#fiction headers

[ronniaugust]

How To Write Good Dialogue (Part 1)

I'm gonna start this by saying I'm not trying to sound like a know-it-all. I am just tired of posts like these being absolutely fucking useless. I am aware this is basically me screaming into a void and I’m more than okay with that.

This guide is meant for intermediate screenwriters, but beginners are also absolutely welcome. :)

(about me)

-♠︎-♠︎-♠︎-♠︎-

I've noticed a rise in film students who want to make films that have no dialogue. Probably after your professor showed you Doodlebug, right? Fuck that.

I'll make another post about writing a short film, but all you need to know is: Don't waste the audience’s time. Most of these no-dialogue shorts have very little substance and take way too long to tell the shortest possible story. Not a good idea.

Useless Dialogue

Plain and simple, don't write useless dialogue. Useless dialogue is dialogue that just doesn't fucking matter. Dialogue matters by having ✨subtext.✨

What is subtext? Subtext is the meaning behind the action. That's it.

If I tell you that I love you and I got big doe eyes while I say it, it means I love you. If I tell you I love you through a clenched jaw without looking at you, I don't necessarily love you right now.

Simple, right? Great.

Now think about the subtext behind every line. Does your character mean what they're saying? Are they doing it to get what they want? What is going through their mind as they say it? As long as you know your character, you’ll have these answers ready to go. If you don’t, you’ll figure it out eventually. Just keep writing.

When you write your character walking into a Starbucks and saying, "One venti iced coffee," does that do something? Why do I need to see someone's boring Starbucks order? Do I need to know that your character's boring? Why are you writing a boring character? [Of course, in the rare situation where this is some revealing clue to the massive crime investigation, then it makes sense.]

Useless dialogue is any dialogue that has no meaning or purpose in your script. Delete and move on. You don't need to write entire conversations or scenes that bore us, just write what we care about.

I took a class once where my professor called a version of this "trimming the fat." Get us into your scene and out of your scene in as little time as it takes to have it achieve its full purpose in the script.

[P.S. You don’t “inject” subtext into your lines. Idk who started that vernacular in subtext teachings but I hate it.]

Show vs. Tell

I remember a glorious fight I got into with a Redditor last year about show vs. tell… TL;DR: Dialogue is “show” if you write it with intention and subtext. If someone says that dialogue is inherently “tell,” they’re wrong and can go fuck themselves.

Dialogue that is “tell” is expositional dialogue. But, hot take: Exposition isn't just in dialogue. It’s also those annoying clichés that make you roll your eyes in the theater (which we just call clichés and not exposition). I’m sure every professor I’ve had will disagree with this and then get me into a long conversation about it, but let’s ignore that for right now.

Have you ever seen a movie where a character rubs an old, worn-out photo of a young girl while looking depressed? That's exposition. That character has a dead daughter. No shit.

Clichés are incredibly annoying. We all know that. Assume that any cliché you see - in this context - is exposition and try your best not to write it. (Tropes are different and sometimes necessary, so I’m not talking about that.)

Point blank: When you have subtext in your lines, they are "show,” not “tell.”

Before moving on, I'll bring up that while technically the dead daughter photo is subtextual, it is as close to the character saying “My daughter is dead,” as you can get. Don't treat the audience like we're fucking stupid.

The First 15

If you don’t know what the Inciting Incident is, please look up ��3 Act Structure” before reading this.

The first 15 pages of your script is the part that comes before the Inciting Incident. This is the part you want to get right because, although people probably won’t leave the theater, they will absolutely find something else on the streaming service they’re using. The people making said movie will also just toss your script in the trash before it’s even produced, so it's best to get it right.

Dialogue in the first 15 generally follows the same rules, but carries a heftier additional rule. All dialogue in the first 15 minutes must, must, must tell us something about your character.

Remember when I talked about that boring Starbucks order? Why is your character boring? Don’t write that. Don’t write nice characters. Or pleasant characters. Or friendly characters. No one cares.

You want empathy. This does not mean “relatable.” It means “empathetic.” There is a difference.

I personally relate to Vi in Arcane, but I empathize with Theo in Children of Men. Both are excellent, but one personally resonates a bit more with me. You cannot write a character that deeply resonates with every single person, it is impossible.

With each line of dialogue, you must be saying something about your character that generates the empathy. Instead of telling you how to do this, I’ll direct you to a movie that will do better than an explanation: Casablanca.

Watch how Rick interacts with the world. What kind of man is Rick? Watch what he does, what he says, and how he treats people and himself. Watch that empty glass on the table. Watch his contradictions. Everything. Those things matter and it’s what makes you want to watch Rick for the entire duration of Casablanca.

