#hope you all are having more riveting tuesdays :)

[bookwyrminspiration]

taking my last final literally as we speak. not very interesting. what's up with you all?

[pathologicalreid]

Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

[denimbex1986]

'Rarely in recent years has so much public attention been riveted on three films opening over a single two-week period. Just as “Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning Part One” (Paramount) has arrived, and just ahead of the July 21 openings of “Barbie” (Warner Bros. Discovery) and “Oppenheimer” (Universal), hopes for three distinct films changing the trajectory for the summer are sky-high.

Ahead of the initial reports on “Mission: Impossible” results from pre-Wednesday previews, here’s a film-by-film analysis of the opportunities and challenges for each film, as well as their combined potential for theaters.

“Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning Part One”

Two things to note ahead: The pre-marketing cost on this latest sequel has been reported as $290 million, triple both of the previous two films in the “Mission: Impossible” franchise. And you might have noticed the marketing? Not cheap either.

Then, there are the expectations. Anything less than the biggest film of the summer (“Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse” is heading to close to $400 million) or even the year (“The Super Mario Bros. Movie” $574 million) might seem disappointing.

That’s unfair and unrealistic. That potential certainly exists, but so do impediments.

The consistent appeal of this franchise since 1996 (as well as its consistent quality) is evident....

This summer has consistently shown multiple franchise titles falling short of high-end expectations...But could lesser sequel resistance be a factor here?

Though past films have overcome this, “Mission: Impossible” is the first half of a two-part story. That could impact reactions, thanks to an ending that, by all accounts, only whets the appetite for more.

“Mission: Impossible” also faces the issue of limited playtime in premium theaters, as well as second-weekend competition from both “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer.” A handful of films this summer (“Spider-Verse,” “The Little Mermaid,” “Elemental”) have sustained strong holds, but the norm this year has been quick falloffs.

On the plus side, this is getting initially strong reviews...

Domestic returns are important, but any response to the film’s grosses should be more on the international side, both because of precedent (the previous two films’ take came from less than 30 percent domestic)...

Paramount is pushing all the buttons to maximize the gross. A Wednesday opening, plus three different sets of previews that started more limited (Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday) will produce a higher gross than just the normal Friday start. And the hope is that initial positive response make the weekend bigger.

“Barbie” and “Oppenheimer”

These are two significant non-franchise titles in the heart of the summer, both costing around $100 million, both from previously acclaimed directors, with both hoping to receive both critical and popular positive response to propel them beyond the pre-release appeal the films already have.

The awareness for “Barbie” has been sky-high since production was announced. That sort of interest is tricky to maintain. The marketing has not faltered through its one-showing premiere last Sunday.

Like “Oppenheimer,” it faces challenges. It’s not what a four-quadrant movie (its appeal initially is skewing more female). It’s a comedy, with a tricky path to find the right balance.

It also has in Greta Gerwig a director whose “Lady Bird” and “Little Women” both surpassed expectations, and Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling as leads, and of course familiarity with the iconic dolls. And its originality might actually be an asset as audiences get more resistant to retreads.

“Oppenheimer” with Christopher Nolan directing (of course, a huge part of its draw) has likewise been in the spotlight since announced. As a biopic about a scientist, partially in black and white, 180 minutes, it’s not normal summer wide-release fare.

Nolan has smartly positioned the film as a visual experience. His previous films have emphasized premium formats, and the curiosity about how the spectacular power of atomic explosions are conveyed in state-of-the-art technology is high with this one.

His previous World War II-set “Dunkirk,” also released in July, was a success with adjusted grosses of around $200 million domestic/$600 million worldwide. It had the advantage of military action (a draw for older male audiences who rarely go to theaters). The appeal of the subject matter is less clear here. Apart from what promises to be a sensory experience, Nolan’s reputation and the expectation of top-level reviews add interest.

The two films will follow different paths.

“Barbie” might open to double “Oppenheimer” (perhaps $100 million to $50 million), but if those are the figures, that’s parallel success. “Barbie” should have a heavier domestic share, while Nolan has generally approached two-thirds foreign. “Oppenheimer” is handicapped by its length, combined with strong interest in seeing it on premium screens. That will limit seating initially (similar to “Avatar: The Way of Water”), but assuming it sustains interest, it could see a strong multiple. (“Dunkirk” got to $188 million from a $50 million opening weekend, less burdened by initial limitations and competition.)

