#after the songs over and ford says that he was already aware of most of the events in the song | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kafka-ish · 4 years ago

Text

stanley’s sister has got it going on | r.t.

richie’s got a crush and he’s got it bad. the only thing that’s keeping him from the girl he’s been chasing is his best friend—her brother.

word count: 4,665

warnings/included: nsfw (not explicit), fluff, swearing, fem!reader

a/n: as i was rereading this i realized that this is the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written??? (so far). in comparison to other works it’s probably vv vanilla so pls bear with me

In the defense of Richie Tozier, it wasn’t his fault he ended up catching feelings for Stanley Uris’s little sister. There were a lot of things he couldn’t control. Like when his mouth opened and out came a poorly done impression of his chemistry teacher. (Which just so happened to have been done as Mr. Ford was standing behind the boy).

Richie may as well just start a list of things he can’t help, marking y/n Uris down as number thirty-three.

“Hey, Richie!” Well, well, well, if it wasn’t the person Richie had been most desperately trying to avoid. “Are you going to Stan’s tonight?” y/n asked. She was standing outside of his car door while he was in the driver’s seat, flicking through the radio stations, trying to find a good song for the ride home.

Upon hearing the voice, Richie stopped fidgeting with the knob. It was honestly hopeless trying to find a good song at this point. None of the good stuff comes on until later. He turned his head to meet eyes with the accompanying voice from outside his car.

Bad idea.

Of course, y/n chose to wear a tank top and the shortest skirt possible that day. Hell, any day he’d find his thoughts lost in her. Whether she was wearing a bikini at the quarry or in an oversized t-shirt and checkered pajama pants.

“Earth to Richie?” y/n laughed. She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to capture his attention. Little did she know, that wasn’t necessary.

“Actually, I was thinking about being a no-show today. I’ve been neglecting my training.”

“Oh! You train? Which gym?” She was grinning wide and her gaze burned a hole through his heart.

“The arcade. I gotta keep my skills fresh if I ever wanna keep that high score.” y/n rolled her eyes, but his comment still made her laugh.

“Well, can you take me home? Once you drop me off I promise you can have all the time in the world to work on your skills.” Emphasis on ‘skills’.

“Promise, eh?” Richie repeated, giving the girl a hard time. “Did Stan forget how to drive?”

“No…” The ‘o’ part was drawn out. “He has his bird watching club today and I don’t feel like sitting in the sun for an hour while I wait for him.”

Richie smiled to himself, thinking for a moment. On one hand, he shouldn’t be alone with the sister of one of his best friends’, as he had different intentions. On the other hand, he couldn’t just leave his best friend’s sister hanging like that. In hindsight, he had come to the conclusion that there was a possibility of Stan getting mad at him either way.

Taking Stan’s sister home it was.

“What are you waiting for, y/n/n, get in.” Richie finally made his decision.

y/n cheered happily, thanking him, as she rounded his car and opened the door to the passenger’s seat.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me!” y/n smiled, her expression reaching ear to ear.

“Oh yeah. I bet you’re over the moon about getting a ride from your brother’s best friend in some beat up chevy.” Richie tried his best to distance himself. He really did. But he couldn’t help but notice y/n’s figure in the tight-fitting clothes, especially when she sat in such a close proximity to him.

“I don’t think you get it, Tozier.” y/n hummed as she started turning the knob on the dash, finally settling on some rock station. She lowered the volume so they could still talk without yelling over the atmosphere. “We never hang out.”

“We’re hangin’ out right now,” Richie argued, daring to look away from the road for one millisecond just so he could steal a glance at her.

“Yeah, but… You hang out with Bill, Eddie, and Stan, and stuff.” She sounded disappointed.

“I guess it’s different with them.” Richie shrugged. It was different with them. Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, and Beverly even, had their group together. They had the same classes together. They faced off a killer clown together.

“I get that you guys have your own friend group and stuff.” y/n said quickly, not wanting to sound lonely or weird from her previous statement. “But we’re friends. Aren’t we?” She said this with an unsureness in her voice that Richie didn’t know how to reply to.

I should’ve just left her at school. What’s so bad about waiting in the sun while Stan’s off watching some stupid birds? I guess it is kind of hot out. But a little heat won’t hurt anyone, right? Besides, she’s wearing a tank top.

Richie peered over at y/n who was looking out the window as her head leaned against it.

A white, lacy tank top that makes her skin look even more—

“Richie?” Concern washed over the girl’s eyes. Her attention turned to him instead of the scenery that passed by them.

Richie whipped his head away from her body and stared blankly at the road. It was almost as if he were a ghost. Except he actually had color in his face.

“What is it, y/n/n?” Richie’s eyes were still on the road.

“I asked if we were friends.” The girl giggled, not being able to take anything seriously for longer than five minutes. “But that’s a stupid question.” She looked down and began to pick at her nails.

“Of course we’re friends.” Richie insisted. The only problem is that I want more and your brother would kill me.

Something inside of y/n calmed at the affirmation. “So we should hang out.”

“Already told ya, y/n/n. I got a date with destiny today.”

“I don’t mind being the third wheel.”

To be frank, that was the last thing Richie needed. It was bad enough that middle schoolers would wait lined up behind him, watching as he lost at some silly arcade game that he still had a passion for. He didn’t need some hot girl hanging over his shoulder while he did so, too. But Richie’s mouth had betrayed his thoughts.

“Only if you want to, y/n/n.” He had avoided trying to call y/n anything other than her name or her nickname. He wouldn’t allow himself to call her any of the cutesy trademark pet names he’d call other girls that he would shamelessly flirt with for fun. He started implementing this tactic in sophomore year once he really started to notice her.

At first, it was the way she greeted him every time the losers met up at Stan’s house. Maybe he was crazy, but he swore she gave him special attention: always running up towards him when she saw him, her lingering by his side before Stan yelled at her, asking if she had anything better to do. Her smile was seemingly wider and her eyes brighter whenever she held conversations with him compared to the other losers—or maybe that was just Richie looking into things too much.

Due to drama and false rumors, y/n had started hanging out with the losers more this year. It was an attempt for her to take her mind off of the absence of friends on her part. None of the losers seemed to mind, even Stan. Thus, she became a regular when the group went on swimming trips to the quarry or slept over at each other’s houses. This didn’t really help Richie’s case. Now, he was basically forced to see her figure in a swimsuit and in every other setting imaginable. Not to mention, he couldn’t do anything about it either.

The two had finally arrived at the arcade. Richie had managed to snag the closest parking spot to the entryway and y/n relentlessly made fun of how he never parked straight until they got in the door.

“Okay, kid. Once you get your license, you can criticize my ‘bad’ parking. But for now, since you’re hitching rides for free, I say you better just keep quiet for now.”

“But you’re so over the lines! I can’t imagine your coloring if that’s how you park.”

“I’ll have you know, y/n, I don’t color. For one, that shit’s for babies. And I am way past that preschool shit. And second of all, coloring’s way lame.” Richie had made his way over to the Street Fighter machine and inserted a quarter in the slot.

y/n watched him thoughtfully for awhile as he fidgeted with the joystick and jammed the buttons.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked, growing bored of watching the same repetitive visuals from over his shoulder. But she didn’t think she could ever grow tired of watching him.

“Hold on.” His hand smashed against the buttons in rapid fire movements while he simultaneously maneuvered the joystick. A few seconds after, the game played a pitiful noise and the boy let out a groan. Richie had lost.

“That’s a weird way of saying coke.” y/n hummed before skipping off to the lounge area.

On her way back, she saw Richie’s face contort in frustration. Once again, he had lost to the game.

“Cheer up, buttercup!” y/n passed handed him the glass bottle and Richie had finally stepped away from the Street Fighter machine.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t got an inanimate object beating ya four to one.” Richie pretended to wipe the nonexistent sweat off his brow and looked down to y/n, offering her a smug look.

“Would a kiss make you feel better?” The girl leaned closer to him and got up on her tippy toes, preparing to peck him on his cheek.

This was the first of y/n showing any sign of real interest. And while Richie wanted to bask in the glory of his long time crush finally coming around, his thoughts also drew to Stan. What kind of friend would he be if he made a move on his friend’s little sister? Technically she’s the one making the moves-

Cut it out, Rich!

His internal monologue argued for a while before he realized y/n’s lips were attached to his face.

“W-what are you doing?” Richie belatedly snapped out of his thoughts and came to his senses.

y/n pulled away. Her arms crossed tightly around her chest and her posture was now slightly hunched over. Oh.

“I thought I could make you feel better.” She mumbled. When she eventually spoke, she let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in. “Can you take me home?” She asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“Of course.” The two started heading for the door and Richie tried to slow his pace so that his long legs would be in sync with hers. “To be honest, y/n/n, I was kinda getting tired of this ol’ dump anyways.”

A small smile graced y/n’s lips as he talked. Even if she was still embarrassed from the previous events.

“You’re not gonna be a professional video game player?”

“Oh no. That dream’s been abandoned for a long time now.” Richie quipped back. He was turning the keys into the ignition and began to drive off.

The car ride to Stan’s place was silent. Either because of the turn that had taken place earlier at the arcade, or because Richie didn’t wanna open his big mouth and accidentally slip up; ruining his relationship with both Stan the Man and Stan the Man’s hot sister.

Richie’s old chevy slowly came to a stop at the front of Stan’s house. The sky was cloudless and an unnerving shade of blue today, highlighting how perfectly trim and green Uris’s lawn was.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” y/n finally spoke up. Her voice foreign to Richie’s ears after the fifteen minutes of dead air from the two of them. But it wasn’t that foreign. Her voice echoed through his brain practically everyday. Whenever classes got boring or nights seemed endless, Richie found himself either replaying past conversations between them. Or other scenarios… She was an unhealthy addiction he couldn’t quit. Like smoking, only hotter and way more deadly.

“What’s there to talk about?” Richie faced y/n, putting on his best ‘I’m-not-interested-in-you’ face, when he really felt quite the opposite.

“Richie, I feel like you don’t like me.” Her accusation was dead wrong, but there was hurt in her eyes. Somehow, Richie had managed to convince the girl of his dreams he hates her when that couldn’t be less true.

“I don’t.” He forced a chuckle to ease the tension but y/n wasn’t having it.

“Can I tell you something?” y/n asked. Richie nodded, a quizzical look on his face. Before continuing, y/n swallowed. She didn’t usually get nervous, but Richie was someone to get nervous over. “I like you.”

Her words felt like something out of a dream Richie once had before.

“What can I say, kid. It’s impossible not to.” Of course, y/n didn’t really like him. At least, not like that. She was probably just saying this for shits and giggles. Pulling his leg. A classic Richie stunt.

“I mean, I like you like how Ben likes Beverly.”

Richie’s eyes then widened at the declaration and his body stiffened.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back,” she said with such ease that Richie admired. She shrugged and the thin strap of her tank top fell down her shoulder. Richie couldn’t help but notice, his eyes wandering where they shouldn’t.

“Listen—” He gulped. His eyes kept trailing down no matter how hard he tried not to. “Listen,” he repeated, now meeting her big eyes, “I don’t not like you, y/n/n. In fact the funny thing is… is—” his words got caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not with Stan’s breathing always down his back (whether Stan was actually there or not).

“What’s so funny, Rich?” Her soft, sweet voice filled his ears once again. It was like a spell, because suddenly (and conveniently), the thought of Stan was no longer in the back of Richie’s mind.

“I like you too, kid.” His voice was low, but y/n still heard him.

“So what’s stopping this?” A sly smirk formed on y/n’s face. She climbed over the control panel and her already short skirt rode up to be even higher.

y/n sat herself on Richie’s lap. The boy had to keep from pinching himself. What was happening was straight out of a wet dream of his he’d probably had last night.

The girl on his lap was toying with a strand of his hair while looking into his eyes. Her shoulder was still bare from the strap that fell off it.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way.” Richie didn’t think he could help himself any longer with the sultry way she was speaking and the fact that she was on his lap. “Now I can do this.”

y/n placed a tender kiss to the awestruck boy’s lips. It was slow and steady. She didn’t want to mess things up since they had just admitted their feelings to one another.

But Richie was impatient.

As soon as she pulled away, he connected his lips to hers again. He was sloppy and fast paced with his movements, yet still full of passion.

y/n giggled into his mouth which caused Richie’s heart to skip a beat. She’d been waiting for this moment since she first laid eyes on him.

The first time Richie stepped foot into the Uris household, y/n had greeted him excitedly.

“y/n could you get that!” Stan shouted to her from their den. He was busy setting up board games, making sure every last piece was in its designated place.

“Why do I have to?” y/n grumbled, still walking out of her room so she could get to the door anyway. “You were closer.”

“I’m preparing for game night. This is the first time my friends are coming over and I want everything to be suitable.” Stan was polishing the game pieces now.

“I don’t think your friends will mind if one of your little thing-a-ma-bobs is out of place.” y/n jokingly tipped over one of the players to Stanley’s game that he had already put into place but she quickly put it back upon noticing the discontent that marked his face as she did so.

“I’ll mind.” Her brother replied calmly.

Another knock at the door.

“Can you please get that?”

y/n got up and walked over to the door. She was first met with a lanky boy whose legs were too long for his torso and eyes were too big for his face.

She didn’t expect Stan’s friends to be hot.

“Hi!” y/n exclaimed, hoping to give off a good impression on the group.

“I didn’t know Stan had an underaged maid. I guess the Uris’ will do anything for labor work.” No one laughed at Richies joke.

“That’s Stan’s sister, dipwad,” Eddie said, disgusted at his friend.

Richie made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth and the group shuffled in, meeting Stan in the den.

“Stan you never told me you had a hottie for a sister.” y/n could hear Richie’s voice from across the hall. Her intestines turned into butterflies and she could pass for a canary with how red her face had gotten.

But despite having the hugest crush on Richie, y/n never shared any classes with the boy. She was a year younger than Stan, but in the same grade as him because of the accelerated classes she took. So y/n had to admire from afar.

Well, not anymore.

Her lips were now attached to his neck, eliciting a moan from him. She smirked at that and started to roll her hips against his. Her name fell from his lips over and over and over again which evoked her to keep going.

“Richie!?” An angered voice called from the outside of his car.

It was the one and only. Stanley Uris.

It was too late to act fast. Richie pulled y/n off him and looked guiltily out the window to see the face that matched the voice.

But Richie already knew who it was.

“Who me? I dink you ghat de wrahng goey.” Richie did his best Irish man accent but it was no use.

“Okay, Richie, cut the crap.” Stan’s face was twisted up in an expression that almost scared Richie. His hands were folded against his chest and he was waiting for an answer.

Richie simply couldn’t bring himself to answer the boy. He sat in shame with y/n next to him staring at her brother. Richie may as well have had ‘I’M SORRY’ written on his forehead with the way he was gaping at Stan.

