#but... it seems like this company refuses to allow their actual live vocals to be heard

[binary5tar1117]

If a company doesn't trust their idols to sing live wtf is even the point?

[angelic-serenade]

Alastor + disaster cook! S/O

headcanons

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

you could not cook to save your life

any attempt at cooking would result in certain failure in the best case scenario and 5.4 magnitude earthquake damage in the worst

sure, you could make edible pasta and if you really put your best efforts into it, acceptable omelette too

but anything past that level of complexity was simply out of your league, a lost cause to put it mildly

don't you even think about making a cake, that shit's dangerous

as they say: as above so below

when you landed in Hell and found yourself joining the Happy Hotel soon after, you came to find out your culinary skills had not magically improved

which is quite ironic since Charlie had made you head chef of the hotel

the string of curses which had left your lips upon hearing the news had been legendary, even for Hell

you adored the demon princess with your whole heart (or whatever was left of it anyway), bUT REALLY CHARLIE? YOU DO NOT GIVE A GUN TO A CHILD AND EXPECT CASUALTIES NOT TO HAPPEN

at this point you were certain she was subconsciously auto-sabotaging

either way, you didn't have the heart to tell her no, so you decided to put your heart and soul into trying to learn how to properly cook, which didn't turn out to be the ideal choice of words since you were in Hell and your soul was probably rotten to the core

at least, nobody could say you hadn't tried your damn best

and hey! some days your cooking hadn't even been completely sickening

you decided to stick to easy, “safe” dishes though, you know, just to be sure

so pasta and eggs were definitely a thing

a constant and repetitive thing to be precise

you were trying your best, okay? nobody in your place with your limited set of skills would have taken the job, but you did and you deserved recognition for that feat alone

or a fucking donkey hat for your skyrocketing dumbness levels

things were not so bad at first

both Charlie and Vaggie were very supportive, each one of them in their own way - even though you had totally seen Charlie trying to swallow pure unadulterated fear that one time you had announced you wanted to try to cook something more elaborate

Angel Dust on the other hand... hadn't been as considerate as to lie to your face about what he thought of your cooking

"fuck me doll, this shit's disgusting"

*insert the I don't have friends they disappoint me vine here*

Vaggie had proceeded to give Angel quite the earful while Charlie tried her best to cheer you up

you went full hermit mode on them for two days after that

you were proud of yourself, handling criticism so well

anyway, the cycle kept repeating, with the only difference that most days Angel would grab something to eat outside of the hotel and join you during meals only to blankly stare at the plates and silvery

Charlie had tried to shield you from the truth, but you weren't that stupid

you respected Angel's choice, really, you did, and you had decided to be the bigger person among the two

that's why you began to put a lil bit of laxative into his portions whenever he decided to grace your efforts and actually eat your "disgusting cooking"

y’know just to spicy things up a little

at least now he had a valid reason to complain

with the whole fiasco on live TV and the sudden and suspicious appearence of the one and only Radio Demon at your doorstep, however, things started going haywire

Alastor's presence was eeirly demanding and unsettlingly charmimg at the same time

so it was only natural for you to gravitate the fuck away from him whenever you could

you always acted politely, greeting him whenever you bumped into him through the corridors of the hotel, but you only went as far as to appear courteous because you didn't want for him to go Hannibal Lecter on you. thanks, no thanks

“and what can you do my feminine fellow?”

“I can suck your dick!”

you had snorted a bit at that which immediately shifted the strawberry pimp's attention to yourself

“and what about you, pretty dame? I take it you're in charge of the kitchens around here?”

dressed in your chef attire, you were going to meekly answer him, but before you could, roaring laughter erupted in the room. it belonged to the one and only slutty spider you found oh so irritating

in the fraction of seconds, Alastor snapped his neck at an unnatural angle to stare at the spider with a strained smile on his face

needless to say, the cursed image would forever haunt your traumatized psyche

“hasn't your mother taught you it is rude to interrupt a conversation which you have no part in? that just won't do!”

static filled the air and you feared you were going to implode if the heavy pressure didn't lift off soon enough, so you decided to take action

“ugh... yes, I'm the head chef! but, well, I... could actually use some practice and proper training?”

you hated how uncertain you sounded, but Angel's comments and your own dissatisfaction with your culinary products made you quite self-conscious about your skills

“don't fret your pretty little head about it, my dear! I, for one, am a culinary connaisseur and wonderful chef, if I do say so myself. I'll be ecstatic to guide you through your training!”

how you'd be able to handle his booming voice during hours and hours of practice was your first and main concern, but you had never been one to refuse the chance to finally prove the people who had criticized you wrong *cough cough* Angel Dust

since that day, Alastor began to personally give you cooking lessons

he was exuberant and pretty sly when it came to veiled jabs about your dreadful cooking, but he really took his time to help you out

which you had been both grateful and suspicious about

“now, we can't have our future patrons starving to death, can we?”

he was strangely patient and an overall good teacher too (emphasis on overall)

he guided you step by step through each dish, simultaneously showing off his own flawless culinary skills

you hated that you daily found yourself boosting his already GIGANTIC ego, but you couldn't help it. you could only dream about reaching that level of artistry in cooking

he always came up with creative recipes to test your limits and cooked for you in order to make you more familiar with different tastes. his mother’s were your favorites, jambalaya being his one true specialty 

he had blindfolded you once and proceeded to present you with various samples of spices, oilments and all kinds of food so that you could acquaint yourself with the smells and flavors of the ingredients and figure out yourself which ones would best suit a certain dish

saying you were hesitant at first was an understatement, because you know? being completely at the mercy of a sadistic serial killer who had terrorized the seven circles of hell? not even being able to see him? not on your bucket list

he had tried to ease your nervousness with the whole “if I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would have done so already” thing, but it was getting kind of old pretty fast

“if I had been one to play with fire, I'd have joined a circus”

he found your sense of humor as endearing your sheer presence

(when he rolled up his sleeves to cook, you felt like you could catch fire any minute, you were a slut for strong skinny arms) 

yes, Alastor had always loved to show off his own impeccable skills but he unexpectedly found himself enjoying the moments spent in your company too

he relished in seeing you fail again and again, but he also admired the way you always managed to bring yourself back up to your feet each time

he had yet to fully understand if it was foolishness or stubbornness to guide your steps

either way, you turned out to be his favorite form of entertainment in the hotel!

no matter how many slights would he send your way, you'd always manage to find an appropriate remark that made his permanent smile stretch a little more in sheer amusement

“oh dear, this beef is so undercooked one could still hear the poor beast’s lament”

“the only noise I hear is the obnoxious ramblings of an arrogant boomer”

he wasn't technically a boomer but it was always so satisfying to irk him with terms he had no knowledge of

during your cooking lessons, when the only thing left to do with a dish was wait and pray for the best, you'd come to talk about everything and anything

he'd talk to you about his precious New Orleans as he remembered it and you'd fill him in on recent historical/social developments of your time

he always looked so taken when you shared with him that modern knowledge and it made you feel useful for a change

it was, dare you say it, almost adorable how he'd ask you countless questions about your home town, the catastrophes of the last century and had there been any other war since his death?

the topic switches almost made you dizzy though

once or twice, when the timing allowed, he'd even indulge in a musical show to pass time

on the days your mood soured because of a particularly complicated recipe or bad result, he'd drag you along and dance until you were so distracted by the absurdness of the circumstances that you forgot about your previous sadness

with time, his musical shows became more frequent as he realized you'd always offer him a genuine smile after his flashy performances

it was out of personal indulgence, not because he liked the way his music always seemed to cheer you up

he'd not been vocal about the way he tried to comfort you, but you were grateful nonetheless

the first time you managed to succesfully complete one of his complicated recipes, you had almost cried

“now, now deary, under my watchful eye, it was only a matter of time until you'd finally blossom into a fine cook!”

“Alastor can I... can I hug you?”

and how could he say no to such an adorable expression? he found himself stunned into silence, not being able to tell you yes either, therefore you slowly came closer as if trying not to scare a wild animal away

when Alastor passively stood before you, not moving away, you wrapped your arms around him

he really was such a dorky noodle

he didn't relax into the hug, but he kept still as you relished in the moment and let the pressure you had hoarded for months now loose

Alastor proceeded to show off your dish during dinner and even Angel Dust could do nothing but shut up and dig in

The all powerful Radio Demon was simply so proud of your progress - not that he doubted you'd prevail in the end, thanks to his expertise and guidance

from that moment onward things only got better and even if you didn't necessarily need Alastor's help anymore, neither of you ever mentioned going your separate ways

you were both secretly glad for the silent agreement

friendly banter and dad jokes were a daily occurrence and with your new-found confidence in the field, you'd always bite back showing off new delicious dishes instead than words

you still had trouble every now and then, but Alastor was always there to help you out

not that you'd ever hear the end of it if you actually asked him for help

“what was that, my darling? is the mightiest chef in Hell having trouble in Paradise?”

you had noticed however that he'd started sneaking glances your way more than usual lately and he also started following you around wherever you went in the hotel. he became your shadow both inside and outside of the kitchen

the attention soon became unnerving, even more so when you'd go in the kitchen only find a different flower on the counter each morning

you came to realize that Alastor's advances were rather old fashioned, but you would amuse the dork and yourself for a while before taking charge

gifts became an ordinary occurrence as well as praise and you preferred not to think about what praise could do to you when it came from Alastor

he enjoyed your reactions to his flattering words a little too much, he had to admit

you had had enough of his childish antics one day and you decided to finally put your plan into action

“Al, can you come here for one sec?”

he wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, but you just loved to get under his skin as much as he did when it came to you

“what can I do for you, my darling chef?”

“here, I have a gift for you”

he looked uncharacteristically unsure of what to do but slightly amused as well. in the end curiosity took the best of him and he finally decided to open the box you had handed to him rather unceremoniously

“what is this dear?”

the apron you had chosen was a perfect fit for your long boi

“read it, please”

“kiss the cook? well, if you ask me so nicely, I just might have to”

he then proceeded to peck your cheek and you swore you could have fainted right there and then by the sheer sweetness of the gesture

it hadn't exactly been what you had planned, but you weren't going to complain

your relationship was bound to be full of surprises apparently

[fmdjoomi]

introducing mimi., the leader, main vocal and rapper of calypso...

what’s up guys? it’s yaz back at it again with another muse. this time around, i have joomi here. i had a muse of the same name before, but this joomi has a completely different background and all that jazz. i hope you guys like her and if you’re interesting in plotting, let me know by liking this post and i’ll message you. 

joomi’s history + personality:

for starters, joomi’s mother, seoyoung, was the absolute worst. she was a beautiful woman that used her looks and charms to practically con men out of their money. she left a trail of broken hearts behind her throughout her late teens up until her mid twenties until she met joomi’s father, jinho. 

jinho fell head over heels in love with the image of seoyoung, completely fooled by her charm and charisma. within a year of meeting one another, he asked her to marry him. she agreed, despite not really loving him back. she was just interested in what he could do for her financially. 

a few months after their marriage, she found out that she was pregnant with joomi. she was less than thrilled to say the least. she wasn’t even thirty yet and she was going to ruin her figure for some snotty nosed brat? hel no. unfortunately (in her eyes) she had to go through with the pregnancy. on february 14th of 1990, she gave birth to a baby girl - joomi. 

seoyoung couldn’t stand joomi, but jinho considered joomi to be the apple of his eye. he adored her and drowned her in attention, gifts and everything she could ever need or want. of course this didn’t make seoyoung happy. she was used to having all of jinho’s attention and she didn’t want anyone else having it - not even her own child. 

the arguments between her parents (mainly on seoyoung’s side, jinho was too much of a gentle, kind man to ever raise his voice, even when he was angry) and joomi was a witness to almost all of those arguments. it gave her a pretty warped view of her mother honestly. it wasn’t like they were particularly close to begin with, but seeing her mother verbally and sometimes physically attack her father left a bad taste in her mouth. 

by the time joomi was four years old, seoyoung had filed for divorce and was going to take her with her, but jinho refused to let her have joomi. it was the only time he actually raised his voice at seoyoung, which was enough to make her see that she wasn’t going to win that battle. so she signed away her parental rights, took her divorce settlement and left. 

not even two years later, jinho’s father had moved on with joomi’s nanny, which she didn’t mind at all. she saw her nanny more like a mother than her actual mother anyway. and not too long after that, her new stepmother and her father welcomed a baby into the world - joomi’s younger half sibling (gonna send in a wanted connection for that *wink wink nudge nudge*) 

her stepmother was the one who introduced joomi to singing. she used to sing and dance with her when she was really little, and as she got older, her stepmother could see the potential in her. she was the one who convinced her father to sign her up for singing lessons. to this day, joomi is extremely grateful towards her stepmother for being her introduction to music. 

when she was fifteen years old, she began auditioning for different labels and companies. she was accepted into bc entertainment and dimensions - she ended up going with the latter, a decision she kind of regrets. if she went with bc, she would’ve found more success because she most likely would’ve debuted with lily, but she loves her girls too much to ever truly regret her decision. 

there were times where she felt like throwing in the towel and giving up, but joomi was quite the stubborn one. even though she had to balance her school life with training, she never allowed her exhaustion or frustration to get the best of her. 

it didn’t help that her life outside of training had gone through ups and downs as well. she was fifteen years old when she developed her first real crush on someone - a cute boy at school. she was completely unaware of the fact that he was a total fuckboy. she ended up losing her virginity to him, something that he spread around school, leading people to think of her as “easy”. 

as a teen she was still softhearted and forgiving. she was a hopeless romantic that would melt whenever a guy told her that they liked her, just long enough for them to talk her into sleeping with them before they dropped her. she wanted someone who would treat her like how her father treated her stepmother. and they would treat her really well, until they got what they wanted from her.

this happened two or three more times before joomi finally realized what was going on and she became emotionally closed off. from that moment on, she swore that she would never let anyone in to hurt her like that again.

she finally debuted in dimensions’ newest girl group at the time, calypso, as the leader, main vocalist and rapper. the weight of being the leader of a group of girls weighed heavily on her shoulders, and when they lost members not even a year into their career, she couldn’t help but feel like an embarrassment in the eyes of the public. 

the feeling of embarrassment only grew tenfold when they lost yet another member two years after they debuted. she knew that there was nothing she could have done, but at the same time she also felt as though it would reflect badly on her. what kind of leader couldn’t keep their group together? 

it was frustrating, to say the absolute least, to never have their hard work pay off. from the moment they debuted, joomi made sure that she pushed her members to be the best that they could possibly be. but it seemed as though they couldn’t catch a break no matter what. no matter how much joomi forced them to practice, how much she forced them to sing songs over and over again until they got it right, they still couldn’t seem to make their songs stick with the general public. 

calypso wasn’t pulling in the kind of money that dimensions wanted them to, which meant that joomi and the girls were slower when it came to paying off trainee debt, and didn’t get much when it came to allowances.

not wanting to live off of her father’s money, despite him practically begging her to take it, she decided to find other ways to make money for herself and calypso. she had seen other idols make the journey into acting, and she had heard that it could become a lucrative career. 

in the beginning, acting was just a way to make extra money for her. she wasn’t amazing at it, but she was good enough to land a supporting role here and there, which made her realize that she rather enjoyed acting. it was a nice change from singing and dancing, and while singing would always be her first love and the most important thing in her life, acting was something else that she wanted to continue pursuing. she also knows that it’s a very good career to transition into once she lays her idol days to rest. 

personality wise, joomi’s learned how to be more or less aloof. she doesn’t let people in easily because she doesn’t want to run the risk of being hurt yet again. she can, begrudgingly, understand why her mother behaved the way she did. getting hurt by someone was way too big of a risk. in the words of yuna: i’d rather be selfish, hundred times better than pretending to be nice and getting hurt.

however, she’s very loyal and so protective of and attentive to her group members. calypso’s fans call her “mama mimi” because of the motherly role she plays in the group. 

honestly, she loves calypso’s sexier concept. she thrives with those concepts, and she likes feeling sexy. it’s v empowering for her. she doesn’t like it because it gets her attention, she likes it because of how it personally makes her feel. 

mimi’s image

as not only the leader of calypso but the eldest member as well, joomi is often seen as the “mom” of the group. she’s often seen taking care of her members - feeding them, covering them with blankets when given clothing on the shorter side and coming to their defense whenever they need her. it’s a role that she had fallen into rather easily, especially given her age and seniority. their fans have taken to calling her “mama mimi” as a joke because of this, but it’s something she takes in stride and even encourages from time to time by playfully introducing herself as “mama mimi” whenever calypso has to introduce themselves.

on the flip side of that, being someone who connects more with their sexier concepts, it’s no surprise that joomi is one of the sexier members in the group. where she lacks in dancing technique, she makes up for in stage presence and sex appeal, some people even going as far as to say that she “does too much” on stage or even that she “makes them uncomfortable” by how much she gives her all in sexy concepts. however, seeing as how their main fanbase, which consists of men, don’t seem to mind her onstage persona, dimensions does little to nothing to try to change her image, as it’s worked for her for the time being.

[mintseesaw]

Attractive

Pairing: namjoon!idol x reader

Genre: FLUFF, soft hour namjoon activated, established relationship

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: When you decided to visit your boyfriend to persuade him to go home, he threw you off guard with his charms— a weakness of yours that you’re unaware of.