The Stakes for the Summer and Beyond

Theaters need money into the till and fast. The range of suggested expectations ($300 million domestic for “Mission: Impossible,” $200 million for the other two) should be enough to improve the current situation. Last July saw a domestic gross of $1.134 billion. At those levels, combined with other films, $1.2 billion (best month since 2019) is doable.

Both “Mission: Impossible” and “Barbie” have the strongest upsides during the months above these levels (“Oppenheimer,” again, perhaps more over a longer period). If either or both overperform and push the total higher, it would be a clear win for theaters.

And over-performance by “Mission: Impossible” would provide relief that franchise fatigue can be overcome with a smart production. For “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer,” success would encourage more non-franchise top-end pictures, as well as deeper trust in proven creative directors like Nolan and Gerwig.

But the risk that one or more of them does less than expected also exists. Four years into the COVID-impact experience, it’s not getting any easier.'

[taylorthrift]

Hi, SwiftiePride anon again, hope you're having a great Tuesday! I'm glad to be getting to know you. 😊 I'd love to hear more about some of your favorite songs on 1989 and folklore! What are some of the most meaningful lyrics to you? What are your top 5 (or 10 or 13 or whatever number you want haha) Taylor songs of all time? They don't need to be from those two albums. 😊 Have a good week!!!!!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💖

I am so sorry I haven't responded to this yet. It's been a very busy week for me which is 'new' to me having been in a deep depressive slump for 6 years.

I'm not sure you want an essay on this so i'll try not to be as BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH as I normally am!

I was tangentially a Taylor Swift fan pre 1989. I liked singles, sang along to them. When Red came out was when I really started to pay attention (the pop sounds are more my taste certainly) but it wasn't just the pop that got me it was the riveting storytelling. WANEGBT is such a fun romp of a music video-which leads me to 1989.

Shake it Off: I was in my 30s when Shake it Off came out and it was such a great time, watching it take over and be played EVERYWHERE. It was not just an earworm, but (along with the video) made Taylor into a fool for herself. She was so totally self effacing that it made everyone fall in love with her and the music. She recognized herself as a clown-and the media's obsession with her was the circus. I have a whole essay that I came to tumblr to write about initially about how as a result of learning how to do this myself my job title literally got to be "Rockstar" (I worked as an IT Director at a national non profit)

Welcome to New York: An underrated song of the experience of moving to new york (something I too had done in my early 20s)

Blank Space: A brilliant satire and feminist critique of the narrative the world had built around her. A banger to boot. (And more making fun of her self) For years this was my favorite Taylor Swift song.

Style: Probably the sexiest song I know. The lines alone don't do it justice, but the way she sings "He said what you heard is true but I, can't stop thinking about you, and I, I say i been there too a few times" Is some deeply passionate relatable real romance. This wasn't the fairytale romance of "love story" this was people with chemistry who keep trying other things and keep being drawn back to each other. This wasn't just sex, this was magnetism and the tone she incants with it is so evocative.

Clean: Catharsis. A song that relates to addiction of any kind. "so i punched a hole in the roof" was more powerful than the climax any show or series i'd watched or read. It breaks me every time. It is the perfect end to the album.

(weird coincidence time: Wonderland was what I called the world that my boyfriend and I had built together as a safe retreat from the world. I have always had an Alice in Wonderland obsession, i have a whole spot in my house filled with Alice dolls and books. I bought this house because it had a cool display cabinet built into the front hall. I joined this fandom (april 14th) after breaking up with my boyfriend (on april 8th a few hours before the rumors about taylor and joe breaking up reached me) and losing my 'Wonderland'...I did not know literally, honestly till april 20th of this year that Taylor had a Wonderland on 1989. And then-as i was reeling from this information-the next night Taylor did Wonderland as her secret song.)

Wait I think I have failed at not writing an essay somehow.

Folklore is ...really raw for me right now? I have trouble thinking about it or talking about it because so much of my relationship is bound up in me using those songs to communicate how i was feeling with my ex.

Mirrorball was our love song though. A sad tragedy of me always spinning for him-desperate to keep his attention. It's beautiful but it's a terrible fate to always be working for the attention of one person and they're not working to get yours.