“y/n get out of the car.” Stan said, breaking eye contact with his friend.

The girl complied, whispering about how sorry she was to the boy who drove her home before getting out. After that, she didn’t dare glance back at him in his car and Richie didn’t have the energy to even look anywhere besides the steering wheel.

That was last week. Since then, Stan and Richie hadn’t said a word to each other. Richie hadn’t spoken to y/n since then either. The tension was too thick between Stan and Richie and Richie didn’t want to mess things up more than he already did.

“I c-cuh-can’t believe yo-you liked y/n.” Bill chuckled.

It was after school and the two were in the library. The details of what happened that day eventually got out. Both Stan and Richie had told their sides of the story and the losers were respectful enough to not take sides. They just hung out with Richie when Stan wasn’t around and hung out with Stan when Richie wasn’t there.

“What’s so bad about that?” Richie looked skeptically at his friend, trying his best to defend himself.

“I mean, yea-yeah sh-sh-she’s cute—”

“She’s beautiful.” Richie cut off but Bill rolled his eyes.

“What-h-ever. I-it’s just funny tha-hat you wuh-would go after her.”

“I already told you she kissed me first.” Richie proclaimed, a little too proudly.

“Sh-he’s Stan’s sister!” That was true.

“And a good kisser.” That was also true.

“Gross, Richie.” Bill returned to the book in front of him, but Richie kept egging on the conversation.

“I don’t see why someone has to be off limits just because they’re related to a friend.” His annoyed tone was evident and Bill gave him a sympathetic look.

“It-t’s b-ba-basically written in th-the br-r-ro code.” Bill paused for a moment and Richie didn’t know if it was because he was embarrassed of his stuttering or if he was gathering his thoughts. “But i-i-if you li-li-like her… wh-who am I to s-suh-say any-th-thing.”

If Bill was insinuating what Richie thought he was, then that made him cooler than he already was.

And that’s how Richie found himself in y/n’s room Friday night. The losers were meeting up at the Aladdin to see the new Jim Carrey movie and somehow Richie had been able to get himself out of it, claiming he was overdue on chores and couldn’t make it.

“Th-that’s t-too bad, R-Rich.” Bill said over the phone (but he knew better) while the other losers pressed their ear up against it, listening in. “The c-co-omedy should be ri-right up your alley.”

“Dumb and underdeveloped?” Eddie asked Bill. “I don’t wanna see a movie just to hate it,” he complained.

“Yowza, Eds. And I thought you appreciated my jokes.” Richie feigned hurt over the speaker. “Anywho, I gotta make like a tree and hang up. The ‘rents are asking for me.” They weren’t.

“O-okay. Maybe nuh-nuh-next wee—” Beep.

Richie had already hung up.

y/n grabbed his hand, which was clamped over her mouth and took it off. She was bursting to the seams with laughter.

“I can’t believe you’re a liar now,” she tsked, trying to fake an ‘I’m-not-mad-at-you-just-disappointed’ look that her English teacher had given her once.

“Only under these circumstances.” He was fast to attach his lips to hers. They didn’t have much time and he wanted to make the most of what they had now.

Richie was on top of her now, his lips still on hers. He kissed her everywhere from the crown of her head to the crook of her neck. If his kisses left a print, her skin would be buried under them.

“Rich…” She sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering from the pleasure he inflicted on her when he had found a sweet spot behind her ear. y/n kissed him back hard with force and a sort of dominance Richie didn’t know she had in her.

She flipped them, so that she was on top now. y/n took this liberty of having full control to take off her shirt and Richie’s as well.

Richie smirked and began to kiss lower. His pace was slower than he originally started. Painstakingly slow. y/n wined at how delicate his lips felt tracing her skin but she needed more.

“Touch me,” she urged. Richie obeyed, his hands were now on her chest, massaging and caressing her delicate skin.

There weren’t enough words to describe the thrill and satisfaction Richie gave her. y/n could relish in this boy’s embrace forever with how good he made her feel. She began grinding against his jeans, just like the day they were caught by Stanley, so she could ease the ache for him between his legs.

Richie chuckled, feeling her press against him. He knew precisely what she wanted but to give or not to give in was the question.

“y/n/n, we don’t have that long,” He warned.

“I don’t care.” She started peppering his face in kisses the same way he had done to her. At the same time, she began to unbutton his jeans. Who would Richie be to turn down sex anyway?

She was fast at getting him inside her. Definitely not inexperienced. But Richie didn’t want fast. Not with y/n, at least. He wanted their first together to be slow, sensual, special—

“You’re amazing,” he grunted and she blushed in response.

Her pace quickened at his praise. Their movements together felt electric and y/n herself was so hypnotic, Richie felt he could get lost in the thought—or the feeling —of her forever.

A feeling that was indescribable washed over Richie once the two of them were finished. He had stayed inside of her, and y/n was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing circles on his skin with her thumb. Their chests rose and fell together at the same time, a small action that Richie melted at the sight of.

“For the record, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” Richie said. There was a sort of fear palpable in his tone.

“For the record, you kissed me first.” y/n eyed him suspiciously before giving him a peck on the cheek. “And what does that mean? Did you…” She shyly decided on her words for a moment. “Did you not want to..?”

“No, no, no, no.” Richie immediately counteracted the girl’s suggestion. “I so wanted to do this. I’ve dreamed about doing this—” Richie stopped himself before his talking could make things worse, but y/n found his rambling amusing.

“So, what did you mean?” y/n tried again. She reached out to hold his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I mean.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “I wanted us to be, like, an official couple and shit before we do this shit.” He motioned between them and to where they were still joined.

y/n flushed at the sight and covered her face.

“Hey.” Richie was soft. Softer than y/n had ever seen him be. He took her wrists in his hands, uncovering her face so he could admire her.

She was stunning even after sex.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” He was almost embarrassed to admit it, but with y/n he didn’t feel the need to be afraid. “I want us to go on dates and hold hands and tell each other about our day.” He was looking at the ceiling, daydreaming at the thought.

y/n’s eyes searched his face thoughtfully. “Of course, Rich. I want that, too!” She kissed his lips once more, elated at the boy in front of her. Her face fell shortly after she had a sudden understanding. “What’re you gonna do about Stan?”

“Who’s Stan?” But Richie’s fake grin wasn’t fooling anyone. “Uh, well, we could tell him…” But when Richie saw a certain uneasiness consume y/n’s face, he ruled that option out. “How do you feel about dating in secret?” He offered. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at the time it seemed to be the lesser of the two evils at hand.

“Okay,” y/n whispered. “So you should leave.”

“Woah, babe, I just got here.” Richie sat up, looking for his shirt.

“Yeah, but the movie should’ve ended by now.” y/n gestured towards the alarm clock on her nightstand causing Richie’s jaw to drop.

He was heading towards the window now, knowing he had enough time to get out, but he wanted to be careful.

“See you tomorrow then?” y/n giggled at how clingy he could be.

“I’ll call you.” And Richie just couldn’t get enough of the smile she was wearing.

“Sounds like a date!” He yelled from outside her house.

During the drive home, Richie’s thoughts became lost in y/n once again. This was just the beginning.

#it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it x reader #it imagine #it fanfic #it fic #richie tozier #it richie #richie tozier x reader #richie x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier fic #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier smut #bruh can this be classified as smut idk

288 notes · View notes

warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years ago

Text

Today in Tolkien - February 14th

February 14th is the day when Gandalf returns to life on the peak of Zirak-zigil, and Frodo and Sam look in the Mirror of Galadriel in the evening.

First, Gandalf, from his account to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli in The Two Towers:

“Naked I was sent back - for a brief time, until my task is done. And naked I lay on the mountain-top. The tower behind was crumbled into dust, the window gone; the ruined stair was choked with burned and broken stone. I was alone, forgotten, without escape upon the hard horn of the world. There I lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth. Faint to my ears came the gathered rumour of all lands: the springing and the dying, the song and the weeping, and the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone.”

It’s not entirely clear whether by “naked” he means “lacking physical form” - which is how the Maiar would understand nakedness - or “lacking clothes,” or both. It’s not clear why his robes wouldn’t have stayed on the mountain when he died. At any rate, I do think the latter meaning is part of it - that taking physical form again is a process that occurs over time - since when Gwaihir finds him a few days later the eagle observes that Gandalf is practically weightless.

(I apologize profusely for spoiling your Valentine’s Day with naked Gandalf? Tolkien wrote it, not me!)

Returning to the hobbits - on the evening of the 14th Frodo has a premonition that they will need to leave Lothlórien soon:

One evening Frodo and Sam were walking together in the cool twilight. Both of them felt restless again. On Frodo suddenly the shadow of parting had fallen: he knew somehow that the time was very near when he must leave Lothlórien.

Frodo and Sam discuss elves and ‘elf-magic’. Frodo wishes to see Galadriel again before they leave Lothlórien, and as if she was already aware of their conversation they see her immediately as he voices this wish.

Turning aside, she led them toward the southern slopes of the hill of Caras Galadhon, and passing through a hugh green hedge they came into an enclosed garden. No trees grew there, and it lay open to the sky. The evening star had risen and was shining with a white fire above the western woods. Down a long flight of steps the Lady went into a deep green hollow, through which ran murmuring the silver stream that issued from a fountain on the hill. At the bottom, upon a low pedestal carved like a branching tree, stood a basin of silver, wide and shallow, and beside it stood a silver ewer.

Galadriel’s ‘elf-magic’ seems to involve at least some of the same kind of sympathetic magic that Lúthien used: Lúthien’s sleep-spell that she cast on her hair also involved water drawn in a silver container at night-time. The effect of the magic is very different from Lúthien’s, though: the mirtor shows the past, the present, and future possibilities. This is in line with Galadriel’s gift of foresight (which her brother Finrod and her cousin-once-removed Idril also had).

Sam, with some prompting from Galadriel, chooses to look in the Mirror, and mentions to Frodo that he’d like “a glimpse of what’s going on at home.” Frodo looks in the Mirror after after him. I’ll try to make a list of what each of them say, with guesses about the meaning.

Sam sees:

“There was sun shining, and the branches of trees were heaving and tossing in the wind.” These are implied or outright stated to be the same trees he sees again later.

“He thought he saw Frodo with a pale face lying fast asleep under a great dark cliff. Then he seemed to see himself going along a dim passage, and climbing an endless winding stair. It came to him suddenly that he was looking urgently for something, but what it was he did not know.” This is Cirith Ungol, after Frodo has been poisoned by Shelob, and Sam searching for him in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.

The Mirror then returns to the trees, and Sam sees that the trees are near Hobbiton and Ted Sandyman is cutting them down. The Old Mill has been replaced by a new red-brick one that is putting out black smoke. And Bagshot Row, where Sam’s father lives, has been dug up and his father is leaving with all his remaining posessions in a wheelbarrow. This distresses Sam to the point where he wants to return home immediately, but Galadriel reminds him that he has no ability to do so and that the mirror does not show certain futures, but only possibilities.

In point of fact, it’s not clear whether the mirror is showing the future, the present, or the recent past in that last scene - in “The Scouring of the Shire”, Bagshot Row has been dug up and Sam’s father has been put into one of the new, low-quality houses that Lotho had his men build; and Lotho’s men came into the Shire in the late fall or early winter and imprisoned Mayor Will Whitfoot soon after New Year’s, effectively making Lotho the Shire’s dictator.

What the mirror shows Sam here is fairly simple - he is being shown a similar choice as when he first met Galadriel, between a dangerous journey (and he is shown the moment where he will become absolutely essential to the Quest’s success) and returning home to see to the well-being of others whom he loves. With difficulty, he chooses to go on.

Frodo’s vision is more complex:

“At once the Mirror cleared and he saw a twilit land. Mountains loomed dark in the distance against a pale sky. A long grey road wound back out of sight. Far away a figure came down the road, faint and small at first, but growing larger and clearer as it approached. Suddenly Frodo realized that it reminded him of Gandalf...[but] then he saw that the figure was clothed not in grey but in white, in a white that shone faintly in the dusk; and in its hand there was a white staff. The head was so bowed that he could see no face, and presently the figure turned aside round a bend in the road and went out of the Mirror’s view. Doubt came into Frodo’s mind: was this a vision of Gandalf on one of his lonely journeys long ago, or was it Saruman.” I think that here the Mirror is dealing in metaphor, and what Frodo sees is symbolic of Gandalf the White’s return from death.

“Brief and small but very vivid he caught a glimpse of Bilbo walking restlessly about his room. The table was littered with disordered papers; rain was beating on the windows.” A fairly mundane vision, showing him - like Sam - what is going on with his loved ones back home.

Then “many swift scenes that Frodo in some way knew to be parts of a great history in which he had become involved”:

“Darkness fell. The sea rose and raged in a great storm. Then he saw against the Sun, sinking blood-red into a wrack of clouds, the black outline of a tall ship with torn sails riding up out of the West.” This is the downfall of Númenor, and the ships of Elendil being preserved from its ruin.

“A wide ruver flowing through a populous city.” Osgiliath.

“A white fortress with seven towers.” Minas Tirith.

“Again a ship with black sails, but now it was morning again, and the water ripped with light, and a banner bearing the emblem of a white tree shone in the sun. A smoke as of fire and battle arose, and again the sun went dow into a burning red...” Aragorn at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

“...that faded into a grey mist; and into the mist a small ship passed away, twinkling with lights. It vanished.” Frodo departing from Middle-earth for Eressëa.

And lastly Frodo sees the Eye of Sauron searching for him, but Frodo knows “it could not see him unless he willed it .” Galadriel tells Frodo that she sees the sane, and that Sauron seeks to know her thoughts but cannot, whereas she can read Sauron’s mind, “or all of his mind that concerns the Elves.” She shows Frodo her ring, Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. (I always felt that Elrond should have Nenya, Ring of Water, since the Fords of Bruinen protect Rivendell and Elrond can command the waters; and Galadriel should have Vilya, the Ring of Air, since Lothlórien’s protections are something more like an aerial boundary around the entire land.)

Frodo offers Galadriel the Ring, and she (with some difficulty) refuses it. This has gotten very long, but I do still feel the need to note that when she is considering accepting the Ring, her words “Beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow Upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning!” appear to reference - as peers/comparators of the imagined Ringlord Galadriel - Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, and Aulë. The mention of Taniquetil at least is unmistakeable. The lady’s ambitions are not small. This is the moment where we see most clearly the truth of the statement that Galadriel is both similar to Fëanor in the scope of her power and ambition, and wiser than him in rejecting it.

