he was in town, and he never stayed over for more than a night at a time. Sure, you’d gotten to know each other, but that was bound to happen; after all, both you and Van were naturally chatty. You’d never met his parents or the rest of the band for that matter, and he’d never met your mates. You’d lived in your little bubble, a night at a time, and when you did, nothing else mattered.

Lucy - your preschool best mate, on the other hand, wasn’t as convinced. “Come on, y/n,” she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her vanilla latte. “It’s definitely more than just a casual affair. He stays the night, you share childhood stories and make him tea when he wakes up. You’re way past casual at this point.”

“Luce, come on,” you shook your head, “it’s me we’re talking about. Let me talk to the barista long enough and I’ll start sharing childhood stories,” she chuckled, “it doesn’t mean anything. He comes over when he’s in town, we have fun together and he leaves. Sometimes to go on tour, sometimes to… god knows where. I rarely ask. I’m still not looking for a serious relationship and neither is he. It’s just fun.”

“Alright then,” she took another sip. “What would you say if I told you fans are speculating he’s seeing someone? Apparently, there’s this girl in New York. They say they’ve been together for a while now or something along those lines. Of course, it’s just rumours, but –“

Her voice faded into nothing but background noise as you took a moment to ponder her question. And truth was, there was nothing to ponder. You should’ve been happy for him; you should’ve had some sort of a neural, ‘good for him’type of reaction. Casual affairs are never exclusive and you knew that… and yet, your first reaction was far from joyful. You could feel your heart breaking, aching to call him up and ask if it’s true. If there’s someone else.

And in that moment, you realised Lucy was right. You’d never meant to, but you were falling for him. You were falling for the stupid, charming, beautiful Van McCann, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

***

You didn’t tell him. Instead, you kept your arrangement going, enjoying the infrequent nights you got to spend together. Knowing Van wasn’t looking to fall in love, you figured some was better than nothing. After all, telling him you’d started developing feelings for him would’ve probably ended your relationship, if you could call it that. Then again, it was Van McCann you were talking about; the man who wrote scruffy love songs and couldn’t imagine not getting married and having kids. Van McCann, the hopeless romantic who kept breaking his own heart, who’d do anything for the ones he loved. If the romantic in you couldn’t stay completely detached, how could he guarantee the romantic in him did?

You kept going back and forth on that, unaware that your dilemma became more and more noticeable. While at first it seemed as if Lucy and you were the only one who could tell there was more than meets the eye, by the third time Van came ‘round yours, even he could tell you weren’t your usual self. And boy, was he oblivious sometimes.

“You alright, love?” he mumbled against your skin, his fingers absentmindedly caressing your bare back. You nodded, and he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, y/n. We’ve spent enough time together. Hate to say I know you ‘nd all, but I do. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied, almost instinctively, and he rolled his eyes once gain. He wasn’t wrong – he did know you, better than you were willing to admit. “Look, I… when we met last summer, we were both fresh out of serious relationships. Don’t think we would’ve bonded the way we did if it wasn’t for that. But…”

You didn’t have to finish that thought. His body tensed, and he nodded. “You want one,” he muttered, and you nodded. “I’m… I’m sorry, y/n,” he took a deep breath, his eyes frantically searching for his clothes. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He got dressed and left, not bothering to stay the night, and you didn’t argue. You figured that’s how he would react – after all, life wasn’t a fairy tale. You felt tears streaming down your cheeks as you sat there, on your bed, holding onto a blanket that still smelled like him. You hated the thought of losing him, but you knew it was for the best. And maybe, just me, both you and Lucy were wrong after all; his heart’s been torn apart so many times, and now, perhaps the boy who wrote scruffy love songs and believed in love was torn apart, too.

***

The healing process was a strange one. In an attempt to avoid anything that reminded you of him, the first thing you did was put your Catfish records in your under-bed storage, which evidentially proved itself useless. Apparently, it’s hard to avoid someone who’s an international rock star and keeps performing in festivals nationwide. You didn’t block him, even though you probably should have, but you did duck his calls and texts. You had nothing to say to each other.

The next step – quite possibly Lucy’s favourite, was a rebound. She was a big believer in rebounds, as much as she believed in zero second chances. For men, that is. She was constantly on guard, waiting for the moment you’ll say Van waltzed back into your life. But you didn’t, because he didn’t. The way you saw it, at least he had the decency to stay away from you, even if sometimes you wished he hadn’t. The videos, gig pictures and gifs were definitely not helping. You kept scanning through them, looking for signs of his wellbeing, wondering how he was doing without you. Whether he thought about you, or missed you at all.

And then, came Lucy’s co-worker. She kept insisting you’d make a perfect couple – or, at least, perfect rebound couple. No strings attached, she promised, and you finally gave up and agreed to go out with him. Just one date, no strings attached. You had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and you liked those odds. Especially since with Vans, they were the other way around.

His name was Luke. The first time he called you, he sounded anxious, almost concerned you didn’t want to talk at all before your date. That made you laugh. He seemed to be the antithesis of the confident Van you’d fallen in love with. He asked where you wanted to go, and you’d agreed to meet at a small café down the street. It was the kind of place you’d walked by more times than you can count, yet never went in. To your surprise, he lived in two blocks away, and soon enough you found yourself grabbing your favourite denim jacket and getting ready to go.

***

The place itself was just as adorable on the inside as you thought it would be. With pastel-coloured tables and a wooden floor, it felt more like a newly-designed Barbie’s Dream House than an independent café, but you liked it. Luke met you outside, holding a bouquet of roses he admittedly found cheesy, but you didn’t. As he walked you to your table, you kept thinking how long it’s been since you’ve been on a date. A proper date, that is. And as he pulled your chair back, you realised you kind of missed it.

His green eyes stared at you intently, listening to you. What started out as a conversation about work turned into childhood stories with Lucy, moments in secondary school she’d rather forget and your wildest benders. He prompted you to keep going, asking questions and laughing when appropriate. And as he toasted to your mutual friend for bringing you together, you realised Lucy was wrong. Luke wasn’t the perfect rebound partner, but he would make a damn good boyfriend. Someday.

Even though the café was down the road from your place, he insisted on walking you home. It’s dark, you never know who’s out there, he said. And so, you let him walk you home, your hands deep in your pockets. As you approached your place, you thought you’d seen a familiar shadow move, accompanied by the smell of mint and cigarettes. Your heart skipped a beat as you’d realised where that combination was oh-so-familiar from. Van.

It’s all in your head, y/n, you promised yourself repeatedly. It’s all in your head. You miss him and it’s natural, but whatever it was between you is over. He has no reason to come around, and he didn’t. It’s time to let go.

And so, in a final attempt to let go, you invited Luke in.

***

It took two glasses of wine and a shot of Malibu to get you to admit you didn’t want Luke to stay the night. Perhaps you could’ve said it more nicely – or at all, instead of mumbling something about having to work early the next day, but he quickly caught on and left. No hard feelings, he promised. It’s just a first date. I’ll call you, he added, driving your mind into overdrive over the million-dollar question: did you want him to?

And deep down, you knew the answer was no. Luke was a sweetheart, no doubt, but once again, you found yourself realising you weren’t in the right headspace for a relationship. Except this time, it wasn’t the end of a serious relationship that left you feeling like you weren’t ready, or wondering if you ever will be again.

God, why did relationships have to be so complicated?

A knock on the door forced you to snap out of it, leaving the dilemmas in the half-empty bottle of Malibu on the kitchen counter. Was it Lucy, wanting to know everything about your blind date with Luke? Was it Luke, wanting to know what had gotten into you? Was it your neighbour, fundraising for celling renovations for the pub downstairs, or whatever odd initiative he’d gotten himself into this time?

You opened the door, your heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of you. With a dead look in his eyes and an unfinished pint from the pub he’d walked out on, Van stood in front of you, and you sighed. You’d recognised the glass he was holding – The Black Lion, the pub downstairs. So you weren’t crazy after all, you thought to yourself, an odd wave of satisfaction washing over you.