... :(

which is i guess where Hoax comes in. he never cheated on me-just, had lots of other stuff going on and didn't have as much time for me as I had for him? I was everything to him by words-but by actions and where he spent his time and how he spent his time....it was a faithless love and i desperately was begging him for a reason to stay in the relationship.

and Peace: I am a tormented woman. I have incredible gifts and love and sincerity in abundance, but my depression takes and takes and takes. There is no happy ending with me-there is little comfort to be found. And I could give love forever and never love myself.

i um

[agustdiv1ne]

candy hearts — TEASER

♡ READ HERE ♡

pairing: choi yeonjun x reader

genre: childhood best friends to lovers au, fluff, angst

wc: tbd (projected to be 10k+)

summary: spending valentine's day with your best friend had become a sort of tradition for ever since you were seven years old. despite the twists and turns in your friendship as both of you grew up, the one thing that never changed was the box of candy hearts that he placed in your hands every year.

warnings: tbd, none in this snippet

TEASER

tuesday, february 14th; age 12

you leaned your head against your palm as you zoned out in your last period class. science had never been your favorite subject, even less so given that your teacher had been informally dubbed the school's wack job. 

as the day had dragged on, you realized that the holiday wasn't as widely celebrated in middle school. the so-called 'special' day was reserved solely for the few couples on campus, most of which had been dating for only a couple weeks. you bet most would be broken up by next month, the typical cycle for immature, hormone-riddled relationships. 

but back to your science class.

you felt your eyes nearly roll into your skull as your teacher excitedly explained the concept of genetics and punnet squares. what a riveting topic to listen to for an hour on valentine's day. however, you couldn't focus on his boisterous ramblings when your mind was chock-full of bitter thoughts of how your best friend had decided that he couldn't be seen with you at school. 

okay, maybe not back to your science class. you were too distracted, too bothered, to concentrate.

because while yeonjun had promised to not leave you behind in middle school, it grew exceedingly obvious, as the year went on, that he had lied straight to your face. this holiday was only a painful reminder of that fact.

you couldn't entirely blame him, though, the vast sea of middle school causing you to slowly drift apart from each other as you both tried to find where you fit in. he had made new friends easily, the shy boy you once knew emerged from his shell, countless peers recognizing him for his impressive talents in baseball, in dance, in singing, the list could go on. he was good at everything that he tried his hand at, and by the middle of seventh grade, he had become the campus' golden boy. even the eighth graders knew him!

this came with a cost, however, and that was leaving you, his best friend of five years, behind (for the most part, at least).

you had found your own friends, of course. you had to, or else you would have been deemed a loner, and no one wants to be a loner in middle school. it was uncomfortable, having to talk to people you had never interacted with beforehand. despite this, you had found yourself a little group through your art class: yeri, chaeyoung, and yuqi. they had welcomed you into their trio easily. though it felt weird to have friends other than yeonjun for the first time, you were happy. well, uh, besides the whole yeonjun thing.

with only one class with him, it was easy to not speak to each other during school. your hangouts were now confined to after school, when he wasn't surrounded by his new friends and could make time for you. you never tried to talk to him about it, scared that he'd twist your words and it would destroy what semblance of friendship that remained between you. honestly, you wished that you could go back to elementary school, when things were easier, when you could talk to him at school without worrying about the consequences of doing so. 

yet you knew it wasn't that easy. this wasn't elementary school anymore.

your eyes subconsciously trailed over to the boy in question. you were supposed to hang out with him after school, but there was always that one insecurity that rattled around your mind:

what if this was the year that he finally blew you off? for good? 

you shook your head, going back to the worksheet your teacher had passed out as you were distracted by your thoughts. punnet squares, okay. one parent with a dominant and recessive gene, one parent with two recessive genes. now fill in the squares…

"hey, y/n."

your head shot up from at the sound of his voice. eyes wide at the fact that he was speaking to you at school. it had been months since he had last done so.

"oh, hi yeonjun. what did you need?" you sent him a tight smile, not that he noticed. twelve year-old boys were never most observant.

he placed a box of candy hearts, the same thing he gifted you every year, on top of your desk. it was blank, no message or name in sight.

"i wanted to give you this before i forgot and it got crushed in my backpack." his voice quietened, almost as if he didn't want anyone to hear what he had to say next, "we're still hanging out after school, right? like we always do?"

you nodded, and he shot you a small smile, "great, thanks."

he walked away. as soon as he sat back down in his seat, his friends were punching at his shoulder, teasing him, asking him if he was dating you. you could hear it all from where you were sitting, but you wished you couldn't after what he said next.