As a Silmarillion fan, I also continue to find it meaningful that Elrond is the only one of the bearers of the Three Rings who does not appear to find the One Ring tempting at all.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #galadriel #gandalf #today in tolkien

25 notes · View notes

featuringthecreature · 4 years ago

Text

Reviews for Every Movie I Watched in March+April

Kinda fell off on watching movies after January due to some mental health shtuff, but I’ve slowly been getting back on that horse and I wanted to talk about the movies I’ve seen, so here we are. Take my number ratings with a grain of salt, they’re mostly off the cuff and giving a movie a numbered grade is pretty arbitrary anyway.

March 1: The Wizard of Oz (1939) dir. Victor Fleming - 9/10

It is STUPID how good this movie is for 1939. I really do like almost everything about this movie, from the fun characters to the bright and colorful set design to the iconic music. In fact, the only parts of the movie I don’t like are that ugly ass Cowardly Lion and those godforsaken Munchkins.

March 1: Kick-Ass (2010) dir. Matthew Vaughn - 8/10

Even when Matthew Vaughn is bad, he is still amazingly fun, and this movie is by no means a bad movie. Nicolas Cage gives the best performance, I love his delivery on some of his lines. This movie is so much fun y’all. Just watch it, you’ll have a good time. (And yes, I know both Quicksilvers are in this, you don’t have to tell me)

March 13: There Will Be Blood (2007) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson - 10/10

This is a fuck-you movie. This movie curb stomped me, spat in my face, and told me I’d never make it in this industry. I don’t need to tell you this movie is incredible, ‘cause if you’ve seen it you already know, and if you haven’t you are seriously missing out.

March 14: The Philadelphia Story (1940) dir. George Cukor - 7/10

I had a hard time deciphering how I feel about this movie. I watched this for a Classic Film course, so I had a couple days to listen to and share some deeper analysis, and I feel like this film is actually pretty good. I don’t have any strong feelings on it, check it out if you like classic film.

March 14: Moulin Rouge! (2001) dir. Baz Luhrmann - 8/10

This movie is bombastic as hell, and even if this is a bad movie, it’s a good movie in my soul. Ewan McGregor, please return my calls.

March 15: The Ruthless (2019) dir. Renato De Maria - 5/10

I guess this movie just isn’t for me, I don’t know. I really do like Riccardo Scamarcio in this movie, but that’s the extent of the really good things. I was on a “Santino from John Wick” kick, I can’t really explain it.

March 20: The Host (2006) dir. Bong Joon-ho - 9/10

Bong Joon-ho has never disappointed me once, and I don’t think he ever will. This is one of the best monster movies I have ever seen (granted I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of monster movies). Watch this movie, it has a wonderful heart and a wonderful monster.

March 20: Citizen Kane (1941) dir. Orson Welles - 10/10

Anything I can say about this movie has already been said, so I’m going to leave you with “I wrote a paper on this film and got a C so fuck this movie” and call it a day.

March 27: Sound of Metal (2019) dir. Darius Marder - 9/10

I am so glad a watched this movie. Riz Ahmed gives an award winning performance if only he hadn’t been competing against Anthony Hopkins. Paul Raci is also really, really good in this movie, and I don’t think that’s mentioned as much, and I think it should be.

April 6: Casablanca (1942) dir. Michael Curtiz - 9/10

I did not think I would enjoy Casablanca as much as I did, but yeah. This is a great movie. I wanna go on record and say Humphrey Bogart is not tall, he is 5′8″. He wears pumps in this movie and they’re really funny to look at.

April 10: Dr. No (1962) dir. Terence Young - 7/10

This was my introduction to the Bond universe, and I thought it was a pretty good way to get me into the character of James Bond. Sean Connery is the strongest part of this movie as Bond. It is by no means a perfect movie, some aspects are extraordinarily outdated. But as a first crack this movie gets two thumbs up from me.

April 18: The Godfather (1972) dir. Francis Ford Coppola - 10/10

This film is truly something special. I am lucky that I was able to experience the story basically blind (I knew about some specific plot points and some famous lines, but for the most part this was all new to me), and I was extra lucky that I got to watch it with my dad. Being able to watch The Godfather with someone who has a deep love of the genre and the film itself is something that enhances almost every movie going experience. The Godfather is one of the greats.

April 19: Mank (2020) dir. David Fincher - 6/10

I am not in love with this movie. I don’t hate it, but I don’t particularly like it either. The production design is great, and as a general appreciator of classic cinema I liked those aspects just fine. There’s just something in here that’s preventing me from fully liking this movie.

April 21: Judas and the Black Messiah (2021) dir. Shaka King - 9/10

The only way I can describe this movie is “important.” King gives us a story of a often left out part of the Civil Rights movement, and it’s a story that everyone should be aware of. Fred Hampton was only 21 when he was assassinated, and yet he left such a mark on the fight for racial equality. Daniel Kaluuya absolutely deserved his Oscar win, he is a dream in this film. This is an uncompromising, tragic, and endlessly relevant movie.

April 23: The Father (2020) dir. Florian Zeller - 10/10

Yeah I cried. Anthony Hopkins is... I don’t think his performance can be summed up in words. It’s heartbreaking, everything about this movie is soul-crushing.

April 24: Promising Young Woman (2020) dir. Emerald Fennell - 8/10

(You can tell I was cramming for the Oscars at this point) It is really hard to review Promising Young Woman. It’s incredibly polarizing to the film community, and it’s also polarizing in my own opinion. I really don’t know how I feel here, all I know is my feelings are strong. Also every time Bo Burnham was on screen I had a big stupid grin on my face, I can’t wait for his new special to come out.

April 25: Nomadland (2020) dir. Chloe Zhao - 9/10

What a beautiful experience. This movie, on top of being absolutely gorgeous, has such a wonderful soul that completely shines through Zhao’s directing. There’s a monologue about maybe a half hour in that describes so succinctly the beauty of nature, and as someone who lives in a much more urban area of the world, it’s a description that I don’t get to see that often in my life. That’s why I love film. If Promising Young Woman made me angry at the world Nomadland made me fall back in love with it.

April 25: Minari (2020) dir. Lee Isaac Chung - 8/10

Watching Minari is like being gently set on fire. My feelings aren’t as strong as they were for Nomadland, and I don’t have much to say, but I still adore this movie and think it’s worth watching.

April 26: Singin’ in the Rain (1952) dir. Gene Kelly, Stanley Donen - 8/10

I think my film teacher puts it best in describing this movie as “just so stinkin joyous.” That’s what this movie is, it’s joy put to film. I love how you can clearly see the excitement over making film that comes through in older movies, I feel like you don’t really see that anymore.

April 28: Some Like It Hot (1959) dir. Billy Wilder - 7/10

As glaringly outdated this film is, I still managed to have a pretty good time with it, although I can totally see why the plot could put some people off, or even make them outright dislike the film as a whole. Marilyn Monroe playing a ukulele made me feel very seen. (This is my first Marilyn movie as well!)

April 29: Snowpiercer (2013) dir. Bong Joon-ho - 8/10

CHRIST this movie is intense. The best part of Snowpiercer is it is engaging as hell. Unfortunately I had to duck out about three quarters of the way through to get some dental work done, but rest assured under different circumstances I would have been glued to the screen from start to finish. The premise is chilling (ha ha, get it), and the subplot of class disparity is also really compelling. If you know me you’ll know that I love me some John Hurt, Song Kang-ho has been great in pretty much every movie I’ve seen him in, TILDA FUCKING SWINTON rocks every scene she’s in. My only real problem here is sometimes Chris Evans is a bit hit or miss for me, I really like his performance at times, and I like it less at others. It has been cool to see him grow as an actor over the years, you can definitely see his improvement in more recent movies. In any case, I stand by my previous statement, Bong Joon-ho has never disappointed me once, and I don’t think he ever will.

#movie review #Film Review #i combined two months to give myself more content #but i think i might have given myself too much content #there's a lot in here

12 notes · View notes

smoochkooks · 5 years ago

Text

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed.

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

Park Jimin

Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

1K notes · View notes

diegolabhont · 4 years ago

Text

I didn't mean to fall in love with you

Chapter One

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing: Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: None (in this post, al least)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really.

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Can someone explain to her how a person who claims to be so disinterested in the ranking was magically climbing to the top twenty?

Poppy didn’t buy it for a second, she always knew Beck were going to be a pain in her ass ever since the first time she saw them looking at her as if they weren’t impressed, but she wasn’t fully aware of how much.

“You don’t have to worry about them, Poppy” Chloe said while the strawberry blonde retouch her make up in the mirror inside her own room. “Beck is just a dude”

“Transphobia much, Chloe?” Veronica murmured playfully, wanting to start drama among her streaming fans.

“No! What I'm saying is… Beck's brain works as a regular dude, right? How much smart can they be?”

“Ha! That´s rich coming from you” Veronica laughed.

Both girls started a discussion about related shit, Beck’s brain, hormones and else while Poppy put on the mascara. Completely silent, thinking.

She treated Beck as a common enemy, she attacked them just like she would to any other lost lamb trying to be the wolf but it was not enough. Even one of those plans exploded in her own face: ruining and breaking Beck's guitar caused that they not only get a flashy and beautiful new one, but sang side by side with the one and only Jaylen Riaz, making a huge performance. Even better than hers, which was something painful and humiliating at the same time, especially after Veronica told her Beck’s YouTube channel had a followers increase, making them even more popular.

Chloe was right on something: Beck’s brain worked like a dude, and if she had learned something was that men in general were manipulable. Take a look at Michael, he was dumb as hell. Liam was a douchebag. Luis, Ford… well, they… they´re there. The only golden boy among them was Carter, and yet, he wasn´t that hard, she just gave him what he wanted in that party and after that, everything ran smoothly.

And that´s what she needed.

Poppy´s look changed, her eyes sparkled in a very malicious way and a smile crossed her face for a split second. She now had a plan, and unexpectedly, it was a Chloe attribution.

“Maybe if we accused them of cheating…?” Chloe suggested, but Poppy knew better.

“That won´t be necessary, Chlo” Poppy intervened for the first time in a while, making both girls look at her intrigued. They knew Poppy, and the little smile she had on her lips as she applied lipstick was a proof. The blonde was onto something juicy. Veronica ended the live and awaited. “Beck will be mine.”

~~X~~

It was kinda lame to her, but finding Beck completely alone under the football stands playing guitar was at least convenient. They were an eye candy from the start, that was a fact. The way that white t-shirt embraced their body was something else to see, her mind went back to the second time she saw them. The sassy rock star kind of look Beck had, even the haircut was perfect, Poppy knew that was a Zoey Wade signature and she kinda thanked her for it. Beck was damn fine, that fact made easier her plan to be honest.

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Beck stopped playing, literally frozen in place as a statue.

“What did you just say?” Their tone of voice was cold, almost insulted. Did she just get it wrong? No, she´s never wrong. A Queen can´t be wrong, especially a Min-Sinclair queen.

“It was a compliment, Farmsville” she said, rolling her eyes.

“That´s not a compliment” Beck chuckled, putting the guitar aside. “I mean, I don´t mind, but if you are going to use that to the trans community… It~ may not end well” Poppy frowned, a little pissed off. She was doing an effort, no-one had ever heard a compliment from her and this little sh… “But thanks.” Beck offered her a sweet smile a second before turn it into a mocking one. “You do pass pretty well as a woman, too”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“And now she gets it!” They started laughing, making her really angry. Poppy walked away fuming, her head up high and a killer look murdering anyone who dare crossing ways with her.

That stupid ASSHOLE. Did they THINK they could disrespect her?! To HER! She was the number ONE, the fucking RULER of the entire school. Beck was lucky enough to be in her radar and they just throw stupid shit like that!

“To be fair… I did say it first”

“I thought it was a COMPLIMENT” She fight against herself. “What am I? Some trans expert?!”

“No… But I can be. I mean, to destroy my enemy…”

“I have to know them...”

Even thought she was still mad about it, Poppy tapped wildly though her phone. She needed to do something, and she knew just the thing.

“It´s ON, jackass”

~~X~~

POV: Beck

Top fifteen. Everyone was losing their shit because they were now top twenty and Beck... Well... They just didn´t want it.

And yeah, sure, that was kinda good. The students in Belvoire had begun to pay attention to their music as well, Beck even caught a few of them listen to songs Beck wrote and some other cover as well. Their art was taking off and that was awesome, don't get it wrong, that was something Beck wanted for so long, but...

They were afraid.

What if it was because of the stupid ranking?

What if Beck just wasn´t that good, and the only thing people would want was that Beck who studded up against Poppy Min-Sinclaire and lived to tell? Even Zoey, she was talking about popularity, Belvoire elite, and some “Person to watch-out” or shit Award which yes, was huge! But… Beck really was afraid that it was Beck who puts the music high and not backwards.

What if…

What if Poppy really messes all up?

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Poppy´s words in their mind caught Beck off guard. What was her deal anyway? She came and said some weird shit, and...

Actually, everything in that interaction was weird as fuck. And not just that, Beck meet Taylor by accident later that day in the ice cream shop, they both talked a little and they found out she had a big crush onto some random guy Beck didn´t knew before.

Of course Beck was the matchmaker! They even helped her by carrying those stupid anti-diarrheic pills to the lion´s den. Ok, yes, maybe~ Beck should´ve had given them to someone and not just let them in the front door… But it wasn´t their fault that The T found out!! Poppy was losing it, and of course it was them to blame.

Why can´t they just have a normal life… with normal problems… and not… this?

“I´m dead… I´m actually dead…” Beck thought while burying their head on their hands, tired.

“Beck? Hello? I assume you heard the details of the assignment.”

“What?”

“Ehm… Yeah! Totally” Beck said with a “confident” smile that nobody believed in, Professor Roberta even frowned before going back to the lecture, while Beck tried uselessly to catch something about the assignment from their classmates´ laptops. She hated Beck anyway, but it wasn´t good news to be always in her bad side.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! … What did she say?”

“Mass comm is all about reaching people far and wide, so this project is meant to give the voiceless in our own community a voice by…”

A penetrant gaze nailed their nape, giving them chills. Beck immediately looked for that one hawk over them and not to their surprise the person found on the other side was that deadly beauty called Poppy Min-Sinclair, watching Beck as they´re a prey. Feeling really drove up the wall, Beck winked playfully at her, expecting her to look away or some rude expression towards them.

But no.

Scaring the shit out of them, Poppy actually smiled back at Beck. A sweet, flirty smile that left them feeling their heart racing as crazy and their cheeks burning red, her dark eyes so into theirs that all their system collapsed... What was happening?

“Earth to Beck!”

Professor Roberta yelled, making Beck jump a little in their sit, breaking all eye contact between them both. When did Beck turn their body completely to watch Poppy? Of course the professor was mad, Beck was practically giving her their back! As faster as they could, Beck took the right seat, being even more embarrassed now while Poppy let go a chuckle, they could hear her from any other laughter just as clearly as if she were so close.