“Can I come ‘n?” he muttered, and you stepped aside as he stumbled into your place.

“Van, it’s one in the morning. What’re you doing here?” you carefully grabbed the glass out of his hand, putting it aside. He just shook his head and sat down, his back against your kitchen wall. “Van, come on. You haven’t called in months, and now you’re at my doorstep?”

“I….” he looked up, spacing out. “I’m…. drunk,” he finally mumbled. You’d never seen him so drunk he could barely piece together a coherent sentence. In spite of the absurdity of the situation, you found yourself laughing. As if you couldn’t tell he was drunk. And with him like that, you knew there was no chance for a decent conversation.

So instead, you grabbed his hand, pulling him back up. He mumbled something, but instead, you let your mind focus on the white cotton of his shirt against your skin and the sound of his breath next to you. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” you muttered, directing a very disoriented Van to the bedroom with you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, dragging his feet on the floor, hardly keeping his balance.

“Thought we weeeeren’t doin’ that ‘nymore,” he mumbled, taking the time to finish the sentence. You rolled your eyes as you closed the bedroom door behind you, watching Van stumbling down on his way to your bed. You followed him, helping him to take off his boots. He closed his eyes, allowing you to take care of him. You left the room for a second, and by the time you came back he was sound asleep on your bed.

You slept on the sofa that night.

***

You woke up with a sore back to the sound of someone stumbling into the kitchen. It took a second before the night before came back in flashbacks: the date you had, how you sent Luke home, drunk Van knocking on your door and crashing on your bed. You looked up and watched as he put the kettle on, rubbing his eyes. Not wanting to wake you up, he tiptoed around the kitchen, and you took a moment to study the man in front of you.

You hadn’t realised just how much you missed his slim figure in your kitchen, or the way he hummed his favourite songs as he made his morning tea. Even when hungover, the way he carried himself was mesmerising and you found yourself smiling, allowing yourself, just for a second, to question his presence there.

But life wasn’t a fairy tale and you couldn’t allow yourself to ignore that. You got up and he turned around, holding a teabag. “Mornin’, love,” he greeted you, standing still. You couldn’t blame him – how do you greet your ex who isn’t quite your ex, who also happened to stop by drunk and crash on your bed? A hug? A handshake?

With neither of them feeling appropriate, you simply sat down. “Cuppa?” he asked and you nodded. You spent the next few moments in silence as he made two cups of tea, only looking up at him when he stood in front of you, handing you your favourite mug. He remembered. “Listen, y/n –“

“Van, enough. What are you doing here?” you put down your mug, and he sighed. “You were the one who walked away, remember? You have no business being he- “

“I couldn’t bear seeing you with him, okay?” he interrupted you, his words dripping with jealousy. “I came by because I wanted to talk ‘nd he was there, and I couldn’t fuckin’ bear seein’ you with him, alright?”. You’ve never heard Van angry before, yet there he was, his breath irregular and his jaw clenched. You felt your head spinning as the anger built up inside of you.

Van. Van who walked away. Van who didn’t want anything serious, yet had the nerve to get mad at you for simplytrying to move on. “Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t want to be with me, and yet you have the nerve –“

“Well, maybe I made a mistake,” he interrupted you once again, his voice low. “Maybe you’re all I’ve been thinking about. Maybe I can’t get you out of my head. Maybe I should have never walked out your door, y/n.”

You took a long, deep breath, aware of your anger more than ever. You could feel your heart racing and your blood pumping through your veins, yet instead of yelling or walking away like you wanted, you found yourself mumbling through clenched teeth, “maybe I’m over you.”

Well that’s a lie, you thought to yourself as soon as the words slipped out. Of course it was a lie. You were far from being over him – you wouldn’t have let him in otherwise, and he knew that. “Then tell me to leave,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours. “I’m serious, y/n. Tell me to leave and I’ll leave.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him to leave because you didn’t want him to. The last thing you wanted was for Van to walk out the door, leaving you alone once again. So instead you lurched forward, smashing your lips against his. He wasted no time, cupping your face with both hands as he deepened the kiss. Like a smoker indulging in the taste of nicotine, you wallowed in the taste of his tongue ravaging your mouth. You kissed until you were breathless, holding onto each other.

He pulled away, his lips pink and pupils dilated, and you pulled him back in, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his neck as he pressed you against the kitchen table. You kissed until your lips ached, sloppy and desperate, teeth gnashing together. You kissed frantically, lips pulled between teeth. Damn, you’d missed him more than you were willing to admit.

“Arms,” he mumbled against your lips. You lift your arms up and he took off your shirt, throwing it on the floor next to you. He kissed hot and wet down your neck, his hips grinding against yours. You weren’t going to argue – it’s been long enough since the last time you felt him on top, hands and lips desperate to touch every inch of bare skin they could reach. You threw your head back and whimpered as his mouth went to your breasts, eager to make up for the last time.

“Fuck, Van,” you hissed, your hands going straight to his jeans. With his mouth on your nipple and his hand between your thighs leaving you breathless, it took every bit of control you had left in you to unbutton his trousers. After all this time, Van still knew your body like the back of his hand, and if you weren’t so intoxicated by the pleasure washing over you, you would’ve probably found that impressive.

You watched his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his fingers helped you remove the clothes between the two of you. With them lost somewhere on the floor and his mouth making its way down your chest and stomach, your body vibrating in anticipation. He pressed his forehead against yours and grinned as he slid two fingers inside of you. Your breathing grew erratic as he worked his way inside of you, focusing on your sweet spot. The intensity of your eye contact enhanced the skilfulness of his fingers, and you could already feel your release building up inside of you.

“More,” you whimpered, aching for more. He knew you well enough to know exactly what you wanted, and boy, was he going to tease you with that.

“What d’you want?” he murmured, his fingers still working deep inside of you. You groaned as he pressed sloppy kisses down your jawline, your stomach turning into an avalanche. Your eyes squeezed shot and you moaned his name as he whispered, once again, “what d’you want, love?”

“You,” you breathed out, hips instinctively pushing forward. “Please, Van, just… fuck me.”

That’s it. You’d said the magic words. Withdrawing his fingers, he took a moment to look at you. With your lips pink and slightly parted, your cheeks red and strands of hair glued to your forehead, he couldn’t help but appreciating how divine you looked. “Fuck, you’re…” he breathed out and smashed his lips against yours, slowly pushing himself all the way in. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and you could feel every inch of him, every vein, every slight movement. How you could think of being with anyone else was now beyond you.

You begged him to go harder and faster until you could feel him in your stomach, which was kind of fucked but god, you loved it anyways. Then, everything happened all at once, and better than it ever did before. His hands holding down your hips as his thrusts became harder and harder. His necklace dragging across your skin, bright in the kitchen light. Sweat glistening, sloppy hot mouthed kisses and weak knees. Van’s low groans and a string of ‘fuck’s and ‘oh god’s, neck kisses and love bites you would be proud to show off the next day. Your body vibrating in ecstasy as you let go with Van’s eyes fixed on you, mesmerised by the sight of you unravelling underneath him. Van’s mouth falling open as he came, the two of you panting each other’s names until you were completely out of breath. Van, not ready to pull out just yet, enjoying the electricity of your touch and you, not ready just yet to be empty.

When he finally pulled out, you pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head. “Missed you,” he mumbled and you smiled, leaning into his touch. It was soft and intimate and real,more real than any other night you’d spent together.

“I missed you too, Van,” you whispered. “Did you mean it?”

“Mhm. I made a mistake, y/n, and seeing you with him…” he huffed and you chuckled, caressing his cheek. You didn’t need more than that – you know exactly what he wanted to say, and somehow that was enough.

The rest of the night was spent in bed, snuggling and catching up – in every sense of the word, until you finally fell asleep, his arms wrapping your naked body as he pressed his body against yours. You woke up to him caressing your back, planting soft kisses on your shoulder. His hair was messy and the bags under his eyes were prominent, but as he smiled his crooked smile, you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again.