*unedited

The attraction you felt when you met Namjoon was instantaneous, not some kind of a love-at-first-sight thing. It was more of an appreciation and a certain mysterious pull that made you want to know him further. No love involvement whatsoever.

Somewhere along the lines of getting to know him, it was him, his being—his warm heart, kind soul, and creative mind that did the spell on you. When you try to ponder things over... It must have been fate quitting your previous job which you never even thought of letting go. If you didn’t let your instinct rule you over at that point...

Your paths might have not crossed. Ever.

About a year ago, a new boy group debuted. And it was two years before that when you got accepted to be one of their managers. The rest...is history.

It’s late.

The production team finished the activity earlier than expected. Everyone else eagerly left after that. You stayed though, because the boys decided to play video games in the lounge room. About an hour have passed, they wrapped it up and went home some minutes ago.

Now there’s a moment of silence inside the office you share with the other managers. You should probably go home. Eat, take a shower, and talk to your boyfriend through the phone for a few minutes. Tomorrow will be a long day, and you may not have the time to hear from him until late in the evening.

Ding. The familiar tone from your phone signals a notification.  By a single peak from your phone, it revealed a notification that the BTS account is on live.

Absentmindedly, you click the ‘open’ bubble. The screen momentarily turns black while it loads. Unexpectedly, a familiar figure invaded the screen of your phone.

The very subject of your thoughts!

By the looks on setting on his back, it tells you Namjoon is in his studio. That’s only a floor up to your office. Yet, you didn’t know he was available. Was. If you knew he was free, you would have gone to him.

Few minutes have passed, your eyes remain glued to your screen. However, you couldn’t completely pay attention to half the words he was saying as your eyes scrutinize every little detail he makes.

When he pauses every now and then to think or breathe... because he talks quite fast like the rapper himself. The way he rubs his nose or scrunches his nose making his eyes disappear. His hands going in every direction to amplify his story. And when he did or say something embarrassing, he would always laugh and sheepishly cover his face.

It was times like this—him on a livestream, that you get the freedom to watch him in a sense of merely observing, and appreciating him without him shying away for catching you staring at him for too long.

His livestreams, as years and months flew by, turned into more and more personal. When he communicates with their fans, he now allows himself to be vocal. Letting himself voiced out his thoughts—fears, and expectations for the world to hear, it was a different kind of strength and confidence you see in him.

He used to caged all of it in. It gives you a sense of relief and peace that he has gradually recovered from the dark days.

This one is no different to his previous ones.

However—the exhaustion on his face and in his eyes are much— more evident. 

Your ears figuratively perked up as you registered some parts of what he was saying.

He woke up at 4 in the morning?

Sighing, your eyes shut for a second before staring back at him through the screen of your phone.

He did really look tired.

If only you can at this rate, you would ask him to go home and take a rest, instead. But knowing him, he would ignore any call while he’s on live. And you wouldn’t want to be imposing, especially when it comes to him talking with their fans.

The longer you watch, the harder it is to ignore your growing concern and the dull ache in your heart at the mere sight of him—

He even admitted he barely slept last night! How dare he be so mindless of his health!

Namjoon heaved a long sigh. His shoulders slumping, back colliding on the cushioned backrest of the sofa. He didn't know how he found the strength to pad across the hall towards the lounge room. If not only for the broken air conditioning unit in his studio...

His eyelids felt heavier than ever. Fluttering, as he lets his arms rest on his sides.

He could probably drowse in this position. He has no energy left in him to go home. It was a long day for him, and he clearly needed a good, peaceful sleep to recharge his energy back. But he felt like he couldn’t walk anymore.

Filming their title track’s music video was not as exhausting as the days when they had to practice all day.

Right now, it was getting into him. Piled from the months spent through sleepless nights, hectic schedule, world tour.

His happy pill is not here.

At the sudden thought of you, his lips unconsciously protruded. Sulking.

He misses you. Even though he just saw you yesterday, had a quick lunch with you and the rest of the boys, it’s clearly not the same. Because when others are present, he misses the opportunity to shower you with kisses. Knowing his girlfriend, you don't like displaying affection in front of the boys, or with the company’s staff around.

He’s not sure if you’re still at work, though it would be easier for him to see you if you are.

Abruptly, he checked his phone, then muttered a curse under his breath when the time appears on the screen.

12:22 AM

Tomorrow, perhaps?

Eager to ask you of your whereabouts, ready to compose a text for you, he suddenly heard the glass door swung open.

Instinctively, he looked at the door’s direction, expecting to see one of the boys. Probably looking as exhausted as he is, or carrying some snacks to eat here inside the lounge.

At the sight of the intruder, Namjoon’s face lit up. Sitting up straight as a smile instantly went on its way to his face.

“Hey... I went to your studio.” you greeted. A sleeve-covered white paper cup on your hand.

Namjoon jumped out of his seat and met you half-way. Suddenly finding the strength to carry himself, close the distance and pull you in a passionate kiss.

Intending to greet him with a kiss, you let him sway you with his lips.

“You’re here...” He manages to mumble in between kisses, in complete awe. Like he couldn’t believe you are here in the same room with him.

Despite working in the same building, it’s not as easy as it seems to see each other, and have you for himself.

You hum against his mouth. The supposed small peck of greeting turned into a full make out session as his tongue uninvitedly went past your lips. You let him take over, finding a sudden solace at the taste of him.

You almost forgot about the hot drink around your fingers as the warm palms of his hands squeezing your cheeks, securing you in his advantage to dominate your mouth.

When his lips left yours for a second, you thought he was finally pulling away. The grasp of your fingers to the cup tightens as his lips proceeded to plant tiny kisses on your parted lips, multiple times.

“Joon—“ you manage to mumble, gasping for air when he finally let go of your lips.

You felt his forehead rested against yours and when your eyelids flutter open, you were met with his longing, brown eyes.

“I’m sorry I got carried away.” He mumbled, breathing heavily to make up from the oxygen he has deprived himself of while dominating your mouth.

A smile spreads across your face, almost forgetting the reason why you went to look for him.

“It’s fine.”

His eyes found the cup in your hand. You gave him a small nod when he made a gesture, pointing to himself, like he was asking if it’s for him.

Namjoon smiled, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “It’s late, but I don’t mind another cup of coffee.”

With his free hand, he dragged you with him as he proceeded on the sofa.

When he placed the paper cup on the coffee table, you revealed, “Actually, it’s a classic chocolate.”

His eyebrows perked up, before the corner of his mouth twitched. “Even better.”

The proximity is to his advantage, allowing him to maneuver your body much closer to him. However, when you refused to sit, he decided to change his initial intention, burying his nose on your clothed skin, just below the mid-area of your breasts.

“Joon,” Softly protesting, you remain standing on your feet, in between his thighs. Despite your verbal objection, your hands went over his shoulders. Resting your elbows there, encouraging him more than stopping him.

“Hmm...” Namjoon hummed, feigning innocence.

Your fingers found his hair, combing the soft, purple locks in a soothing motion. 

“You should take a rest.”

You can feel his warm breath against your clothed skin. And somehow, it takes away the brief sadness in your heart at the sight of your boyfriend. The same way your warmth, your distinct scent evading his sense of smell and the kisses you shared with him mere seconds ago did miracles on his mood right now.

If time would permit, he would ask you to stay with him. But he knew you needed sleep as much as his body craves for it. His soul, on the other hand, longs for something that not even a good amount of rest can fill in.

“This is better than sleep itself.” He murmured against your skin.

It’s true. You being here is something he needed right now. He wishes you two can spend the night together. Nothing else can make him feel better. Just you, in his arms.

“Your body would say otherwise, Joon. Come, we’ll get you home.”

He didn’t respond. Then a low groan vibrated on his chest against your abdomen.

Sighing, your free hand rubs his back ever so tenderly. Your job may not be the same as his, but you perfectly understand how demanding his career can be.

“Alright.” you uttered, almost succumbing to the feel of his warmth.

His arms tighten their hold around your waist. Not too tight to hurt you, but enough for you to understand his gesture.

He must have missed you, like how you are longing to have a moment with him.

It was as if he heard your thoughts. Because a moment later, he spoke after a long moment of silence. “I missed you...”

Your teeth harshly pierce through your bottom lip to restraint the moisture in your eyes that is threatening to come out. “I know. I miss you too, my love.” You whispered, tenderly.

Pushing his shoulder a little to have a glimpse on his beautiful face, his head tilted back to meet your gaze. His emotions seeping through the rawness of his eyes as they search yours. A warm sensation enveloped in the span of your chest.

It was him who always takes charge. Your tender, little heart always seeks his whole being. But right now, it was the other way around. His eyes spoke of vulnerability.

His arms lose their grip around you, but not enough to completely release you out of his hold.

“Are you okay now?” You asked. Fingers brushing the soft, fluffy skin of his cheek.

Nodding, “Hmm. Better.” His voice, raspy and low.

After a moment of peace, nuzzling your clothed skin, you broke the comforting silence.

“I watched your live…” You said, randomly, to which had earned his attention.

He tilted his head to curiously peer at you for a second, “How was it?”

“Entertaining.”

Your answer made him pout.

Laughing from the cute display in front of you, you proceeded to ask, “Why? What’s wrong?” You couldn't help but to cup his cheeks.

“Not what I expected to hear.”

“What were you expecting then?”

“Nevermind.”

“Joonie—”

“Am I not to your liking?”

Taken aback at his question, you blinked a few times. Then fell into fits of giggle. “Joon, what are you talking about? You’re my boyfriend.”

He must be really delirious. In dire need of rest.

But he seemed not one bit pleased at your reaction.

“Sure, but not attractive enough to your taste?”

The scenario may seem serious if it happened in another circumstance, but the way he was reacting… it was nothing but a cute display of a big baby sulking.

Although his question bothers you a little—is he blind or something? Does he not see himself in the mirror? Not attractive enough to your taste? Seriously, Kim Namjoon? Not attractive enough?!

Your standards may have reached the peak of Mt. Everest. But Namjoon, just by being himself... surpassed it all. In academic terms, he passed your standards with flying colors. He made all your fears and doubts vanished and created a hard, indestructible trail to your heart.

“Are you sure you’re not on high or something?”

You couldn't even take it seriously. For a moment, you pondered over the possibility that he might be tipsy or have a bit of alcohol in his system. But when he kissed you… you’re certain there’s no trace of alcohol in his mouth.

“Nah... Just tired... and extremely deprived of your love.” He confessed, all of a sudden.

“Deprived... of my love?” You repeated in disbelief. “We just saw each other yesterday.”

Now, you’re more convinced he needs to go home.

”Still—“

“I should probably call Sejin-sunbaenim. I heard, you guys have an early schedule tomorrow.”

His lower lip only adorably protruded more. Mouth parting in protest, “See, you’re gonna take me away from you. Really, really deprived.”

Shaking your head, you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes. “Joon, baby, you look like you’re about to pass out on me. Please, rest.”

He stilled, looking away... his eyes avoiding contact with yours.

“Tomorrow, okay?” You pressed more, trying to convince him to your will. Crouching down to his eye level, your lips landed on his forehead.

His eyelids voluntarily flutter close at the feeling of your warm, plump lips, trailing down to his cheek, then to the tip of nose, and finally to his waiting lips.

Mumbling against his lips, “I’ll go see you tomorrow, I promise.”

When you retreat back, his eyes glint with profound joy. Smiling widely, letting his dimples show.

“Fine.” He muttered under his breath, momentarily in daze from the ghosts of your kisses.

Posted on 16 Mar 2020

© mintseesaw

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/30-10/31 (IT AIN’T OVER YET!): DISCONNECTED (1984) + PERSONAL SHOPPER

One night on a double date at a local night club, sweet, shy Alicia (Frances Raines) tries to tell the foursome about a strange experience she has had that day: She let an old man into her apartment to use her telephone, but he mysteriously vanished before she could let him back out. Her friends are not interested. Her boyfriend Mark (director Gorman Bechard), a smug radio DJ, dismisses her story as some sort of misunderstanding, and her vivacious twin Barbara Ann (Raines) cuts her off entirely by flirting openly with Mark, insinuating that she was with him that afternoon. This is the last straw in what appears to be an ongoing problem for Alicia. Outside in Mark's car, she refuses to accept his denial of sleeping with Barbara Ann, beginning an agonizing breakup process that drags out for days. Even at her job, Alicia can't seem to establish any personal boundaries; an awkward young stranger called Franklin (Mark Walker) visits during her shift at the video store, and reveals that he doesn't even own a tape player--he just found out who she was and where she worked from other club patrons the previous evening. Alicia rebuffs his unseemly advances at first, but with the insulting drama still festering between Mark and her manipulative sister, loneliness sets in. She could use some company to help insulate her anyway, since their town is plagued by a killer of young women...and stranger still, Alicia's telephone has taken on a mind of its own, broadcasting otherworldly sounds into her apartment, slowly driving her mad. She has a difficult decision to make about who or what she can trust, but it may be that there is no correct choice.

Gorman Bechard's atmospheric 1984 oddity DISCONNECTED follows in the footsteps of CARNIVAL OF LOST SOULS, joining a subset of subdued psychological thrillers about women alone. In Herk Harvey's 1962 classic, Candace Hilligoss plays Mary Henry, a withdrawn young woman who moves far from home after a traumatic accident. Where she hoped to find peace, she is stalked by a spectral male figure, and receives no help from the locals, who are all suspicious or covetous of her. The boundary between the living and the dead begins to dissolve, mirroring her increasingly ambivalent relationships with other human beings. Mary is torn between her longing for solitude and her fear of impending doom, having to choose between an intrusive suitor, and being left alone with her cadaverous stalker. Mary's unforgettable journey through her desolate surroundings, her isolation interrupted only by enemies both open and hidden, describes an experience that many female viewers have found familiar. Social life portends various threats--judgmental elders who pick at your morals and appearance, jealous females, emotionally and physically violent males--while solitude offers obliterating blankness, like a desert whose expansive monotony renders meaningless the defining lines of past, future, and self. In modern times, this distinctly female experience is complicated by the evolution of personal communication media. The telephone in particular--which has been historically and rather demeaningly associated with girls--is both a channel through which to reach out and touch someone, and an opening through which unwanted attention can insinuate itself into our lives. Two years ago, I saw DISCONNECTED--a loopy microbudget slasher movie from Waterbury, Connecticut--and one of my first thoughts was that it was somehow just like PERSONAL SHOPPER, Olivier Assayas' heady cyberpunk-flavored thriller from 2016, in which a servant to the stars receives threatening text messages from someone who may or may not be among the living. I've been trying to put the two together in writing ever since.

In PERSONAL SHOPPER, Kristen Stewart plays introverted American Maureen, the virtual slave of supermodel Kyra (Nora von Waldstatten). Maureen is a stranger in a strange land, travelling relentlessly around Europe to procure garments and jewels for her boss in Paris, and on her personal time, conducting a psychic survey of her late brother Lewis's mansion. Twin mediums Maureen and Lewis promised one another that whoever died first would send the other a sign from across the divide; Maureen has been waiting since his untimely heart attack for him to hold up his end of the bargain. So far she has only witnessed some scattered poltergeitic activity, along with the manifestation of a ferocious, unknown female specter, but the clock is ticking, as the manse is mid-sale to Lewis’ friends. Furthermore, it is her employment with the tyrannical Kyra that allows her to stay in Paris and wait for a sign from Lewis, so Maureen’s freedom also is dependent on the resolution of this situation. When she meets Kyra's arrogant lover Ingo (Lars Eidinger), he inappropriately insists that he can get her a better job elsewhere, but she explains that she can't change her life until she has closure with her brother. Shortly after this unpleasant encounter, Maureen begins to receive intrusive texts from an unknown caller. Due to her unusual relationship to the dead, she can't be sure if her new stalker is a part of her world, or not.

PERSONAL SHOPPER has very much the flavor of William Gibson’s speculative fiction novel Pattern Recognition, in "cool hunter” Cayce Pollard has the extra-sensory ability to detect what new designs will become popular next. Cayce’s special power manifests as a crippling allergy, and so she tries to remain in timeless, fashion-neutral clothes and settings whenever possible. Psychic Maureen feels a similar kind of existential ambivalence toward the super luxe materials she excels at curating for her client.

Maureen spends much of her screen time alone. Most of her personal contacts are with salespeople; she virtually never sees Kyra in person, and her boyfriend Gary (Ty Olwin) lives in Oman, which may as well be another world. Her chief relationship is to her dead brother, who is literally in another world, and who responds with frustrating ambiguity to her pleas for a clear message, even as his mansion rumbles with unexplainable activity. This void of connection seems somehow related to Maureen's tenuous sense of personal identity. With no close connections, she cannot accurately detect her own contours. Maureen is totally sublimated into Kyra's life, simply an extremity that grasps for whatever Kyra needs. At the same time, she is subject to Lewis's will, unable to make any moves--even to protect herself--until her late brother deigns to give her peace. Maureen's identity is entirely determined by other people, including the mystery caller who lures her into a confessional conversation with him. Although this third figure is the most predatory of them all, he is also the one who teases out the threads of Maureen's fraying individuality. When she admits to trying on Kyra's clothing, just because she's not allowed to, he entices her to stay in Kyra's bed while she's away, further feeling out her own limits. This is the only way Maureen can establish a self that is independent of the context of others: by violating the taboos established by those others. The rule-breaking method of finding oneself is an integral part of the human condition, as explained by media theorist Marshall McLuhan in a discussion of the self in the age of social media:

"Yes, all forms of violence are quests for identity. When you live out on the frontier, you have no identity. You are a nobody. Therefore, you get very tough. You have to prove that you are somebody. So you become very violent. Identity is always accompanied by violence. This seems paradoxical to you? Ordinary people find the need for violence as they lose their identities. It is only the threat to people’s identity that makes them violent. Terrorists, hijackers - these are people minus identity. They are determined to make it somehow, to get coverage, to get noticed."     