“Realism”

This is maybe more directorial, but make your characters human enough, not too human.

Too human is when you’ve tried your best to capture all those little life-like speech patterns. You know, the ones that no one fucking cares about.

If your character coughs, they’re sick. If they clear they’re throat, they’re uncomfortable. If a bruise isn’t going away, they’re going to die. Simple.

Every moment on screen matters. Everything the audience sees is meant to lead them to a conclusion. Not the conclusion, just a conclusion.

The realism you want is in the choices your character makes, not how many times they say “Uh,” in a sentence.

Conclusion

Dialogue matters and should not be treated lightly or without care. Once you have this all engrained in your mind, dialogue should become effortless.

If you want an excellent way to think about this, Robert McKee's Story has an excellent chapter that helped clarify this all for me. Here's an excerpt and the context.

Warning, spoilers for Chinatown.

"If I were Gittes at this moment, what would I do?"

Letting your imagination roam, the answer comes:

"Rehearse. I always rehearse in my head before taking on life's big confrontations."

Now work deeper into Gittes's emotions and psyche:

Hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, thoughts racing: "She killed him, then used me. She lied to me, came on to me. Man, I fell for her. My guts are in a knot, but I'll be cool. I'll stroll to the door, step in and accuse her. She lies. I send for the cops. She plays innocent, a few tears. But I stay ice cold, show her Mulwray's glasses, then lay out how she did it, step by step, as if I was there. She con-fesses. I turn her over to Escobar; I'm off the hook."

EXT. BUNGALOW-SANTA MONICA

Gittes' car speeds into the driveway.

You continue working from inside Gittes' pov, thinking:

"I'll be cool, I'll be cool ..." Suddenly, with the sight of her house, an image of Evelyn flashes in your imagination. A rush of anger. A gap cracks open between your cool resolve and your fury.

The Buick SCREECHES to a halt. Gittes jumps out.

"To hell with her!"

Gittes SLAMS the car door and bolts up the steps.

Story by Robert McKee, pg 156

The context of this page is McKee's way of explaining how to write characters. I found it very helpful.

-♠︎-♠︎-♠︎-♠︎-

Thanks for reading! I probably forgot something, so I made this a “part 1.”

I hope this helps someone since I’m really tired of finding short films on YouTube that are all fucking silent. The few who have done it well have been copied to death, so please write some dialogue. I promise you it’s so much better if you do.

Asks are open! :)

[cillirishan]

Pulp Fiction headers

[thlayli-ra]

Stray (part 4)

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, Larry, Samoa Joe

Pairing - CM Punk/Drew McIntyre, CM Punk/Samoa Joe (past)

AU - Stray AU

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Strong language, mentions of human trafficking, imprisonment and prostitution

Words - ~3,000 words (this is a longer one, yay!)

Summary - Punk asks a 'friend' for help

The door rang at six the next morning and Punk answered it immediately, already fully dressed.

'What did you do now?' the large set man on the doorstep grumbled.

'What makes you think I did anything?' Punk asked with his hand on his chest, taking offence to the accusation.

'When you call me at 5am telling me to bring spare clothes and my tool kit, I take that as a strong sign that you've done something,' Joe replied gruffly, stepping in past Punk and up the front steps. 'So just get it over with and tell me what the hell hap-'

He stopped mid-word when he reached the top of the stairs and found the stranger sitting innocently on Punk's sofa, naked except for a poorly fitting pair of boxer briefs and a dog collar around his neck. The newcomer gaped at the sight, then quickly dumped everything onto the floor.

'Excuse me,' Joe politely said to the stranger then roughly dragged Punk to the back steps at the far end of the living area.

'Ah, you grabbed me by the fucking neck,' Punk whined as Joe slammed the door behind them to give them some privacy.

'What the hell is that?' he demanded to know.

'I believe it's what they call an adult human male,' Punk shot back sarcastically.

'Don't get smart with me, Phillip Jack!'

'Oh, we're doing the Phillip Jack thing already, are we?'

'Just tell me who the fuck he is?'

Punk shrugged his shoulders. 'Dunno.'

'Well, what's his name?'

'Dunno.'

'Then where'd he come from?'

'I found him round the back of Mrs Goldstein's house. Good thing too, if she'd found him first she'd probably have had her third stroke and-'

'Wait! Wait! WAIT!' Joe scrubbed his eyes with his fingertips. 'What do you mean you found him?'

'Last night during the storm,' Punk retorted as if that made complete sense. 'Kid was all alone and banged up so I took him back here and cleaned him up.' Joe was trying to process just what the hell was happening but Punk didn't seem to notice. 'Hey, you know sign language, right?'