"me? with her? no way, we're just friends. i could never see her like that."

you never truly realized how much he truly meant to you until you no longer hung out until after school, but this? this hurt. it made your chest ache when you saw his borderline disgusted face at the insinuation that you were dating each other. what was so bad about you for him to have that reaction? was it your hair, your face, your acne? you found yourself mentally paging through every possible flaw you saw in yourself until the bell rang, signalling the end of school. 

yuqi walked up to you at the front of campus, immediately spotting the forlorn look on your face, "hey, you good?"

"uh, yeah, i guess. listen, i have to go meet up with yeonjun. catch you later?" you asked.

"yeonjun, huh? are you sure you're not dating him?" she smirked, and you rolled your eyes, your mood worsening even more.

"we're just friends," you spat, turning away from her, "he'd never like me like that, anyway. i have no chance with him. i'll see you later, yuqi."

the further you walked, the worse you felt about how you spoke to yuqi. she didn't deserve to deal with the brunt of your wrath, it was uncalled for. you wanted to run back to school and apologize, but you were sure she had already been picked up.

you'd have to make it up to her tomorrow.

as you neared the supermarket a few blocks down the street from school, you could see yeonjun waiting near the entrance, his foot tapping against the sidewalk impatiently. his bike sat next to him, which explained how he arrived much earlier than you.

"took you long enough," he teased as you approached, but you didn't answer, only sending him a half-hearted smile in return. his grin fell, eyebrows now furrowed. oh, now he noticed how you were feeling? typical. "you okay?"

that was the second time you had been asked that now. you wanted to say no, you definitely were not okay, that it hurt to hear him say those words earlier, that it hurt that you couldn't even talk to him during school. you wanted to tell him that you felt abandoned, you wanted to tell him that he broke the promise he made a year ago, that ever since the first day of seventh grade you felt left behind. you wanted to ask him why he even bothered hanging out with you when he couldn't bother even speaking to you at school.

but you didn't.

instead, you plastered an artificial smile on your face, trying to make your voice sound a little more energetic than you felt, "yeah! i guess i'm just tired. science wasn't exactly fun today, y'know?"

"tell me about it," he laughed as he walked beside you, easily accepting your excuse without prying. you wished that he would have pried. "he's the weirdest teacher i've ever had, i can't believe he hasn't been fired yet."

"right?" you replied as you walked down the aisle full of candy. you picked out one of the overpriced boxes of heart-shaped chocolates before walking up to the register. you tried to hand some of your money to the lady helping you, but yeonjun swatted your hand away.

"nuh-uh, you're not paying for this," he argued.

"but-"

"no."

you visibly deflated, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. he simply grinned at you in response.

"ah, young love," the cashier sighed as she took yeonjun's money. your heart clenched, thanking her before you two walked outside again, the air cool against your skin, the sun glaring into your eyes, the weather the complete opposite of your mood. you glanced over at yeonjun. you wondered why he hadn't protested when she said that. you didn't ask.

his hand found yours, dragging you around the corner behind the building. your heart raced, skin heating up slightly at the contact. your reaction couldn't have meant anything. no, you couldn't like him like that. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.

as you sat next to each other behind the supermarket, unwrapping and eating the chocolate that he had bought you just a few minutes ago, you realized that you really couldn't deny it anymore: you were in love with choi yeonjun, your best friend, and you couldn't do anything about it.

hope y'all are excited :) if you would like to be tagged when the full fic is posted, please send me an ask!

→ © to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[solastia]

Love And Lies | 3

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader

Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place. 

You followed behind the man who introduced himself as Chancellor Namjoon Kim, listening to him halfheartedly as he explained that while that was his official title, he was more of a Jack-of-all-trades and preferred calling himself the King's right-hand man.

You smooth your hands down your gown, hoping it was grand enough to disguise the commoner wearing it. You’d changed for supper, something that Eleanor had told you was common for people at court. According to her, depending on the person they might even change outfits as many as three or four times a day! The nobility were a ridiculous bunch, you sniffed derisively to yourself. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the maids that had to care for all that clothing and the laundresses that cleaned them. Two times a day - not counting your sleeping gown - was extravagant enough for the likes of you.