You knew he wanted to take things slow, and you didn’t mind. Life wasn’t a fairy tale – it was complicated and risky and full of obstacles and absolutely wonderful. You had a lot to talk about and even more to figure out and you both knew it, but that could wait another day. In that moment, you were just happy the boy who wrote scruffy love songs and believed in love decided to give it another chance after all.

#Van McCann fanfic #van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #vanfic #johnny bond #Larry lau #bob hall #Benji blakeway #this is so fucking awkward for me to post but I'm also proud of it??

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storytimewithsapphire · 6 years ago

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Love is Ludicrous 004

Jimin ft. Jungkook and Taehyung || Fuckboy! Maknae Line || 3801 Words

“Jimin Park being the ultimate definition of fuckboy along with his friends Taehyung Kim and Jungkook Jeon. Upon one of his best friends getting married, he’ll have to deal with consequences also known as Y/N.”

001 002 003

;

The hustle of the crowd follows along as Hoseok and Y/N stroll through the halls complaining about the regular pains of working at such a busy hospital.

“It’s so annoying how we have to pay just to be able to do the surgery, do they think we’re made of money or something?” The sentence catches Y/N’s attention, after working so hard with the part-time modelling she was finally able to pay for med school and even then, she barely made enough.

“Money? No one told us about that”

“They give us a memo about it just before you get on the roaster, it’s like a five-thousand-dollar registration fee and you have to pay it all before your first surgery. Crazy, right?” Hoseok turns back to see nervousness grow on Y/N’s face, a face he hadn’t seen since they first started the program together a long time ago.

“Hey Y/N, are you okay?” Hoseok asks concerned at how usually quiet Y/N had gotten. The question causes Y/N to snap out of her thoughts and catch up to Hoseok.

“Yeah, I’m fine Hoseok. I just remembered I have to make an important phone call. We’ll catch up in the break room at eleven okay?” Hoseok nods at Y/N before she scurries off to a secluded part of the hospital, away from all the gossiping nurses and judgmental doctors.

The phone rings a couple times, longer than it usual.

“Hey Yoongi, how are you?” “Hey Y/N, I’m good and you?” “I’m good too, I wanted to ask about that Italian photo shoot… Is it still on?” “Yes, it is actually. My latest model cancelled on me when she found out the shoot involved moving vehicles. I wish you would just agree on doing it so I wouldn’t have to find another replacement” “How about I fulfil that wish then?” “Seriously? That’s perfect, I’ve got so many shoots going on this weekend and I don’t want anything but the best for my favourite shoot” “So when should I be there?”

;

Y/N passes by many others struggling to find their seats just as she tries to find hers in the crowded plane.

She passes by another air hostess guiding the business class to their seats until she finally arrives upon her own, seat C2.

It wasn’t until she pulls down her boarding card that she realises who her fellow passenger actually was.

“You? What the hell are you doing here?” Y/N exclaims, other passengers around them noticing her outburst.

Jimin looks up at her with a scowl for causing unnecessary attention towards them.

“Yes, it’s me, what do you want?” Jimin whispers, anger threatening his tone, “Show me your boarding card” Y/N exclaims, Jimin complies by passing her the tucked away boarding pass only for it to be chucked back at him. As if his patience wasn’t already growing thin with this Y/N girl.

Y/N searches around the area spotting an air hostess approaching her rushing her questions of moving to answer seat at her with little to no answers, “Please Miss, the flight is about to take off. I request that you take your seat”.

Frowning, Y/N takes a seat next to the smirking man leaning as far away from him as she could. She watches from the corner of her eye as Jimin leans back in his seat with his eyes closed yet the smirk remains, he begins to lean towards Y/N letting in deeps breaths as if he’s trying to locate something by scent. It wasn’t until Y/N felt the heat radiating off Jimin that she realised that he was leaning in towards her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N questioned him as she took his features while his eyes remain closed, from his sharp jawline to the plumpness of his lips, even Y/N knows that it should be illegal to be that good looking.

“It’s a real shame baby. If you weren’t such a bitch I’d actually consider having a fuck buddy. Even your damn scent is sexy as hell” Y/N could only focus on the way his lips moved as he spoke but she was quick to blame the space, more so lack of, between the two.

“And what makes you think I’d ever fuck a dog like you?” Y/N countered as she finally made eye contact with Jimin, each gazing one another with such intensity. Jimin saw his opportunity to snake a hand down to the underside of one of Y/N’s thighs, the cold rings causing Y/N to shiver upon contact.

“If you want me to be as dirty as a dog then all you had to do was ask” He whispered squeezing and kneading the flesh between his figures. From the way Y/N breath is caught in her throat just like it was at the altar, Jimin knew he had her exactly where he wanted her.

The expression on Y/N face was quickly replaced by a smirk as she reached for the bulge forming in Jimin’s seamlessly fitting jeans giving it a sharp squeeze, “Well two can play at that game”

As Jimin’s hand reached further up the edge of Y/N’s dress, Y/N continued her simulation towards the hardening bulge, both trying to suppress any noise that may draw attention to them as well as given the other the satisfaction of gaining any sort of pleasure.

Just as Jimin’s hand reaches the hemline of her underwear, Y/N pulled away from the front of Jimin’s jeans causing him to chuckle to himself relaxing back into the seat of the plane.

Y/N 0, Jimin 1

;

As soon as the plane stabilises itself after lift-off, Y/N glares at the seat belt sign above them to turn off. Jimin notices her antics as he smiles to himself knowing he was the reason she was acting this way.

Y/N unclicks her belts and storms out of her seat just as the light for the seat belt is switched off. She wonders towards the centre where the economic seats are divided from the business class seats.

As she left, Jimin calls over the air hostess that had previously talked to Y/N. The bullshit he makes over the seat having a draft had him relocating to another given to him by the kind but slightly irritated flight attendant.

;

A hand brushing through a mop of obnoxiously bright red hair draws her attention away from her initial plans. The mop of red hair Y/N now knows as Taehyung was caught in the middle of having his hand shoved between the legs of one of the girls that had a small modelling part in Yoongi’s shoot.

‘Oh, how will men survive without sex’ She thought as she ignored the absurd scene in front of them and continued her plans.

“Hello Miss, how can I help you?” The flight attended asked, she seemed a lot nicer than the previous one she had spoken to. “Yes, I would like to change my seat, are there any other seats available?” She questioned and, in her mind, prayed that there are other seats availed so she wouldn’t have to sit next to that overly cocky, sleazy-ball of a man.

“Yes, there is, seats D to F are available in row 1, it’s just ahead of your original seat Miss Y/N” Y/N didn’t question how or why the flight attendant she had just met knew her name already, she was just happy to be away from Jimin.

Upon arriving at her new seat, she checks behind to her previous seat to see if Jimin still occupied it but due to the other passengers, and for being short, she couldn’t see past them.

Like the air hostess had said, row 1 was practically empty except for the window seat where a man had the blanket covering him from head to toe. His peaceful slumber against the window had Y/N lulling off to dreamland herself and before she knew it, she was cuddled up to the man sleeping against a window.

;

Jimin’s initial plan of pissing her off had come to a halt as he stared at the harmless face snuggled into his left arm.

He takes less than a moment to remember that this was indeed the bitch that sabotaged Jungkook’s marriage and dings the bell repeatedly until the flight attendant shows up, the same one that had irritably changed his seat.

“Can you please tell her to get off me, please?” Jimin grunts as he tries to put on the fakest grin he’s ever had.

The flight attendant shakes Y/N slightly before explaining that she was disturbing her fellow passenger. Y/N apologises to the flight attendant letting her walk away before turning to apologise to the man she fell asleep on until she realises that it was that it was Jimin all over again.

“You? Why are you here?” she exaggerated by pointing to the seat he was, Jimin rolls his eyes as the answer to her question which enrages her even further.

“When will you stop following me goddamn it” She exclaims, the heads of other passengers turning to the ruckus.

Just to spite Y/N, Jimin claims over his seat so he would look down at her directly when he spoke. “I am not following you. Now you are going to shut the fuck up, sit your pretty little ass in that seat and wait for this flight to be over. Understood?”