'I know exactly four languages, one of which is sign language, yes,' Joe replied, not following any of this in the slightest.

'Great! Come with me!' Gripping Joe by his broad shoulders, Punk shuffled him back into the living area and over to the lounge where the stranger was sitting calmly, stroking Larry who was sleeping next to him on the couch. 'Hey, so, this here is Joe, he's sorta, kinda, well, he's my-

'Friend,' Joe cut in abruptly.

'Yeah...' Punk muttered bitterly. 'Friend.'

The stranger stared blankly at them both.

'Well?' Punk looked expectantly at Joe. 'Go on.'

Heaving a huff of frustration, Joe signed 'hi, my name is Joe. What's your name?' when Punk cuffed him on the arm.

'He can hear you alright, I just need you to translate what he's saying.'

By this time, seeing someone else using hand motions had excited the stranger and he began throwing gestures right back at the large-set man who blinked with a furrowed brow. 'That's... not ASL,' he said, at last. 'Wait, where's your globe?'

'Pfft, I don't have a fucking globe,' Punk snorted.

'Oh really? Not even that one I bought you three Christmases ago?'

Punk quickly backtracked. 'Ohhh, that globe! Yeah I still got that globe.' He rushed over to a closet at the far end of the room and took a long time digging around before he finally produced it, still in its box and sealed.

'You keep it in the back of your closet?' Joe asked coldly, accepting the box from Punk.

'Just for safe-keeping, while I'm getting my office repainted.'

'Riiiiiiight.' Ripping the box open, Joe fetched out the plastic globe and placed it on the coffee table in front of the stranger. 'Can you show us where you're from?'

On instinct, Joe had turned the globe so that North America was facing the stranger but once he placed his large fingers on the sphere, he began turning it, passing over the Atlantic Ocean until he settled it at Europe. A wobbly smile broke his lips when he pressed his fingertip to a spot and both Punk and Joe leaned in for a closer look.

'You're from England?' Punk brows shot up.

The stranger gave a vicious snarl.

'From Scotland,' Joe corrected. The cat paw bobbed wildly. 'Hold on a minute...' Joe fished out his phone and began tapping away on the screen while Punk stared down at the tiny nation pressed beneath the stranger's large digit.

'We've been to Scotland before, haven't we?'

'Yeah, few times. Back when we were starting out, we had some bouts in Glasgow.'

'That's right! You from Glasgow?' The stranger shook his fist. He then began pointing his fingers upwards. 'You're from... Up? Uptown? O-over...? Over-town?'

'Skye?' Joe put in his guess but everything received a shake of the head. The stranger then splayed his fingers, hovering them around him. 'Air?' Cat paw! Cat paw! 'Oh, Ayr! You're from Ayr?'

'How do you know all this shit?' Punk asked, his nose scrunched.

'Unlike you, I like to try and learn about the places we visit.' Joe returned to his phone, ignoring the eye roll from the tattooed man. 'Ah, now it makes sense. He's using British Sign Language.'

'Is it that different?'

Joe sighed with exasperation. 'Yeah, it is.' He turned his attention back to the stranger. 'I've pulled up the BSL alphabet. Can you spell your name out for me? Slowly?'

'You could just have gotten him to write it out,' Punk pointed out with a scoff.

'He's been with you since yesterday and you didn't think to do that.' Punk snapped his mouth shut. 'Go on.' The stranger began moving his hands. First he pointed his left index finger up and placed his right index and thumb against it, opened up like a semi-circle, clearly making the shape of a familiar letter. 'D,' Joe confirmed. Then he crooked his left index finger. 'R'. Next he placed his right index finger on the tip of his left index finger. 'E.' And finally he knitted the tops of his fingers together, palms facing. 'W,' Joe said and put the all the letters together. 'Drew? Your name is Drew?'

The dark head and cat paw bobbed excitedly. Blue eyes pricked with tears from finally hearing his own name being spoken back to him. He wasn't the only one who found himself emotionally affected by the reveal. In the corner, Punk had gone deathly quiet, his lips hanging open slightly as his mind raced.

Drew... his name is Drew...

'So, how did you get over here, Drew?' Joe asked. The Scotsman replied by swooping his fist through the air, his thump and pinkie extended. 'You flew here?' Cat paw, but then the fingers grasped the collar at his neck.

'They flew you here,' Punk answered, understanding the hidden meaning. 'They guys who held you prisoner?'

Cat paw, followed by more finger spelling. Joe read them out as they were motioned 'L. I. E. Lie, they lied to you?' Cat paw, followed by a sawing and hammer motion. 'They said it was for work?' Cat paw, then another grasp at his collar. 'But they imprisoned you instead.'