The ensemble that you had now made you feel like a fairy princess of legend. You were a shimmering cloud of pink and white as you glided along the stone floors. The dress was pink velvet lined with white silk, along with white ermine fur on the edges of the sleeves and bottom of the gown. The bust was embroidered with silver thread and decorated with glistening pearls. You were also very happy to note that the top was much more modest this time around, though not by much. Eleanor had let you pick the jewelry yourself, so you’d settled on a simple strand of pearls around your neck and tiny pearl earbobs. Your hair was left loose and free of any painful and tedious styling with the hot iron.

Truthfully, you rather liked this dress. The fabric was soft to the touch and very comfortable. You even liked the little slippers that matched. When you asked Eleanor why she was letting you wear something like this, she had told you that your previous ensemble had been to impress the King, and this one was to appeal to the man. It was an odd statement considering that your goal was to not appeal to him, and she’d seem rather conflicted saying such a thing. You wished you’d had the time to question her further, but the Chancellor had shown up before you could.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter if you looked rather pretty in your outfit because you knew that eventually, he’d move on to the other women. You had literally nothing of interest about you to keep royalty interested. After all, what could you speak to him about beyond stain removal techniques and how to haggle for the best prices at the market?

Chancellor Namjoon opens a door and ushers you inside, seeming to not notice or mind that you hadn’t even been listening to him talk this entire time.

“His Majesty will be with you in a moment.”

He nods and leaves briskly, closing the door behind him. You take the chance to look around, your mouth falling in awe as you take in the rows and rows of scrolls. So this was a library! You had heard of such things but had simply chalked it up to the fancies of nobles, but this was truly amazing. Beyond the scrolls, there were even parchment tied together filled with writing and little sketches. A few were even covered in decorated leather, something that boggled your mind. Books! You had never thought to see one in your life.

You adored the family you worked for, of course, but not a single one of them had any use for reading and writing. Eleanor could write a little, mostly her name and a list of things she needed that looked like badly designed inkblots. Jungkook was a little better but mostly relied on drawing things out. You remembered the departed Duchess had a slanting script that was like beautiful art to your young eyes. She’d taught you how to read and write before she’d passed, but you rarely got a chance to use that knowledge. You never had anyone to write to and the Duke saw no use for books.

Your hand trailed reverently across the hard leather of one of the bound pages, wishing you had the freedom to peer inside.

“Do you like to read?”

The voice startled you, and you gasped and turned with your hand on your chest.

“Goodness. I’m...sorry, Your Majesty.”

His smile was kind, but his eyes looked like he was laughing at you. “It’s quite alright. So, do you?”

“Hmm?” You hummed softly, distracted by the way his now silver tunic made him glow like an otherworldly being. “Oh, read?” You smile sheepishly, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation and not on his lips. “I don’t get to very often, but I like stories.”

He seemed pleased with your answer, gesturing towards the book. “We got this one from a visiting Monarch years ago. Livres des merveilles du monde. It’s about a merchant named Marco Polo who was an adventurer for a while and traveled through the Orient. I was certain I was going to grow up and conquer the world someday when I first read this.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Ah, the bane of my existence. Responsibilities,” he says dramatically, obviously trying to make you smile. “You may borrow it if you like. I’m not certain if it will be riveting enough for you, but you’re welcome to it. Or anything else here, during your stay.”

He picked up the book and handed it to you, his grin growing as he watched you cup it in your hands and stare at it in awe. A whole book!

You smile up at him genuinely for the first time, your smile wide and beaming with joy. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m not certain I’ll have time to finish it since I read so very slowly, but I thank you for the chance.”

He nods, his cheeks pinkened slightly. He gestures with a hand towards a table in the corner.

“I have some warm wine and honey pastries if you’d like to join me. I thought we might have a chance to get to know each other a little more before we have the pressure of an entire room watching our every move.”

“Oh...yes, that will be...tense” you gulp and sit as gracefully as you can in the highbacked wooden chair.

His smile is soft and kind as he pours you a drink. “I suppose despite your status you’re not quite used to court life. Your father mentioned you preferred staying home.”

“Yes,” you stuttered nervously. “I found I was more comfortable tutoring at home rather than being fostered out. I’m afraid the one time I tried, I found the group of ladies rather spiteful and begged Papa to come home after only three months.”