“Oh, sorry. I… Sorry”

“Find your community service project partner please” Professor said. Beck gathered their things and head into the aisle, looking around, praying to find someone whiling to work with them and, mainly, explain to them what was that project about. The thing was everyone had already a partner. Everyone except for…

The strawberry blonde was gazing Beck as sure as someone who´s waiting for this chance can be. Smiling that same smile that caused them to feel butterflies in their stomach… Beck wasn´t sure if they were aroused… or scared.

“Professor Roberta… I need a new partner” Beck practically begged. “I´m sorry. I just can´t work with Poppy.”

The pretty but odd teacher was about to say something. Something bad based on the expression on her face, but a perfect made-up laughter cut her words, as Beck was feeling how a soft and warm hand hooked to their arm.

“Nonsense, professor! I am pretty sure we´ll be working just fine.” Poppy said, a relaxed expression drawn on her porcelain face. “Let´s go, Hughes.”

Ok, Beck was now scared. As both of them walked out the classroom, Beck´s brain was running wild, thinking about every and each form Poppy could use to disappear them from the face of the earth. Ironic, Beck survived Farmsville but they´ll be totally done in New York. Ha! Life hates them.

“Listen, I know what you are thinking…”

Really?

“... but the last thing I need right now is having my GPA taken away. So I´ve already figured it all out. We´re doing an animal shelter commercial for our project. I can ask daddy to borrow the equipment and crew”

“Didn´t think of you as a daddy person” Beck laughed, a little more repose.

“Shut the fuck up, Farmsville. This will be easy, so all I need you to do is… Oh my god.”

Poppy stared at her phone completely in shock, color draining from her face as it was sucked by a dementor.

“I have to go. We can figure out the deets later, I´ll text you where to meet me”

Then, she just left. Beck took a deep breath and let out a hiss.

“Gosh, this school is going to kill me!”

They said, who would have thought a class could be so much?

-----

#queen b choices #choices #trans #ftm #poppy x mc #malemc #poppy min sinclair #bea hughes #Beck Hughes #choices stories you play #choices poppy #choices queen b mc #mc x poppy

41 notes · View notes

ericdeggans · 4 years ago

Photo

How My Love for Sean Connery and Bond Led to a Serious Case of White Guy Hero Infatuation Syndrome

Like a lot of people all over the world, I have long considered myself a stone Sean Connery fan.

I often recited the juiciest dialogue bits from his Oscar-winning turn as a beat cop-turned crusader in he Untouchables (in addition to the speech everyone quotes, I loved how he told Eliot Ness he knew he was a treasury agent without seeing his badge because “who would claim to be that who was not?”) I watched the painfully clumsy 1986 B-movie Highlander mostly for his charming turn as Egyptian (!) immortal Juan Sánchez-Villalobos Ramírez.

And, of course his work as James Bond always set the ultimate example for urbane cool. Which explains why I often felt the theme song thrumming in my head whenever I wore a stylish suit or hopped off a plane in a cool city. For men from the generation before mine, he practically defined the sophisticated, stylish machismo found in the pages of Esquire and Playboy.

youtube

For these reasons and more, I have always loved the rogueish Scotsman as an actor. And yet, when news of his death at age 90 spread across the world, I couldn’t bear to pay tribute to him on my social media pages, until now.

That’s because his passing highlighted my problem with a particular malady. I call it White Guy Hero Infatuation Syndrome. And I have suffered from it for many years.

Put simply, my fan’s brain knows that Connery’s landmark performances were the stuff of film legend – especially as Bond. Cool, authoritative, suavely menacing and mostly unflappable, his take on a secret agent who knows the best suit designers nearly as well as the best pistol manufacturers set the template for escapist espionage fantasies over the next half century and beyond.

His first line as the character – “Bond. James Bond.” – has become pop culture legend.

But as a media critic, I also have to contend with James Bond’s status as a relentless sexist and a British agent who walked the world as if it was made to be ruled by wealthy, capable white men. Watch him slap the behind of a pretty blonde who was massaging him poolside in 1964’s Goldfinger when CIA agent Felix Leiter turns up for a chat. “Man talk,” he tells her dismissively, sending her out of the scene.

Or check out how he treats Quarrel, the bug-eyed Black man who acts as a “fixer” for him in Jamaica during the first Bond film, 1962’s Dr. No. Scrambling across a beach to avoid the bad guys’ goons, Bond turns to Quarrel and tells him “fetch my shoes” -- as if he were his butler, rather than a local ally helping him avoid thugs with automatic weapons.

And there’s loads of scenes where Bond forces himself on women who quickly succumb to his charms – like Honor Blackman’s character in 1964′s Goldfinger – perpetuating a dangerous myth that a man can earn a woman’s love by pushing her into being romantic with him. (Or that a dismissive, vaguely annoyed tone with women – treating them like impertinent children or misguided simpletons – is also, somehow, irresistible to them.)

When Connery played Bond, he played a character who was the embodiment of white privilege. He made it look sexy, virtuous and necessary – the natural state of things in a 1960s-era world that, outside the comfortable confines of Bond’s make-believe spy games, seemed to be coming apart at the seams. But in the America of 2020, it’s a symbol of how media can teach you to accept a limiting legend.

And this was a fantasy I bought into eagerly. As a kid, my mom and I bonded over the heroic white guys she loved on film and TV, mostly from westerns. Just this past December, as she was fighting cancer and months before she would succumb to an infection, we sat and watched Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall save the day too many times to count.

As I got older, I’d make fun of all the misogyny, racism and white centering going on in these shows – gibes which my mother, a proud Black woman who loved her people and culture, tolerated with a weary smile. “These are my guys,” she’d say playfully, swatting aside any idea that there was a deeper impact from gorging on stories which treated these virtuous white men as the noble, natural center of every story. I wish the issue were that simple; it often isn’t.

For me, it wasn’t just a problem with Connery. As a kid, I loved Eastwood’s 1970s-era Dirty Harry movies, where the taciturn cop with a Magnum pistol cut through all the nonsense to nab the bad guy. Same with Bronson’s Death Wish films, where the solution to rampant street crime wasn’t better policing, but a taciturn, middle class white guy with a gun shooting down street criminals. It’s a potent fantasy, especially if you’ve ever had to deal with the numbing bureaucracy of real-life law enforcement or the brutal violation of being a crime victim.

It wasn’t until I got older that I realized many of those bad guys Harry Callahan was hunting were young hippies and Black people – the kind of folks who, in real life when Dirty Harry was released in 1971, were trying to get America to face how it was chewing up poor, young men in an unwinnable, unnecessary war in Vietnam. It was a prime example of “copaganda” – convincing the audience that the excesses Detective Callahan committed to nail a person the audience already knew was a serial killer, was justified.

Even now, I wonder: Can I watch these movies and appreciate why they are thrilling, while rejecting the tropes that present a white male-centered world as just and appropriate? In my work on race and media, I’m often telling audiences that people who insist they are not affected by media subtexts are often the most affected by them. Couldn’t that be true for me, when it comes to heroes like Eastwood, Bronson and Connery?

(One caveat: Sitting in an arena in Tampa, watching Eastwood give his infamously strange “empty chair” speech at the Republican National Convention in 2012, broke me of my affection for his work. I have avoided watching new Clint Eastwood films since then. Click here to read my report on the empty chair speech for the Tampa Bay Times.)

In his later years, Connery denied or walked back quotes where he seemed to approve of physically hitting women in real life. His roles in films like Highlander, The Untouchables, Hunt for Red October, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen often featured him playing the older mentor to younger white guy heroes portrayed by the likes of Harrison Ford, Alec Baldwin and Kevin Costner.

And so, as the question of Connery’s legacy in show business arises, the fanboy part of me is at war with the media critic. One side of me is lost in the absolute coolness of the suave masculinity he so often symbolized, particularly as the world’s most successful secret agent.

The other is painfully aware of the inequalities and oppression such portrayals enabled, and how much they may feed our real life fantasies for a powerful white male savior to set things right, even now.

Especially now.

And saying these characters were a product of their flawed times somehow doesn’t seem enough.

This is a tough column to write, and not just because there are so many fans who want to focus on the best moments of Sean Connery’s life now that he’s gone. It’s difficult because he was a personal hero of mine for a long while – and remains one of my favorite performers – even as I acknowledge the terribly male-centric and white-superior ethos he embodied in so many roles.

This may sound like disrespectful nitpicking to hardcore fans and family. It’s never easy to sit with the more uncomfortable aspects of a great artist’s legacy. And the time after his death has been filled with heartfelt tributes to Connery, a man of great talent and no-nonsense sensibilities who was respected and loved by a great many people who worked with him.

Sometimes the media critic’s job requires being a buzzkill; insisting the public pay attention to troubling aspects of a film or TV show that we would all just rather sit back and enjoy. Because part of unwinding the effect of past portrayals is acknowledging their power in the present day.

Which means, every time I watch Connery stride to a baccarat table in Goldfinger, Dr. No, or Diamonds Are Forever, archly demanding a precisely constructed alcoholic beverage, I also have to remind myself of the damage done by too many characters like that offering too constricted a vision of what a hero looks and acts like. And I suggest you do the same.

It's the only way to balance a comforting myth with the reality of how that legend can, unwittingly, teach us to cling to ideas that ultimately hold us back.

#james bond #sean connery #race #pop culture

11 notes · View notes

warmbeebosoftbeebo · 4 years ago

Text

The Slow Unfurling (continuation of the Slow Unraveling)

other parts here

does anyone want me to still do tags? if so: @greatheromuffinpalace @paypoulterer1 @anyh0w @anobsessioncalled @panicsinning @queerbrendon @prettyoddfiction @iwriteficsnottragediesladies @uriellybrendon @pageoftheclouds @brendonuriesbubblyass @ier0-must-die @itriedallthenamesiwantedaretaken @xfoxtalynx @spacesams00 @satanspuppet-x @1-800-hallelujah @ryrostan @tacobelltylerr @urie-dreams

just message me to be added or taken off the tag list. i was also thinking of pming people the link to the story instead? any preferences?

I love writing this and I love our boy! This is the most drawn out I’ve done teasing/flirting/touching in pg-ways with no sex except for in thoughts/dreams in a fic, I think, and I think our reader and our boy may be getting some blue bulbs and blue balls, respectively, that they take care of when they’re not together...

---

B loves coming over for two main reasons: you and Tessie, so he's over the next afternoon after he comes back from Hawaii. Tessie is really big and always excited to see him so she usually knocks him over, assuming he doesn't assume the position first, or is sitting on the couch or leaning against something, licking him as he giggles on his back, giving her pets, pats, smoochies, scritches...

You get distracted by his lips, let's be honest, especially as you get lost in your thoughts as the high hits you, Bad Religion, Lita Ford, X- Ray Spex, Against Me, Manic Street Preachers in the background, punk that gets broken up by Public Enemy, TLC, PJ Harvey, who is pretty punk herself too. You love how into the music he gets, even more than you tend to, although seeing him so gleeful, joyous, even campy and animated at times makes you even happier too, matching his pleasure.

He's darker than you now, and you wonder how much of him is tanned, imagine what your skin would look like on each other's, you laying on him between his thighs, wrapped around each other, kissing him, rocking your mound against his dick and balls... Giggling as you both sing along to Ain't 2 Proud 2 Beg. He purses his lips to take a drag, and you're thinking of them on yours, your skin, between your legs too after your playlist switches to Tori's Raspberry Swirl...

Being high makes him way less anxious too, relaxed. He's still surprised your parents let you smoke pot, in the house and everything, even after you told him they told you about how they used to use it too. You two munch on chips, fruit, chocolate covered almonds. He lays his head in your lap as you rub his belly and he makes whiny puppy noises, both of you bouncing to the Clash's Complete Control. You let Tessie in your room when the smoke clears through the window and switch to a calmer playlist. Suede's The Drowners, but still. The obvious homoeroticism is not lost on either of you, both of you grinning. You have a double bed so she can fit in with you, and you wind up petting his hair, neck, back as he pets a now calm her, her fitting some against his front. "You my lil pup, Bren?" He nods, ruffing, and nuzzles his nose against your thigh.

You think about bringing your plan slash resolution slash feeling the waters out up, but don't want to ruin the moment, Fiona Apple's Never is a Promise adding a lovely sadness to the sweetness. Then grooving to Bowie's Starman, B telling you sometimes he feels like a starman... He joined Ryan, Spence, and Brent in the Summer League, they changed their name to Panic! At the Disco, and he just became their singer. Letting that inner starman come out more, you tell him. “Just wonder if we'll ever get Ziggy Stardust, too?”

Your mom and dad get you a peach-kiwi-berry and cream pie for your birthday a couple days later—you've always preferred pie to cake—and your first cell phone for your 17th birthday, so you call B on it, inviting him over for leftover pie before you go to the punk house show. He brings over some presents from Hawaii: a couple leis, matching Hawaiian shirts for you and him, seashells, an alcohol he has to tell you how to pronounce a couple times, a book about Hawaiian goddesses, as well as an old guitar of his and sheet music for Tori Amos. And some dank weed. You are such a pothead now. You played guitar in class at your old school last year, played his at his place too, “now you've got one for your own.” All happy and nervous. You can tell he likes treating people, and he tells you that he loves doing this for his friends. You want to treat him back, but don't want to wait until his birthday all the way in April.

You sneak out to drink a couple times—no longer complaining of your love for fruity ones after you tease him back about the Capri Sun and other fruit juices he loves—him drinking it too. You mosh with him before you have to beg off because some guys use it as an excuse to be dickheads, too aggressive. He gets a couple pot brownies from Eric, and you sit with some friends like him, Amanda, Leah who are there too, eating them, drinking, chatting, getting into the music, or some combination thereof. Luckily there's a taco place a block away that's open late, so you two toddle over, tipsy, but not full on inebriated, him less so—“so I can be a good host.” You order a huge burrito with sweet potato, pico de gallo, avocado, black bean, peppers, rice... Doing that Austin Powers Scottish “Get in my belly!” line. Telling him he should eat his veggies too, dammit. He would look even cuter if he managed to gain some weight, the little bean. You nudge some of your burrito at him too as he eats his tacos. You both need it, even if he's the only one who needs more meat on his bones.