'They forced him to fight,' Punk cut in, already knowing this part of Drew's horrific recent past. 'Probably around the illegal circuits, remember them? We looked into a few before we realised how fucking dangerous they were?'

But Joe was rubbing his fingers back and forth over his lips, deep in thought. 'Drew...' the blue eyes stared back at him. 'They made you do more than fight, right?' The Scot hesitated, glancing cautiously at Punk. 'That collar around your neck. Did they make you do anything... sexual?'

Punk hitched a breath, feeling his skin turn as cold as ice. The sensation overwhelmed him when he watched Drew's beautiful eyes darken and his head sink in shame. Punk couldn't contain the snarl in his throat as he scrubbed his palm over his face. His fists were shaking and he needed an outlet for it. Now!

He slammed his fist back against the wall. Hard. Feeling the skin break as it hit unrelenting brick. Joe looked up at him, his brows lowered. Go on, say it! Like a 'cornered feral cat'. Just fucking say it!

But it was Drew who piped up, flattening his left palm and swiping his right pointed finger beneath it. Joe's attention moved back to the large hands, trying to decipher them. Drew helped him by reaching down to shake the shattered chain at his feet. It was the first time the larger man had seen it and his face gave away the shock. 'But you escaped,' he explained, bringing Punk's focus back to the room.

Drew smiled broadly, then placed his thumb against his chest, swooping it around in a figure of eight. It took Joe a while to work out the sign but when he did, a grin broke out on his usually sullen face. 'Yes, yes I see,' he replied warmly and mimicked the same gesture on his chest.

Punk watched them both with bewilderment, wondering what joke he was missing out on, when Joe beamed up at him. 'You get it, right Punker?' he asked, doing the motion again. Punk shook his head. 'That means you!'

'Me?' Punk blinked, and looked over to Drew for confirmation. The blue eyes twinkled back at him, full lips spread wide revealing two deep dimples in his bearded cheeks. He did the motion again, swirling his thumb over his chest and Punk finally understood. He was following the path of the waves and serpent on his chest tattoo, just like he had last night in the wet room.

All of a sudden, Punk lost the ability to draw in breath. Overcome with emotion, he bit down hard on his cheek to stifle any sobs. 'Y-yeah,' he stuttered, shakily bobbing his head. 'Then I found you.'

With several mysteries solved, Joe moved on to the tasks Punk had sent him for. First on the checklist was removing the metal cuff and chain from around Drew's ankle. While Joe opened his tool box, Punk went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for them all. Larry lay flat on the couch, glaring at Joe as he placed a rod into the locking mechanism of the cuff and gave a threatening growl when Joe pulled back the mallet to strike.

'Yes, yes, I know Larry,' Joe said to the little dog. 'I promise I will be careful.' Another snarl. 'I promise! Urgh, you just had to adopt the dog that's a small furry version of you, didn't you?' he shot at Punk.

'Guess we're just the type that's nobody else wants,' Punk fired back from the kitchen.

He knew it was a cruel barb and from the corner of his eye, he saw Joe lower his arm and close his eyes, taking in a long, deep breath through his nose, the way he always did when he was trying to compose himself. Eventually he shrugged off Punk's vicious comment and moved on.

The cuff broke apart on the second strike and Drew's leg was finally free. He asked Punk to fetch the first aid kit ('under the sink, top shelf. You really should know this by now! What if you burn yourself or cut yourself with a knife in the kitchen!') then cleaned and wrapped the wounds on Drew's ankle. Once the Scot had been treated, Joe helped him into some old clothes of his. He may not have the height that Drew did, but he was large and broad so the clothes fitted much better than Punk's did.

By the time, they all sat down at the table to eat, Drew was transformed. Wearing a navy T-shirt and black shorts with his long hair pulled back in an old hair-tie that Punk had found in a drawer, he looked more... normal. Like any other guy. Well, except for the collar around his neck. Punk placed his food down in front of him and had a double-take, examining him from head to foot. He couldn't deny that he looked good. Really good!

He served Joe next then, after topping up Larry's bowl, he joined them at the table with his own stack of pancakes. Grabbing up the syrup first, he proceeded to empty almost the entire bottle onto his stack as Drew and Joe looked on in disgust.

'You never change,' Joe muttered. They soon tucked in and Joe's eyes lit up with the first taste of the warm pancakes. 'Wow, these are delicious! You've really improved your technique.'

Punk chewed his bottom lip awkwardly. 'I didn't make 'em,' he confessed. 'They're yours. I found them in the freezer box.'

'Wait, so they've been in there all this time?'

Punk never once took his eyes off the pancakes on his plate as he stuffed another bite into his mouth. 'Just... forgot they were there.'