The tension in the air was thick but knowing she could handle any more embarrassment than she had already faced with Jimin, Y/N nodded at him just to get him back in his seat before muttering ‘fuckboy’ into the air.

Wanting to forget the events that had just occurred Y/N pulled out her phone to check the details for the shoot but not before hearing ‘bitch’ muttered into the air as both sat visibly annoyed in their seats waiting for this flight to be over.

;

Italy is a very beautiful place, Jimin and Taehyung knew that but why did there have to be so many photo shoots held one after the other? When would they get have some real fun around the area?

Jimin knew his dance apparel shoot wasn’t until 4pm but he needed to see all the models that he, may or may not, be working with for well ‘work’ purposes.

Jimin approaches Taehyung already clothed in the Gucci outfit he was supposed to model for the brand. Taehyung noticed Jimin and runs to the older boy shouting random questions that Jimin couldn’t understand a word of.

“Tae, slow down. What’re you so panicked for?” Jimin askes to which Taehyung takes deep breaths before answering.

“So, you know how hyung has a lot of models coming in for a lot of shoots? Well, this particular model doesn’t know how to be organized and showed up late so now he’s getting ready when they need to do his tracking shot with the other model and I’m already dressed for my shoot so in other words. Can you do the tracking shot for hyung?” Taehyung bursts as he moves around his arms to emphasise his words.

“Okay fine I’ll do it, where are the clothes?” Jimin agrees as Tae bounces around before dragging him in the direction of the dressing rooms.

;

“Okay so while we wait for both of the models, let’s get you to run through the shoot once by yourself” Jimin fixes his hair in the small mirror of the motorcycle while someone worked on the placement of his leather jacket.

Jimin starts the bike as told by the instructor and gets into the first position shot. He found it hard to believe that a shoot promoting clothing had to include such challenging aspects, for example, riding a fucking motorcycle which he’s only done a few times in his life.

The first run through went well but the male model Jimin had been covering for still wasn’t ready. The instructor came back and to explain how the bike would now be controlled by the tracks since they know the positioning of the vehicle now but also because he had to do another practice shot but this time with the female model.

If Jimin thought riding a motorcycle on its own was difficult, he didn’t know what severity it would be when the female model came in. Somehow, he had to pose a few times with the model behind him and then somewhere during the ride he needed to bring the model in between himself and the handles of the bike. He was just glad he wasn’t controlling the bike anymore.

Just as the stylist finished doing touch-ups on Jimin, he noticed a familiar head of her and bitch like face walk towards him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Y/N yells at Jimin, glaring as she sizes him up and down though if she had to be honest, Jimin looks damn good in a leather jacket.

“I’m helping out a friend, wait I should be asking you that. What the hell are you doing here?” Jimin yells back getting off the bike. “I’m the fucking model for this shoot that’s what and I know for sure that your shrimp ass isn’t the model I’m supposed to be working with” Y/N retaliates.

Before Jimin could get another word, he felt himself getting dragged away only to see Taehyung when he was as far away from Y/N as possible.

“Look Y/N, Namjoon came in late and we needed to get the tracking shots done before the real shoot, so Taehyung had Jimin step in for the time being since his shoot isn’t until 4pm” Yoongi explains to a furious Y/N, if it wasn’t for how much she needs the money, Y/N would have walked her way back to LA already.

“Do I have to go through the whole shoot with him? I despise him enough for being in the same area as me, I don’t know how I’ll react if I have to sit that close to him” Y/N retorts hoping that Yoongi will delay it instead, but luck doesn’t seem to be on her side today.

“Come on Y/N, we’re running late already” Yoongi sighs shoving her in the direction of the motorbike, she could see from the corner of her eye that Jimin was being pushed towards her by Taehyung himself.

Both reluctantly get on the bike as Y/N waits for Yoongi to come back with more information about the shoot.

“So even if this is a tracking shot, I still need to see the raw emotion and feelings that are going to be in the final photo shoot. Make sure to make this kiss look as passionate as possible since this shoot needs to promote pure love” Yoongi finishes speaking as Jimin’s eyes look as if they were about to pop out of his skull.

“Wait kiss? What kiss?” Jimin stutters as Y/N rolls her eyes at him, it’s not like he hasn’t kissed her before.

“Yes Jimin, kiss. Now guys remember, feel the love” Yoongi ends passionately before heading back to his position for taking the pictures. This is the most enthusiastic they’ve seen Yoongi for a long time.

“It’s just a stupid kiss, get over it Jimin” Y/N voices clearly irritated as she tries to shift herself as far back on the bike as she can but the little space, and her skin-tight dress, doesn’t allow much movement.

“I’m not worried about the stupid kiss, but you should hold tight princess unless you have plans to die in the middle of this” Y/N could practically see his smirk from the back of his head as she wraps her arms around his surprisingly small waist. ‘Great, even the guy I hate has better body curves than me’ she thinks.

As the shoot begins, Y/N follows her simple guide as to where she needed to look for the pictures that were being taken, she soon stands up behind Jimin letting the breeze of the air brush her hair back.

Knowing what comes next, Jimin wraps one hand around Y/N’s waist before pulling her forward as the other remains on the other handle. Despite her pure hatred towards the man in front of her, Y/N leans forward to have their foreheads touch, a simple gesture that looks as passionate as Yoongi had told them to be.

The eye contact the two hold with each other looks as if it was purely lustful. Tilting forward a bit more, Y/N places a delicate open-mouthed kiss on Jimin’s lips before using her teeth to pull at his plump lower lip. Jimin could feel the heat rising on the back of his neck before he dips in for another kiss. He had to make it look real, at least that’s what he keeps reminding himself.

The bike comes to a halt making the two separate from each other, both holding a gaze full of fieriness. Yoongi approaches the two who remain in their positions unable to detach themselves until they hear Yoongi’s voice.

“Jimin you did an excellent job, I can’t thank you enough for helping me” Yoongi praises Jimin as he proceeds to get off the bike and hold out his hand to help Y/N get off.

His smug expression, however, is wiped off when he notices Y/N taking the hand of the actual model he was filling in for, a tall, handsome, tall, broad, tall, blond. Did Jimin mention he was tall?

Jimin watches with annoyance as this so-called model takes the back of Y/N’s hand before placing a kiss to it, the sight of it makes Jimin want to puke.

“Ah Namjoon, you’re finally fucking ready” Yoongi curses as Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, some stylists slapping his hand away as he manages to mess up a couple of strands in the back. ‘Amateur’Jimin thinks rolling his eyes.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon, thanks for filling in for me, hope it wasn’t too much of a trouble” Namjoon smiles towards Jimin to which he only replies with the fakest smile possible, biting his tongue to avoid any curses slipping by.

“Okay let’s get you on the bike Joon. Since you’re much taller than Jimin we have to adjust the cameras and lights to your height now” Yoongi pushes Namjoon towards the bike before helping Y/N get on as Jimin sulks watching the whole thing.

“Oh my Namjoon, you’re so tall. Guess height really does matter” Y/N smirks instantly griping on to Namjoon’s waist watching as Jimin’s sulk morphs into anger before he is shooed away by the rest of the camera crew.

Y/N 1, Jimin 1

;

Y/N twists her neck around hoping to hear a few clicks to relax the over-stressing muscle and bones around her neck but alas, nothing.

She had enough up-front cash from Yoongi’s shoot to pay for her flight back and half of her upcoming surgery fee but Yoongi had already assured her that she’ll get her final payment when she’s back home.

Imagining the feeling of being back in her own home, in her own bed seemed like a fantasy but that’s all Y/N could wish for right now. Instead, she’s subjected to the ear-splitting noises of strangers talking and children yelling at the airport.

Focusing her eyes on the environment around her, she notices a familiar head of red hair and, of course, along beside it would be a perfectly shaped blond head of hair too. The girl the blond had his arm around whispers something to him before making her way through the crowd and to the bathroom.

It probably wasn’t a good thing that Y/N wanted to get one ahead of Jimin after the whole flight to Italy incident she had to deal with but when did anyone say she was a good person?