You spill some on the Hawaiian shirt and he immediately reaches over, wiping if of your breast. “Uh... sorry...” he pulls his hand away but you smile, tell him it's ok. Then giggling, you pat his breast too, saying that's how ok it is. Then smooch him on the cheek, before plowing that burrito down, only breaking to grin and look at him. You make it back a couple songs into the next group, but the last one's the best, you and B dancing at the edge of the crowd. You want to kiss him so bad, thanking him over and over, so you do: a peck on the lips. “You're the best, B.” You nuzzle noses with him, hugging him close, swaying, feeling so warm and happy and buzzed, aware your crotch is lightly on his thigh, but you don't pull away. Kind of in love too. You pull him to a loveseat for more cuddles, touching his hands, arms, hair, face, smooching over his forehead, cheeks, nose too—“cutest face ever, B”—back, thigh, petting, massaging, asking a couple times if it's ok, saying he can do it back. He does, more cautious than you are, probably more worried than he often is because you're still tipsy. Fuck, you want to... fuck him every which way into next week,

Walking to the bus stop, you keep touching him, holding hands, brushing shoulders, thighs, hips. You're glad your parents are open-minded, because “Wanna sleepover, B?” They thought he was gay before you told them he was bi, but they'd still be cool with him staying over, even in your bed.

Since you were sixteen, they told you you could have boys over, as long as you were careful, that your mom could take you to the sexual health clinic, that you could have fun in ways that you didn't have to worry about getting pregnant. That they didn't want to tell you you should do things, but they didn't want you hiding things. The few people who knew how they were were surprised you didn't take more advantage, with boys, sex, booze, drugs... You've not done drugs other than pot and booze, not even cigarettes, and there's only been two other boys, one good, one... not, and mostly clothed fooling around. Seems like kids with strict or completely checked out parents were the ones who chased those things, or fell into it.

They knew about those two other boys but not much detail, hell they already knew about you masturbating since you were a baby, and you've told them about crushing on B too, being all touchy with him, leaving out how turned on he got you, the dreams and fantasies... They told you about oral and manual stuff just in general terms, and you made out, grinded with Jax, came with him, wished you two were less shy so you felt free to continue with him, but B told you about outercourse, rubbing on each other, all these different ways, and in more detail...

You just wear shorts and a sportsbra to bed, and he wears shorts of yours and a tshirt. You want to say you'd be down for sleeping naked, but don't want to weird him out, or make him worry about you being too drunk/high to know what you're saying. You're just buzzed now; you know what you'd be saying, and are clearheaded enough to want it, like you'd want to say and do it completely sober too. You do ask him for cuddles and hair pets though, and he grins, nodding, so you gladly oblige on each other, humming and singing songs to each other to get the other to guess what it is.

You, cackling, wake him up with a slap on the ass after 10 because he's on his belly, sheet around his legs. “Couldn't help it, B. Dat ass.” He blushes, and you grin. “I could smooch it better?” He cocks his eyebrow, flushing, but smiling, a soft “you want to?”, so you kiss his lower back first, then the soft skin where your shirt is riding up on him. Then his clothed butt. It's so silly it doesn't seem like a wtf moment or like it's giving anything away.

He strips off, except for his boxer briefs, and grabs his clothes, saying he should've been home already, for family time. “At least I brought you breakfast,” you say, holding out the last of the pie. You feed it to him as you wait for the bus with him. As you see it approach, you kiss him closemouthed on the lips again, hold his hand, thank him for a lovely birthday. “Must be the best birthday ever, Bren, thanks to you.” He gets up and you hug him close. “Best boy ever, B,” you whisper in his ear, hands circling from his back to his ass. “That ok?”

“More than ok...”

Damn, you love all of him, including his booty. “Lovely all over. Butt, too” makes him blush even more than he already is, even grinnier than you.

“Th-thanks. Y-oh, God—you're great too. I mean, the best birthday girl. Uh...” Neither of you have time to finish, because the bus stops, and you tell him not to miss it so he doesn't get in more trouble.

When you're back in class the next day you talk each other's ears off about visiting his family, how everything and everyone in Hawaii is beautiful in their own ways, you wishing you got to see it too, saying you've only been to Scotland and England, also because of family, with their oceansides and hilly farms and castles. He's got a lot of Scot in him too. Chatting until Ms Eliot glares at you two for at least a second time, clearing her throat loudly.

You keep touching him even more than before, matching your birthday celebrations: his hair, imagining flowers in it, his almost brown now skin, thinking he'd get Hawaiian flowers if he got any tattoos like he sometimes talked about. Picturing him naked even, swimming, or covered in flowers, or only in a grass skirt, or the cloth skirts both sexes wore. Or kissing that couple he got a crush on in a matter of hours... Clearly, that beauty rubbed off on him too, making him even more gorgeous. Hand on his thigh, hip, even. When he smiles, remembering the lushness and from your touches, you melt. He promises you pictures soon, saying he first panicked because he thought he lost the camera (it was in his mom's things), then forgot to get them developed, then they couldn't do it over the weekend. He wanted to show them to you and tell you about it at the same time because he can't really do it justice, but couldn't hold off anymore.

You grab onto his hand, nudge your shoulder into him as you're walking in the halls. You sit next to him during lunch, thighs and arms touching, pressing. After, you play with his hair and he just melts into it as you sit in the grass after. He touches back, your back, arm, nuzzles into your hugs and lap. Let's out little moans as you play with the nape of his neck, scalp... You find the small of his back, and he likes there too, even able to feel those Venus dimples he has too, fingertips daring over that strip of bare skin, wanting to go lower... so you do, hand resting on his ass, thumb stroking, sometimes patting to a beat. Watching his blissed out face, lush lips. It's turning you on, quite a lot, thinking about some of the things you could get up to, but you don't stop.

People have assumed that you're either a) boyfriend-girlfriend or b) a gay and his fag hag for a while now, even a couple brother-sister assumptions, but this may be upping it a level.

#brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie fic #the slow unraveling #teasing #so much touching #slow burn

7 notes · View notes

louistomlinsoncouk · 5 years ago

Link

Louis Tomlinson: ‘It took some real maturity to understand that One Direction wasn't real life’

I meet Louis Tomlinson at Simon Cowell's London office: a huge, two-room space befitting of a Bond villain at Sony Music’s HQ in High Street Kensington, on the floor occupied by his label, Syco. Cowell, to be clear, isn’t here, but he definitely feels present. A ten-foot portrait of the music mogul smirks down on all those who enter from the minimalist living room wall. Tomlinson, his publicist and I go straight through the frosted glass doors into the office-proper to do our interview, but before we can start the 27-year-old One Direction member turned solo artist needs a cigarette.

Within 30 seconds someone has brought Tomlinson a heavy orb-shaped black ashtray and a cup of tea. He lights up – smoking two more over the next half an hour – and visibly relaxes, leaning back in his chair. Tomlinson has the air of a comedic TV personality: warm, funny and self-effacing, he makes regular references to his hometown of Doncaster (“Donny”), has a loud, theatrical voice and swears like a trooper. “Simon won’t mind,” he says – and mind Cowell shouldn’t. One Direction, one of the most successful boy bands of all time, were Cowell’s cash cow after he brought them together on the X Factor in 2010. Since going on “hiatus” in 2016, all five boys (now men in their mid-twenties) launched solo careers, but only Tomlinson stuck with Syco. Now, Cowell's last vestige of the One Direction big bucks is gearing up to release a debut album, which, as anyone who knows anything about the fervour of the band's fans will be well aware, is already a guaranteed hit.

Tomlinson has, however, taken a big risk. Dressed in a vintage red football shirt, black tracksuit bottoms and black trainers, hair still styled into sweeping boy band perfection, he explains that this new music is “a statement of intent”. Gone are the saccharine, dance-tinged pop beats heard on his 2017 and 2018 collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki. Instead, his latest single “Kill My Mind” is a nineties rock-inspired anthem that sounds like an ode to Oasis. “I spent a long time treading water working out where I fit in the industry,“ he says. “I had to work out what it is I can actually get away with, and just how much I have to play for radio,” explaining that he did the aforementioned collaborations “because I felt like I had Tomlinson says that, unlike former bandmates Zayn Malik and Liam Payne, both of who have released music obviously influenced by hip-hop and R&B, “I can’t really relate to the urban-leaning sounds you hear on American radio”. Instead, he cites Catfish And The Bottlemen as an influence (“Lyrically, it’s conversational and honest”) and spends his time listening to Apple Music playlist “Kebab On The Night Bus”, which features bands such as The Arctic Monkeys, The Stone Roses, The Who and Idles . The result is a solo output that, finally, makes him feel “really excited and really proud. This is where I want to be.

So what does he want this new music to say about him, other than he likes guitar music? “I want people to look at me as a good and credible songwriter.” Overall, what I want from my lyrics is honesty,” he elaborates. “I want it to be real. I don’t want them to feel Hollywood or contrived.” Most of the album is “very autobiographical”, but he’s also taken care to keep it “exciting”, after listening to the earliest version of it and feeling that “A lot of it sounded quite sad.” Tomlinson, who lost his younger sister earlier this year, references the single before “Kill My Mind”, “Two Of Us”, which is about his late mother, Johannah Deakin, who passed away in 2016 after a battle with leukaemia. “That’s a very, very honest song, but it was also very emotionally heavy. I don’t want to be known as that guy.” What, the stereotypical mope with a guitar? “Yeah, exactly, I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I want people to feel good when they listen to my music. That’s one of the amazing things we had with One Direction.”

Together with Liam Payne, Tomlinson did a lot of the writing for One Direction, which, on reflection, he thinks he was driven to do so that he might find his role in the band. “This isn’t a relatable statement,” he acknowledges, “but I imagine that anyone who’s been in a band or boyband will understand this feeling. There were definitely times in the band that I felt like I could do more or sing more, which is why I actively tried to get better as a writer, because I thought that would be my outlet.”

Now Tomlinson feels like he's found his writing groove, but is he worried the One Direction fans might not like his new music? “Yeah and that’s what creates a bit of a conundrum actually, because that’s very relevant for me,” he says. “I feel like, to a certain degree, we all owe them something. We are where we are because of them, it’s as simple as that.” As my colleagues here at GQ can attest – this 2013 interview with the band got us death threats – upsetting fervent One Direction fans is not an action to be taken lightly. He says that he’s “deliberately included songs on the album that feel a little bit transitional, so it won’t be too alienating towards the fans”. Lyrically, however, he feels like he still “writes what they want to hear, because it’s honest and it’s real and it’s me pouring my heart out”.

But with a ready-made audience come anxiety-inducing benchmarks. “Having the experience of being in 1D was incredible and it’s given me so much to work with, but it’s also hard in terms of expectation, because that was the pinnacle of what we were,” he says sombrely, referring back to the time spent mulling over how to balance making music that’s authentic with finding his place in the mainstream. “If I’d done this interview two years ago, I’d have said to you that if my album doesn’t get to No1 I’ll feel like I’ve failed. It embarrasses me saying that shit out loud now, but it took some real maturity to understand that One Direction wasn’t real life... Everything I’d been shaping my experiences around was something that wasn’t real life, even in the music industry.”

We laugh about those heady days, when he was 18-24, fresh out of Doncaster and making the kind of money 99.9 per cent of us can only ever dream about. “There was a solid time when I spent a long time looking at the most stupid, ridiculous things to spend money on,” he says when I ask him about his own crazy popstar purchases, having read that Liam Payne once bought the Ford Anglia from Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets. “I’ve got a long list of random movie props that starts with the great opener of the leg braces that Tom Hanks wears in Forest Gump. Have I ever got them out? No. I looked at them when I bought them like, ‘Oh, this is amazing,’ but really, I’m not a showy person, I’m not going to have them on display in my house.” Also stored away (“I’ve got Hard Rock Cafe in one cupboard”) are the swords from Kill Bill.

[...]

Has he ever considered retiring out of the public eye? “I’ve thought about that loads of times. It’s only the fans, and the fact I have a point to prove to myself, that keep me getting up every day and getting on to do it,” he says. “When I’m 50, I’m going to go off and get my coaching badges and I’m going to manage some youth team and win the FA Youth Cup with them.” So with all the intense media scrutiny, the feeling that you owe millions of people around the world well, something, and a hugely successful stint as a musician already under his belt, what’s he’s still trying to prove with his solo career? “People and the press love to say, ‘Oh, A and B will do well, but the rest of the lads, they’re not going to do anything.’ So my point I’m trying to prove is that I’m still going to be here in ten years, I hope”.

#louis tomlinson #press #kmm: british gq #kill my mind promo #19sep19 #it's not the full thing

134 notes · View notes

dailytomlinson · 5 years ago

Link

Tomlinson says that, unlike former bandmates Zayn Malik and Liam Payne, both of who have released music obviously influenced by hip-hop and R&B, “I can’t really relate to the urban-leaning sounds you hear on American radio”. Instead, he cites Catfish And The Bottlemen as an influence (“Lyrically, it’s conversational and honest”) and spends his time listening to Apple Music playlist “Kebab On The Night Bus”, which features bands such as The Arctic Monkeys, The Stone Roses, The Who and Idles . The result is a solo output that, finally, makes him feel “really excited and really proud. This is where I want to be.”

Still three years shy of 30 and living between London and LA (where he shares a home with his best friend from Doncaster, Olly), Tomlinson seems to have finally found some balance.

#gq magazine #190919 #kmm press #stunt mention #press #louis tomlinson

86 notes · View notes

gelo-p · 5 years ago

Text

Cycling Seasons, Fresh Skies: Memories

I knew from a long time ago that if I’d ever go for a T10, this would be it. When the event was finally getting closer, early estimates told me I was 900 flames short; I’d have to buy stars for this event.

(WARNING: A rather image-heavy post)

Perhaps the moment I honestly considered T10 instead of settling for T100.

Definitely the moment I knew there was no turning back. :)))

Believe me, this was not the only purchase I made for this event.

I needed a better Challenge Live team, so I knew getting a 4* Happy Ran is required, to complete my Happy Afterglow team. I’ve never gotten any 4* Ran before, so thank god the 4* Exchange Ticket had the perfect timing.

“WAIT. YOU WERE USING A HAPPY TEAM ALL THIS TIME???”

Yep. ^^ Well, my Multi Live team was Powerful Afterglow-based, but had only 2 4-stars, sooo I knew it wouldn’t cut it.

There she is <3

I’ve always stopped at Skill Level 4, but I really had to pull out all the stops. Ran is my first Skill Level 5 member. ^^ (everyone in my CL team also received the level 5 upgrade)

Alright, let’s do this! Hey Hey Hoh~!

The event has finally begun! I initially found it amusing seeing all sorts of titles being shown off. This one in particular stood out to me. XD

(Looking back, that Sinz person would later turn out to be a serious T10 contender. I think they changed their name to Pyokun after some time)

Here’s a screenshot of a rare T5 GeLö-P. I really wanted to share this with you guys, but I figured I’d jinx myself by revealing publicly what I was trying to do. :>

(I will doubt the existence of God Almighty, but believe in being jinxed. Life is weird sometimes.)

Well, that’s the Grand Room for ya’. Meta songs all the way~

How do you even react to that?

With this. :)))

NEXT YOU’LL SAY FUEEEEE

Home Street...

Home Street.......

HEY HEY HOH~!