By breaking Kyra's rules just on principle, Maureen moves toward self-actualization. Unfortunately, this comes at a cost, as the mystery caller who encourages this process wants to possess her just as much as Kyra and Lewis already do.

Maureen's phone has become a ouija board-like portal to another plane, through which alien forces can cross over and affect our fate. In DISCONNECTED, Alicia suffers from a similar problem. Alicia's social isolation, and the increasingly meaningless division between life and death for her, is underlined by the fact that she lives on the edge of a cemetery. Her phone is her connection to the world--to the ambiguous Franklin, to her sister who she can neither accept nor reject, to Mark who she can't quite leave behind. She can't get rid of this device, even when it starts to ring almost constantly, with a horrifying, vaguely vocal-sounding barrage of electronic noise on the other end. As in PERSONAL SHOPPER, Alicia is largely seen alone, pacing in her apartment, wandering teary-eyed in the depopulated streets of Waterbury, and eyeing her phone with nervous anticipation. She finds herself living out an appalling version of the classic Twilight Zone episode "Night Call," in which Elva, an old widow longing for her late husband, is harassed by increasingly disturbing phone calls from beyond the grave. Like Elva and Maureen, Alicia also suffers from the conflation of companionship and otherworldly threat: Just as she doesn't understand the source of the distorted calls, she also doesn't know that Franklin--her potential savior from this dark chapter of her life--is a serial murderer, planning to have her for his next victim. When Barbara Ann makes a move on him, perpetuating the cycle of sororal abuse that started with Mark, Franklin kills her instead, removing one of Alicia’s few contacts with the rest of humanity.

BTW, even though Alicia eventually takes a liking to Franklin (center), her experience at the video store--here, trapped between an aggressive suitor and a similarly aggressive porn consumer--forms the most realistic portrait of retail hell for girls that I have ever seen in my life. When Franklin first arrives, announcing that a) the movies there aren’t good enough for his refined tastes, b) he doesn’t even own a video player, and c) he’s only there because he’s stalked Alicia from her local watering hole, his intensely condescending attitude and presupposing come-ons gave me a hardcore PTSD reaction from the many years I spent behind the counter of a comic book store. Yuck.

While Alicia doesn't understand what is happening until it's almost too late, Maureen's situation escalates horrifically when her latest jewelry delivery brings her face to face with Kyra's mutilated corpse. As she reels from this gruesome sight, she also detects a malevolent presence vibrating deeper in the apartment that sends her fleeing in terror. When she goes to the police, her mystery caller suddenly becomes more sinister, demanding to know whether she has told the cops about him. In short order, the caller tries to blackmail her into meeting him in a hotel room, but this climactic union is circumvented by the police: It was Ingo guiding Maureen's journey of self-discovery, and Ingo who killed Kyra. The revelation is enormously painful, not because Ingo is so important, but because he managed to victimize Maureen using her most uniquely personal characteristic: her relationship to the supernatural. She believed that something personally significant was happening to her, according to her special understanding of the world, but she was merely being preyed upon by a violent narcissist. Her profound belief in her own paranormal sensitivity--the one thing she is sure of, that distinguishes her from others--is what made her vulnerable to the insistent texts begin with: She wondered if it was Lewis texting her. Ingo exploits Maureen's convictions about herself to perpetrate a deadly fraud, leaving her violated and humiliated. Even though we witness the presence of an unseen entity (Lewis? Kyra?) moving through the hotel, perhaps influencing Ingo's capture, Maureen is left to suffer for being gullible and vulnerable, to mourn her own privacy.

Of course, Maureen's journey is not over yet, and Alicia receives a similar shock with a full half an hour to go in DISCONNECTED. She is rescued by her own screams on her last date with Franklin, as the sounds of their skirmish draw the police to his apartment where they summarily execute Alicia's would-be killer. Now she is left with almost no worldly connections at all--save for the malign presence that keeps calling her phone, blasting her with waves of mind-melting noise. To make matters worse, there seems to be a new victim in the rash of murders previously tied to the late Franklin. Alicia plunges into a spiral of nihilistic despair, in which her closest relationship is with her conniving ex--mediated by the phone, and by his radio show where he dedicates songs to her--second only to the mystery caller who dials her number several times an hour. Craving a human connection, Alicia eventually relents and lets Mark take her out again, and things seem to be on the upswing...until Alicia returns home to find that something worse than electronic fuzz has entered her home, to put an end to her misery. We don't share her final vision, but we do see the mysterious old man (William Roberts) from the beginning of the movie, the fellow she let in to use her telephone, strolling into the cemetery--presumably, from whence he came.

Like Alicia in the aftermath of Franklin’s death, Maureen also has to find a new way to survive after an episode of shocking violence. For Maureen, the only way through is out. As she prepares to leave Lewis' mansion, she encounters his widow's new beau, Erwin (Anders Danielsen Lie). This encounter crystalizes the movie's themes regarding time. Early in PERSONAL SHOPPER, Maureen is turned on to the visionary paintings of Hilma af Klint, a 19th century painter who claimed that she made her art at the behest of ghosts. She mandated that her work only be revealed to the public after her death, creating a communication channel between the deep past and the distant future. Maureen argues with her doctor about the future; he insists that her brother's heart attack was purely anomalous, but Maureen sees no reason why the same thing couldn't happen to her. She sees no future for herself, and is chained to the past by the ghost of her brother, who withholds the spiritual message that would allow her to move on. Lewis thought a lot about the future, Maureen remarks cynically to her doctor, despite the fact that he was ultimately deprived of one. Later, Lewis' widow Lara (Sigrid Bouaziz) explains that she feels the future is in flux and unknowable--a desirable quality, in her book--and so she is moving on to be with Erwin. So, when Maureen encounters Erwin on her final night in Paris, they have a pointed conversation about the shackles of the past and the fossilizing force of guilt on one's life. Lewis's ghost cruelly teases Maureen at the end of the scene, demanding attention but refusing to reveal himself. With nothing to show for her devotion to her brother, she flees Europe.

In both DISCONNECTED and PERSONAL SHOPPER, the archetype of the twins is used to describe opposing states of being, and the threat of having one’s life usurped by another version of oneself. Alicia's sister Barbara Ann is lively, sensuous, and self-serving: everything that Alicia is unable to be, and the consumer of everything Alicia wants for herself. With her unrealistic desires for honesty and compassion, Alicia is the more death-oriented twin: cut off from social life, deprived of pleasure by more ambitious people, and vulnerable to parasitic attacks from both sides of the mortal veil. Alicia even dreams of Barbara Ann murdering her, and literally taking her place in bed with Mark. Maureen's twin Lewis is described by his survivors as passionate and living on the strength of his own convictions; Although Maureen still lives, she is inert, somehow chained to him, slavishly waiting for him to grant her release, though he is content to torment and manipulate her. The protagonists of both films are subjugated to these duplicates who refuse to stay on their side.

Maureen flees to Oman to reunite with her boyfriend Gary--heretofore only a pixelated image in a video chat who begs her to give up her commitment to the kingdom of death, insisting that only the material world exists and is waiting to embrace her. Of course, when Maureen arrives in Gary's placid and spartan world at what may as well be the end of the universe, her problems have followed her. We will never see Gary in the flesh; he has left a written note of welcome for Maureen, which she reads just as she detects a supernatural presence in his dwelling. Hoping against hope that Lewis is finally reaching out to her, she asks out loud: “Is it you? Are you at peace? Are you not at peace? ...Or is it just me?” And, hauntingly, she hears a ghostly knock in the affirmative for every question.

The ambiguity of this ending has troubled some viewers, although multiple interpretations present themselves which are not mutually exclusive. In the most literal sense, Maureen can be seen as a terminally frustrated Carrie White-like figure who causes material disturbances with the power of her own inner turmoil. The paranormal phenomena she perceives are, indeed, “just her”. On a more metaphorical level, we can see that Maureen is haunted by her own grief, over her brother, and also over her failure to forge a life of her own. In her mind, her brother was a superior life force to which she remains subservient; she identified herself entirely as a receiver for his message, and without his active participation in her life, she loses all sense of purpose. She scrutinizes ghostly disturbances and the spiritual conduit of the telephone to inform her place in the world. Without an internal, independent reason for being, people like herself, and like Alicia, are forever haunted.

[juliarrp]

character name: Julia Rhodes age & birthday: 36, 14th December 1985 gender & pronouns: Cis female, She/her place of birth & time in Asteria: New York City, on and off her whole life District: Downtown occupation: Musical Theatre Performer / Musical Theatre audition tutor faceclaim: Michelle Dockery

BIOGRAPHY

TWs: Abortion, alcoholic, anxiety, hospital

secret: Julia had an abortion at the age of 22 without telling anyone else in her life. At all.

PAST

The oldest of the Rhodes children Julia was never far from her mother and father, especially since she was homeschool from the very beginning. Mostly in broadway theatre dressing rooms, a curious child she was never too busy to go scampering around backstage and dressing rooms to see what was going on. Everything about musicals were magical to her, the lights, the sounds, the costumes, as soon as she was offered the chance to come out on stage there was no turning back. The stars were evident in her eyes to her mother as well as everyone else in the company because the girl seemed to light up on a whole new level when she was allowed to be involved in anything performance related. Be it bringing flowers out to her mother at the end of a shows run, sitting doing her math homework in her mother’s dressing room with her siblings when they came along, or getting to play small children’s roles actually in the show she was in her total element.

When the twins came along the girl was excited to have her own real life dolls to play with, and the same went for her third sister Olivia. She happily took on the role of keeping them in line backstage while their mom was performing so naturally she was close to all three of them in various ways, but none more than Olivia who was always her special little friend from the word go. Despite the two of them being very different in that one wanted the limelight and the other wanted nothing more than to shrink into the shadows, they were often found wandering the rabbit warren of theatre hallways together hand in hand. Family life was happy for the Rhodes as far as their oldest daughter could tell because she wanted to see the good in everything. Her mother had taught her that, their very close bond had allowed Julia to nurture her natural born confidence and positivity. How could she not be a positive person when she was constantly surrounded by the magic of musical theatre? At least that was how she saw it. She didn’t notice her mother’s struggle with alcohol or the way it effected their father, because all she saw was the loving family she adored.

When she was fourteen was when Julia got her first taste of real genuine terror. Up until then she’d had fears just like everyone else but the gut wrenching terror that only comes from real trauma had never really been present. Anything that she struggled with could be figured out when all the Rhodes put their heads together no matter how complex, but that wasn’t the case when Ashton was born. The oldest child didn’t second guess her intuition to step into the role of parent when her mom and dad were in hospital following her younger brother’s birth, protecting her little sisters to make sure they had everything they needed to shield them from the fear she felt at the prospect of losing their mother. The days the matriarch spent in a coma were the most dreadful of her daughter’s life. No idea if the next phone call would be with the worst news she began to get a crippling fear in the pit of her stomach every time her father’s name popped up on the caller ID and although she never told anyone this, it is an anxiety that has never really left her. Even now, twenty two years later, when her dad’s name flashes onto the screen that same sensation of fear rips through her chest instinctively. It is something that weighs her down with a considerable amount of guilt.

At the age of 22 in the midst of her parents struggling through her mother’s alcohol problem and the rift that was tearing their marriage apart Julia landed her first Broadway leading role. She had been in the chorus and supporting roles up until then, but this was the first time she was going to get to front a show all of her own. Spring Awakening. Landing the role of Wendla Bergmann was the most exciting day of the girls life, made even better when she found out the theatre it would be located at was only a few blocks away from the one her mother would also be performing in. She lived in New York with her younger sister Olivia in an apartment they both loved. Everything was working out perfectly. Too perfectly. As the result of a one night stand after a cast night out Julia found out she was pregnant by one of her fellow cast members. Terrified to tell anyone, her family included, and worried it would derail her career if she carried on with the pregnancy the girl secretly had it terminated only a week before the curtain came up on opening night. Ironically considering her character in the show passed away in act two from an unlawful and unsafe abortion. Julia always knew she wanted to be a mother thanks to her big family, but this was just the wrong time for it, so she chose her career. It was incredibly traumatic for her to go through alone and even years later she will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat over what she did. If she made the right decision or not.

Julia went on to play the lead in many more musicals since then which should have been testament to her making the right choice back then, but she doesn’t always see it that way. Her still ever present maternal instinct with her siblings makes her wonder what her own child would have been like. Maybe it would have been easier to put that choice behind her if she hadn’t had a medical issue not long after she turned 30, a cyst on her ovary that lead to it having to be removed. It didn’t leave her unable to have her own children, but it did make it probable that in the future she would find it much harder to conceive naturally, especially as she grew older.

PRESENT

Still a presence on the Broadway stages Julia spends her time between shows in Asteria tutoring children and teens for Musical Theatre auditions. Operating out of a rehearsal room in Olivia’s studio it’s still kept very much in the family and barely a day goes by when she doesn’t see at least one or more of them. On the whole their relationship is good but there is a small amount of bitterness harboured by her for the way she had to constantly be driving from New York to Asteria in order to check on her younger brother when their mom was going through particularly bad bouts of alcoholism. Having to split her brain and time between performing as well as propping up her family in some ways, so she never fully got to immerse herself into broadway.

Living in a small but impeccably decorated apartment Downtown the woman now splits her time between the city and her hometown in a more permanent fashion, tending to spend half the year in each place. Acutely aware of how the years are passing for her and her younger siblings have been settling down she has started to think it might be getting to the right time for her to take a break from performing and settle down to have a family of her own.

She tends to take on more than she can actually handle, a sense of duty towards supporting everyone around her, it can drive her to exhaustion when she isn’t careful. Depriving herself of what she needs in order to provide it for other people to a fault. If it wasn’t for her painfully present awareness of her mother’s issues with alcohol she might drink to comfort herself, but it’s a vice she refuses to allow herself to take on, not anymore. It has caused her too many problems in the past as is without her bringing into her life in a bigger way. Still when she gets to a level of stress she is finding hard to contain the girl can completely lose her appetite, going days without eating a substantial meal. Unless she is caught by one of her family members who have caught onto the warning signs by this point, and will try to drag her back from it. About five years ago Julia was put on medication for her increasing anxiety and trouble sleeping, some she has to take everyday and some she only takes when panic attacks flair up. Funnily enough when she is performing is the time she tends to feel the most calm.

Wanted plots & Headcanons (if any)

Her ‘vocal’ fc is Christy Altomare, that is what she sounds like when she sings.

When Julia has too much caffeine she gets the shakes, and she often has too much, it can trigger her anxiety. Especially if she drinks it on an empty stomach.

The girl really looks up to her mother, she has since she was a little girl, wanting to be just like her (in most ways….)

Has an impatient side to her, she gets frustrated over things easily, especially if she finds something she can’t do easily. She’s always hated jigsaw puzzles because of this - she said they make her head hurt.

The first show she was ever in the chorus for was 42nd Street when she was sixteen years old.

Her most recent leading role was Anastasia on Broadway.

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

If you admit you don’t really know what’s going on...

Word Count: 2,051

Disclaimer: This is part (54) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Start here:

“Honestly? I have zero idea which,” you admit, with an apologetic grimace. “But I don’t think it would be fair to you to keep your hopes up while he and I fool around. I’m so sorry Tae-ssi,” you tell him sadly. 

As if sad Taehyung and, once he hears the news from Tae, over-protective Jimin aren’t enough to deal with, you still have worried Jin and suspicious Namjoon to contend with as well. By the end of the week, angst-ridden Yoongi seems to have been added to the list and your roster of relaxing companions has been reduced to Hobi and an inappropriately over-affectionate Jeongguk. 

It almost comes as a relief when Big Hit haul you and the hyung-line in for a meeting pre-Run BTS. None of you but Jin and Yoongi seem to have any idea what you’re all here for, and they’re both keeping pretty silent, although Yoongi’s mood has definitely improved exponentially, so you, Hobi and Joon exchange raised eyebrows and wait impatiently for management to show up.

Turns out that they’ve decided to allow the two eldest members to date as a kind of social experiment. Hitman Bang reiterates that there’s not strictly a dating ban, but that he is strongly advising the younger members to have patience and see what the public response is to the two hyungs dating before making any hasty decisions around their private lives. You all bow your heads and thank PD-Nim rather confusedly before heading back to the dorm to get everything ready for the episode filming this evening. You notice Jin busily texting before Yoongi pulls you aside with an anxious expression on his face.

“Can you invite Mai tonight, noona?” he asks you in an undertone. “So I can introduce her to Bang PD-Nim as my girlfriend,” he adds, gruffly.