Which was a true story. Eleanor had been sent to the Duchesse Aline Villeneuve - the King’s very own aunt - to learn how to run a keep and other “women’s arts” not long after her mother had passed away from a sudden illness. According to Eleanor, she had been horribly bullied by the other ladies in the Duchesse’s care and she “hadn’t cared to make friends with such vain and heartless wenches, anyhow.”

Personally, you had rather fond memories of that summer, as with Eleanor away you’d had the freedom to do as you pleased and you’d even made a new friend for a few months - a village boy with the most annoying laugh you’d ever heard but had been sweet and fun. The two of you had been inseparable for the entire summer until one day he didn’t show up to the stream you often met at. You still thought of that boy from time to time and hoped he was doing well. You never did learn where he disappeared to.

King Seokjin nods in understanding. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be much better here. Gossip is practically a form of currency, and whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter,” he rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, bringing up a mug of steaming spiced wine to his lips. He gulps and sighs, setting the cup back on the table.

“And in your case, it will be twice as bad as you are...well…” he coughs lightly, his cheeks blushing once more. “A high contender to be Queen?”

You sputter on the drink of wine you’d just taken, trying to hastily wipe any spilled droplets before he sees them.

“Yes...err, I am...that.”

“So,” he says loudly, slapping his hands onto his thighs. “I mostly wanted to set aside some time right now so you can tell me things you like to do. I’m afraid I have to live my entire life by a set schedule, so if I had some ideas for my courting days with you that would help greatly.” “Oh,” you smile mischievously, “Yes, I imagine it must be difficult trying to balance so many suitors. Romantic sailing on Monday, serenading on Tuesday, kissing in a dark alcove on Wednesday...”

“You have no idea, “ he groans, only to still and gape at you in astonishment. “You’re making fun of me!”

“I would never, Your Majesty,” you drop your eyes to your lap, still smiling despite the way you were internally smacking yourself. This wasn’t home, you had to curb your tongue.

He squints at you suspiciously. “I have a feeling you would and will. You have some spirit hiding under that demure stance, don’t you Lady Eleanor?” He cocks his head and looks at you with an expression of pleased wonder.

“Perhaps, Your Majesty.”

“I think,” he begins softly, his tone making you lift your eyes to meet his. “In private settings like this, you may use my first name.”

Your eyes widen incredulously. “Oh, I couldn’t!”

“I can order you to if I must,” his smile is playful, even while his eyes are staring at you intensely.

“I...alright. Thank you...Seokjin,” you respond quietly and no doubt with crimson cheeks.

“There. That wasn’t so hard. And...I liked hearing it.”

He stands up and offers you his hand. “It’s time to head to supper. I can escort you as far as to the hall, but I have to go to the high table without anyone seeing you with me. Don’t want them to see you entering the dining hall on the King’s arm; that would make you a target for the harpies,” he winks, linking your arm in his. “You can send a list of activities we can do together later.”

The walk down the hall is too short, but you’d enjoyed the feeling of his strong arm encasing yours and the occasional sneaky peeks of his beautiful side profile. He releases you as soon as the noisy dining hall is close enough to hear.

“I must leave you here, but I look forward to speaking with you on the morrow. I’ll have someone bring the book to your room tonight.”

“Thank you, Your M…” you begin, only for him to raise an eyebrow at you daringly. You glance around you for eavesdropping servants and sigh. “Thank you, Seokjin.”

His beaming smile is worth your embarrassment. “Well done, lambkin. Be sure to try the custard tarts, they are the best!”

He waves and strides off, leaving you to find the waiting Jungkook and be escorted to your seat. Something pricked at the back of your mind, however. Lambkin? Why did that seem so familiar? Perhaps you were just overwhelmed. You shake your head and focus on the elegant supper in front of you as you find Jungkook waiting just inside the door, and he gestures for you to walk ahead of him. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched he’s dying to ask you about the meeting, but there is no way to subtly speak to him at the moment.

The dining hall was brimming with people and you praised Eleanor for being the sort of noble who kept to herself, since the chances of anyone knowing her here were incredibly low. Your seat is incredibly close to the high table - in fact, it was directly above you. A few more steps to your right and His Majesty would be getting crumbs and wine on your head.

You’re not brave enough to look at him yet, though, and decide to look around for your “competition.”