The moment I ran out of large energy drinks, and had to start spending stars. </3 Small energy drinks were still reserved for moments I can afford to wait out the 30-minute refill timer.

The 5 Horsemen of the Apocalypse

My first time doing the “recover waaaaay more than 10 flames” thing

Huhehe huhehe huhehe...

I too would like some of those Afterglow pins. T_T

Baby Shak my as-

Aaaand we have a dodger, ladies and gentlemen. XD

I think this guy needs to be banned.

Home Street? Pssh, that was so yesterday. Jumpin’ is the shit now.

Ganbatte, P5.

Himari~

My 2nd encounter with Ghostkillers (who later become T12..?). He chose Senbonzakura the first time, so when he did it again, I thought I’d save it for posterity. ^^

The “I too would like to live dangerously” gang 8-)

The first time I switched away from my dua T100 titles. I figured I’d stop trying to “scare” the competition.

First time tracking T10 scores. This would later prove to be very useful in seeing if my projection will hold (although I shifted to tracking T3 - T12).

Taking a break, so I watched ads for free flames. :)))))

Moca, Ran, GeLö-P, and a weird name. Huh. Okay.

Kyu~Mai * Flower was released! Played this one on Hard.

...this one I played on Expert...

...and thank fuck I got it first try, because oh boy I’m not playing that beat map again. >_<

“Ban me if you can” ?? Why??

Aaaaand this motherfucker right here was cheating and inflating his score. I personally reported him to the game admins over on twitter, and they’ve informed me that they were already aware of this idiot. Saw him just once more after this.

Yes. That’s 91 million, 798 thousand, 346.

I actually encountered them once before this, but didn’t notice anything off about their score (was already dazed at that time). And then a discussion started over at reddit, so when I met him again, I took screenshots.

Ganbatte :))

Had time for a quick hey hey hoh spam ^^

Which day was this..? Anyway I came up with my brilliant pun. Read the comment, see if you can figure it out. :3

MocaRan and YukiLisa. Sigh. I don’t think we can be friends, P5.

:)))

Told you, Ghostkillers only pick Senbonzakura XD

Tomoe’s Birthday! ^^

Even the game won’t let you have a GF, P5. XD

HEATHCLIFF STOP PICKING BABY SHARK

(almost sure they’re famous in the competitive scene... I don’t know them tho LOL)

I woke up one morning to find there was no internet.

FUCK ME

I knew mobile data was going to result to multiple disconnects, but thank fuck I had lots of challenge points to spare. I passed the time productively, and by the time I was done, internet was back. Whew.

Rank update: currently T8. ^^

More of Ghostkillers x Senbonzakura and JFC that name tho P2

Shitpost comment XD

First time seeing 2 other T10 contenders in the same room: Itsuki and Ghostkillers.

Probably the point where I started spamming Tokimeki Poporon instead of Home Street.

Also there’s a looot of interesting names in Bandori.

As a YukiRan / MocaLisa shipper (well more of SayoLisa nowadays), it is my job to destroy players 1, 3, and 5. >:(

Wallet: IT’S NOT POSSIBLE

Me: NO, IT’S NECESSARY

...aaaaaand I immediately threw away 10k stars hoping for Megane Ran, but got shit. (This would later force me to make 2 more purchases XD Seriously though, I could have saved a lot of money with a better star purchase plan)

I got Loli Rinko tho. <3

Which day was this...? I think this was the moment I knew Ghostkillers has given up. I was laughing my ass off reading the comments. I think everyone of us was half-dead at this point. XD

And so we’re down to the final 11.

I’ve started considering the possibility at this point that I might be the final one to bow out.

OMG I CAN’T SEE PLAYER 2

BUSHIDO~!

I was feeling the despair at this point, and thus started singing Komm Susser Tod

I do mini-sprints in the morning, so I’m T6 here. I usually fall back down to ~T9 in the afternoon.

I usually level up once per event. I started this event from Rank 193. :)))

(well it was technically 192, but I was like 2 games away from leveling up)

There are no experts in this room :v

Jumpin = NO FEVER, but picks meta song anyway. Okay. :v

Hey! All Random!

Game: DID SOMEONE ASK FOR A META SONG

I have a lot of friend requests at this point (probably from people seeing me on the T10 list), but I don’t have enough space to accept them all :((

Bread-themed profile!

Poppin’ Party, Puff n’ Pastry... get it?

Itsuki started spamming BOF at this point.

Doki doki~

HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME~ ♪ ♫

P1 is an IRL friend :))) I’d later tease her about how slow she is picking songs LOL

Some Initial D reference for overtaking :P Of course I was badly falling behind at this point (T9 is hella dangerous), but I had no choice but to continue to believe in the math (and that early overtaking is a bad choice).

“Early moves lets your opponents recover from mental shock.” - Ryosuke Takahashi, Initial D 3rd Stage

No seriously, that’s exactly what I was thinking of. And also “Not yet, not yet, now” from Ford v Ferrari.

P1 & P5 get married already...

FINAL NIGHT.

I’m down to T11, and everybody else already did 2.3M-sprints some hours earlier, and have considerably slowed down.

I, on the other, was about to go to sleep. Yes, I, the current T11, was about to let the others pull away. All I could do was believe in the Math at that point, because let me tell you-

I had 105k challenge points left. That’s 3.4M event points I had yet to sprint.

This was during the final morning, 9 hours before event ended. When I woke up that morning, my heart was pounding like crazy. What if everybody has pulled ahead?

When I finally checked, most of the T10′s were still in the 17M-range. Itsuki was on T10, and he was only 500k away. I knew at that point that my chances were pretty good; however, I shut up about it, set my comment to “Now Playing: Running in the 90′s”, and got to work.

There was nothing else I could to but consume all the CP I had left. No more tracking. A literal 5-hour non-stop sprint to 19.2M points. If they can still catch up even after they’ve already expended their CP yesterday, then maybe I don’t deserve this T10 after all.

All I need to do was beat one of them. It was me or them.

Holy shi-

I wasn’t out of the woods yet, had to make sure at least one of them didn’t overtake me. Of course that was more up to them, since I didn’t have any strength left (my thumb stopped working at that point, no seriously, it’s still not working properly even today). I also didn’t have any significant stars left.

I managed to sneak in a few songs, but that was it. I was done. The others managed to close the gap, but I stayed in T6.

And then the event was over.

I fucking did it.

------

I would later learn that this was the bloodiest (Challenge Live) event in the history of ENdori. In one redditor’s words, I “ ...sure picked a hell of a time to go for it.”

I had no choice. This is Megane Ran we’re talking about. <3

I had some idea tbh, because I managed to read a tweet in the middle of the event, that “this was one lit T10″. Apparently we were on track to beat the previous record-holder, which was Sayo’s Umbrella event.

I’m... really glad to have been part of this event. I feel so darn proud of myself. >:3

But I couldn’t have done it without the help of the Grand Room. Seriously, I only played in the Grand Room.

Remember this?

I don’t have (competitive) friends. :))) So thank you, all. *bow*

I’d like to thank IRL-friend otearaisu over at twitter for putting up with my excessive score projection updates. XD I have a really detailed excel sheet to check if I was on track or not, and whenever there were developments, I’d always tell him about it, even in the dead of the night. XD

------

Would I ever do this again? Probably not. This was the only event that I knew I really wanted to go for, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Maybe I’ll get a couple of T100′s in the future, but that’s it. ^^

See you in the lobby~

#bandori #bang dream #cycling seasons fresh skies #garupa #event

6 notes · View notes

dark-infatuation · 5 years ago

Note

...you know exactly what we came here to ask. - X, Gem & Mun

Yes dear, I am well aware~

1. What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

Once upon a time, I would’ve said a dragon~ Now, I suppose any sort of big cat. A melanistic lion would be quite magnificent, don’t you think?

2. Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

Usually, it ends up being flannel pajama pants, with or without a shirt, doesn’t matter. But, I do have a set of silk pajamas that feel rather nice

3. What song really gets you going?

That’s a good question. I’m not very up to date with modern music. But the song ‘Endgame’ from the musical Chess is very good.

4. Where do you usually eat your meals?

Preferably, at the kitchen table. Though I do admit I have a habit of sitting on the kitchen island to eat

5. Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

Breakfast

6. Most embarrassing habit?

Uh, yes, well, I have been disconnected from society for quite some time, and I’m afraid my slang isn’t very up to date. I try not use slang as a general rule, but there are occasions where I can slip and say something that truly shows my age

7. Chocolate or fruity candy?

Chocolate, no question

8. Soft or hard tacos?

Soft

9. Worst way to break up a fight?

Participating in said fight, solves nothing

10. Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

Shift a pair of demon horns onto my head and boom “Going down?”

11. What color/design are your bedsheets?

Plain black, though the comforter has a nice black and white patterning I’m not sure how to describe. Swirls mixed with paisley?

12. Any hidden talents?

I don’t think it’s hidden anymore, but I can play the piano quite well

13. Favorite thing to drink out of (mug, glass, etc.)?

Mug

14. Socks or bare feet around the house?

Bare feet

15. Favorite board game?

Monopoly

16. Do you sleep with the fan on or off?

Off, I’m cold enough as is

17. Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

Depends on my mood, but usually ends up being both with how big the manor is

18. Do you sing in the shower?

Yes

19. Favorite song to belt out at the top of your lungs when you’re alone?

......‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’

20. Last thing you cried about?

.....Everything, really. Everything that happened that night.

21. At what age did you first have alcohol?

When we were 7, but it was also a very different time back then.

22. Relationship status?

I’d say I’m taken, wouldn’t you, Xanthias~?

23. What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

Oh I can end up spending quite a lot on my suits. I think my most expensive one was...somewhere in the $30,000 range?

24. What do you typically wear to formal events?

Suits

25. Favorite memory?

............I’d rather not say. Time has made the moment bitter, but...it had been quite beautiful while it lasted

26. Gum or breath mints?

Mints

27. Favorite shoes?

I don’t have a favorite. I have very few pairs, and all of them are the same.

28. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

The list, my dear, is longer than I’d ever care to admit

29. What is the natural state of your hair?

Usually in my eyes, which is quite annoying

30. Have you ever had braces?

31. Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Go to that stupid party

32. Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

Our parents were never around to catch us doing anything

33. Last time you had an orgasm?

This morning, isn’t that right, Xanthias~

34. Celebrity crush(es)?

None, I’m not sure who the modern celebrities are

35. Windows or Mac?

......Pardon?

36. How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?

...I’ll be honest, neither of us ever learned

37. Makeup or natural?

I’ll always prefer a little makeup, no matter the body

38. What color do you wear the most?

Black

39. Favorite season?

Spring

40. Umbrella or rain coat?

Umbrella

41. Have you ever fallen out of a tree?

Yes, quite a few times as a child

42. First car you ever owned?

A Ford Model T

43. What time do you usually go to bed?

That relative

44. Are you a competitive person?

Yes

45. Least favorite color?

I’m not sure I dislike any color, though perhaps yellow

46. First pet you’ve ever owned?

Does Samuel count?

47. Sweet or salty?

Sweet

48. Favorite pasta dish?

Chicken and broccoli alfredo

49. Favorite kind of chips?

Are Pringles still around? I like those

50. Talk about something you’re passionate about.

I -- suppose I’m rather fond of music. I used to hoard records, still do, actually. And I used to write my own songs, for the piano. Never wrote any of them down, however. I didn’t like them to feel so concrete. I liked to experiment with my music

51. What are some of your hobbies?

I...I’m afraid I haven’t allowed any to flourish.

52. Caffeine? If so, what kind?

Coffee or tea

53. Favorite kind of pizza?

I don’t believe I’ve ever had it...?

54. Fast food or sit-down restaurant?

A sit-down restaurant

55. Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

Close friends

56. Something that ruins your appetite?

In terms of food? Or mannerisms? For food, any type of squash I dislike, and in terms of mannerisms, open-mouthed chewing tends to repulse me

57. Favorite labels about you?

‘Mysterious’, ‘terrifying’, ‘attractive’. I’m aware that’s not the intention of the question, but those are still labels

58. Are you a religious person?

59. Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

Deep conversations with a friend

60. What size shoe do you wear?

How is this relevant...?

61. Favorite thing about yourself?

I...suppose my charm. It can be quite useful

62. Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

Yes

63. Have you ever had sex on the first date?

Yes

64. Heroes or villains?

Villains

65. Favorite fruit?

Pomegranate

66. Least favorite fruit?

Plum

67. Favorite vegetable?

Broccoli

68. Least favorite vegetable?

...Is squash a vegetable?

69. How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

Usually just one or two, plus a dessert

70. Favorite dessert?

......Admittedly, I will eat virtually anything with chocolate, though those dark chocolates filled with raspberry creme are divine

71. Do you play any sports?

Not at all

72. Age you learned how to swim?

I can’t remember my exact age, but we were children

73. Tell a funny story.

You’ve never seen Damien pine, when we were kids, he had a crush on a boy. His face would get so red whenever he could so much as see this boy, and he’d get that dreamy look on his face, and not watch where he was going, so one tiiiIIIIIIII -- THAT’S ENOUGH

74. What’s one interesting thing about your culture?

My culture? I don’t -- I’m not sure -- I don’t know all that’s happened in the world, I don’t know how culture has possibly changed over the years, I can’t confidently say what would be ‘interesting’ about modern culture

75. What’s one annoying thing about your culture?

......One thing I have a feeling hasn’t changed is that we claim to be inclusive, yet racism and homophobia and hate crimes prevail

76. What job would you be terrible at?

Anything that required a bedside manner

77. Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

A movie

78. What’s your favorite compliment to give?

My dear, I am not a pick-up line generator with a sole goal to get into someone’s pants. My compliments, when I give them, are sincere, and vary from person to person

79. What’s your favorite compliment to receive?

I can admit I can be rather vain. Anything complimenting my looks I enjoy

80. Has your opinion changed on something recently?

Technology. It really has come a long way, hasn’t it?

81. Do you always order the same thing at a restaurant or order something different each time?

I tend to be a creature of habit

82. What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?

Hmm...I’ve always wanted to try and learn to draw. A friend of mine used to be quite good at it, and I’ve always been a little jealous of his seemingly innate skill

83. If you could learn to do anything right now, what would it be?

Switch between male and female bodies myself

84. Favorite physical feature about yourself?

My scar. As painful as it was, it’s quite beautiful, don’t you think?

85. Least favorite physical feature about yourself?

My dear, as a whole I despise this body. It’s not my own, it’s broken, but...it’s all I have

86. What’s one amazing thing you did that nobody was around to see?

I summoned the...thing, that’s in this body with us. Of course, only Damien was around to see it, and it...ended unpleasantly, but it was quite the feat.