The atmosphere dampened and they ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

A short while later, Punk escorted Joe to the door. 'Thanks again for helping out,' he said, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

'No problem, I just...' Joe gently shoved Punk out onto his front step and closed the door behind him with a quick glance upstairs to make sure nobody was within earshot. 'Punker,' he said, sternly and the cage-fighter knew there was a lecture coming, 'listen to me. Drew is a big guy. He's taller than both of us and he's clearly really strong.'

'I know what you're getting at,' Punk sighed, 'and I've been thinking it too.'

'Good,' Joe cut in with relief. 'Cause anybody who trafficked a guy like Drew here and kept him prisoner all these years has to be dangerous.'

'You don't have to worry about me,' Punk smiled weakly out the side of his mouth.

'You know you have a habit of getting yourself into stupid shit you're not cut out for.'

Punk bristled at that and folded his arms across his chest. 'What you saying here exactly?'

'This isn't your problem to solve. Drew was trafficked here illegally by criminals - you have to call the cops.'

'Why?' Punk argued, getting defensive. 'So they can just toss him in a holding centre somewhere. He's already been imprisoned against his will for years, I can't do that to him again.'

'You don't know that!' Joe protested. 'You're not a social worker-'

'No shit,' Punk snapped back, 'because I'm actually helping the guy.'

'You can't let what happened to you cloud your judgement here,' Joe tried to reason with the cage-fighter who was getting more irate and closed off by the second. 'I get that what Chez and her family did for you was incredibly kind and selfless but there's no expectation on you to pay that forward.'

'And what if I want to!' Punk opened his arms wide. 'What if I just wanna do the right thing here?'

'This isn't some fifteen year old kid we're talking about,' Joe kept his voice calm and composed, the way he always did when they argued. Punk hated when he did that! 'The guy looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He's not even from here, he has a whole life and family back home, maybe even a wife and kids.'

'He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to,' Punk debated, 'but until he's ready, gets back on his feet, who gives a shit?'

'And what if those guys come looking for him?'

Punk paused, pursing his lips. 'We'll be alright. I'll keep him safe.'

Joe scrubbed his hand across his brow, no doubt feeling a stress headache taking hold. 'It's not him, I'm worried about. I'm worried about you.'

'I told you already, you don't need to-'

'But I do! I can't help it. Every damn minute of every damn day I worry about you and it drives me fucking crazy! I can't keep doing this.'

'Then why did you answer my call at 5am this morning? Why did you even come here?'

Joe heaved a long, weary sigh. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I really want this to work out between us, this whole 'friendship' thing, I really do, but you've got to put in the effort too. You've gotta at least try to move on.'

'You're the one who left me!' Punk was raising his voice and he couldn't help it. All the pain and hurt from the past few months was spilling out of him like water gushing through a fractured dam. 'You don't get to tell me when I'm ready to move on. Anyway, how the hell am I meant to move on when I keep finding your shit all over my house!'

He clamped his mouth shut, realising his faux-pas too late. Joe stared back at him, furious agony marring his features.

'Exactly. Your house! Your career. Your hopes, your dreams. Your life. You, you, you! That's all it's ever been about. You're so fucking selfish!'

'Yeah, well why'd you stick around so long if I was such a shitty boyfriend and an even shittier fiancé?'

Joe shrugged his shoulders in defeat. 'Good question,' he said, bitterly as he turned away. 'Least you've matured enough to admit that at last.'

Punk could have called his name, could have told him to stay and they could talk things out properly but he knew it wouldn't work. The one talent that he had was making things worse. So he let Joe walk away. Again.

Stepping back inside, he forced all the pain down deep inside him again, pushing it into the dark recesses and sealing it tight.

Right now, he had more important things to worry about than whining about how his life was falling apart at the seams. He had a blue-eyed Scot called Drew who needed him.

Who needed him to be strong.

To be continued...

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[multifxndomedits]

✧ AWARD SEASON PART 2 (2024) - headers ✧ PART 1 here

- like/reblog if you save/use

(requests are closed: sorry! at the moment my routine is hard to deal with! i'll do my best!)

[straydogkins]

Yuri Espoir graphics

Mask one + Mask two | Requested by no one

Yuri Espoir graphics

Mask one + Mask two | Requested by no one

[madebyjungkookie]

𝓂𝓎 𝒹ℯ𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓈𝓉, ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

[vcstasy]

and…⠀♫⠀WHO do you work for, again?