Making her way towards the bathroom, she looks over hoping the two males didn’t spot her, but it would be hard to anyway considering the sea of people who decided to fly overseas from Venice.

Arriving inside the decently decorated bathroom, she pretends to fix her hair while waiting for the girl to come out of the stalls.

The brunette finally makes her appearance to wash her hands while Y/N smirks at her revenge plan towards Jimin is heading into action.

“Any reason you’re staring at me?” The brunette questions, Y/N sighs with her limited but very believable acting. She didn’t take those drama classes in college for nothing.

“It’s just, I saw you and thought it must be very brave of you to stay with a man like Jimin” Y/N leans forward placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder as if for sympathy.

“What the hell are you talking about? How do you even know him” She questions and all Y/N can think is, good fucking luck Park Jimin.

“Oh, that’s too long of a story but to tell you the truth, he hooked up with my best friend and me behind our backs and got us pregnant on purpose. He kept saying that he’d pull out, but he never did, and I know you wouldn’t be as stupid as me to not check if he’s wearing a condom or not but that little shit always took it off before he came. He has this stupid bet going with his friend, the red-haired one, Taehyung, to get as many girls pregnant as possible and I’m pretty sure he’s going to do the same with you”

The fake tears that fell from Y/N’s eyes really seem to have made the girl believe her but she needs something else to seal the deal.

“I’m sorry I told you this but I’m just looking out for you, he’s ruined my whole modelling career without a care in the world and I just wouldn’t want you to suffer the same fate as me”

Unexpectantly, the brunette pulls Y/N for a hug as she rubs her back for comfort. Checkmate.

Leaving you in the bathroom, she storms out heading towards a very oblivious Park Jimin.

Hurrying after her, Y/N only seems to catch the end of the brunette’s fury as she sees Jimin holding the cheek she had just slapped before she sees him laying on the floor clutching his balls, and little dignity, for dear life.

Taehyung seems to finally notice his friend in a shit ton of pain and rushes towards a very confused Jimin before lifting him up. Although Jimin’s confusion quickly went away when noticing a very happy Y/N winking towards him before strolling past them.

“Why were you on the floor Jimin? And why are you limping like that?” An absentminded Taehyung asks. In his pissed off state, Jimin only manages to knee Taehyung dick just as the girl did his.

Y/N 2, Jimin 1

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amplesalty · 5 years ago

Text

Independence Day: Resurgence (2016)

We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on!

In honour of the fact that yesterday was July the 4th, it felt appropriate to finally check out the sequel to the 1996 classic Independence Day. Not that I should really be honouring it considering my side lost in that particular exchange. Plus, as K-Pop stans on Twitter taught us: #allcountriesmatter

I remember thinking it was a bit strange that it took 20 years to get a sequel. I mean, the original was one of the highest grossing movies of the 1990’s (and still within the top 100 of all time) and featured the iconic image of the White House being blown to smithereens. There was a massive marketing push at the time with that scene featuring heavily and the nickname ‘ID4’ seemed to be everywhere. And whilst not exactly in line with the contents of those movies, its scenes of mass destruction helped continue the ongoing disaster movie trends and helped it kick on into the late 90’s and early 00’s with the likes of Twister, Dante’s Peak, Armageddon, Deep Impact and The Day After Tomorrow.

Of course the most notable part of that first movie is President Whitmore’s stirring speech that is rivalled perhaps only by the words of Colonel William F. Guile in Street Fighter as the most inspirational speeches in cinematic history. Even Gilbert Gottfried felt compelled to give his own reading to this glorious battle-cry.

The sequel leans quite heavily into this speech, with Whitmore’s words echoing out across the galaxy and being picked up by what seem to be brethren of the original attack force from 96, giving rise to the new invaders.

But Earth isn’t going to be a pushover this time around, we’ve been able to meld the alien technology from that first wave with our own, developing plasma weapons and even establishing a moon base with a giant frickin’ laser beam. It’s cool to see that technological leap and how humanity was able to learn from that event in a materialistic way. Plus, it provides a nice contrast later on in the film when the aliens wipe out all satellite communication and people are forced to go back to the old ways of radar and radio waves. There’s something amusing about people literally dusting off an old piece of equipment they found in a cupboard and it helps save the day.

If revisiting the speech wasn’t fan service enough, the movie really starts to wallow in it as it starts trotting out all the old faces, even if that’s only a painting in Will Smith’s case. Apparently he wanted too much money to sign on so his character was killed offscreen in a test flight back in the year 2007. Still, it’s high praise to have his picture hanging on the walls of the White House alongside Washington, Jefferson etc. We still get an ace pilot named Hiller though in the form of his son, whose old friend Patricia Whitmore, the former president’s daughter, is working in the White House. Her fiancé is out in space and has a bit of a rivalry with Hiller. I spent the whole movie thinking the actress who plays Patricia looked really familiar and it turns out she’s the girl from It Follows. These characters are a bit underdeveloped and it feels like they just drafted them up last minute as a replacement when they realised they couldn’t get Smith to come back, only apparently they knew for years that he wasn’t going to be involved so chalk it up to incompetency I guess.

As happily coincidental as it seems to have them just happen to have grown up and filled these crucial roles, it does save us from further movie padding from having to break off the story to go find out what happened to them. Like, there’s a good portion of the movie dedicated to Julius Levinson (Jeff Goldblum’s dad in the original) miraciously surviving the initial wave of this 2016 attack before meeting up with a bunch of kids that just spring up out of nowhere and their grand adventure to get to the safety of Area 51. Only, they still end up in danger when they get there and we have this whole scene of David trying to save them whilst also trying to co-ordinate the big fightback at the end of the movie. It just feels like these kids were inserted as a means of providing some sort of connection with the adults in the audience, as if they can’t sympathise with the fate of the entire planet so they have to give them a bunch of primary school kids to worry about instead.

Even Dr. Okun is back, seemingly from the dead! And he seems to have been Dumbledore’d because apparently he was gay this entire time? I don’t remember that from the first movie. I can only imagine the proverbial angry fist waving going on at the time of the release when the internet found out about this; ‘They’re ruining my childhood with this SJW bullshit!’. Being in a coma for 20 years doesn’t seem to be the hinderance you might think it would be because he’s up and about within minutes, running around marvelling at how the world has progressed and barking orders at people. Kinda lose a bit of your dignity in that when you’re still in your hospital gown with your arse hanging out mind you.

He does have a bit of a lasting effect from his close encounter from the first movie, remnants of the psychic connection to the aliens that is also lingering in President Whitmore and a new character, Dikembe Umbutu who is a African warlord who has been leading a groundfight with his troops against an outlier set of aliens who were able to land and survive the 96 invasion. There seems to be a bit of a wider ID4 canon through various novel releases so I wonder if any of those cover this African war, that might be interesting. I thought this whole psychic connection story might be going somewhere, like maybe the aliens might be able to control those individuals when they do invade and they might use it to sabotage some of Earth’s defences but no. Even President Whitmore starts out portrayed like he’s gone a bit crazy and that he’s barely able to function at times but he heals up pretty quick.

Either that or maybe the US General is in cahoots with the aliens somehow? I mean, he does end up being sworn in as acting President when the current President is killed along with her line of succession so he has benefited from it personally. I probably wouldn’t have had any thoughts like that though if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s William Fichtner playing him and he’s just a perennial bad guy.

That Umbutu guy is pretty badass though, runs around with a pair of big knives that he goes into close quarter combat with, cutting the aliens out of their suits and then chopping their heads off. Which ties in to an aspect of the movie that I liked, there’s much more hands on combat between the humans and the aliens in this movie. The first one obviously had a big focus on aerial combat, which is largely present here as well, but there’s a lot of ground combat as well which freshen things up a bit. There’s a section where the air troops are sent to attack the mothership and end up inside it, only for it’s defense mechanisms to ground them. It has this jungle/marshland vibe to it, like they have this whole habitable land with crops and stuff within the ship, and it leads to this section where a couple of the pilots are hiding beneath the water, sneaking around to avoid detection.