Your table seems to be where they are all located, judging by the way most of the women gathered around you meet your curious gaze with measuring looks of their own. Most of them turn away after a few seconds, obviously dismissing you as not a threat.

One girl that looks similar to Eleanor all the way down to her bouncing curls grins at you playfully and waves at you with the chicken leg in her hand. You nod in answer, adding a slight smile as you decided she seemed nice enough.

A regal brunette meets your eyes with a quirk of her eyebrow, blatantly looking you up and down. Her lips thin and she pointedly turns away with a sneer, clutching her silverware almost threateningly. Alright, she will not be someone you want to know.

Directly across from you is a redhead and you snort, coming to the realization that His Majesty literally has every color of the rainbow to pick from for his bride. Variety is the spice of life, you suppose. This woman seems very disinterested in everything around her, however, focusing on her meal and only interacting with servants to refill her goblet.

At the head of the table and directly at your elbow is the one that you can only assume is the Princess. She is incredibly pretty, you have to admit. Her dark black hair is mostly loose and cascading about her in waves. The sides have been pulled back and secured with a large golden hairpin the size of a dagger with little jeweled flowers adorning it. Her dress is strange yet beautiful. Silk or satin, if you had to guess. The top was lavender and embroidered with flowers and some sort of serpent that vaguely looked like a dragon. The bottom was nearly peach-colored and consisted of the same decorations. Her features were sharp and sculpted, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. She looked exotic and lovely, but it wasn’t until her smile blinded you that you realized she was beautiful. She met your eyes with a twinkle in hers, reaching her delicate hand up to point at herself.

“I am Hosook. You?”

“I am Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily, Your Highness,” you answer slowly, assuming that the way she was squinting while you spoke was her concentrating on your words. Perhaps she was learning the language still.

“You for him too?” she asked with a wave behind her at the high table.

“Yes, I was brought here for the King. I’m sure you’re a much better choice.”

The Princess smiles her understanding and waves away your compliment. “Too...ugg,” she grunts, obviously failing to find the word she wanted. She chose instead to flap in the general direction of King Seokjin like she was shooing away a fly.

“You...aren’t attracted to His Majesty?” you ask in a hushed voice. How could anyone not find him the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth?

She sticks out her tongue, “Reminds me of Haraboji...uh...Grandfather?”

You sputter a laugh which you know is too loud, but you can’t help yourself as Princess Hosook giggles with you. You feel yourself being watched and glance up to lock eyes with the very man in question. The King looks down at you curiously, his lips tilted in an amused smile as you can’t stop your giggles. Suddenly, he winks at you and you look away quickly as your laughter dies down into a shy smile.

“Oh,” Princess Hosook says slyly, clucking and patting your hand with a grin. “I see now. You nice, make pretty Queen.”

“Goodness, it’s not like that at all. We just met,” you rush to explain, your excuses being waved away yet again.

“I like…” she waves between the King and you. “Nice together. Uh...need more words,” she grumbles quietly, biting her lip.

“I could help, if you like? I helped my Lad...err...my Ladies Maid learn how to read and write.”

Her smile was beaming as she nodded her head in agreement. “Yes. Need be better to deal with them,” she nods her head towards the gaggle of noblewomen surrounding them.

“I understand. I have to wait to hear which days I need to spend with the King, and then we’ll set aside some time for us!” You smile kindly at the Princess, who grins back and attends her meal with much more gusto now that she had something to look forward to. You sigh and quietly thank the powers that be for making some sort of friend to get you through this, and one that you were able to fall back into your natural state of submission with. It would be easier to explain any lapses in your behavior if you were just a mere Duke’s daughter shadowing a Princess, rather than being with the other women who were basically your equals and expected you to be just as much of a spoiled prat as they were.

The meal comes to a close (and you were amazed that you only caught yourself staring at His Majesty less than five times), and Jungkook is back at your elbow to escort you to your rooms. As you accept his helping hand, you feel someone tap on your shoulder. Princess Hosook flicks her eyes up and down Jungkook with an exaggerated waggled of her eyebrows. Her hand goes to her chest and she mouths something that you assume is complimentary. Jungkook’s eyes are huge as he tries to follow what’s happening.

You giggle and slap his arm. “She thinks you’re handsome.”