The core four of JAGUAR’s main creative team (presently headed, of course, mainly by creative director Choi Eunhee)—that being their two main producers, their head stylist, and main choreographer—consists of Seol Daejin, Kwak Joosun, Son Sebin, and finally Yoon ‘Vicki’ Miryung. Both Joosun and Sebin have been with the company since 2012, the year of YOON’s debut, despite their ages (19 and 18, respectively). Miryung came on four years later, in 2016, shortly before JUST4U’s disbandment and after then-soloist Daejin’s debut date under SM Entertainment. He only lasted three years before going back to his producer roots and leaving for JAGUAR in 2019—the same year former ALGORYHTHM members Jalen and Haeil did the same—and completing the team most know today.

Seeing as it took them a good seven years to be brought together, and there’s a smaller gap of three years between JUST4U’s debut and Joosun and Sebin’s arrivals, a few people have asked the question of this: Who was doing it all before them? And, the answer is simply that no one knows, except from maybe a few of the main executives and the people themselves. The first few years of JUST4U’s discography are largely uncredited production, composition, and arrangement wise, and the only names that get mentioned are Yeseul’s and Insu’s themselves—they took on the lyrics themselves most of the time, and on a few occasions contributed to the production process also. These ghost producers are likely due to the fact that JAGUAR, in 2009, was still very new in the idol scene (only two years into it after jumping ship from the PR business in 2007). Quick payments for releases most likely seemed easier than spending the time building a dedicated team from the ground up—which is also likely why Joosun and Sebin were hired so young and so early into their careers.

They’ve all grown alongside the artists, and have all grown particularly close to CHERRYADE over the months they’ve spent working with them. Below is an overview on each.

Dead-eyed, perpetually bored, and at times too dry for his own good, people usually avoid making conversation with Joosun at all opportunities possible. And sure, he’s only really there to do his job, but making nice while doing so has never been something he’d be opposed to. He actually thinks he can be pretty funny when you get to know him. Not that many ever make it to that stage.

Joosun never wanted to be in the spotlight. All Joosun ever wanted in the music world was to be used as what he believed he was: an asset. A cog in the machine, sure—but an essential one. Something that things just wouldn’t feel right running without. He grew up the primary caretaker for his three younger siblings while his mother racked up credit card debt and his father lay in ashes, sealed in a columbarium that he never bothered to visit on any separate occasions other than the day they went to put him there, and if you asked him he’d tell you that was where the need to be needed came from.

Others may say they were drawn to music as a child and that was why they chose to pursue it, but Joosun never really found the time for that. The most he interacted with music as a child was through the radio and when he was making up tunes on his youngest sister’s toy piano for her entertainment. He wasn’t an experienced musician—much less an experienced producer—in the slightest by the time he was desperately searching for jobs of all kinds, and the only reason JAGUAR took him on in the first place is because they’d come to the realisation that they couldn’t keep hiring no-names to make music for them and then keep their mouths shut about it. Joosun called it mutual desperation, Seungdae called him a ‘baby bird they could nurture.’ The man had been weird since the day they met.

He learned on the job, and his first few mixes were nothing short of abysmal. It took a lot of overtime and a lot of begging for lessons from his newfound contacts in an industry he knew next to nothing about to get him on track to becoming the artist he is now, and he’s thankful he’s managed to dig out a space for himself in the music world. If he could give his sound a colour, it would be red—a deep, dark, wine shade. Mature, promiscuous, dark, at times. But it’s less of a case of that being all he knows (he experimented with just about everything on his journey to find what really fit him) and more a case of that being what’s his. He’s best at it, he flourishes within it, and he knows his way around it even with his eyes closed. It’s glaringly obvious whenever you’re listening to anything Joosun, and that’s just the way he likes it.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀KWAK JOOSUN  ( 곽주선. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀FEBRUARY 17,  1993

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀PRODUCER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀CHOI WONBIN

Accommodating but no-nonsense, Daejin is always considered the kinder of the two producers. He always has a few words of encouragement even if on the inside he thinks you’re awful, always delivers any criticism he does deem nice enough to say out loud with a sweet smile and little motivational fist-pump, and never fails to get at least one smile out of whoever’s he’s worked with that day. His own dreams of being an idol might not have worked out, but as long as he can help others in their own careers he’s happy. 

A child of divorce, Daejin turned to music (and basketball) as a semi-coping mechanism to block out all the arguing before the split became official. The last he saw of his father was the month before his seventh birthday, sitting beside him on the balcony of their cramped flat with his legs dangling through the gaps in the railing while the man smoked through a pack and gave him some half-hearted life advice. Take care of your mother. Try and get along with your older brothers. Do something with your life. He did his best to follow along with it all, although the second was the hardest. Him and his oldest brother had next to nothing in common, constantly coming to blows, so for the most part he stuck to his older brother or kept to himself. They only became closer during the messy divorce period, while his parents were duking it out over custody and money. That was also where he really got into music, picking up both the guitar and the keyboard as things he could teach himself to keep himself busy when his mind was driving him crazier than usual.