On the other hand though, I didn’t feel anywhere near the impeding level of threat of the first movie. The story is that the aliens are drilling into the Earth in order to harvest it’s molten core in order to fuel their systems before moving on to the next world, kinda like Galactus I think? Whilst this would lead to the destruction of the entire planet, it just felt more threatening when they had their ships stationed over all the major cities of the world. Plus, it feels like they’re more content on their drilling operation than actually engaging in any fights with humanity which leads to a lot of scenes where people are just standing around not really doing anything. It seems at odds with the introduction to the movie as well where the initial attackers distress beacon is sent out, that would imply they’re calling for reinforcements but now it just seems like they were just going to come and steal our shit anyway? Or maybe they just consider us vastly inferior that it’s not even worth the effort. Pretty dismissive considering we wrecked you last time out.

That’s not to discount some of the special effects on show, the movie is bookended by big action scenes that are a particular highlight. The invading mothership is said to be so big that it has it’s own gravitation field leads to a really cool visual of our heroes trying to navigate their ship through a skyline littered with buildings, cargo ships and jumbo jets.

The finale with the alien Queen attacking Area 51 is really cool as well. You’ve got this massive alien rampaging through the desert, controlling all the alien fighters around her like a swarm. I think all the sheer size and all the tentacles lend it a bit of a Cthulu vibe.

Absolutely massive amount of sequel baiting at the very end though which doesn’t look like it will ever be fulfilled. It did take us 20 years to get this one but they seem to have had ideas to make a trilogy of sequels in fairly quick succession but the critical and financial failures of this one means it’s looking kinda dead in the water at this point. It still grossed some $390m against a production budget of $165m but you’ve probably gotta factor in a fairly sizable marketing budget that will really eat into that margin.

It’s a bit of a shame, I would have been interested in the series continuing as I personally found this enjoyable in spite of some the issues I have with it’s run time, bloated cast list and inadequate replacements for the charm and energy that Will Smith brought to the original. Trim off some of the fat and it would have made things a lot smoother. Did we really need to know what Mrs Hiller was up to 20 years on? I think just about the only character we didn’t revisit from that movie was their dog. I guess Boomer will not live.

#Independence Day #Independence Day: Resurgance

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otheatreopenproject · 6 years ago

Text

Open Project: Stage 2# of Text, Energy scoring and Critical Thoughts - Evening of 03/12/2018

This session began with Dawid, Gabrielle and Delya discussing what they felt the show was doing and what it was becoming about at that point in time.

It then followed with the three company members, relaying this discussion to Dannielle and her contributing with her own opinions on the subject.

The company had organised a workshopping of their current drafts of the texts. In it they were switching the ‘first person’ style of language to the third person and cutting out bits that no longer fit within the sections, being too long.

Whilst these new drafts of the texts were being developed, the group were discussing ideas involving how the dynamic onstage would shift with the change in the number of performers within the canvas (on the floor) or speaking on the black frame around this canvas. This black frame also has the potential to be read as the representation of the liminal space between the audience and the performers – or the visual representation of the tension between theatre’s fictitious connotations and the association of a gallery as a place of authority and truth.

A scoring of the energy present within the piece:

In addition to the brief description of this rehearsal, the company have discovered the following things about the piece:

• This piece has involved a process of learning what has been done in the past within theatre and art in order to better foresee the future.

• If they are taking full inspiration or stimuli from already made work, already established artists, this may be implying that everything has been said before. Though this does not mean that everything has been made before. Part of this includes gathering words that have been spoken before and making their own sentences.

• The group wish to bring out other aspects of the artist’s lives within the texts. For example, with Keith Haring, finding a way of bringing out the fact that his legacy wasn’t just his art but also his activism.

• The group are exploring colour and topography. They plan to also explore viewpoints in more depth within another rehearsal.

• What they have observed about the artists that they have chosen are that:

- The art happened to be extremely male dominated, though this is interesting as the performers are made up largely of women.

- That the artists all say the similar or at times, the same things in one way or another – even if their lives were vastly different.

- That all of the company’s chosen artists have either lived through extreme misfortune and poverty or extreme richness and luxury – there is no middle ground, it always appears to be polar opposites. Is this simply as the artists’ life stories have been taken out of their hands and dramatised by strangers? Couldn’t it be said that this is what the company is doing now? The company acknowledge this and wish for this to be one of things that they interrogate within the work on a larger scale.

- As this is also a process of the company teaching themselves of the past in order to understand what has been done and bring the old into the new – the group will be working towards ending up with an archive for a series of pieces beyond this initial project

Questions asked were:

- Why specifically those eight artists?

- What makes them more special than all of the others?

- Why are they all men? They group wishes to avoid it appearing as if it is just men’s legacies that they want to carry on. How can this be interrogated?

Here is the Stage 2# of our narration text:

Keith Haring Text Stage 2#

Have you ever heard of a dynamic man who painted dynamic figures with dynamic lines of thick, black paint?

Do you know the name of the man whose activism shone brighter than the prints he handed out on the streets of New York City?

Are you even aware of who he was?

Or were his actions simply not impressive enough to catch the eyes of a generation like yours?

What would grab your attention?

Do crack epidemics rail to plague your streets?

Are international acts of racism and greed not entirely on your list of important problems?

Then perhaps he is not for you.

His depictions of love and respect would only dissatisfy your taste for injustice.

For some of you, the thought of diversity could rarely cross your minds and it would not bother you.

You are aware of its importance, but what would you get out of it?

Maybe some of you should remain within your boarders, happily ignorant of the world and its deterioration, what’s it got to do with you anyway?

It is possible that very few of you could step away from your herds and think beyond your boarders.

Step outside and act with a cause.

Not all of you would do it, not without your comforts, but some of you could, or, you could remember the man who refused to walk away from the concerns that few others shared for the world.

The inequalities and atrocities that some of you would ignore, only until your comforts are revoked.

- Delya Joubert

Claude Monet Text Stage 2#

This could be a fairylike place. You do not know where to poke your head. Everything is superb and you would like to do everything. So you squander up lots of colour. So much colour, of every kind, for there are trials to be made. Thus, he travelled to Monte Carlo. Where the grand lines of mountain and sea are admirable. So beautiful. And apart from the exotic vegetation that is there, Monte Carlo is certainly the most beautiful spot on the entire coast. The motifs there are… more complete. More picture like. And consequently, easier to execute. After visiting the French Riviera, he returned home, to Paris. The cursed city of Paris. Where colour becomes a day long obsession. Joy. And torment. Where he found himself looking at his beloved wives dead face, and systematically noting the colours according to an automatic reflex. It could be grey. Blue, black and grey. You could try and understand his art, but people discuss art as if it is necessary to understand. When it is simply necessary to love Like the fallen petals that gather on the surface of a pond, a wish is to build something for the pleasure of the eye and also for the motifs to paint. So he bought some land in Giverny. With a pond. It could be water. Beautiful, blue water. You could be following nature, but you will never be able to grasp her. As he does, you could owe this picture to flowers. Beautiful flowers. Beautiful nature. My wish is to always stay like this. This could be you. Living quietly in a corner of nature.

- Dannielle Woodward

Vincent Van Gogh Text Stage 2#

Imagine a soul that sees much, does much, and hurts many. Even the knowledge of his own fallibility cannot keep him from making mistakes. Only when he falls, does he get up again. Even the fisherman, like him, knowing that the sea is dangerous, cannot stay to shore. Imagine that he is still far from being what he wants to be, but with gods help, he may succeed. The emotion buried inside us are the great captains of our lives, and we obey them without realising it. And what would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything, and live in fear? We all must keep our love of nature, for that is the true way to understand art more and more. And thus, he puts his heart and soul into his work, wears it on his sleeve, and has lost his mind in the process. His paintings have a life of their own that derive from his soul. His delicate, fragile soul. He believes that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people, as a good picture is equivalent to a good deed. Yet both are subjective. Some days, you may hear a voice in you say, ‘you cannot paint’, then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced, as painting is a faith, and it imposes the duty, to disregard the public opinion.