87. If you could change your height, would you?

For my female body? Yes, I’d like to make myself a little taller in that form, but I’m quite content with the male body’s height

88. What’s something you would rate 10/10?

Music, any kind

89. Heels or flats?

Heels

90. What’s something you wish you had more knowledge about?

There’s a lot of things I wish I had more knowledge about, the list goes on

91. Would you want to be famous?

I used to be, in a sense. The public eye is quite taxing. Nowadays, I prefer the shadows

92. What’s something you would get arrested for?

Murder

93. What’s your spirit animal?

I’d like to think it’d be a lion

94. What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

You, Xanthias

95. Are you the type to have an organized mess, or no mess at all?

There’s a fine line between ‘organized’ and ‘organized chaos’. It depends which of us is doing the organizing

96. Do you tend to make decisions based on the past, present, or future?

I try to take all into account

97. Are you a planner or a more spontaneous person?

I’d like to say I’m a planner, but history tends to disagree

98. Thoughts on the oxford comma?

A needed grammatical tool

99. What do you hope never changes?

Having other people with me. After experiencing company for the first time in...60 years, I don’t think I could go back to isolation

100. How would you celebrate your 100th birthday?

I’m afraid that’s already come and passed. I can’t even remember my birthday, so undoubtedly it was uneventful, and spent alone.

#wraithik-vampire #Dark

3 notes · View notes

alexandrasavior · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

ALEXANDRA SAVIOR - THE ARCHER

Alexandra Savior announces North American 2020 tour dates in support of forthcoming album, The Archer, due out on 30th Century Records

Portland’s mystery girl may no longer be a kept secret, but Alexandra Savior can never be fully figured out. She wears many colored hats, quite literally, as she explores a lighthouse, in her brand new video for the title track to her forthcoming album, The Archer, out now on Danger Mouse’s 30th Century Records. Today, Savior also announces her 2020 North American tour dates, which will bring her mesmerizing live show to Seattle, WA, Portland, OR, San Francisco, CA, Los Angeles, CA and New York, NY in February. Tickets will be on-sale on Wednesday, October 30th.

Describing her album’s title track and latest release, Savior says:

“I wrote ‘The Archer’ on Christmas Eve as a gift for a lover. At the time, my perception was that I was writing a song about how it feels to love someone, but now when I listen back to ‘The Archer’, I realize that I was writing an observation of a psychologically unhealthy relationship, from the perspective of someone who is unconsciously aware that she is being emotionally mistreated. In 2017, I filmed the Super 8 video for ‘The Archer’ in Port Townsend, WA with artist Alexandria Saleem. The lighthouse and the grim December sky, represented to me the isolation I felt during that time in my relationship.”

Ladygunn says, “Savior has a unique voice that veers away from the cookie cutter pop that is dominating the mainstream right now.” New single, “The Archer,” showcases that standout vocality Savior is now known for, and also weaves a bittersweet story together with clever wordplay and broodingly beautiful layers of melody.

“The Archer” is the third single from Savior’s forthcoming, sophomore album, The Archer, which was produced by Sam Cohen, often known as a fan of collaboration, most recently teaming up with Kevin Morby for his Oh My God album. On working with Savior, Cohen says, “It’s really a joy to work with someone who’s got such a strong sense of melody and also such a strong sense of what she wants stylistically.”

Savior’s debut record, Belladonna of Sadness, was written in collaboration with Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys and NME says, “Savior continues to build on that bold arrival and is becoming a star in her own right.” Her new album shows that not only does her voice stand alone, but that her musicality stands alone, too.

Along with Savior’s newly announced tour dates, a previously announced, special live performance will take place on November 19 at The Bootleg in Los Angeles. Fans can hear the “striking and smoky vocals [that] belong solely to Savior” (NME) and these new picturesque melodies live.

BIO: It all started with a feeling of relief. Just after midnight on New Year’s Eve, Alexandra Savior, who was six months out of a rocky relationship and appreciating her independence, sat down and wrote the song that would become “Crying All the Time.” The melodic, heart-rending ballad, she says, “is about how it feels to be in a relationship with a person who’s disappointed in you,” but it’s also a clarion call announcing the arrival of her sophomore album, The Archer, out DATETK. The dreamy, melancholy song, the first single from The Archer, feels at once classic and contemporary; it’s a torch song for a new generation.

“There’s depression and there’s heartbreak,” Savior says of the album’s themes, which play out over 10 haunting tracks. “But each song represents a different emotional state. I tried to project some sort of strength; I wrote during a time when I was a young woman growing into my identity and developing my confidence, and I hope that comes through.”

Her message gets across loud and clear. Tracks like “Crying All the Time” and “Saving Grace” are big songs—ambitious and atmospheric—that put Savior’s ethereal voice and sharp writing on display. “It came from a place of anger,” she says of “Saving Grace,” the album’s writhing second single. “I had gone through a breakup and people kept telling me it was a saving grace, and I found it ironic because I was so heartbroken.” In some of the songs, Savior’s emotions unfold like thunderstorms and envelop everything going on around them. Other numbers, like “Soft Currents,” feel quiet and more intimate, like a whispered secret nobody was meant to hear.

And while Savior shoulders the responsibility for the lion’s share of her output herself, writing her own songs, creating the artwork for her album’s cover, and even filming her own videos, The Archer was created with an indispensable set of collaborators who helped harness her vision. Its Savior’s first release on 30th Century Records, the label run by her friend and collaborator Danger Mouse, and was produced by Sam Cohen, who’s best known for his work with artists like Kevin Morby and Benjamin Booker. “It’s really a joy to work with someone who’s got such a strong sense of melody and of what she wants stylistically,” Cohen says. “It was amazing to go into her world of 1960s B-movie love stories; Alexandra had a vision that really spoke to me.”

Of course, he wasn’t the first to appreciate her talent. The Oregon native first gained industry attention in 2012 when she posted a cover of Angus Stone’s “Big Jet Plane” on YouTube. The playful, haunting performance landed her a legion of influential fans—she ended up songwriting with Linda Perry, who compared her to Fiona Apple—and put her on the road toward releasing her debut album, 2017’s Belladonna of Sadness, which was written in tandem with the Arctic Monkey’s Alex Turner and produced by Simian Mobile Disco’s James Ford. Pitchfork praised the album, saying, “Savior has a penchant for clever wordplay and a voice that can hypnotize, terrorize, or both,” and the Guardian swooned for Savior’s “preternatural self-possession” and “crystalline, intimate voice.

“Still, with The Archer,” Savior says, “I felt like I needed to establish my own voice and show my independence again.” A listen to the new album will prove that she’s done that, and then some. It’s not only the establishment of a voice, but a showcase for an extraordinary talent at the peak of her power. She’s already at work writing songs for what will be her next release.

For more information, visit alexandrasavior.com.

#alexandra savior #interview #video #*#2019

10 notes · View notes

prorevenge · 6 years ago

Text

More ProRevenge from the radio business.

The ProRevenge post that I made yesterday, about the radio business, was well-received. Someone asked me if I had any other stories from radio. This is the only other one that I could think of. It is more about my colleague Petey than about me.

I hope it qualifies as professional level revenge. At the time, it felt pretty pro. THIS IS A VERY LONG STORY.

Here we go:

Once upon a time, when terrestrial radio was popular, Brian was was one-half of a radio morning show. You know the kind that I am talking about, two pleasant personalities giving weather reports, rehashing entertainment gossip and playing a song or two.

I was the advertising sales manager for the station that broadcast his morning show.

Brian came to us from a larger city. Before working with us, he was an entry-level on-air person, doing overnight radio deejay shifts on the weekends and copying commercials from CDs so that they could be put on the air. This kind of job is the lowest position that a person could hold at a radio station. The position has since been replaced by technology.

It is important to understand that geography is critical when understanding the career level and prestige of an on-air and/or radio programming job. A job in a larger city (or most accurately described, a larger media market) usually pays more, has more listeners and is a more prestigious position.

As I mentioned before, Brian came to us from a larger city, which we will call BigVille. When you see BigVille, think LA, NYC, Chicago or San Francisco. The actual city doesn’t matter for this story.

Our station group is in, shall we say, MiddleBurg. My city is in flyover country but is hardly a sleepy little town. Cities like mine are San Antonio, Cincinnati, Salt Lake City and Jacksonville.

Brian’s transition to his job with my company was a huge step up in actual job title. He went from part-time lackey to full-time morning show radio personality. To make that jump, he moved down in market size from BigVille to MiddleBurg.

Brian’s boss, the station program director, was a guy named Petey. He was responsible for everything that was on the air, except commercials (which was my job), including personalities and music.

I think that his peaceful and kind personality was created by the fact that he and his wife had five kids at home. He was used to dealing with strong personalities and emotional conflict. In many tough professional situations, Petey was like the opposite of a catalyst. When he showed up things usually calmed down.

He was also a great person, evidenced by the fact that three of his five kids were adopted out of a foster care.

Over time, it became clear that Brian didn’t like nor respect Petey. It started with little snide comments to coworkers about so-called stupid decisions that he made. Brian’s familiar refrain was, “that’s not how we did it in BigVille.”

Brian made multiple attempts to get Petey fired. He would come into my office and say things like, “Petey’s decided to [insert managerial decision], don’t you think that this a terrible idea. This would never happen in BigVille?” I always just responded by deferring to Petey.

Eventually, it devolved into Brian screaming at Petey on a regular basis. He would get angry about something and unleash his fury. There were multiple instances where he stomped off and told Petey to go fuck himself, that he quit and was going back to BigVille. Brian would cool off and come back a few hours later.

At Petey’s urging, everyone acted as if nothing had happened. “He just needed to vent,” Petey explained.

Through it all, Petey was patient with Brian. The morning show performed fairly well, had many listeners and got good ratings. My sales staff sold gobs of commercials at good rates. We all made money. Petey was content to let Brian be a raging monster to him as long as he performed on air.

The thing is, though, his morning show wasn’t actually that good. It performed well in the ratings because there wasn’t much competition in this particular radio format. That changed a few years later when a competing station put a popular syndicated national program on the air against Brian.

His ratings immediately began to crumble. What was once a dominant morning show in the target demographic, was now facing stiff competition.

It was unclear if Brian even noticed the change. My sales staff and I noticed it. Demand sets prices and we suddenly had a lower-demand product that was selling at lower rates with fewer customers.

Eventually, my boss noticed and it was decided among the group of managers (including Petey and I) that a change needed to be made. If this had been corporate radio then Brian and his on-air partner would have been out-on-their-asses. Fortunately, this was a privately held company and the owners cared about people. They were willing to figure out a way to keep both morning show hosts on staff, including Brian, at current salaries, doing other on-air jobs somewhere else in the cluster of radio stations.

There was a window of weeks in which the managers knew that the morning show was going to change, but we weren’t sure to what the new programming was going to be. Only the management team knew about the impending change. Brian wasn't aware of his impending reassignment.

During this window, one morning, immediately after his morning show ended at 9, Brian went to Petey’s office to discuss the weekend remote schedule.

Remote broadcasts (simply referred to as remotes) are one way that a radio personality can make extra money. You have probably heard them on air: Hey there, this is Chickenboy, broadcasting live from Salmonella Chrysler, Ford, Jeep...etc.

For remote broadcasts, the advertiser pays the personality a talent fee. At the time, the hourly rate was $100. So, a deejay could do a two-hour remote, sitting around at a car dealership, bullshitting with the sales guys, and walk away with $200.

Most weekends there were five or six remotes. Petey was in charge of assigning talent to each remote. He tried to keep things as fair as possible so that all of his deejays had a chance to make extra money. Brian often lobbied for more than his fair share, and often got it

One Tuesday, after Petey had just assigned remotes for the following weekend, Brian stomped into his office, which was two doors down from mine. He demanded to know why he wasn’t getting more remotes. Petey calmly explained that he already had two of the six scheduled remotes for the weekend. That wasn’t good enough for him.

Brian then walked to my offices and said something like, “Don’t you think that the station advertisers would prefer to have a top morning show personality doing their remote instead of some random nighttime deejay? That is how we did it in BigVille.”

I replied, “Assigning remote talent is Petey’s responsibility. He will make good decisions for the advertisers and the station.”

He harrumphed, shot out of my office, and flew back to Petey’s, slamming the door.

From my office, two doors down, I heard him scream, “Fuck this. You are an idiot. I fucking quit. I'll go back to BigVille.”

He tore out of Petey’s office, through the front reception area and out toward the parking lot into the station-provided dealer demo car that he was driving around as part of an advertising promotion.

I gently walked over to Petey’s office and poked my head in.

“He’s just venting, right?” I said to Petey.

Petey replied, calmly, “You heard everything he said? You heard him say that he quit.”

“I am pretty sure half of the building heard it.”

Petey requested, “Could you follow me down to the business office?”

“Sure.” I knew what was about to happen.

We walked down to visit with the person in charge of Human Resources, Dolores.

“Brian just gave his resignation to me, verbally in my office. He heard it,” pointing to me. “Is there any additional paperwork that we need to do in order to formalize this?”

Dolores said that it would be best if Petey wrote a memo to Brian, describing what happened in the office, and formally accepting his resignation on behalf of the company.

Then, Dolores began the process of separating Brian from the company. She turned off his access key code to the building and turned off his company email.

Petey prepared the memo.

I wish that I had been at the station when Brian returned. Unfortunately, I was away on a sales call. Here is what Petey and the station receptionist told me:

Brian showed up a few hours after the blow up, like normal. He tried to enter the building through an employee-only side door. His code didn’t work.

He marched around to the front of the building and through the main, public door. Inside of the reception area, he tried his code again, to get through the door into the employee area. The code didn’t work. “Fuck!”

The receptionist called Petey. He flew up to the front with memo in hand.

In the reception area, in front of the receptionist, Petey said, “Brian, your resignation has been accepted. This memo is for you. Would you please sign here that you received it?”

Brian was dumbfounded. He signed the paper acknowledging receipt, still not saying a word.

“We will need the keys to the dealer demo that you have been driving.” Petey continued.

Brian detached the key from his ring and handed it over.

“We will box up all personal items in your desk and in the car and overnight it to you. Should I send it to your current address or somewhere in BigVille?"

Brian said "current," a tear welling in his eye.

The receptionist called him a cab.

Brian sat in front of the station office building, crying, until his cab arrived.

—

Brian tried to get another on-air job in our town but I don’t think that he ever got anything. I have no idea where he is or what he is doing.

His former on-air partner is still working on-air, doing afternoons on a different station.

We replaced Brian’s show with a better show. The ratings recovered.

The car promotion moved to afternoons. The afternoon drive deejay gratefully drove the dealer demo car around for three months.