“Uh, of course!” you assure him quickly.

“Please don’t tell her though. I want it to be a surprise,” he mumbles. You smile at him encouragingly and nod your agreement. He gives you one of his little gummy smiles in thanks and heads down to the van. You message Mai happy Chuseok and let her know that, as the boys are mid-recording and can’t get back to their families for the holiday, management thought it would be nice to invite a few close people who might also not be able to get home for the holidays. “You should definitely come,” you tell her. “It will be cool to see you and the boys miss you. Also wear something cute,” you add, refusing to explain further when she presses you.

Unfortunately nobody warned you that the boys were going to be dressed up in public-school boy uniforms with a distinct military air, or that the look would suit Jeongguk so perfectly. You try to ignore him, but it’s impossible, and you and he end up exchanging heated glances every time management look the other way. Attempting to escape, you head for Mai, but Jeongguk deliberately catches your wrist as you walk over. 

“Do I look cute?” he asks you, coquettishly. 

“Ne. You’re the sexiest school boy I’ve ever seen,” you murmur in his ear, pretending to adjust his bangs. He smiles coyly, lowers his lashes and bites his lip, playing along. Unfortunately Mai doesn’t miss the exchange.

“That is oh-so-gross and probably illegal,” she whispers when you join her. It takes you a second to realize that she heard you and Jeongguk.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” you defend yourself. “It’s not like he’s actually a school boy or anything.” 

“No,” she reiterates. “It’s just gross and tacky. Why would you flaunt that whole noona thing? Besides, what if management heard you?!” she hisses.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you’re right,” you admit begrudgingly. “But he does look hot in that outfit and anyway it wasn’t even my idea.”

“You’re just benefitting from the kink, huh?” provokes Yoongi. You roll your eyes at him to try and cover for the veracity of his statement, then head over to the rest of the staff to assist with preparations.

Management and staff leave once filming is complete and the boys are free to relax and have a meal, prepared by Jin and some drinks, courtesy of Yoongi’s cocktail-making skills. Mai accepts a cocktail from her man with a smile. 

“Can you please take off the school boy uniform?” she asks him, before he can sit down. He looks down at her, smiles and then takes one of her hands and kisses her palm.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises her. She watches him leave with a smile on her lips, but when she turns back towards you and Jeongguk, her smile fades: Jeongguk has grabbed you around the waist and pulled you onto his lap so that you’re facing him, straddling his legs. As Mai watches, he starts kissing you passionately, pulling your top open to slake his thirst on your decolletage.

“Do you want me to take my school boy uniform off?” he teases, gazing up at you doe-eyed and already intoxicated from the Irish bomb cocktails he insisted Yoongi make him.

“Ani. Leave it on and come to my room,” you beg, kissing the side of his neck and completely forgetting yourself in your desire for him. You climb off his lap and pull him to his feet, desperate to get him into your bed. He grins as his hair falls into his eyes and follows you, staggering more than a little. 

You’re barely halfway there before Namjoon steps in swiftly and cuffs him.

“Enough, Jeongguk,” he tells him curtly. “And what the hell is wrong with you, noona?” he pleads. “You’re really not helping.” You look at him pleadingly, turn to look helplessly at your lover, then back to Bangtan’s leader.

“Sorry, Joon,” you mutter, begrudgingly letting go of Jeongguk’s hand and returning to the kitchen to start clearing things away.

Jeongguk drifts out to “get some water” still in his schoolboy outfit and you mouth “noraebang” to him when Namjoon is preoccupied. He winks, nods and retreats back into his room with his water, leaving poor Joon none the wiser when Kook subsequently announces that he’s ordered one of the company cars around to take him to the local singing rooms for a couple of hours.

“Whatever,” Namjoon sighs, sinking onto the couch and flicking through the television controls to find something to watch. If he smells a rat when you slip out half an hour later, he chooses to ignore it in the name of getting some peace and quiet.

You sign in at your local noraebang and pay for your own room, chatting amiably to the hostess at the counter. She knows both you and Jeongguk as you regularly use the booths, and she knows you work for Big Hit but doesn’t know exactly what your job entails, so she doesn’t think anything of you both turning up separately on the same evening. You surreptitiously note that one or two of the surveillance screens behind her are blank, and you incline your head to ask her to turn your camera off as well, slipping her the extra payment the lounge accepts for the privacy privilege that makes them popular with idols. She nods at the unspoken request, flips a switch causing another screen to display static and leads you to an empty, numbered booth. You sit down with a sigh and text Jeongguk to let him know you’re there. Your phone vibrates almost instantly, displaying a text with just a number on it. You gather up your microphone and clutch and pop out into the corridor to slip into his private, unmonitored booth. 

He’s mid-song when you arrive, but he smiles at you and inclines his head to take a seat, which you do, after glancing at his playlist to make sure he’s got a few songs lined up to cover for your assignation. You slide along the velvet-covered bench to lay your hand on his thigh and he winks at you, without missing a note. You let him keep singing, as you climb into his lap, loosen his tie and pull at his schoolboy shirt with your painted fingernails. He drops one hand from the microphone he’s singing into to cup one of your breasts. You drop your head to attach your lips to his clavicle, kissing your way up to the underside of his jaw, as your hands grope his increasingly-exposed chest, searching for his nipples.

“Unf...fuck, noona, I want you so bad!” he gasps, dropping his microphone onto the couch and pulling your head away from his throat to press his lips to yours as his song continues, forgotten, in the background. You lose no time wrenching his shirt from his trousers and getting to work on his belt buckle, leaving his tie askew across his shoulder.

“Oooh, you’re going to get a terrible karaoke score,” you tease him, palming his growing erection over his pants. He nibbles his perfect bottom lip and moans softly. “Tell you what…” you suggest, gently extricating his cock from its cotton prison and prompting another airy moan from his primed vocal chords. “Why don’t you try and get a top score for the next one? I’ll help you hit the high notes.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “Like I need any help.” You watch his face as he immediately regrets his cockiness, your hand slowly but firmly pumping his dick as he swallows hard. You smirk.

“I mean under normal circumstances, of course not,” you affirm. “But these will not be…” you pause to run your tongue languorously over one of his painfully-erect nipples, “normal…” sliding the pad of your finger over the slit in the tip of his cock until he gives a strangled groan and a ribbon of precum trickles forth, “circumstances.” 

“Okay, let’s get it” he murmurs, his voice breathy with desire.

“Let’s try one of your showpieces then?” you suggest, moving swiftly to type the matching digits into the keypad.

“Ohhh you bitch,” he half-laughs, half-pleads, when the title flashes up. You let him off easy for the majority of the song, just toying with his cock, stroking your fingernails along his inner thighs and sating yourself on his dark nipples as you wait impatiently for his vocal solo. The bridge fades into screen-Jeongguk’s vocal as you wrap your lips around his swollen, quivering member and let your tongue slide along his shaft. Gagging yourself with his cock, you listen in fascination as the flesh-and-blood man in front of you meshes his voice with his counterpart on the screen in a searingly passionate rendition of one of BTS’s most recognisable tunes. He barely makes it through the solo before he ejaculates straight down your willing throat, rounding out the song with considerably less vehemence, but just as much volume. You collapse, spent, in each others arms and await his score. 

“100?!” you yelp, disbelievingly. 

“Can’t do better than that,” he gloats, with an impish grin. “Now...come here!” He grabs you by the waist, flings you onto the couch and climbs between your legs, where he insists on riding out the remainder of his orgasm until you’re shaking and screaming for mercy. Once you’re done, you clean yourselves and the booth up, finish your set and then head down to reception together, intending to claim you had just bumped into each other in the building. Only the look on the hostess’s face stops you dead in your tracks. You blush, Jeongguk blushes and you all avoid each others’ eyes. The hostess opens her mouth to say something, changes her mind, closes her mouth and smiles at you both expectantly: “Oh, you guys ran into each other after all!” she comments a little too brightly. You give her a bemused look, knowing the game is up and hoping to just salvage the situation.

“You peeked, didn’t you?” you ask her flatly. She nods guiltily.

“I’m sorry, unnie!” she squeals.

“Can I have the tapes?” you ask her, wryly. She nods again, mouthing further apologies to Jeongguk, whose cheeks are still flaming, as she removes the tapes from the machine and hands them to you with a small bow. You take them with a muttered ‘gamsahamnida’, before you and Jeongguk make your escape, praying Namjoon won’t put two and two together when you return.

THE END

[boneswriteswords]

“Dance with Me” - Thorin Oakenshield

**peeks head in **

Hi! I decided to run with the ‘King With All The Daughters’ thing I started with my last Thorin imagine “He’s Safe.” This will be just a crap ton of one-offs of Thorin, his human S/O, and their adventures together as a couple and as parents to a hoard of little girls. They likely won’t be in any real order but there is a timeline in my mind so good luck trying to follow along, especially since I do not know how to make a masterlist XD

This is the first installment. 

This is unbeta’d. I will die like a man who has never proofread in his life. 

Enjoy. 

It wasn’t unusual for Thorin to invite you for tea after a meeting with his council. You had been part of the company that assisted him in reclaiming Erebor - a human girl with a knack for medicine who had spent a lot of her time traveling and being quick on her feet that Gandalf insisted would be an asset. The older members of the council didn’t like your presence at the table so Thorin kept you there to aggravate them. You were too world-weary to allow them to walk all over you, something that amused the members of the company greatly. For some reason, Thorin valued your input, your opinion of what he should do and how to act, over the opinion of the council.

That or he valued the way you kept Fili and Kili in line.

But you digress.

It wasn’t unusual for Thorin to request your presence after a meeting. You knew to expect him to pull you aside and guide you to a secluded room to talk privately over tea and pastries. It was usually an alcove off the library that only Balin and Ori knew about. Sometimes it was a smaller meeting room or balcony overlooking Dale. 

It WAS unusual for Thorin to bring you back to his private chambers. If you weren’t mistaken, it was considered disrespectful for someone outside the family to enter a dwarf’s private rooms. There was sanctity in their personal privacy just as there was sanctity in the secrecy of their culture and traditions. They may boast and jeer in public but they would never allow the public to invade their private. 

“Why am I in your room? Isn’t that against some rule in some tome about dwarf etiquette?” you ask, looking around the room curiously, unable to help yourself. This was a sneak peek into the parts of Thorin that wasn’t ‘leader’ or ‘king,’ parts that he kept close to his chest and never allowed anyone to see and you were greedy. 

“It is,” he acknowledges, a flash of pride in his eyes, motioning for you to sit at the table nearby “if you are a stranger.” He pauses, turning to the hearth to start up a fire. Winters in the mountain were fierce. Even with all the layers you wore, the chill settled deep in your bones and left you constantly uncomfortable. The others of the company had made it a point to outfit your chambers with a hearth and kept fires going in the rooms where you would be during the day to keep you content and warm. 

You greatly appreciated the gesture.

You also greatly appreciated the way the fire cast a glow on Thorin’s face, shadows dancing as the flame rose and flickered as he stoked it. 

But you kept that to yourself. 

“You, Y/N, are not a stranger,” he continued when he deemed the fire to be acceptable. The certainty in this voice left your heart stuttering. “You are so much more than that.

“O-oh.” 

“Dance with me,” Thorin says, holding his hand out for you to take. He blinks, as if the words left his mouth before he realized what he said, but he grins at you anyway, blue eyes glittering. 

A weird noise escapes you without meaning to, something akin to a strangled mouse being trampled on because he has no business wanting to touch you while looking so handsome. His grin widens at the noise and you try not to make another one. You know he likes to tease you about all the weird things that come out of your mouth at any given moment and you refuse to give him another soundbite to focus on. 

Not now. 

There is affection in his gaze and warmth in his smile and you won’t ruin it with whatever odd vocalization your body decides to produce to cope with it.  

“No thank you,” you respond, plopping down on the chair he had offered you when you entered the room, pointedly staring up at him. The idea of his hands on you was enough to send your body to the ground in a faint and you were terrified of what effect his hands actually on you would have. 

You’d never live it down if you swooned. 

“No?” he arches one of his brows at you, the grin shrinking the tiniest bit in a way that makes you want to cry “Why not?”

“No,” you assert, crossing your arms, “I can’t dance. I can barely walk most of the time. I’ll fall.”

His grin is wide again, “I won’t let you fall.”

“I’ll trip.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“I’ll step on your toes and break them.”

“I’ll heal.”

“We don’t have any music.”

“We don’t need any.”

The slow drawl in Thorin’s voice makes your ears grow hot. You are always surprised by how charming he actually is, when he actually cares to have someone like him. Thorin doesn’t care much about how he is perceived as a dwarf as long as he is seen as effective in the roles he has. He is an uncle and a brother, a leader and a king. Rumors mean nothing. Opinions mean even less. He cares about getting the job done. 

(So what does that mean, knowing that he cares about what you think of him, you can’t help but wonder.)

Thorin doesn’t wait for you to respond. He takes the step and a half towards your seat and trails his hands down your arms to uncross them before sliding his fingers down to grasp at your hands to pull you from the chair. Your human height makes you taller than him but he doesn’t seem to care as he pulls you further into the room, away from the furniture. 

You can’t help it. You stare at where he’s holding on your hands, the way he’s laced your fingers together. His hands are rough, calloused. A worker’s hands. A warrior’s hands. You repress a shiver as you imagine what they’d feel like running over your naked back, your legs, your breasts. 

Thorin guides your hands so they are resting on his shoulders before slipping down to clutch at your hips. His face has been softer recently, no longer burning up from the inside with all the anger and hatred that he harbored for so many years, and he no longer keeps everyone at arms length. There is a lot of healing that still needs to be done but the progress that he has made fills you with light. 

It is soft now. 

You know yours is too. 

There was no music but he sways you both back and forth as if there is. His palms are warm through the fabric of your skirt. His shoulders were broad and strong under your hands, his hair soft as it grazes your arms. You can feel each of his fingers as they grip at your hips, suppressing shivers every time his thumb strokes you. 

It takes you a minute to realize that you are watching your feet. You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t dance. The battlefield was where your grace resided, not the dance floor. Your feet never went where you wanted them to go and having all your previous dance partners grumble and limp away from you left you with a complex and a compulsion to watch your feet.  

But this was just swaying. There were no impressive moves or intricate steps. You don’t have to follow music or remember a routine. Thorin guides you like he knew you. He knew where you were going to step and followed. Leading without leading. Swaying you and spinning with you as one instead of two. Every step you took, he took a complimentary one, even if it didn’t make sense to him.

He had you. 

So you look up from your feet and look at him.

Something must snap inside of him, a cord pulled far too tight, because suddenly, you are being yanked down to your knees on the plush rug and pulled to press completely against him. You melt, molding and clutching hard onto him, a contented little sign escaping you at the feel of his body pressed against yours. You can feel his breath on your neck, his beard tickling the sensitive skin.

“If you only knew what you did to me,” he hisses into your throat, his lips grazing as he spoke and you shiver. You arch into him and a sprig of delight fills you when you feel him press against your stomach. 

Oh.

He’s big. 

“Please.” you whimper, unsure of what you are asking for but accepting of anything he feels like giving you. Thorin’s hands caress and grope over your clothes as he trails small kisses up the side of your neck. 

Your jaw. 

Your cheek.

“I ache for you,” he growls, “Nightly. Daily. Sometimes hourly.”

“You can have me,” you respond, eyes fluttering open to look at him, unsure of when they closed in the first place.

Thorin kisses like his sole purpose in life is to explore every corner of your mouth with his teeth and tongue and conquer it. Air is irrelevant to him but he pulls back when your lungs start collapsing in on themselves as a courtesy. He dives back in almost immediately, groaning when you get your actual shit together and respond, eagerly and impatiently.

He pulls back, leaving you panting and whining discontentedly.

“We have to stop,” he rasps, his breath intermingling with yours. The whine that rises from you is purely involuntary and he shushes you gently with a small press of his lips to yours. “We have to. I want to do this right.”

“Hu?” you whimper, not understanding. Your brain was scrambling and your core was aching and nothing was making any sense. You just knew that he stopped and you didn’t like it. “Do what?” 

Thorin smiles, fingers gripping the sides of your face so you could look him in the eye, “You deserve a courtship. I would not dishonor you by taking you to my bed without everyone in my kingdom knowing that you are mine. I want my braids and my beads in your hair and yours in mine. I want to craft you courting gifts with metal I have molded myself. I want to earn you as my wife, prove that there is no one a better fit for you than I. There will be no doubt in your mind like this is no doubt in mine.”

Every word seems to punch you in the gut as you calm down, reaching up to grip onto his forearms. 

“Wha-what brought this on?” you ask, voice trembling the tiniest bit as the gravity of what he’s saying settles in your stomach. He presses another kiss to your mouth. “Wh-hy?” 

“You are my One, Amralime,” he states, eyes roaming over your face, “and I will show you how I love you. If you’ll have me.”

It takes a moment for you to come back to reality, his words bathing you in a haze that you weren’t sure you could escape. He had leveled you, collapsing any rational thought from your mind as you rolled in the destruction. Your gaze flickers all over his face, soft and earnest, and you swallow at the impact it has on you. 

“I-” you start, clearing your throat and squeezing him tighter to you, “I accept. Show me your love and I’ll show you mine.” There is a stupid smile on your face and you can’t be bothered to care. 