And thus, you might dream of painting, and then you may paint your dreams. You may experience of frightening clarity in those moments when nature is so beautiful. You may no longer be sure of yourself, and the painting may appear as in a dream. In spite of everything, you should take up your pencil, which has been forsaken in this great discouragement, and you may go on with your drawing. Imagine closing your eyes. Imagine catching the cold nights breath. And dream.

I confess, I do not know why, but looking at the stars always makes me dream. And you may not know anything with any certainty, buts laws may suppress you to dream whenever the stars dance in the night sky. You may seem to think that the night is more alive and more richly coloured than the day. And if you truly love nature, you should find beauty everywhere. Yet you will find that there is no blue, without yellow, and without orange.

- Dawid Wiczynski

Gustav Klimt Text Stage 2#

There seems to be nothing special when looking at him. No real attention to detail. No real polish to it. No refined edges. You begin see marks of tiredness and dust on his face. The cracks open his cheeks and his skin falls onto his paintings. Dust and Gold. True relaxation, which would do him a world of good, seems nonexistent to him. However, if the weather is good, he goes into the nearby wood. There, he will paint a small beech forest with the golden sun falling from the sky. There, he paints until the sun is no longer with him, and he returns home.

If you wish to know anything about him, you should look attentively at his pictures and there, you should seek to recognise who he is and what he wants. However, you will find that there is no self-portrait of him. Some may believe that all art is erotic, and he is not art. Art can be a line around your thoughts, a grasp around your tongue. Imagine dust gathering over days and nights, and he does nothing.

Place him inside his house. Imagine the four walls. On his very first day, he did not start working straight away, but as planned, he took it easy for a few days, flicked through a few books maybe, studied Japanese art a little. And it seems that now when he has to write a simple letter, he is scared stiff, as if faced with looming seasickness. And after tea, he would return to his painting. He seems to do nothing, yet he does so much, it just seems like nothing. Imagine a painter who paints day in day out, from morning till evening – figure pictures and landscapes, more rarely portraits. He seems to believe that he can paint and draw, and others seem to believe this too. But he seems uncertain of whether this is true?

- Dawid Wiczynski

Eugène Delacroix Text Stage 2#

Is this heroic, or distasteful? Criticism, like so many other things, risks keeping to what has been said before and not getting out of the rut. There has been a certain amount of fuss surrounding the 'Beautiful'. Some see it in curved lines, some in straight lines, but all persist in seeing it as a matter of line. Although, he would look out of his window and see the most lovely countryside; lines just did not come into his head. The lark is singing, the river sparkles with a thousand diamonds, the leaves are whispering; where, he should like to know, are the lines that produce delicious impressions like these? They refuse to see proportion or harmony except between two lines: all else they regard as chaos, and the dividers alone are judge.

For, weaknesses in men of genius, he believes, are usually an exaggeration of their personal feeling, which in the hands of feeble imitators become the most flagrant blunders. Entire wars have been fostered through these blatant misinterpretations. Entire schools have been founded on misinterpretations of certain aspects of the masters. Lamentable mistakes have resulted from the thoughtless enthusiasm with which men have sought inspiration from the worst qualities of remarkable artists because they are unable to reproduce the sublime elements in their work.

He longed to live austerely, as Plato did...he needed to try to live a more solitary life.... as he was convinced that the things which he would experience for himself on his own would be stronger by far...

How infinitely happy, he thought, is the man who reflects nature like a mirror without being aware of it, who does the thing for love of it and not from any pretensions to take first place.

He always thought that he should desiring or hoping for something. He believed that when one can hope for that which one desires, one enjoys the greatest happiness of which our thinking apparatus is capable. He knew that to obtain what one has been desiring is the first step to the depths of sadness and even pain, from which one can never emerge.

- Gabrielle Benna

Giovanni Bragolin Text Stage 2#

*No Text*

- Dannielle Woodward

Pablo Picasso Text Stage 2#

A lot has been conjured up about him and his art in his absence, his absence must be acknowledged. His artwork has been called obscene, pornographic, incomprehensible compared to his earlier works. Others have attributed this lack of coherence to a result of loneliness, depression, war, superstition, his love of women. Though the insistence on finding a meaning in everything and everyone might be the trouble. He himself, deemed it the disease of our age; an age that is anything but, believes itself to be more practical than anything else.

For, how can we expect to behold or experience his picture as he experienced it? A picture comes to mind a long time beforehand; who knows how long beforehand. He sensed, he saw, and painted it and yet the next day even he claimed not to understand what he had done.

To penetrate his dreams, his instincts, desires or thoughts, which have taken a long time themselves to come to the surface – above all to grasp what he put there, perhaps involuntarily, is irrational.

The artist is a receptacle for emotions derived from anywhere: from the sky, from the earth, from a piece of paper, from a passing figure, from a spider’s web. We are tangled in a spider’s web. This is why one must not make distinctions between things. For the artist, there must be no aristocratic quartering. He must take things where he finds them.

He assures us that Art is not truth. It is but a lie that makes us realise truth. Art washes away the dust of everyday life. Art is not chaste, it is dangerous. Where it is chaste, for him, it is not art. When he paints, his object is to show what he has found rather than what he is looking for.

- Gabrielle Benna

Jackson Pollock Text Stage 2#

It’s the paint

It’s the liquid paint

That’s dripping in his ears.

Cuts of colour across his vision.

The painting isn’t finished,

It does what it wants,

Not what he wants,

But what he wants is to paint

He is painting.

He took a change that was controlled by paint.

He was not done, it was not complete.

The painting needed more!

It needed less!

A masterpiece!

A disgusting mess of a painting…

Magnificent.

Such a tortured soul, no wonder he was such a brilliant artist!

When he paints

When he is painting

He lets it in

The painting

It has a life of its own

He does not control

He is not in control

He has no control

He is a painter

Yet he does not paint

The painting paints itself

So many artists fear the smallest change

He had no fear

No fear of change

No fear of destruction

He does not fear destroying the image

The painting has a life of its own

The painting creates itself

He makes no mistakes

He makes no errors

He is not aware of what he is doing when he paints

But the painting knows what it wants him to do.

The painting does not come from his easel

None of those artist’s tools

The painting

It doesn’t need them.

It has him.

He does not need tools.

Not to create

Not to paint

You starving artists know a thing or two about control

How you crave it

How you’ve lost it

Your hands got carried away from your thoughts.

It may be strange

This idea

This modern world

This modern art

But the strangeness will wear off

And we will discover the deeper meaning.

The deeper meaning will swallow me

The painting will use it

He will let it come through

That deeper meaning

He must find it,

Over, and over again

And again

This deeper meaning

He would let it use me

He shall be its pallet

His blood its paint

His fingers its brush

A vessel for art itself.

Every painter paints what he is

He is a painter

He is a painting

A vessel

A tool

He is a tool of creation.

Creation left him drained

Don’t be a fool

She will drain you of your logic

Until there is nothing left to drip from his ears

He regained control

Yet he refused to accept it

Watering down his command with spirits,

Waiting for the trees branches to spread him like paint across a broken windscreen.

- Delya Joubert

--------- end of text

Gabrielle read a short section of Delya’s second draft of text for Keith Haring, to see how the dynamic changed when it was read this time around.

Dannielle thinks that the way the Haring text is read, it comes across as a riddle.

Dawid likes that it directly addresses the audience. It makes him think a painting that follows you around the room. It will be as if the speaker stood on the black frame talking, becomes that painting following the audience with their eyes.

Dannielle suggested that to experiment with some of the sections different, they could try using two different painters in one section and see how it alters the piece.

The company then discussed which parts of the set they already have, what they still need to get and how they were planning to make it.

They will be making the soundscapes as soon as possible – from Tuesday onward.

They then discussed the schedule for final dress rehearsals and the times in which they could present their progress to the supervisor.

Plans for the next session are to:

Organise an eight-hour session on Anne Bogart’s Viewpoints.