(source) (story by radioburner9988)

#prorevenge #by radioburner9988 #pro revenge stories #revenge stories #pro #revenge #pro revenge story #revenge story

374 notes · View notes

lesbianstarkx · 6 years ago

Text

Happy Little Mistakes - Agent Kay (Kevin Brown) x Fem!Reader [Josh Brolin Character Imagine]

In which Kevin Brown thought that he was going to live out the rest of his life just working, but then he finds you, a southern agent with a sassy attitude, and he recalls the moment you first met.

This is sorta SHIT but it’s okay,,i finished it. This is also showing up SUPER ugly on mobile, so if it messed up: the italicized is a flashback and there’s supposed to be a little border in between those paragraphs, but if it’s not showing up, just use your imagination I guess 😩 anything not italicized is present time.

If you haven’t seen Men in Black 3, watch this to get a feel for Josh Brolin’s character and his accent!

NOTE: THIS TAKES PLACE IN THE 1960′S, AND I’M IGNORING AGENT KAY AND AGENT OH’S CHEMISTRY FOR THE SAKE OF THIS :)))))

Warnings: Mentions of smut with no detail, usage of female pronouns

Agent Kay, also known as Kevin Brown, had devoted his whole life to his work. It had been his promise whenever he joined the MIB that his mission would be protecting earth; nothing more, nothing less. He hadn’t had a lot to live for before he joined, and he knew the risks— you disappear, no trace of you being alive outside of the Men In Black, unless you decide to opt out— but he decided that he was destined for this job.

And he was good at it.

Disappearing, that is. Distancing himself from people and keeping a private life, even if he had to spend time with them.

But you hadn’t been part of the plan.

He had fully planned to live out the rest of his life just working for the MIB, no strings attached to anyone outside of the agency, but then you showed up. It’d been years ago, but he still remembered every detail like it had happened yesterday.

“Agent Kay, we need you to take a stop by Peter’s restaurant downtown. We have reports that he’s got a underground alien object exchange after hours. He won’t-“

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Kay sighed against the phone as he began starting his car up again. “Wouldn’t be the first time. See ya, Oh.” He hung up at that, shoving the antenna back in before he tossed it into the passenger seat. Another day at work doing the same thing he always did. He could save the chitchat, he didn’t have the patience for it anymore.

He started up his old Ford and started towards Peter’s restaurant, the familiar rough hum of the car sputtering around him.

It was a Friday. The wind was blowing in through the window, cooling the warm air that surrounded him whenever he was still. Janis Joplin played gently through the radio, and it was 2:05pm.

He made it to Peter’s in about fifteen minutes, luckily having not been far whenever he started. Peter was an alien from a planet that was nearly impossible for a human to say— Agent Oh was the only one that could do it accurately— and he constantly caused problems. He wasn’t huge trouble, just greedy and always looking for new ways to make money, even if it meant doing shady business. Kay wasn’t a stranger to Peter and his tricks, and yet Peter still fell for his every time.

He checked himself in the mirror before he got out, re-buttoning his suit coat as he pushed the doors open to the restaurant. No sign of Peter at first glance, but his chicken-shit ass probably ducked and hid at the sight of Kay’s car pulling up. He raised an eyebrow and shoved a hand in his pocket as he began towards the kitchen, when suddenly, a voice sounding behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“You look like a tall glass of trouble.”

He turned, fully expecting trouble himself, but instead he was faced with the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. [h/c] hair that perfectly framed her face, and sparkling [e/c] eyes that seemed to stand out the more than anything he’d seen over the years.

He hadn’t seen you around here before, especially since most people that came in here weren’t actually humans, and you looked as human as they came. You smirked up at him confidently, and he was weirdly drawn in by that.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” He asked, his southern drawl taking you aback slightly, but you rolled with it nonetheless. It matched yours to boot.

“I know trouble when I see it. What you doing here?” You raised an eyebrow at him as you adjusted your top, the pencil behind your ear catching his attention before his eyes fell down to the pad of paper in front of you.

Ah, a reporter. That explains a lot.

“Nothing that’s important to you, and frankly-“

“Watch your back, slick.”

Suddenly, something hard hit Kay across his back and he stumbled forward slightly, falling from the force, but managed to turn around and grab whatever it was before it smacked him again. It was Peter, with some sort of long, metal tubing, and he looked absolutely terrified at the sight of Kay’s face. He frowned and quickly pulled the pipe from his grasp, pushing it forward into his stomach in one quick motion. He didn’t have to, but it was payback for the bruise that was already forming on his back.

And you still sat at your booth, unaffected and unamused, that small smirk still on your lips.

Kay caught sight of it whenever he glanced at you and wanted to say something, but before he had the chance, Peter retaliated faster than Kay anticipated and grabbed a nearby plate, smashing it over his head. He stumbled back slightly before he shook his head, glass pieces falling from his hair.

Alright, that was e-fucking-nough. He reached for his gun, only to realize—

It wasn’t there.

He heard the familiar sound of the weapon whirring to life before he even had a chance to register what could have happened to his trusted weapon, and whenever he looked up, his shoulders dropped at the sight of Peter pointing the gun at him, hands shaking.

“I’m tired of you nosy Men in Black! I’m just trying to live, man! Make a living! This is how things on my planet worked!” He yelled as Kay put his hands up, who was looking over at you, still sitting at the booth with a bemused look on your face and hands crossed.

Calm as fucking ever.

You were an interesting character, he thought, but this was sort of a bad place to be thinking things like that.

You let out a sigh as you took the pencil from your ear and laid it down on the table, and Peter quickly turned the gun on you, his hands beginning to shake even worse whenever he seen that you were unaffected by the presence of the barrel of the gun and only continued to step to him.

“Don’t come any closer, lady! I don’t wanna hurt you!”

You shrugged, “Won’t be a problem.”

And before Peter even had a chance to thing about pulling the trigger, you had pulled out your own gun, but instead of blasting him, an electric current hit the middle of his forehead and knocked him out cold. He spazzed and twitched for a moment before he lay still, and you put the weapon back into the holster that you hid under your top.

Kay looked at you with wide eyes for a moment before he regained his composure, that confident smirk returning to his face as you began to tuck your top back into your skirt.

“And who might you be?” He asked, walking over to grab his pistol from Peter’s grip. Clearly, you were aware of the existence of alien life, didn’t seem like the regular “ALIENS ARE REAL! I’ve devoted my whole life to my alien blog!” nutcase, and carried pretty heavy weaponry for someone he knew didn’t work for the MIB. So you peaked his interest even more.

You tossed him a look over your shoulder as you turned to return back to your booth, paying no attention to the unconscious alien body lying on the floor. “Nothing that’s important to you, frankly.”

Huh. Sass, too. He liked it.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged and put his gun back into its holster. “I’m gonna take a look in the back. You planning on leaving anytime soon, doll?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You sat back and nodded him off. “I ain’t got my food yet.”

He laughed a little and shook his head before walking off at that, stepping over Peter’s body and just leaving him there. Everyone else in the restaurant were pretty much harmless, just Peter’s teenage kids that he used as cooks and excuses whenever he needed an out. They all immediately backed out of the way whenever Kay entered, and after a moment of looking around and seeing nothing suspicious, he finally turned to one of the kids to ask them a few questions.

Before he could even get a word out, they already pointed to a small switch that disguised itself as a spoon lying on the counter, and he nodded courteously at them before pulling it. Two huge doors opened at the back of the restaurant on the floor, and he smirked, already pulling his phone out so he could file the report and get clean up down to the building.

Once everything was set and cleanup was on their way, he had one thing left to deal with:

You.

And despite everything, he still felt like you were going to be the biggest challenge of this whole investigation. He made his way back into the seating area of the restaurant, whistling some tune he couldn’t quite place as he took a seat across from you in the booth, figuring it was better to just sit than ask.

“Deep Purple, I think.” You said, closing the notepad in front of you.

“What’s that now?”

“The song you were hummin’. I think it was a song from Deep Purple.”

He still looked at you completely perplexed, and you laughed, reaching up to push hair from your face. “I could tell by the way you faltered whenever you were whistlin’ that you didn’t know exactly what tune it was.”

His eyebrows lifted from their confused state at that and he nodded, laughing quietly with you.

“You sure do know your way around, ma’am. This scene and people both.” He smiled at you.

“What‘s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean a little innocent reporter such as yourself, roaming around this part of town with weapons on you like that taser, completely unaffected by the alien lying unconscious on the ground? This ain’t your first rodeo.”

You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back in the booth. “Won’t be my last, neither.”

He laughed, that bright smile of his making your heart go 90 to nothing before he offered you his hand. “Agent Kay, MIB. What’s your name, baby doll?”

You smiled and promptly took his hand, shaking it. “Agent 9-3, TISCW.”

“TISCW?” He leaned back and looked over at the array of condiments, arranging them casually as he raised an eyebrow. “What in good god is that supposed to stand for?”

“The Intergalactic Safety Commission of Women.” You answered, reaching over to fix the salt shaker that he had put back haphazardly. “While ya’ll down here take care of your people, we take care of people everywhere that are domesticated planets. And, we actually stay true to our name. Women only.”

“Never heard of ya’ll.” He said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. You did the same, your faces only inches apart.

“That’s because American’s never take the time to get to know anyone outside of America.”

“You sound pretty American to me, doll.”

“I’m a special case.” You smirked, then reached forward, picking a small piece of glass from the plate that had smashed from his hair. You watched his eyes fall directly down to your lips, which made your smirk widen further. “What’s your real name, Agent Kay?”

“I ain’t got a real name.” He shrugged, and you booped his nose gently with your finger as you backed away, drawing him back to reality and away from your lips. “Oh, c’mon,” you scoffed, “Everybody’s got a real name. I know you Men In Black. You may be erased from the government systems, but that don’t mean you don’t exist anymore.”

He looked up at your eyes and smiled. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine?”

“Hm.” You hummed gently and laughed, grabbing your pencil and tucking it behind your ear again. “That’s usually a third date typa thing for me, but I suppose I can make an exception.” You glanced back at the door before looking back at Kay. “Why don’t we get into that fancy Ford of yours and go back to my place? We can get to know each other better there.”

He smirked at you, and that was all the answer that you needed.

By the end of the night, you had learned that his real name was Kevin Brown and that yours was [f/n] [l/n]. And you’d be damned if the both of you weren’t yelling each other’s names out until morning, sweaty and yet stuck together like glue. It’d been ages for the both of you since you’d last had some decent company, work differences usually keeping the two of you separated from getting close to anyone new.

But you found refuge in each other.

It was a Friday that slowly melted into a Saturday. The breeze from outside gently blew into the window, cooling your warm bodies that stayed close together in bed. Janis Joplin plays distantly on the radio in the corner of your room. It was 2:05am.

And you were both overwhelmingly happy.

It’d been two years since that day, yet sadly, the two of you couldn’t get married. Thanks to the MIB, Kevin didn’t exist in any legal system, so there was no way he could fill out any sort of marriage certificate. He could ask the Men In Black to forge an identity for him so you two could, but that was a whole mess that neither of you wanted to get into. The MIB agency hated the TISCW (they said they were “dangerous” and “reckless” whenever, in reality, Earth would be under attack way more if it weren’t for them), and their best agent asking to marry a TISCW? It’d be the end of the world.

But, you weren’t complaining. You loved Kevin and you were happy being beside him regardless. He kissed you like you were his world, he cooked old southern-style food whenever he knew work had been hard, he told dad jokes in his dry humor (you didn’t really think they were funny, but his smile could light up a room), and not to mention, he was amazing in bed. You had everything you could possibly need.

Currently, you were sitting on the counter in the kitchen in your shared apartment, your legs swinging as Kevin cooked breakfast. Jimi Hendrix played on the radio sitting in the windowsill, and Kevin swung his hips gently to All Along the Watchtower (x). This was a normal routine for your house, and yet, something felt a little off.

So you asked, “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

Kevin glanced up from the eggs he was cooking and raised an eyebrow at you, “What’s that?”

“I can tell somethin’ is wrong. Whatcha thinking about?” You leaned back on your hands as Kevin slid the pan over to a cold spot on the stove.

“I dunno,” He sighed, walking over to you and sliding in between, “I’m just thinkin’, I guess.”

“Anything in particular?” You leaned back up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“About us.”

“What about it?”

“You think this’ll last until the end, baby?” He asked sincerely, looking up at you. “You and I?”

You frowned slightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair back into place that had fallen on his head. “Of course, darlin’. You’ve got me until my last breath,” you said, lifting his face up so he’d look at you, “What’s got you thinking like this?”

He sighed a little before he leaned forward, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, slow and deep, like he was savoring it. He pulled away after a moment and pressed his forehead to yours. “I dunno, baby. Our jobs, I guess. We can’t get married and I just I just feel…impermanent, I dunno.” He shrugged a little and you chuckled through your nose, drawing gentle patterns on his upper back with your fingers.

“I think you been working too much.”

“I always work too much.”

You both laughed, and he leaned forward again, stealing another kiss from you. You sighed as he pulled away, poking his nose before you moved to lean back on your hands again.

“I don’t care about none of that, you know,” you said, shrugging lazily, “I don’t care if we make up fake jobs every time we talk to someone, or all the names on our credits cards are fake, or even that we can’t get married. I got you right here, I know you’re real, I know we’re real, and that’s all I need. That’s all I’ll ever need.” You reached up to trace his bottom lip with your finger gently. “So you can let go of all of that silly doubt you’ve got runnin’ through that big head of yours. I’m right here until I can’t be no more, got it?”

He was smiling now, big and bright, and even though you’d seen it plenty of times throughout the years you’d been together, it still made your cheeks flush a light red and butterflies fill your stomach. You’d never get tired of this man and the way his eyes crinkled around the corners when he was happy, with you, or with anything.

You could tell, in that moment, that he’d realized a few things. You weren’t sure what they were, but he looked as if a weight had been lifted, and you were happy for him nonetheless. He’d always thought way too much about everything, even though he wouldn’t admit it, so if you could diminish even some of those worries, then that was an accomplishment.

“Now,” you wrapped your legs further around his waist as you leaned back up, your arms snaking around his neck, “I think those eggs are startin’ to get cold, slick.”

“The eggs can wait.” He decided suddenly, picking you up off of the counter and making you giggle. “We got a whole day to ourselves, darlin’. Let’s use our time wisely.”

And at that, he carried you to the bedroom, the two of you laughing as some Led Zeppelin song started to play on the radio.

It was a Sunday morning. No wind was blowing, the weather was nice and the sun was shining, dripping in through the windows. A Whole Lotta Love played through the radio and filled the house with music, but it couldn’t be heard over the sound of happy and in-love laughter. It was 7:05am.

You may have been a mistake, an unplanned part of Kevin’s life, but sometimes happy little mistakes happen.

And that’s okay.

#josh brolin #josh brolin x reader #young josh brolin #agent kay x reader #agent kay #men in black 3 #men in black #cable x reader #cable #Nathan Summers #nathan summers x reader

84 notes · View notes