His eyes are glittering when he presses his mouth to yours again, his thick fingers sectioning off your hair.

~~~

END

~~~

[dreamcatcherjiah]

I had started to wonder if you were ok just know that you’re doing amazing! Sending positive vibes your way 🥺 if it’s not too much stress can I get a little dancer reader x rapper Yoongi Drabble please? 😊💜

Hello love!! Yes, in general I am doing just fine, just supper busy studying for my finals! It is not any stress at all, you just gave me what I needed!🥺🥺🥺 I hope you like it, and feel free to request anything else if you want!!💜

Pairing: Dancer reader x rapper Yoongi

Words: 1.3k

The first day dancing for this new company, this should be exciting. I mean, it would be if you weren’t running incredibly late. It wasn’t your intention, it just seemed like traffic was completely against you. The subway, crowded as it always was, should have been your first choice of transportation, the bus was proving to be a failure.

After the long auditioning process, preparing endless routines in the least amount of time possible, putting your life on hold to get this one job, it was all going to be futile if this giant metal box refused to move a minute longer. You couldn’t be late on your first day, you just couldn’t.

On the next stop, you decided to go the rest of the way walking, and got off the bus. Running was not much of a hobby for you, but just today it would have to do. You flew by department stores and restaurants, convenience stores and coffee shops. What wouldn’t you give for a strong cup of coffee right about now? But no, you needed to power through and get to that shiny building you could already see on the distance. Looking down at your watch, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, relieved; if you continued running just the way you were, you might just make it with a couple of minutes to spare, but not enough time to get a coffee, sadly.

Without even time to look back up again, you collide with a hard body and fall back, barely registering the tenderness on your lower back. Looking at the other person, t-shirt and jacket completely covered in coffee, you curse your luck. Just what you needed today, damn you, Murphy!

“I’m so sorry!” you say, hurriedly while you scramble to your feet, “I wasn’t looking where I was going, are you okay?”

“It was iced Americano,” answered the man, with a deep raspy voice that had you doing a double-take. Thank your lucky stars it was iced Americano, at least you hadn’t scalded him, but his voice though… Wait now is definitely not the time to be mesmerised by his voice. No matter how deep it was. Focus!

“Still, I am fairly sure you wanted to drink it, and now you are wearing it…” fishing through your bag, you got a notepad and a pen, writing quickly while your eyes moved over his ruined clothes, and a light jolt went through you when you recognised the brand. Your clumsiness was surely going to cost you.

“I am running incredibly late, but here’s my number. Text me when you replace the t-shirt and the jacket and I’ll pay for it,” it would be ramyeon for lunch for quite some time for you, apparently.

Receiving the slip of paper with a nod, the both of you looked at each other.

“I thought you said you were late?” he asked, eyeing you through his glasses and mask. His tone was weirded enough to drive the message through; You’ve done enough spilling my coffee, get going, weird woman.

Seeing how fast the time had gone by, you threw a last look in his direction and started running again.

Thanks to some divine intervention, you managed to arrive just in time to change your shoes and join the dance team in the training room. Warming up and focusing on your body’s movement managed to push the thoughts of the coffee stranger from your mind. The adrenaline pumping through your veins giving you the right mindset to focus completely on the precision and accuracy with which you copied the choreographer moves and reproduced them. This was the happiness you only felt when your body was moving to the rhythm of the music.

Once practice was over, everyone started leaving, going out of the room in small groups, and soon enough you were alone. Moving to the computer, you restarted the song and kept practising the moves. There was a particular move you liked when you managed to get the tempo right, satisfaction filling your chest fast and sure, and you wanted to get it down perfectly before you left for the day.

So focused you were that you didn’t see the door opening, and the black-clad figure stay on the threshold, arms crossed while they watch you practice.

“So you arrived in time?” asked a voice to your left, and you lost your footing quite ungracefully, landing on your backside. The soreness was back and you looked up for the second time that day. A strange déjà vu. And then understanding washed over you, and you felt utterly out of your depth.

“I would say that you have poor research skills, but I don’t want to make you feel bad… after all, it’s not your fault that you’re clumsy on top of that. I would know, I live with Namjoon.”

If you could move, you would have facepalmed. Without his mask and the reading glasses, it was obvious you should have recognised him. You had spilt coffee on one of the biggest world-class rappers of the moment and had offered right after to pay for his clothes. You didn’t actually know how to feel, but the only thought going through your head now was how to get up from the floor without damaging your dignity any further…

“I’m so sorry!” you said, picking yourself up for the second time that day, “I was running late, and I wasn’t paying much attention, I’m sorry… But wait, poor research skills?”

He just laughed and went to the table where the laptop was still playing the song you were dancing to. Now that you thought about it, the vocals were incredibly familiar. Closing the computer, he bent down and picked a beanie and a phone up from one of the chairs and turned around to look at you.

“Poor research skills because you didn’t even look up who else worked at the company you are working for now,” he answered, laughing softly at your face. No doubt you must look as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Of course I knew who worked here, I just wasn’t expecting to find one of them on a coffee shop ten minutes from the office and I surely wasn’t expecting to drench him in coffee…” you mumbled, looking everywhere except at the idol standing in front of you.

“I would say we drenched each other,” he chuckled, “your sneakers are beyond ruined.”

Looking down, you noticed just then that what he was saying was true. Your previously white shoes were now tinted brown, irregularly and messily. Go figure, only you would not notice your feet were wet and cold. And your sneakers, as he had so very well pointed, beyond ruined.

“They could pass for expensive trendy sneakers,” you said, turning your left foot from side to side, examining the disastrous brown pattern, “I mean, ripped jeans are a thing now, right?”

He laughed harder this time, and you couldn’t help but giggle at your own joke. He was completely different from what you had always thought he was like.

“I don’t think the rule that says ripped jeans are fashionable applies to sneakers that reek of americano…” his eyes were now turning into little crescents, so much he was laughing. At least the awkwardness of the situation was washing off a little.

“Yeah, I know. These little ones will have to go, I guess. You’ve been loyal friends, my dears,” now you were laughing too. How could your day have taken such a turn so suddenly, you wouldn’t know. But it wasn’t a bad turn.

“Why are you such a drama queen?” he asked you, with mock accusation. He raised an eyebrow at you and started writing something in his phone. When he was finished, he looked back at you with a barely concealed smirk.

Your phone went off in your bag. Looking at him suspiciously, you walked over and unlocked your phone to find a text message from an unknown number.

           “I’m incredibly busy producing this track, but text me when you replace your ruined sneakers for new, trendy ones, and I’ll pay for them ;) -Yoongi.”

[crystaljins]

Sea.

Characters: Namjoon x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Synopsis:   It takes a lot to follow your dreams. Idol!reader x manager!Namjoon

Notes: @tuserendipia​ requested Namjoon + dreams. And all I could think about is how BTS have achieved their dreams. And actually, this week I achieved MY dream. So this is what you guys get. LOL. It’s pretty shoddily written but who cares? It’s all for fun.

Warnings: Nothing except mentions of dodgy record label companies? Also atrocious plotholes because i know nothing about music contracts. If that bothers you please read something else.

Few people are fortunate enough to experience the adrenaline rush that comes with finally achieving their dreams. You are though, and you’re practically glowing from the high. Namjoon can only stare in awe as he captures your fingers before you can step onto the platform that will raise you onto the stage above.

“Hey.” He calls, adjusting the headsets he has on and slipping them off so that they rest on his neck. He very intentionally reaches down and switches off the battery pack it attaches to. No one will hear the words he says next and he will not have panicked staff members contacting him through the comms system. These words are just for you. “I’m proud of you.”

You’re all dolled up in stage makeup to highlight your best features. The dress has been designed carefully so that the stage lights will be caught by the tiny diamontes and dance across your body like starlight. He almost misses what you look like bare-faced and relaxed, with the hood of your jumper pulled up over unwashed hair, but there is no denying that you are in your element like this. The person he is looking at now is the pop princess who captured the heart of the entire nation with her amazing voice and beautiful face, about to perform on her dream stage.

You don’t smile in response. Instead you frown at him and he knows what you’re thinking. Really you should be buzzing with the nerves and excitement that comes with achieving your dreams, but you clearly have something on your mind.

“Joon.” You say in response. “Thank you.” The words are whispered, barely audible over the music that starts up, building up to your grand entrance. Already outside, the crowd is screaming. “But you should be up there with me.”

He offers you a smile because even now, in the moment that you are about to achieve your dreams, you are thinking about him. He didn’t always appreciate that about you- when he first met you, he had thought you were spoiled and single-minded. You wanted to have it all and had none of the motivation or determination to take it. And yet things still seemed to fall into your lap- you’d open your mouth and sing a few notes and entertainment companies would trip over themselves to have you sign with them.

He had been working as in intern then, trying to break into the industry and form connections and his run-ins with you had left him jealous and frustrated. Jealous that you had everything he wanted and frustrated that you didn’t even seem to recognise how easily things came to you. And that had only become exacerbated when someone had decided he’d be a good manager to you. Suddenly it went from having to see you in the hallways of the company or sitting in on meetings discussing your schedule to having to spend every waking minute worrying about you and where you were and what you were doing. He should have refused the promotion, really, but the pay was better, and it meant he was meeting far more influential people than he was as a mere intern.

You, of course, had been baffled by Namjoon’s initial dislike of you. You seemed like the kind of person who was used to people handing their hearts to you on a silver platter without much effort on your part of all. But you had somehow met him everything with a smile and a cheerfulness that none could match, and he soon learned the reason why.

No one follows their dreams with ease. To achieve the goal your heart is longing for comes with blood, sweat and tears and you had never forgotten your humble roots. Even though Namjoon had only seen you from the point where people on social media sites had started to see and recognise your talent, he didn’t see the financial difficulties, or the days you busked on the side of the road for hours to even be able to pay for your dinner. He didn’t see the people who had scammed you and taken everything in your blind and desperate attempts to share your voice. He wasn’t there when you’d had to give up the performing academy you’d always dreamed of because your father had gotten sick and your mother couldn’t afford both your schooling fees and his hospital fees. And so, while he had seen you and been jealous that things looked easy for you, you had seen him and known that Namjoon too was working hard for his dreams- that no dream comes easy or naturally. That’s why you were able to treat him with such kindness and warmth- because he was your fellow dreamchaser.

When he realised that, he started to see the other things that made you great. Your big heart, your genuine and sincere nature, the way your voice captured hearts… you had inspired him. And he’d done something really dumb and embarrassing- he had written a song about you. No, a song for you. Written for your vocals and your style. And to be honest, it was never meant for anyone but him to hear. And then of course you had come across it entirely by accident when you were searching through his phone for a video he had taken for you.

But then something funny had happened. Namjoon has been searching, ever since he began his internship, for the person who would take a chance on him and his music. Who would hear it and love it enough to make it big, and never, in a million years, did he think that person would be you. Of course, your record label had refused, saying that it didn’t fit your image or your sound, but you had fallen in love with the song and you were determined to sing it. You’d recorded the song with him and released it on soundcloud, and of course, your vocals combined with his music… it had blown up.

Your record company had been angry. They had wanted to seize the rights to the song and in an oversight on your part, a tiny clause in your 75-page contract stated that any and all music released by you automatically belonged to them. And thus, Namjoon had lost his first ever song to a big corporate that hadn’t even wanted to give him a chance in the first place. And he’d learned how painful the journey to realising your dreams could be. But that had been nothing compared to you- you were inconsolable, especially when his song only took your career to new heights. The very heights that are allowing you to perform here, at the biggest stadium in your country. The place only the biggest stars even hope to perform in and you were to take the stage as the top female solo act. You had begged him to take legal action, but he couldn’t do it- couldn’t take his song back without harming you. Perhaps that is the most painful part- that he had had to choose between you and his song. And ultimately, you had been what won.

“I’m just happy to see you up there.” He tells you warmly, because it’s true. Gone are the days when he was jealous and angry at the world, for choosing you and not him. Now… after seeing you in every facet of your life, from the angel on stage to the grumpy young woman in stained, unwashed tshirts… He only wants to see you achieve. To climb higher and higher and keep moving and capturing heart the way you have wholly captured his. Once upon a time, it was just him, his music and his dreams, but somewhere along the way you wiggled into his heart and there’s now something more important than his music: You. As much as it hurts to lose his dreams… You are more important to him.

Something flashes in your eyes, an unfamiliar mischief and challenge.

“You’ll be even happier in a moment.” You warn, and he doesn’t even have a chance to ask you what you mean when you step away from him, releasing his fingers and climbing up onto the stage. The next moment you vanish as the platform raises you onto the stage.

Above ground, the cheers grow in intensity. No doubt the screams and cries rumble through the whole city- there is surely not a soul that does not know that tonight, you are taking centre stage. Namjoon smiles as he steps backwards and goes to find the ideal spot backstage to watch the rest of your concert. He’s comfortably waiting at the side of the stage where he can see and hear everything that is happening. He’s about to switch his headpiece back on, when it happens.

The music that booms onto the stage is not your usual opening music. Instead, it’s a familiar tune. A song he had written in private, in some of his darker days when his dreams had seemed far away and unattainable. He doesn’t know how you found it, or how deep you delved into his secret soundcloud account to get the backing track, but it’s playing as the opening song to your concert, for the entire nation who is watching and listening to hear.

“This song was written by a very special friend of mine.” He hears your voice boom through the microphone. “And I need you all to do me a favour- help me get his music out there. Spread the word. Post the videos online. And tell everyone you know whose song this is: Kim Namjoon!”

And then you burst into song, his words, his tune, but better. It’s a song that captures all the hardship of following your dreams, the pain and hopelessness that comes with it, and a song that resides specially in his heart.

“Where there is hope, there is always hardship.” You sing. Due to the controversy of Namjoon’s song for you, it never made it to the live stage- this is the first time one of his songs will be performed live, and it’s on the biggest stage in the country with his name at the forefront. And not a song written for you, but a song carrying a piece of him. This song is unashamedly his and you have just helped him release it into the public.

Namjoon shakes his head in disbelief, hardly believing your audacity, or the way you’ve just shot down your record company. This is a big move for you and with so many people hearing you declare the owner of the song out in the open, it will be much harder for the company to quietly assume the rights. You’ve made a daring move, and risked your career. And for him. The song finishes and Namjoon is not ashamed there are tears pouring down his face. But then what happens next is unbelievable.

“Guys!” You cry. “Do you want to meet him? The man who wrote that song?” The ensounding chorus of “Yes!” rumbles through Namjoon’s heart like a stampede. You turn your head to where he’s hidden in the side of the stage and the smile that you give him is dazzling. You run up to him, and grab his hand. You switch off your mic for just a moment.

“They won’t steal this one from you.” You promise and then you’re stepping onto stage with him.

For a moment, all he feels is a rush of adrenaline as he gaze out onto the huge crowd. He can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears. But then the buzzing fades and then he hears what the crowd is chanting.

“Kim Namjoon! Kim Namjoon!” They scream wildly. That’s his name they’re cheering. His song they’re going wild to. They’re chanting his name in the biggest stadium in the country and it’s so beyond his wildest dreams that he’s speechless.

And then he glances at you. The stage light catches on your dress and your eyes are filled with a dazzling light that takes his breath away. And he realises something.

Dreams are arbitrary. They can change in a heartbeat. Some will go unfulfilled for all eternity and the second one is filled it’s time to make a new one. It’s in human nature to always be running for more, to be chasing a moving goalpost, but he’s found something better than a dream. Something that he doesn’t have to chase desperately after and never meet. Something that he can stop and stare in wonder. Somewhere he can stay, in warmth and happiness.

And that is you. You’re more than a dream to him. You’re his love.

And he’s yours.

[myaekingheart]

111. Fluff

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Spring, traditionally, serves as a time for rebirth and reflection. A season devoted to shedding the hefty layers of winter in preparation for warmer weather. There were none who understood this quite so well as Toshio, as Rei would unfortunately soon discover.

               As the temperature increased, Toshio’s thick undercoat began rising to the surface in thick puffs of fluff. Downy wads of fur slid across the living room floor and collected in piles like cherry blossoms on the ground. His entire coat had grown pluckery with excess fluff.

               Rei tried to ignore it as best as she could. She had assumed that if this was a yearly tradition, then there was no need to interfere. It never seemed to be much of an issue before. However, this year seemed far worse than any previous. There was hair in her shower and hair in her bed and hair in her food. Groaning, she flung a wad of fluff into the trash can. Oh my god, I can’t do this anymore.

               The only logical solution was to brush him. She grabbed the cheap plastic dog brush from the junk drawer in the kitchen and lured Toshio nearer with the promise of snacks. He lumbered forward and behaved himself as she combed through his coat, almost even enjoying the chore with spotted tongue lopping lazily out of the side of his mouth. The issue, however, was that the bristles were too far too short. They only did a fraction of the job that Rei needed them to do. By the time Kakashi returned home from work that day, Rei was smothered in dog hair. Toshio seemed completely unaffected, if not delighted.

               Kakashi slipped out of his vest and kicked his shoes off at the front door. “You look good in white” he jested.

               Rei huffed a ball of fluff out of her bangs and frowned. “This is seriously getting out of hand” she complained. “I don’t know what else to do. The fluff is out of control.”