Speak with their supervisor and show him some adaptations of the text that they have already been working on.

Discuss ideas and make preparations for the creation of the soundscapes and edit the texts, ready to explore onstage with them.

Company members present in the rehearsal:

Gabrielle Benna

Delya Joubert

Dawid Wiczynski

Dannielle Woodward

- Gabrielle Benna

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a-writing-bear · 7 years ago

Text

[PruCan] Chapter 3: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/24905436

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.)

“…..Hey! I should hire you to be my animator!”

Gilbert had gushed out the words as If the suggestion held no consequences. It wasn’t easy to agree to accept a role with little to none reward on top of the already exorbitant piles of coursework which tormented any student…that and the pure fact animation took lots of time- time that some would say they did not own or could not conceivably plan out to section off their talents. Art was supposed to be fun, rewarding, fulfilling. It was always an escape for Matthew and to even consider using any free time (something he did not really have nowadays) on projects that weren’t collectively his own sounded like a plunge into self-afflicted failure.

The last time he dabbled in a project that took over his free time, it was a family chore; almost everything involving Alfred felt like a chore. He had been strapped into the position of creating a concept image for another one of that horrible engineering thingy-ma-bobs Alfred designed. No pay and definitely no reward unless you regard crushing hugs and endless “I knew you could do it bro!” as a deserved gift. It was gruelling. It was work, not exactly ‘art’…

Still…This storyboard contained copious amounts of promise, something I haven’t seen in a while. Sure, Results may not prove worthy and it could be an utter failure, heck his ‘director’ might be a hellish nightmare to deal with (‘He reminds me of Alfred…not necessarily a good sign…’) in spite of all of this Matthew’s slight weakness came into play:

Working with Gilbert was a risk.

Danger. Potentially hazardous to his schedule and academic prospects. That sounded hot fun. To the common public, Matthew was unrecognisable. They, understandably, only saw a fellow who resembled a prodigy- the undesirable sibling that was mentioned in a footnote. A small detail in the background of a portrait of someone much more important. If he was noticed and thoroughly acknowledged, the most people understood was that he was soft-spoken, he was very good at art and was respectful of others.

That’s true but horrifically, Matthew was, realistically, extremely bored. Bored and so unmotivated for anything but art. The craving for something more than just paint on a basic canvas was evident, and his creative mind had been screeching for something more tantalisingly sustaining. Call it what you may, sadistic to his sleep and/or work process or a terrible decision to his report card, Matthew loved risky things. Like hockey.

Maybe that’s why he liked art? His parents responded negatively to his progression into art as it seemed dangerous; a traditional occupation like becoming doctor was bound to be a safe job prospect rather than a ‘starving’ artist. It held so much value. And once again…

Gilbert was a Risk.

That was a factor that changed his hesitant decision to not take the job, taking up the offer seemed like the only real choice. Being slightly ‘unsafe’ sounded…unchained. Of course he would have rules and deadlines but still, it was a creative process that he could let take over his uninterested mind. He was going to do it.

“Okay. Yeah that-That sounds good-“

“Wait?! Really Holy shit danke!”

“I didn’t finish” Matthew's voice had taken a more serious tone as he announced his guidelines, “If I agree, I want something in return and I want a freer rein on your story. I want to be able to change some scene ideas, we work as equals on this or else I don’t do it.”

The media student blinked in reply blankly before nodded his head in understanding,

“…so Mattie, What do you want in return?”

Contemplating on what he wanted, the blonde man debated over what could be a gain from Gilbert. At first, he pondered over getting the media student to buy his coffee every morning so he wouldn’t have to leave his bed early but the responsible voice in his head told him that would be stupid. Laundry after his hockey would be useful but then again, it would be weird having someone know about his hockey obsession in detail...He doubted the paler man knew any good weed dealer so that was out of the picture (Besides, his Dutch childhood friend, Tim, already sources that for Matthew).…that and a near-to-stranger acquaintance should definitely not be involved with his- rather unsavoury- habits

“Can I use you as a Model?”

If it was possible to be strangled by silence, Matthew would have been killed that very moment. In the process of getting ready to blurt out a very traditional Canadian ‘sorry, it’s alright to say no’ Gilbert had narrowed his eyes before eerily nodding for himself as if he had just made a deal with a devil he might regret years down the line. The two boys scrambled to sorting through the intricate plan that the albino has created, marking key scenes and a draft template Matt would draw digitally later on in the ‘calmer’ hours of Friday- if anything like that actually existed, Matthew had convinced himself that the paper drawing would be relatively smooth-sailing to replicate. Sharing toothy grins and even the occasional shuffle and chuckle over new concepts, excitedly the boys exchanged numbers and sorted out deadline dates.

Conversations on 'actual' work diminished and at some point, Matthew’s unfinished summer painting was forgotten; as well as Gilbert’s laptop lid closing, the entire device tucked and buried under paperwork. Bands, Movies and stories flew from each other’s heads into the reciprocating ears back and forth. It felt natural. It felt comforting. It felt nice. Just occupying the former exhaustion of usual loneliness with new found company felt indulgent, really this was something the blonde had been yearning for the past few isolated months (He had friends just not those who were exactly ‘easy’ to talk to). As the boys fondly conversed over everyday idle chat the soft beat of Motion City's Soundtrack 'The Future Freaks Me out' played on- Just as Mattie Noticed from the band shirt, Gilbert had the same taste in music. The thrill of it all sounded lame when he realised he was excited over having a decent conversation, at this point 'what could really get in the way of this perfect afternoon of random sketching and laughable jokes?'

“Heyyyyyy sib….so I was wond-“ Well. The peace lasted while it could. A drastically loud boisterous voice pierced through the solace. Midway the voice seemed to die and as Matthew looked up he realised his newfound peace would be ruined for the rest of the evening, at least that's what could be interpreted when he witnessed his brother's expression:

"WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?" Alfred had choked out and had nearly completely crumpled whatever paper he had been holding. Wincing at the aggressive yet usually intrusive nature and tone of his brother Matthew leant forward with head in his hands and let out what could only describe as a disappointed moan and sgot up stumbling towards his brother.

"Has anyone ever uprightly told you how dramatic you are? I doubt Arth-"

“HEY HEY NO WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING ARTHUR RIGHT NOW-MATTIE WHAT IS HE DOING IN HERE?!”

If anything, Gilbert was less insulted by being referred to as ‘he’, the majority of his feeling of discomfort stemmed from the fact Alfred never mentioned he had a cute ass brother. Tempted to interject the one-sided conversation, he spectated the two squabbling siblings with the cuter one physically holding Alfred at the door by the shoulders. Wait- Is Matthew Canadian?- Actually, that's a stupid question of course he is...It was obvious considering the boy's room was adorned with RED fucking EVERYWHERE, the occasional hockey sweater on the wall and crooked postcards of typical tourist hotspots like Niagara Falls (Not to mention Canadian flags on any item possible as if some cheesy gift Canadian tourist gift shop- Gilbert had noticed even the abandoned pens on the desk had maple leaf emblems)

But that didn't really add up. The media major tried to do the calculations in his head:

Alfred = American? Yes That's right...

Matthew = Canadian? Well duh, they discussed that earlier and the room...

Matthew = Alfred Brother???

"Um So...if Mattie is Canadian then how is Alfred Americ-"

"IT'S A FAMILY THING" Both of the two mumbled out as they continued to fuss over each other. Finally, Matthew had stopped Alfred rude gawking and had started lecturing Al over god-knows-what.

*Buzz* *Buzz*

From his jeans pocket, the Prussian could feel the 'so-very-important' calls of his younger brother, deciding that continuing his project with Matthew would be hopeless with both Alfred and an impatient Ludwig he promptly decided to slip out passed Alfred and bid farewell to the cutie from the room next door. Was I imagining it or was Matthew blushing? Oh verdammt.

#prucan #aph canada #aph prussia #SoftSpokenCalling #prussia x canada #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Hetalia Fanfiction #fanfic #multific #college au #alternate universe

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