He was never all that academically inclined, bunking off to shoot hoops or waste away the day’s hours in arcades for the majority of his school years—but his mother didn’t really care. She would’ve been more surprised if he was a perfect student, seeing as her two children before him were just as unwilling to show up to school. SM came about when he was thinking about what to do to make good on the ‘do something with your life’ part of his father’s advice. It was quite a rash decision, but it involved music, and if it went well he could safely say he had done something worthwhile (and, he would admit, he was looking forward to lording it over his brothers if it went well also). He didn’t tell any of his family until he got the confirmation that he’d passed his audition, and then off into trainee life he went. Daejin kept his head down and himself to himself during his two years of training, and was perfectly happy with his solo career as it went on—not just for the success it brought him and fun he was having with it, but also because along the way he got the chance to contribute to it more and more, until by 2018 he was fully self-written and self-produced.

The end of his idol career came about of his own volition. He felt he was content with what he’d produced, grateful for the people he’d met and things he’d accomplished, and simply wanted to step back and focus fully on the aspect he loved most: the production. JAGUAR was only his first choice because he’d been a fan of JUST4U growing up (he still has all their albums to this day), and when they accepted him he was packing his SM bags as quick as he could and happily leaving the idol life behind. It took a while to get through Joosun’s shell, but they’re thick as thieves now. He lives his life making music and having fun doing it, trying out all sorts of genres and sounds but always leaving them that little something that makes them truly his. Daejin’s sound doesn’t have one specific colour, as he likes to think it’s an explosion of every single one of them.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀SEOL DAEJIN  ( 설대진. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀MAY 27,  1998

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀PRODUCER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀MOON SANGMIN

DISCOGRAPHY (2016–18)

JUL 2016⠀CALL YOU TONIGHT⠀(FROM MINI ALBUM: “DIAL TONE”)

DEC 2016⠀TRIGGER⠀(FROM SINGLE: “TRIGGER”)

SEPT 2017⠀WANT FROM ME⠀(FROM MINI ALBUM: “COMPONENT”)

MAY 2018⠀2FACE⠀(FROM FULL ALBUM: “PUZZLE PIECE”)

OCT 2018⠀SOBER THOUGHTS⠀(FROM SINGLE: “SOBER THOUGHTS”)

Stretched so thin you’d think she was a rubber band on the verge of snapping, Sebin treats life like she’s on the run. Constantly moving, always talking, never taking a moment to breathe in fear an idea dissipates or her concentration dissolves. She’s a force of nature when she’s in the zone, but her everyday sunny disposition is one that makes her all too easily likeable. All-around lovely—as long as you don’t get in her way.

Sebin thinks she got all her neuroticism and need for over-perfection from her mother. She hadn’t known much about their state of living as a child, but apparently it meant lots of too-long dinners with other adults she couldn’t remember the name of even if her parents reminded her three times over, wearing clothes that always felt too new to break in, and keeping up appearances at all times. Once she’d grown up, she realised they were just wealthy. Clothing was her father’s business of choice, and she thinks she shares his love for beauty, for seeing visions come to life by their own hands—although for her it channeled in different ways. While he loved intricate stitching and the feel of expensive fabric against his fingers, Sebin was always more enamoured with make-up (although fashion never truly left her heart). The heaps of tubes filled with lipsticks and glosses and mascaras her mother owned (which she helped herself to more than a few times over the years), how one shade could compliment one person and insult another—she felt there was a way to learn it, and she very badly wanted to.

Beauty school felt like her calling, and it only took a little bit of begging for her parents to agree to let her go—with the catch that she’d have to take night classes to get a more standard education alongside it, which she agreed to easily. She enjoyed her time there to the fullest, finally beginning to learn all the ways around the thing she’d been so fascinated with as a child. Of course, she became aware that the standards in Korea weren’t the same everywhere, and so on their yearly summer vacations to whatever foreign country her mother was dying to visit she’d find a way to steal a few afternoons to herself to try and get a few more tips and tricks from people who’d had a completely different perspective on beauty than she had over their years. Broken English and hastily scribbled drawings on the notepad she’d dedicated to carrying around with her was all she could communicate via for the first few years of these trips, but over time she brushed up on a couple languages to have at her disposal also. Sebin was determined to ‘master beauty,’ as she called it, in every way possible. Hairstyles for all types of hair, looks for all types of faces, clothes for every type of body, beauty for every type of person.