               Kneeling down beside her, Kakashi plucked another puffball from Rei’s hair as he inspected the brush. “Maybe we need to get a new one” he contemplated. “Since this one evidently is not cutting it.”

               “Clearly” Rei sighed, falling back onto the floor. Toshio smacked his lips as he scooted nearer to lick her face. He was relentless, continuing until she was sticky with slobber. She shooed him away between uproarious laughter, gasping for breath.

               Kakashi placed his hands on either side of Toshio’s bulky body and began scratching him where he liked, a cloud of dog hair floating up around them in response. Chuckling, Kakashi pulled another tuft of hair from his coat and inspected it. “You should get married in this” he jested.

               “Very funny” Rei rolled her eyes.

               “No, I’m serious” Kakashi replied. “Think about it, you wouldn’t have to spend a single cent on your wedding dress.”

               Rei pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about the wedding right now” she complained.

               “Oh?” Kakashi asked, cocking a brow. “Have you changed your mind? Because I was just joking about the dog hair.”

               “No” Rei assured him. “No, of course I haven’t changed my mind. I just feel kind of, I don’t know…aimless. I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding and it’s starting to bother me.”

               Toshio sat down with a thud, panting happily as he clued into the conversation. Kakashi scratched behind his ear as he asked, “What do you mean? Do you feel pressured to get everything sorted right away? Because we’re allowed to take our time.”

               “Maybe a little bit” Rei replied. “It’s not like anyone has said anything. I just feel like, I don’t know, we’ve been engaged for a month now and we haven’t figured anything out yet. I don’t want to rush through wedding planning, either, but I still feel like maybe we should start looking into what we should be doing.”

               “Okay” Kakashi smiled. “We can start researching this week if you want.”

               Rei nodded slowly but it was clear to Kakashi that there was still something more bothering her. He waited a few more moments before finally asking her what was wrong. “I’m sorry, I’m just…a little stressed” Rei finally replied.

               “What are you stressed about?” Kakashi asked. “Besides the wedding, I mean. Is there anything I can help with?”

               Sighing, Rei propped her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. Sekkachi and I had a bit of an argument at the dango shop the other day—she seems to think us having a baby is a bad idea or something. I’m getting nervous about whether we were actually successful, and in the meantime I’ve been trying to focus on the wedding to keep my mind off of everything else but that’s only stressing me out even more because of how lost I feel. And to top it all off, Lady Tsunade is moving me to the night shift.”

               The night shift? Kakashi cocked a brow and considered everything she had told him. That little part about her career really stood out to him, however. “I wonder why she’s changed your shift” he asked.

               “Hell if I know” Rei complained. “The past week it’s felt like she’s been upping the ante with these missions but I don’t know if she is, in fact, loading more work onto me or if it just feels like more work.”

               Kakashi pasted a sympathetic smile on his face as he reached over and rubbed Rei’s stomach. “Sounds like you’ve had a lot on your plate” he said.

               She had to admit, Kakashi’s affirmation of her stress was incredibly refreshing. Rei didn’t like to complain about work. She had fought so hard to get to this point, it just didn’t feel right. That did not, however, negate the accompanying stress of her career. And as for Sekkachi, it was a wonder how Rei had still not grown accustomed to her brash honesty. Nearly twenty years of friendship and it still consistently caught her off-guard.

               “I think I just need a break or something” Rei admitted, though she hated to say that. She didn’t feel like she deserved it. She felt like wanting a break made her weak, even if logically it was well-deserved.

               Kakashi watched her for a moment, studying how tense and washed out her face appeared and the especially messy nature of her hair. He leaned over then and kissed her gently, but in the back of his mind, he was plotting. If it was a break she needed, then it was a break she was going to get.

               The following morning, Kakashi drew Rei into the living room with a terrible smile. Without affording her any explanations, he blindfolded her and began carefully guiding her out of the apartment building. Toshio walked closely beside her, providing additional assistance.

               “Well, I guess we know who to trust if you ever go blind” Kakashi jested, smiling to the dog. Toshio barked happily in response, licking at Rei’s fingers.

               “Kakashi, can you please tell me what’s going on?” Rei asked. She could feel the sun on her face, hear the chattering of passerby in the village streets. The sweet scent of the dango shop enticed her and she regretted having skipped breakfast.

               Kakashi shook his head, vocalizing his refusal with a melodic hum. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked as he helped her around a corner.

               “Kakashi, come on!” Rei whined. “I don’t have time for this. I have work in eight hours. I need sleep!”

               “Well, this shouldn’t take that long” Kakashi replied. He could hardly fight the smile on his face as he then steadied her and added, “Besides, we’re already here.” He removed her blindfold and it was clear he was far too happy with himself. Standing before her was the entrance to the Konoha Hot Springs. Rei blinked, utterly confused, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

               “K-Kakashi, what is all of this about?” she laughed, turning to him.

               “You said you needed a break, so here’s your break!” he grinned.

               As flattered as she was, this meant nothing to her obligations. She truly could not afford to take a break. She had to research wedding planning necessities, she had to figure out how to best care for Toshio’s shedding problem, she had to force herself to sleep so she could function come nightfall. “Kakashi, I don’t want to seem like I’m not grateful, because I am, but…” she stammered, “I have too much shit to do! I just…I can’t!”

               Kakashi shook his head, taking her by the shoulders from behind and guiding her into the lobby. “Now I don’t want you to worry about any of that!” he insisted. “It’s all taken care of.”

               Rei was barely given a chance to respond before one of the nakai working the springs had taken over and guided her into the women’s locker room. All Rei could manage was a confused, incredulous, and slightly bothered glance over her shoulder before she disappeared.

               A small smile touched Kakashi’s lips as he watched her turn the corner, then looked to Toshio who barked excitedly. “We better get going” Kakashi said to the dog. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

               Rei tried her best to relax but her mind raced with wonderings about what, exactly, Kakashi might be doing. The vagueness of it all left her stomach turning. She sunk even deeper into the hot water in defeat, blowing bubbles out of her nose and mouth. Before she could drown in her own uncertainty, however, the locker room door slid open and out stepped Mikazuki and Yugao.

               “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Rei asked, sitting up.

               Yugao slipped into the water and shrugged. “Kakashi told us what he was up to so we decided to come and keep you company” she explained.

               Kakashi told us what he was up to. But what was he up to? Rei’s cocked brow, her pursed lips and focused gaze, communicated her confusion clear as day.  

               “He didn’t tell you?” Mikazuki asked softly, settling in beside Yugao.

               “No?” Rei replied. She stared hard at the two of them, asked, “Does someone care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

               Back home, Kakashi stared with focused intent at the packaging for the new dog brush he had just purchased. It came highly recommended per the Inuzukas, who he always trusted in canine matters. The operation seemed simple enough: take long strokes through the coat, and the fine-toothed razor blade would take care of everything else. Toshio sat patiently before him, panting expectantly. Pursing his lips, Kakashi spun the brush around his finger before looking the dog in the eyes. “Here we go” he muttered, then scooted around so as to begin combing through his thick, downy fur.

               With one swipe, the teeth were filled with immeasurable amounts of fluff. Kakashi picked it off and shoved it into a paper bag at his side, then continued onward. He was only halfway through Toshio’s coat when his bag had completely filled and he was forced to grab another but as he rose to his feet, Toshio shook his bulky body and a cloud of hair puffed out around him. He followed Kakashi into the kitchen, knocking over the bag in the process. All of the fluff wafted across the floor. It stuck to the edge of the couch, collected in corners, tumbled across the living room rug. Toshio looked up at Kakashi with a grin, barking emphatically. Kakashi, however, felt himself die a little inside. He surveyed the damage with wide eyes before shoving the second bag back into the drawer. It was a lost cause. The only weapon fit for this battle now was a vacuum. So much for keeping things clean.

               By sunset, Kakashi had effectively de-fluffed Toshio to the best of his ability. Equipped with a stange little rubber toothbrush, he attempted to rid Toshio of his ghastly breath, as well, but it was no use. Whereas he seemed to take delight in lounging while Kakashi combed his fur, he become harshly defensive over his teeth, snapping and snarling—a threat. “Well” Kakashi sighed, popping the rubber sleeve off his finger and tossing it across the room, “I did the best I could.” He outfitted Toshio in a brand new bandana before they went on their way. After all, Rei was bound to begin worrying.

               Yugao and Mikazuki were of no help in alleviating Rei’s anxiety. Their explanations as to what Kakashi was up to were vague and unhelpful, if they even tried to explain at all. More often than not, they simply redirected the conversation to something else such as Mikazuki’s growing relationship with Tenzo or about the woman who runs the high-end kimono shop down the street. Nothing of any real substance. Rei leaned her head back against the edge of the springs and heaved a sigh.

               The three of them parted ways as the service staff began closing up shop, but nothing about this made Rei feel any better than she had that morning. If anything, she arguably felt worse. She had work in three hours and felt very much like she had wasted an entire day doing nothing. True, her muscles were less tense and the color had returned to her skin but none of that was a priority. Her panic rose in her throat as she redressed and began her departure, reaching a fever pitch when she was met with none other than Kakashi outside.

               He stood smiling at her, bright and welcoming and warm. A small bouquet of her favorite flowers were held at his chest. Toshio barked a happy hello beside him, the bandana around his neck sporting the signature henohenomoheji of all the Hatake ninken. His coat appeared smooth and thinned out and Rei immediately knew her fiancé had taken the brunt of her stress.

               “Did you have a relaxing soak?” he asked as she approached, drawing her nearer. The grin on his face only enforced to her that he knew exactly what he was doing all along.

               “I can’t believe you did this” Rei laughed incredulously. She took the flowers, admiring the petals as Toshio nudged her thigh for attention. When she reached down to scratch behind his ear, he leapt and spun in excited approval before racing ahead of them toward home.

               Kakashi shrugged as he followed suit. “It was really nothing” he replied. “After all, we’re supposed to be a team, aren’t we? If there’s an imbalance, then one of us should take on the burden and even things out.”

               He’s unbelievable, Rei thought to herself. Truly, she could not fathom how she had gotten so lucky. Her engagement ring glinted in the dusk sunlight, both a warm testament to their love and a bitter reminder that there were still matters unresolved. “You know, Kakashi…this is nice and all but…we’re not out of the woods yet.”

               Kakashi eyed with her a knowing smile, a warning that something was coming. “I did some research on the wedding and looked into everything we need to take care of moving forward” he replied. “The first order of business should be applying for a marriage license, which we can do tomorrow.”

               As impressed and relieved as she was, there was still something nagging in the back of her mind. “No, we can’t” Rei rebuked. “I have work in a few hours, by the time the registrar’s office opens I’ll be passed out.” That was, perhaps, the worst part of the night shift: you operated on a completely separate wavelength from everyone else, often meaning that you could never get anything done when you’re actually awake because no one is open.

               Swatting at the air, Kakashi shook his head and replied, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

               Cocking a brow, Rei asked suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

               “Well” Kakashi started, “When I met with Shizune today about the wedding planning, I mentioned your night shift and how I was concerned changing over so quickly might be bad for your health. After all, we have to be extra careful with ourselves these days”—here, he winked and Rei immediately understood he meant this with conception in mind. “Well, Shizune brought this up to Lady Tsunade who agreed that perhaps the abrupt switch would be detrimental to the quality of your work and so she decided to keep you on days instead.”

               Again, he was unbelievable. “God, you really do think of everything, don’t you?” Rei asked, laughing and shaking her head.

               Kakashi simply shrugged and wrapped an arm around her affectionately. “We can go to the registrar’s office tomorrow and apply for the marriage certificate” he explained, “And then from that point onward, we can begin figuring out a date and what kind of wedding we want. So long as we just take baby steps, I think we’ll be just fine.” He grinned down at her and Rei felt her heart burst with happiness.

               “I still can’t believe you’d do all of this for me” she murmured, smiling down at the ground. She pressed a hand to her stomach and thought about their future, about the promise of their union and the hope of bearing a child. Everything felt so wonderful, but of course her cynical mind always had to bring some haunting concern to the fore. “Do you think this will ever die?” she asked.

               “What do you mean?” Kakashi replied.

               “All of this” Rei replied with indistinct motioning. “The spark between us. All of this love and support, the going out of each other’s ways like this.”

               Kakashi shook his head, his smile quickly vanishing. “No, I don’t think it will” he replied. “Why?”

               “I-I don’t know” Rei replied. “I just hear all of these horror stories about marriage killing romance, and how you get so lazy and comfortable with each other and then when a baby enters the mix, it all gets even more fucked up. I just don’t want us to lose this while we gain so much more.”

               Kakashi abruptly stopped in the street and reached out to caress Rei’s cheek, drawing her gaze upward to meet his eyes. “We won’t, I promise” he said. “Rei, no matter what happens to us, I will do my best every day to make you feel loved and supported because I will never stop wanting to care for you.” As sappy as she felt about it, Rei’s eyes began to water with impending tears but she quickly sniffled them back in an attempt to maintain composure. She could not cry. Not here, not now. She felt the pit of her chest wrench at the sight of him, though, and the absolute unconditional love brimming from his eyes. She truly could not have asked for anyone better. His smile began sneaking back onto his masked face then as he pressed a hand to her stomach and added, “And anyone else who might come along, too.”

[villainousshakespeare]

For the Price of a Book An (eventually) smutty Loki Fairy Tale

Summary: In the days before the events of Thor I, Loki inadvertently comes upon a female servant being punished by a pair of guards. Her crime? Stealing a book from the rooms she was tasked to clean. Curiosity captured, he decides to break through the shy exterior by any means necessary.

Work in progress, multiple chapters

Pairing: Loki/OFC

Warnings/tags: Some allusions to attempted/prevented rape in the beginning. (not by Loki) Eventual Romance, Angst, Sex, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Pre-Thor (2011)Master/Servant, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Dom Loki (Marvel), Feels, Romance, Loki (Marvel) Angst

AO3 Link: Chapter 1

This was not supposed to be her life, Lysse thought in despair. It was not that she was opposed to hard work - indeed, she had toiled away all her life, but she had always done so with her mind. Raised in a seat of learning and educated by the finest tutors, who also happened to be her family, she had grown up with the understandable expectation that her life would also be in academia. Books were all she knew, all she was good at. They were meant to be her life.

So to find herself now reduced to a chambermaid in the Palace of Asgard was an absolute horror. It wasn’t the work that was the problem. Alright, yes, she was not fond of scrubbing floors or doing laundry for pompous nobles with more free time than they could fill. Who would be? But she could endure it. She could even endure the contempt in the eyes of those she waited on. Plenty of the gentry who came to the University to be educated had nothing but disdain for the teaching class who worked thanklessly to try and hammer some semblance of knowledge into their over-bred minds. Sneers from lordlings and ladies were nothing new to her. 

No, the problem for Lysse came at the end of the day. When she at last put down her rags and buckets and returned to the servants’ quarters, she inevitably wanted to weep. There was not a single thing there to read. It was no surprise, really. The vast majority of servants at her level were illiterate. But to Lysse, for whom the worlds of her stories were as real if not more so than the world around her, it felt like death.

Lysse would lie there on her cot, staring at the ceiling and pine for the literature that had been her lifelong refuge. No one understood, but that was nothing new. No one had ever understood her need to escape, to travel to distant lands through the words emblazoned on a page and to live out dreams she would never dare in actuality. But now she was stuck, living out this one dreary nonexistence with no escape to be offered. None of the other maids had ever owned a book. They all thought her addled and avoided her.

When word came a few weeks into her servitude, weeks that seemed as years to the clever girl, that one of the young lords living in the palace had requested her for a parlor maid, Lysse had been over the moon. It was a huge promotion, and earned her the instant spite of those she worked with. Lysse hardly noticed their enmity, as they had never been kind to her to begin with. All she cared about was that she would be allowed upstairs. True, most of the time she would spend tending to Lord Fandrall’s rooms, but she would also run errands for him, occasionally accompany him outside of the palace, and she would at least be in the company of those with curious minds, even if only as their servant.

Her first day in his employ went well. Lysse was shy and tongue tied as always around the handsome blond warrior. She wished once more that she could be as clever vocally as she was in her brain. She was never at a loss internally for a thought or an opinion, but as soon as the opportunity arose to share it aloud with someone else her tongue seemed to be made of lead and her words ran away from her. Still, Lord Fandrall seemed pleased with her, and she was able to listen in when he spoke over a light lunch with a dark haired noble woman. Their talk didn't particularly interest her, being composed as it was of battle gossip, but at least it was something.

As the week wore on, it became alarmingly clear why the young lord had requested her presence, and Lysse began to feel panic. On more than one occasion, she had caught him staring at her with a look in his eye that she dreaded. It was not that she didn't think he was handsome, he was undeniably so (if not particularly her taste), but Lysse had learned early that nothing good came of it when a noble lordling dallied with a servant. The last thing she needed was to become embroiled with her master. As his hands began to wander when she stepped near to him over the next few days, grazing as though by accident over her rear or across her breasts, Lysse began to feel trapped. To leave his employ would be to go back to the cold, dark world of the servants quarters with no reprieve. It would also be sure to offend Lord Fandrall, and he would have no difficulty making Lysse's life miserable should he choose, even were she not assigned to him. On the other hand, he was making no effort to hide the fact that he found her avoidance of his attentions an amusing game, but that he expected it to end sooner rather than later.

"Tonight, Lysse, I will be going on an over night trip to Reigdorn," he told her offhandedly one afternoon as she served him lunch. "You will need to pack a bag for me."

"Yes, my Lord," she responded dutifully, rejoicing inwardly. The longer he was gone, the longer she would have to come up with a way to deflect his attentions.

"You should pack one for yourself as well," he added with a smirk. "It gets cold on the road, so I've decided to take you with me for warmth. I'll meet you in the stables at sundown."

Lysse tried to keep the terror off of her face as she nodded to the floor. Fandrall merely chuckled and strode out of the room, off to do whatever it was that amused him all day. 

Lysse was horrified. No matter how she told herself that it would not be so bad, she could not bring herself to the point where she was willing to submit to his advances. The very thought made her blood run cold. As she packed his bag and prepared everything for his departure, the truth kept ringing out in her head. She was not going to do it. She would go back to the dungeon of the servants quarters if she must, but she was not going to be the easy conquest of a smug lord just because she had managed, through no fault of her own, to fall on hard times. When sundown came, she decided, Lord Fandrall would find his bag neatly packed in the stable, but Lysse would not be there. She would leave the palace and seek employment else where. She should never have come here to begin with. Lord Fandrall might be angry, but he had no true interest in her beyond a passing fancy.

It was very possible that she might have gotten away with her plan, were it not for her one great weakness. As she was putting the last items in the satchel for the lord, Lysse's eyes happened upon a book that lay, discarded, on the back of his chest of drawers. It was a book of fables, and from the look of it the binding had never even been opened. Longingly, Lysse ran her hand over the spine. She realized that this was the only book she had seen in Lord Fandrall's room, and she opened it in curiosity. On the inside cover was scrawled the sentence, "Fandrall, perhaps this will instill in you some sense of curiosity. Many happy returns, Loki."

Lysse couldn't help herself, looking around foolishly as though someone might be lurking in the shadows, she tucked the book under her arm and, grabbing the satchel, left the room.

***

Loki sat on his balcony studying the book laid out before him. The spell described on the page open on his table was incredibly complex, and he had been trying to perfect it for days. It wasn’t often he had to do much more than glance over a set of instructions to be able to complete any given spell, which made his difficulty with this particular incantation infuriating. He hated not being perfect at anything, usually choosing to avoid those activities that gave him the most difficulty. He was naturally gifted at enough things that this didn’t limit him unduly. But when it came to sorcery he refused to admit that there was any spell he couldn’t master. 

Closing his eyes to aid in his centering, Loki drew a deep breath and envisioned the transformation in his mind. He was almost there, he could feel it. This time he had it! So when a piercing, high pitched scream tore through the air and startled him out of his concentration, he was ready to do violence.

Upending his table with a wave of his hands as the shrieking continued, Loki surged to his feet and disappeared off his balcony in a flash of green. A moment later he was in the gardens below, tracking the sound through a maze of flora. He would find the source of the caterwauling and make them regret even having a mouth with which to disturb his work. 

He did not have to go far before he discovered the offenders of his peace. In a small clearing, two burly guardsmen had third person pinned to the ground. As Loki approached the men, a scream rose from the obviously a female captive they had trapped between them. Loki stopped a few paces away and curled his lip in distaste, not caring for what he had obviously walked in on. 

The woman in question managed to turn her head away from where a burly, red bearded warrior was pressing his mouth to her lips, eyes wide with fear and anger.

“Help me!” She cried as her eyes met his, desperation in her voice. "My Lord Prince, please!"

Loki could understand her alarm. Her dress had been torn down the front, showing an enticing amount of cleavage. One arm was twisted beneath her, the other pulled over her head and held in place by the hulking man, while his companion was in the process of raising her skirt. At her plea for help the two men stiffened and turned to look at him where he lounged against a tree at the entrance to the clearing. 

"Oh, Prince Loki, it's only you," said the one by her head, relief flooding his face. "For a moment I feared it was someone important."

Loki felt his teeth clench and his temper prickle at the insolent disrespect in the guard's voice. The fact that he was not unused to it did not lesson his ire.

"Indeed," he said in a voice dripping with contempt.

"Please, My Lord Prince," the woman on the ground begged again, huge blue eyes pleading with him. "Please don't let them do this!"

"Ignore her," the man holding her legs pinned advised, giving the struggling girl a quick glare. "This need not concern you."

"On the contrary," Loki corrected him in clipped tones, "it concerns me greatly. I was in the middle of something important when the shrieking of this... female interrupted me. It had taken me days to get to where I was, and now I will have to begin again."

The woman gasped at his remark, and he spared her a quick flick of his eyes. What did she expect? That he play the knight errant and demand satisfaction for their besmirching of her honor? Clearly she had the wrong brother. Still, he did not like to see bullies attacking an obviously weaker target.

"Forgive us, my lord," the first guard said, with an ill conceived roll of his eyes. "It was not our intent to disturb you. It will not happen again. I am sure we can find a way to make sure the thief stays quiet."

The guard's leer left little doubt what he meant by the words, but Loki's interest had been piqued by something else.

"Did you say thief?" he asked. Looking down at the girl he could not imagine a more unlikely suspect. The wide blue eyes were dangerously innocent, and the whole appearance of her, torn dress and distracting cleavage not withstanding, was of nothing more than a lovely young school mistress.

"I did, my lord. We apprehended her trying to leave with Lord Fandrall's belongings."

"There she is!" a voice from behind him called, and as if summoned from the beyond, Loki turned to see Fandrall stride into the clearing along with Thor.

"My Lords!" the two guards instantly leapt to their feet, bringing their poor prisoner with them, and bowed before Loki's brother and his companion. Loki gnashed his teeth, not so much at the response, but at the clear disrespect of their not giving the same consideration to him.

"Brother. Gentlemen," Thor nodded to the men. "What is going on here?"

"Theft, Lord Prince," the smaller man hurriedly proclaimed as the girl struggled to pull her dress together.

"Lysse?" Fandrall asked, looking to the girl.

Clearly scared beyond speech, Lysse merely shook her head and stared at the ground. 

"Brother, is this true?" Thor asked, turning to Loki.

"I know not," he sighed, wishing he had never gotten involved in this whole tawdry affair. "I heard a commotion in Mother's garden and came to discover the source and put an end to it. I found these two... noble guards with the woman pinned between them, struggling to free herself."

"Who is she?" Thor asked, voice full of command.

"My parlor maid," Fandrall answered, looking hard at the girl. "Her name is Lysse. You say she stole from me?"

"She did, my Lord," the burley guard confirmed. "We found her trying to sneak out of the palace grounds through the hidden garden gate. When we searched her, we discovered your belongings."

"A grave crime indeed," Thor said seriously. "Why did you not bring her to the Head of House?"

"We, we thought to save her that disgrace, My Lord Prince," the small man replied, looking for an excuse. "We had Lord Fandrall's property back, we thought we would... teach her a lesson, scare her, you know, and then toss her out."

"How very kind of you," Loki drawled, seeing the smaller of the two turn red.

"Hush Loki, I'm sure they were just doing their duty," Thor tried to ease the situation, totally missing the obvious. "Fandrall, she's your girl, what say you?"

"What is it she stole from me?" the blond man asked, eyes wandering over the expanse of chest Lysse was unable to hide.

"This, my Lord," the large guard replied, pulling a large book out of the knapsack to one side of the clearing.

"A book?" Loki asked, voice dripping in disbelief. "Fandrall, I didn't realize you could read!"

Thor burst out in a big, booming laugh and the guards echoed him uncertainly. Loki looked closer at the book, realizing that he recognized it. Of course! It was a book of fables he had given his "friend" on his most recent birthday. Turning to stare at the girl, he saw that her face was flushed and she was worrying at her lower lip with her teeth in distress.

"Do what you think best with the girl," Fandrall said stiffly, angry now from the mockery of his friends and the guards. "I want no thieves in my employ."

"But by Odin's beard," Thor added, looking around, "don't make such a ruckus in my Mother's garden!"

Loki heard the girl whimper as the guards exchanged wolfish grins. Turning, his eyes caught hers again, and he was met by those endless pools of deep blue. The entreaty in them seemed to go straight down to Loki's soul. Glancing back at Thor and Fandrall, he saw that they had already turned and begun discussing something else, the fate of the unfortunate servant all but forgotten. The guards, clearly assuming this gave them leave to have their way with her, began dragging their captive off.

"Wait!" Loki heard his voice ring out, surprising even himself. "You will take the girl to my quarters."

"My Lord?" the smaller guard asked.

"You heard me," he barked, trying to ignore the way they all turned to stare at him. "As of this moment, she is a member of my household staff."

[j-itose]

A Turning Point - BGR Fest 2020 Concert Review

March 6, 2020

Friday evening was a night well lived. I went with my mother and my cousin to go see Lauryn Hill in concert at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. It was quite the spontaneous decision by my mother, but we all went along with it because legends like Lauryn don’t come around every lifetime let alone to your area 20 years after their “prime”. So, we decided to break the monotony of our weekend rituals and make it a girl's night. I had no idea that coming to this concert that I would leave feeling so stirred in my spirit, so filled with conviction to pursue passion and purpose, and in the same breath boldly claim every note, inflection, melody, and tempo of my life story. Watching both Alice Smith and Ms. Legendary Hill I saw black womanhood in its organic most blossomed form.

Ms. Smith sang every single song with such compelling velvety vocal range it called every goosebump forward. Her sharp yet soothing falsettos and moody full base notes sweetly communicated the honesty behind her soul-bearing lyrics. Smith and her harmonious band had delivered a sound I didn’t know I was longing to hear again. The artistry and musicianship displayed in her set, made my heart swell with gladness, reminiscing on a time in my life when all I could imagine was a life consumed by creating and vocalizing music. Listening to her made me remember that I once had dreams; dreams I abandoned out fear and doubt. Looking towards that at that stage and gazing upon Alice Smith’s elegantly clothed in a black ruffled gown that seemed to declare her black pride louder than some of us have the confidence to do daily, all I saw was a strong black woman embracing the fullness of her artistry. Reveling in every single piece of emotion embedded in the song’s composition, unbothered by the audience’s perceptions she was her own audience, her own champion, her own woman – She took up space according to her desired comfort.

It was in these moments that I was randomly confronted with such a heavy reflective question – “who told you that you were incapable of being the girl you dreamed of becoming?”. Stunned by the weight of this question amid this gripping performance I glanced down at my hands ashamed…slowly coming to the realization that for years now I had subconsciously been accepting ceilings. I wasn't able to say where or when it started but sitting there in that illustrious theater listening to melodies of R&B it dawned on me; my love for music and performing arts had been oppressed and masked by the whispers of other’s doubts and expectations. I’ve been putting caps and limitations on myself based on boxes and ceiling others have created to keep black girls like me in a specific place. To think that I sacrificed performing arts, my most cherished way of articulating my human experience, for the status quo is saddening. But when I looked back up at the center stage, eyes fixed on Alice Smith…I saw the effortless elegance in her stride. The fluidity - freedom of sorts in her movements and posture as she sang. It was as if each note resonated with her entire body flowing through her like melodic vessels, I was charged with confidence. Viewing her performance, the little black girl inside of me felt welcomed to dream again…and to do so with unapologetic force.

Passion and well-crafted artistry materialized through Alice Smith’s entire set; perfectly lacing her performance with the next experience. Foretelling the enchanting momentum that is Lauryn Hill.

The most dynamic artist of my lifetime, with one of the greatest most potent and impactful albums in this history of R&B, Soul, Rap & Hip-hop sauntered onto the stage in a mauve sequenced suit and boldness to match. As people’s cameras went up and cheers roared in the theater, Ms. Lauryn Hill gracefully stepped up to the mic and greeted the elated people of DC. I’m not sure if I was in such disbelief that I was getting this opportunity to see her in concert or something else but hearing her just talk unleashed fireworks in my vocal cords. She was real. Her distinguished and down to earth tone that consoled me to sleep on many bad days and emboldened me to face life with power other days was no longer a mere recording but an actual reality. Starstruck was an understatement.

Too excited to begin this musical journey, I immediately tried to identify what song she was performing first so that I could sing along. Her band immediately played with fervor, not waiting a moment to set the tone for the evening. Although I heard familiar lyrics instantaneously, I, unfortunately, couldn’t catch the beat enough to vocally interact because she had virtually recomposed all the melodies to her hit songs. She revamped the miseducation of Lauryn hill. What we all heard that night were reinterpreted versions of songs we’ve all grown to love for the past 20+ years. The audience was visibly disappointed the sound had evolved into unfamiliar musical territory.

However, despite my subtle personal disappointment as well, I was drawn back into excitement seeing the authenticity that still heavily encompassed her music. Between the raw gritty rasp in her voice, the gospel-like runs, and the directive conductor signals she gave her band, Lauryn Hill the multi-faceted artist was more than present tonight. She refused to be merely a gimmick on stage singing songs of her past. Tonight we got to see her actively reinventing herself as an artist, while in the same token allowing herself to revisit the soul behind her old lyrics and singing them from a new place - from a place of healing, maturity, and wisdom – The same classic elements that refine us and make Black Girls Rock. Rocks that stand the test of adversity, that lay the foundation for new realities to be built, and that allow younger generations to stand firm and be supported.  Today, seeing Lauryn perform and incorporate modern musical influences into her 98’ album hits was not just a personal achievement, but I feel a victory for the culture. Lauryn Hill is proof that when a black woman steps whole-heartedly into her purpose and passion she declares freedom for herself that causes a positive impact for generations to come.

Lauryn Hill and Alice Smith completely embodied black girl magic in that concert hall. The inspiration they imparted on the women, ladies, and girls is a gift that must be acknowledged. It was a blessing to be in the company of powerful black women, and I’m extremely grateful for the founder and CEO Beverly Bond who paves the way for us daily to have platforms like Black Girls Rock Fest. Thank you for all that you all have done.

Happy Women’s History Month!

J. Itosé

[gldncge-blog]

         ❝  ----------- 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊

                                    illya masnik. luke hemmings. twenty four. bianchi aligned.

【  ✞ ———— 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 】

◟ * ◊ ─  luke hemmings + cis male + he/him » * believe it or not illya masnik is working for the bianchi family. they are 24 years of age and are known to usually spend their time around buena vista apartments. the singer, who has been a part of the alliance for 2 years, has been living in victoria for 5 years. the people closest to them describe the pansexual + pisces to be + stolid and + conscientious as well as - equivocal and -resentful » ◦ ° delphi, twenty, she/them, est◝

【  ✞ ———— 𝕠𝕠𝕔 】

first name illya. last name masnik. middle name regret. which,, honestly same. wow hi i’m super excited for this. this is what ive been waiting for and y’all look hella talented. hi hello i’m delphi and as expected i’m late to the party :’) this is my bb illya who should probably be dead by now. yeehaw. my muses??? they exist to suffer. thats the sparknotes version of it. but ill put a whole unnecessarily lengthy thing about him below sdlkjsald. i’m in the est and i’m currently working full time but im so happy opening is on a sunday because i can actually be here for it sjkdas but enough about meme !! 

【  ✞ ———— 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 】

BORN IN KIEV, UKRAINE - illya would be the eldest of four children. his mother an adventurous american woman, and his father a man who had never left his homeland. their son was a happy child who spent most of his days and nights at the local church. a fate one could not avoid when their father was the church’s ever dutiful music director. it shocked no one when the eldest masnik boy soon became a constant fixture in the youth choir. looking like he may have found his niche, his parents pushed him to hone his talents. his free time not spent in worship was reserved for vocal lessons. in time, illya outgrew the pews. as a teenager, he instead chose to perform in festivals, cafes, and the venues that would have him. while he was successful in ukraine, he’d soon decided he’d like to finish his studies in the united states, believing there to be better and bigger opportunities in america. 

AT NINETEEN - he found a home in victoria, florida. his mother’s hometown. his studies never truly panned out like they should have, wasting a year majoring in theology before officially throwing in the towel and returning to music full time. the next few years were spent building up a resume. odd jobs that barely paid the bills. things only began to turn up when he began landing jobs as the backing vocals for groups. it had started small, not much money in it nor recognition --- but he slowly climbed the ladder. an undeniable talent. in time he landed a job as the backup vocals for a band famous enough to earn him some status. the band embarked on a small tour around the states, and while it had been fun, illya quickly came to realize it wasn’t the life for him. in actuality it was not the spotlight he desired, no, he’d come to miss the little things about his passion. the smaller cafes and venues often led to tighter bonds. a more humbling experience that allowed him to truly connect with his audience. like the days back home, under god’s watchful eye. 

TWENTY TWO - and life as he knows it ends. for better or for worse. a flame in his life plants the idea in his head. the bills were starting to pile up again and desperation seemed to be a constant state. PLAYERS. it’s no place he’d normally be found. the sort of joint he’d sooner cross the street to avoid. but his lover promises security. stability. burdened with a touch of naivety, he’s sold.

PLEAD IGNORANCE - all he wants. he knew what he’d stepped into the moment he crossed the door’s threshold. there were no gods here. no savior. no salvation. you’d be eaten alive.