Her job at JAGUAR came about due to her want to get out into the real working world, and the idol industry was the best fit for her dream. Her looks on people’s faces? On their bodies as they performed for all their fans to see? She would do anything for it, and when she walked into the interview room she said just that, eagerness spilling out of mouth as she spoke a mile a minute. She jumped for joy (literally) when she was accepted, and threw her all into the job from the first day. Her and Yeseul got along like a house on fire from the first time they met, which was another thing she was over the moon about. Sure, getting to know Insu and Yoonhae was a little hard at first, and she felt a tad intimidated by Joosun, but she soon warmed up to all of them, and they did the same with her in kind. Her and Joosun got particularly close, seeing as they were the only official creative team members at the time—everything else being mostly outsourced—and he’s still one of her closest friends today. While she’d ditched the rather childish dream of ‘mastering beauty’ a while ago, what she gets to do today is everything she’d hoped for and more.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀SON SEBIN  ( 손세빈. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀JULY 8,  1994

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀STYLIST

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀HEO YOUNGJI

Often referred to as Joosun’s female counterpart (if he ever went down the dance route), Miryung—or Vicki, as she uses at work—has quickly become known for her gruelling sessions and little sympathy for stragglers. She’s perfectly pleasant after work hours are over (if a tad standoffish at first), but if the only place you’ve been face-to-face is the studio, then chances are you don’t like her much.

Miryung doesn’t quite know where she got her tough-loving nature from. Her mother and father were as doting as they could afford to be when mostly living paycheck to paycheck in order to support both her and her younger brother, and it wasn’t as if she was put through any particular torment at school. But her brother was bullied quite relentlessly, and so she got used to pulling her hair back and getting sharper acrylics in order for it to hurt more when she went to scratch and kick and belittle the perpetrators right back, so she supposed it may have rooted around that time. Her skin got thicker and her eyes got colder, and in some ways she became a bully right back—but she didn’t let herself think about that too hard. She was just doing the right thing as a sister, even if her acts of violence were sometimes a little too far over the top.

As she grew older, she realised that maybe putting all the pent up anger she seemed to be housing into something else would be better, and that was how she found dance. She found a class, picked it up quick and got better quicker, and by fourteen she was standing in as an assistant instructor for the younger kid’s classes on weekends. That was where the desire to teach came from, too. She saw more and more people like herself over the years, people just looking for an escape or to channel everything negative brewing inside them into something more productive, something better for their peace of mind. Her mean streak calmed down the more and more she threw herself into both performing and teaching every style of dance she could think of, although her no-nonsense way of teaching remained—she found it was just.. Easier to keep it that way. Praise and comfort never fell easy from her mouth, always sounded too stilted to be genuine.

JAGUAR came about when Miryung was looking to expand her teaching abilities at places other than the multiple classes she was now handling as a nineteen year old. She wasn’t about to bite off more than she could chew, so a relatively small scale company was what she was looking for—and found, in JAGUAR. Wrangling trainees into shape was easy after all the practice she’d had, however rude they were to start with. What was first simple instructing soon began to morph into choreographing, and after years of making up routines for her classes to follow along with that didn’t come as any particular hurdle either. She felt like she’d finally found her true calling, something she was born to do. That’s where Vicki came from—victory. She’d won.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀YOON ‘VICKI’ MIRYUNG  ( 윤미령. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀APRIL 30,  1997

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀CHOREOGRAPHER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀CHOI ‘YUJU’ YUNA

[seriska]

so i think i like villains…

[bevongf]

dir by quentin tarantino headers

fav if you save

c nevvmon on twitter

[cillirishan]

Pumpkin (& Honey Bunny) headers | Pulp Fiction (1994)

[tsukiko26]

Joel Miller ~ Moodboard

Free to use😊

[dumpitos]

🍿 random movies headers 🍿

[dedheaders]

Movies headers

Saved? Like or reblog

Salvou? Curte e compartilhe

Credits twitter: @ellasxl

[magic-can]

Clancy rules, definitely on the same level as Trench for me. 10/10 the boys really outdid themselves with this one

[sunset-sprinkles]

You are Desire X My lovely liar

Just RAIN and my ships against the world!!

Currently my favourite on air dramas are serving top-tier chemistry

Rain and romance go together isn't it?? Rain is melancholic or rain is the calmness to burning souls- your clothes may get heavier with rain but the heart always become lighter. I have always wondered why does rain kind of also define the way we love..it's like holding an umbrella for someone even though you are getting wet - isn't that love! What if rain never appeared could we ever witness the beauty of rainbows?? It's like running with someone even when it rains cause you are not afraid of getting wet!! I knowwww it's too delusional but then I always have this romanticism of 'rain' (can't help much)!! And to a single self it's also dancing like no ones watching when you truely care about your own freedom and happiness!

[lilrobinbird]

Pfp change but it's still meee do not forget meeeee