IT PAYS - wasn’t that all that mattered. most days he’s good at turning a blind eye to what happens behind closed doors. a false picture of innocence. skin with no traces of ink or metal, liquor that never makes it to his lips. the constant struggle to not lose the boy he was back home. but no one there was innocent, innocence was a lamb to the slaughter. two years in and he regrets it. of course he does. three long years since he’s seen his family. the masnik’s youngest now refuses to speak to the long-departed illya. birthdays, graduations, holidays, funerals, he’s missed them all. bitter, he longs for home, but fears he’s found himself in too deep. innocence was a lamb to the slaughter, and he could not afford to be the lamb amongst wolves.

【  ✞ ———— 𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤 / 𝕕𝕦𝕞𝕓 𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕥 】

essentially illya was born in ukraine. his family was super religious and he spent a lot of time in church, also due to the fact his father was the music director there. he obviously had a natural talent in the choir and his family helped him pursue music by getting him lessons and stuff. he does a good handful of cool stuff in ukraine and decides he wants to study in america ( where his mother and her family are from ) and also sees it as an opportunity to grow musically. obviously the scene in america is pretty hard to get into, so he still does small cafe like things until he starts doing backing tracks/vocals for bands. starts off really small but he starts to work for bigger bands/companies until eventually, he gets enough recognition to go on tour with a well-enough known band. don’t imagine them to be super famous, but enough to have a handful of radio hits. 

decides he’s not crazy about the touring band life and wants to return to working in smaller more personal venues. works for a bit until the money starts to run out and then his partner at the time suggested applying at players ( they would have been part of the gang so it was his in ). he does so ( obviously ) gets in and likes to play innocent but he has a pretty good idea of what he’s getting into, don’t be fooled. still kind of churchy / anal, doesn’t do the whole tattoo, piercing, drinking, wild life. he’s more reserved if anything. he’s really still trying to hold on to that holy life. newsflash, asshole. it’s gone.

now he’s starting to regret everything :) #somerugrats but obviously, he’s going to be super tightlipped about that and just carry on. in reality, he’s super homesick and he knows his family life is suffering. he’s missing giant milestones for his siblings back home and now his youngest brother won’t even talk to him so yeehaw. but uhh he’s not really sure he’d be good to just up and walk away because he’s in a bit deep now, two years deep. he’s probably seen some shit. 

if he was brave enough to tell his family something was up it would probably go something along the lines of “ mom, i think i joined a cult ” 

he wants to be that peace out gif THIS one,, yeah

he’s gonna die,, dumbass is 100% gonna get himself killed. but for now, he’s gonna fake that shit till he makes it. no chill. 

【  ✞ ———— 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 】

pen pals / old friends ; okay since his mother was american - i’d imagine he’d come around as a kid to see her family ( his grandparents and stuff ). give me something cute like they hit it off as children and kept in touch all these years. or maybe his mom used to be friends with your muses parents so they met that way. 

someone toughen him up ; he’s awful. there’s a murderer out there and god i hope these string bean legs can run because self-defense???? we don't’ know the meaning of the word. gun?? not in my good christian server. someone just hELP him.

someone he takes home / travels with ; head out of the gutter. could be someone at players or they live in a similar location, and with a string of murders, it’s probably safer to not travel alone. so maybe they drive each other home on occasion or walk together. just keeping each other safe. 

 bad / good influence nonsense ; obviously he’d probably be the good influence on someone because he’s not really the bad type. so he might try to look out for someone he really sees burning out and going down a super bad path. vice versa, give me someone who really wants him to get a tattoo or take that shot. someone remind him to live a little or do bad things. honestly,,, i’m a sucker for angst and stuff so it could even be more like getting him to stop being so paranoid about the darker aspects of the gang. if you think he isn’t turning around and hauling ass outta there when he sees a back room being used for beating someone or some other violent nonsense

someone who is suspicious of his doubts ; obviously he’s trying to play his cards pretty close to his chest and doesn’t voice his concerns to anyone. but i’d love to see some people who question his hesitance or might be on to him having doubts about continuing to be in the gang. he’s not going to own up to any accusations but this could add some interesting tension and make for interesting interactions.

people he avoids at all costs / fear ; these would be the more violent members of the gangs. maybe your muse has a reputation. this is probably suitable for characters who are out there committing murder in the name of the gang or commit violent acts. he tries to steer pretty clear of that but they’re likely passing through players and stuff. they’re bound to run into each other. bonus points if they’re not actually as dangerous as they seem - illya’s just paranoid, maybe he walked in on something he shouldn’t have and i- OOP

the flame that got him involved in the gang ( 0 / 1 ) ;  really i was just gonna throw this up as a wc but sdjsadj ill stick it here as well. really this could be an exes plot, probably with a lot of resentment on illya’s part. he may have been open with them about wanting to go back home, and blames them for his situation even though he knew what was happening. its just bitter bitter bitter. 

[rkdaehwi]

TEAM ROYAL GROUP PERFORMANCE PART I : PERFORMANCE

MGA5 contestant #5042 Sohn Youngjae YOUTH OVER FLOWERS Performing Shangri La - VIXX & Lyric distribution Partner: Kim Hyojin { @hyojinrk } & Do Kyungsoo { @rkkyungsoo​ } & Lee Suwoong { @rksuwoong​ } & Jeon Heejin { @rkheejin​ } Coaches: Cheri { @rkcheri​ } & Ella { @rkella​ } & Jeon Wonwoo { @rkwon​ } Outfit: Traditional robes

“ Let’s love turbulence and use it for change ”

Honestly speaking Eric wasn’t satisfied. It was a lie to say that he knew Taeyang well by any means, but as a fellow dancer he had taken a liking to the eldest of their trio last week and thought it incredibly unfair that he had been the one to get booted and not Hyojin who, Eric thought, was the one actually dragging them down. Even more dissatisfied was he when the names were called out and he realised that yet again he was stuck with the same guy.

At least he was feeling upset until the very moment he realised what had actually been suggested. He should have known right away that he’d be in Royal since his name wasn’t called for any of the other companies, but the fact that he would be training in THE Royal building was incomprehensible to him. Even more so: the moment the single name Luxe was mentioned Eric let out a loud shriek in surprise and he could have sworn he felt the tears enter his eyes when Ella was named to be one of the coaches. How lucky could one boy possibly be? If he were to die right at this very moment he wouldn’t even regret anything – or rather, he would regret it a lot if he didn’t at least complete the week, but after that he was ready for death’s sweet embrace: he needed nothing more in his life now.

On the Friday he took the bus to Royal’s establishment together with his brother – they hadn’t been taking the same bus since Dowoon took him to school back in elementary unless it was for a special occasion so it felt kind of nice and nostalgic. He wondered if he could pop in on the older later on, but Eric also didn’t want to get in trouble from roaming around too much in places he wasn’t allowed just because his curiousity was trying to get the better of him. Saying goodbye to Dowoon he soon enough found the room and stepped in mouthing a very obvious ‘wow’ after which he proceeded to examine every inch of the room as the first to arrive. This was after all where he was going to spend the next week, and also quite possibly his future (at least if you were to ask him).

Come the Sunday they were already pretty set. Everything had seemed pretty decent at first, but soon enough things started to change. Setting aside his own tense feelings towards Hyojin and his trying to focus with not only his favourite girl in the world Ella, but also the beautiful and charismatic Cheri in the room (he might have made a few missteps due to sheer happiness and lack of focus thereof which didn’t seem to sit well with Ella, so Eric quickly realised that he had to pull himself more together) it was obvious that not everything was as it was supposed to be. He hadn’t realised that Suwoong and Kyungsoo were related at first; didn’t see any reason for any bad blood between them for after all what were the odds of someone you knew making it this far?

But somehow that both explained things, but also made Eric sad. He only just recently had a huge argument with his own brother and didn’t like the idea of people who were related by blood to not get along. Family was supposed to be a place of comfort and not of feud. And when Kyungsoo and Suwoong had ended in an escalated argument Eric had practically sunken into himself not sure how to handle this conflict, what to say or what to do. Throughout their practice so far Eric had thought of Kyungsoo as someone with a very vague presence, not at all matching what he had seen of the guy on stage, and he had affectionately nicknamed him ‘ghost’. Now, however, Eric might as well have been the true ghost with how he simply just wanted to disappear. He didn’t like things as they were right now.

As an added stress him and Hyojin had agreed to do a performance alongside their MGA preparations to practice both Eric’s stage presence as a rapper and also Hyojin’s general stage presence. How that was going to end Eric had no idea and it was something he preferred not to think about, but when Suwoong had invited him out for lunch after Kyungsoo had vanished, the topic had latched onto the tension the young male himself felt. It was a rare sight to see him so downcast, but Eric couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable in his group as things were at that moment.

If he could count his blessings in any way it was that this unbearable situation only lasted for one day. Monday morning Kyungsoo and Suwoong had appeared surprisingly buddy-buddy and apologised, confusing Eric to no ends especially considering how they had been just the day before. He supposed that was the good thing about knowing each other in private – that you could take things off the record at any moment – but that only amplified how nervous he felt over his own emotions. That was when Hyojin had called for a meeting to resolve any more suppressed feelings, and it hadn’t been long until Eric had voiced his own concerns – “We had to make the choreography simpler because of you and Taeyang hyung didn’t get to shine properly as a dancer. Is that gonna happen again?” – for right now he didn’t want to go home because he had to cater to someone else’s needs. He was already taking a huge risk by rapping after all, but in this particular matter every single one of the others were a hopeless case.

At first the apology hadn’t satisfied him, Eric’s stubborn self being dead set on being upset, but after seeing Hyojin truly apologetic for something the younger boy realised wasn’t even the guy’s fault when you really thought about it, he eased up a bit. And not too soon after they had stopped their impromptu meeting had Eric approached Hyojin, almost crestfallen and obviously very stressed out over everything. “Hyung,” he had said. “I’m sorry for everything, it’s just… I really want this. I don’t wanna go home.” Especially not now that his goal was finally in sight.

Hyojin had acknowledged his concerns, and with the relief of not having to (badly) hide everything he felt Eric warmed up to the older guy much more. Their performance in Hongdae had turned from something he just had to get over and done with to something that was actually enjoyable and a great learning experience, and for the first time in the past two weeks Eric had been glad to have Hyojin as his partner in the show.

It was Thursday, day of recording, and also the day that would decide whether or not he would make it into the finals or if this would be the end of his path. From a full hundred performances they had narrowed it down to only five and whether the best people had been picked to move on or not, Eric had no power to say anything about the mistakes made by the judges. With any hope his rap would be able to avenge his fallen comrades – it was pretty much a gamble of standing out or butchering it and he hoped the former would apply rather than the latter. He, at least, had done every amount of practice in his power, and although he had nothing but good words to say about the coaches (especially the girls from Luxe) there was the fact that even amongst them, no one really knew how to rap. It was nerve wrecking to say the least.

Being the last to perform could be terrifying in and of itself – it was always much easier to have a performance in the middle because then it wouldn’t matter as much if your performance was a bit lackluster. No one remembered an ending performance that didn’t end in a bang after all, and as far as Eric was concerned they would live up to what he expected from something to finish it all up. Hopefully everyone would agree. 

After it became time to step onto the stage, for the first time this season Eric had to appear with a full group. Somehow that all felt so much more idol like than the duo and trio performances thus far and he loved every single second of it. After getting in positions they called out their team name: “We are Yoth over Flowers!” after which they all posed like a flower. Eric gave a wink to the camera as he was posing – if not for youthful energised fanservice, what would he survive on? Skill was overrated nowadays, but of course it was lucky that he also possessed that much.

Without further ado the scene filled with smoke after they all entered their spots and under the dim lights the music began. For the first part before the chorus Eric didn’t have much more than a bit of adlib and harmonisation, but that was fine. As long as he did get to show his vocal skills on top of everything else he would not complain. After the chorus however the real deal went down. They had made slight modifications to the rap verse to better fit Eric’s voice colour (he refused to believe it was to fit his skills because that would only be hypocritical considering how he had thought of Hyojin) but half of it was still genuine, actual rap that he had to go through without flunking it.

덜 익은 복숭아마저도 달다 휘날리는 꽃잎 아래 네 비단결 옷자락 그 끝을 따라 널 와락 안아 난 네 숨소릴 잘 알아 네가 (불어와) 내가 (들어간) 꿈같은 상상

Needless to say he had been nervous about performing in a skill that was only mediocre – he might have done it full of confidence in the very beginning, but now that he was so far in and the only way was down it felt like a world of difference. But he tried his best to remember what he had felt while practicing in this past week, while performing in Hongdae. Tried to remember that he was not alone in this and that his group members had his back even though the one with the poorest result this week would have to go. And by god he hoped that it wouldn’t be him. Hopefully the judges would be just as satisfied with the result of his efforts as Eric himself was.

Up came the centre part that had been fought for quite a bit, and Eric had to say that he was more than happy that just because he had the rap part his dance lines also followed the same member and that he was automatically a candidate for the position. And soon enough it came, all focus on the middle of the formation where he and Kyungsoo were standing back to back leaning their heads on each other’s shoulder. After that it jumped straight into a dance break which Eric much appreciated as a chance to show off his capabilities, and after that it didn’t take long for the song to finish.

With his chest heaving from the performance Eric held his position in the ending formation for a second, just in case the camera would zoom in on him and tried to manage a serious expression to match the theme of the song. His flowery fan was open to the side, a sunflower decorating it. Honestly he didn’t know much about flowers so when the others had asked he simply had burst out the sunflower as representing him. After all, something with sun in the name had to be good and warm right? Bright and shining. And that was the image he wanted to give.

Turning around again he gave a small bow to the judges and followed along his group back to their seats.

[nako-doodles]

kpop member profile

I was tagged by my love @nervousatthenightclub 🌸🌸

Stage name (nickname, preferred name): 

the dumbass? tbh all of my fave nicknames are too specific, too egotistical, or too hard to pronounce on non-native tongues to even try 

iris. mostly bc the goddess iris travels and sends messages on rainbows, and is the companion to females who ascend to heaven. my obaachan also used to plant irises that looked like butterflies in her old garden as a purifying boundary against evil spirits. 

Debut Date (when did you first get into kpop): 

sometime in 2008/2009? I dont actually remember the date other than stumbling upon dbsk’s love in the ice, and then listening to mirotic......and by the time dbsk did the two openings of one piece, I was Hooked(tm)

pro tip: if you sell your soul to the devil sm, they might let you move on to smaller companies after about a decade. earlier if you’re good at weaseling yourself out of responsibilities.

Group concept (favourite concept, concept that suits you the most): 

my fave concepts are bangtan’s whole HYYH era, akmu’s how people move, oh my girl’s concept for closer, and mamamoo’s wind flower...and my fave aesthetic was vixx’s fantasy and shangrila, and lee hi’s hold your hand and breathe

however, 12-year-old shirley would have been o v e r t h e m o o n if she got a concept like orange caramel’s catellena or copycat

Debut song/album/mv concept: 

as much as this pains me to say this, 12-year-old shirley would have rocked the cutesy girl next door concepts of the late 00s early 10s. think: snsd into the new world, secret shy boy, wonder girls like this, f(x) chu~ etc etc...I mean I still regularly get mistaken as a 16-year-old, and I didn’t have a decade of memeing and chaos written on my face.

Position (vocal, rap, dance?): 

vocalist, sub dancer? 

as to why I refuse to be the rapper, I once made my friend fall out of her lab chair laughing. while she was holding the stack of e. coli cultures we spent 2 weeks on. because I was rapping to nicki minaj’s super bass (our ap bio teacher had the bright idea of playing pandora during our labs). the casualty wasn't terrible (I mean we didn't have to fumigate the lab bc it was only e. coli)...but that day lives on in infamy....

Role in group (maknae, mum/dad of the group,…): 

to the surprise of no one: the chaotic one  

Older or younger line: 

younger. and if my soon-to-be baby nephew even THINKS about stealing my position as the youngest in the family im going to RIOT!1!!11!

Leader or nah? (Need help deciding? See below)

Make the decision for everyone

Listen to everyone and them decide based on what the majority wants

Let someone else decide

If you picked one of the first two options, congrats, you are probably the leader. 

listen....despite choosing 2, i wouldn't trust my 12-year-old self to tell left from right....much less with decisions that affect the group as a whole.....how the fuck did namjoon do it

Foreign line? (are you an ethnic minority in the country you live in?): 

nah, lots of east asians here in east asia. however, back home, asians are only 6ish%? so I guess ill just be that one grey area person as usual. not local enough to be local, not foreign enough to be foreign. 

Special talents: 

being an annoying little shit. sassing people. being an annoying sassy little shit. 

can braid complicated hairstyles. good at unknotting jewelry, yarn, and embroidery floss. can maybe speak a language on a good day. selectively flexible if the weather allows. remixes music depending on what a singular sound triggers the ear and then hums that remix for the rest of the week. a cute acute gravity checker. occasionally punny. 

tldr; I only function when the cosmos ordains it so

How many members do you want in your group: 

not to be biased but 5-7 members seems like a good number

Tag that amount of people: @cafejoon @jinkookswife @producerjin @jinseas @jingraphic @yunkisunbae @jincentvangogh 💕💖🌸💫✨