“TAKEN…” he squeaks, “I’m taken. Sorry..uh...lady...majesty…”

“Always pretty ones,” Princess Hosook sighs and waves goodbye with fluttering fingers, disappearing with her own small army of attendants.

You continue to laugh quietly as Jungkook begs you to stop. You pause just before leaving the hall and catch the King’s eye right before he leaves for his own apartments. He smiles and shallowly bows, and you watch him until his broad shoulders disappear from sight.

“Sis,” Jungkook mutters quietly as he herds you back to your hallway. “You can’t…” he sighs. “I’m sure you think he’s handsome and he seems to be nice to you, but you can’t be with him. You remember that, right? You’re not who he thinks you are and he’d find that out if you were to marry him. I am literally stealing a potential bride from him, and the moment he finds out, he can kill us all.”

“I know, Jungkook. I’m not an imbecile.”

“I know that, but you’ve never been courted before. I forgot about that and now I’m worried that you’re over your head.”

You sigh and loop your arm in his as you walk. “I suppose I forgot that he’d be trying to win me over as much as the rest, at least at first. I might have let the sweet words and smiles affect me, but I promise Jungkook, I’ll remember. Besides, I saw the other potential brides. I am no match for them. The novelty of someone new will fade in a few days, and I pray that we have the deed to the keep no later than a month. Then, I will tell him that I don’t think I’m a good match for the Kingdom and we can be on our merry way.”

He sighs wearily and tugs you close for a quick hug. “I know, I trust you and your judgment, I just got worried. If he does anything that makes you uncomfortable or makes you feel compromised, let me know. I don’t care if he’s the king, I’ll throw down my glove.”

“You’ll not duel the King, Jungkook. Go seek your bed, brother dear,” you say with a tiny smile, pushing him away from you once you reach your room. “Tell Eleanor when she comes back from the kitchens she can go straight to her room. I won’t bother her tonight because I’m so exhausted from all this excitement I’m going to fall asleep the moment my head hits the mattress.”

Jungkook grins, a look you really don’t want to identity lighting his eyes. “Will do. Sweet dreams, sis.” He stomps off and leaves you to close the door to your opulent apartments.

You yawn and observe the room as you undress, leaving the layers of clothing across a chair to be taken care of the next day. The room was spacious and absolutely gorgeous, decorated in lovely shades of robin’s egg blue, white, and gold. There was an entire room just for clothing, one for washing, and yet another whole room for your ladies maid - something that Eleanor had seemed suspiciously excited about. You worried that she was going to try yet again to seduce her love now that she had a new sort of freedom without her father about.

You crawl onto the giant golden bed and arrange the blankets over you as you fight off another yawn. A full belly and an overwhelming day full of excitement seemed to be all your poor body could handle. Another yawn and you drift off to sleep, visions of warm brown eyes and smiling lips filling your dreams.

A/N: 

1. Yes, that is Hoseok. He’s a pretty princess today. 

2. I don’t really like using the term “exotic” but since this is a historical and being done from the viewpoint of a person in the middle ages, it seemed fitting. 

3. Oh, look at that totally huge and obvious hint to the past. Hmmm....

[meerest]

I hope yall don't mind if i ramble a bit, but like stories are just so important. Theyre how we learn as children, how we pass down information, how we connect to events, how we connect to PEOPLE. They teach us how to process emotions, feel new emotions, escape our bleak reality, find new things to bring into our reality, they're SO MUCH. Our own stories are so important too. Whether we make ourselves the hero or villian effects our entire self worth.

Other people in our stories can either be the person who did this to me, or someone who taught me this lesson. We just need to adjust our story. A wee bit of a rewrite if you will.

So in particular i think about a goupa guru which is something my mom always talks about, its a bad teacher, or someone who does you wrong but teaches you important life lessons. Like I've been seeing alot of my "sad stories" and trauma more in that light. That plot line happened to make me more empathetic and have more of a character arc right.....anyway

And we need to TELL our stories. No matter if its a smutty fanfic, epic narrative, or this weird thing that happened last Tuesday. Fiction is an exploration of what life means ya know? And none of it us meaningless. A tale about the week you met this kid on vacation can be just as riveting as high fantasy pirates if that kid had you experience life

But most of all we need to tell our story, to ourselves to our loved ones, to your favorite cashier idc, the world. Cuz once the inky black void of death consumes us we leave our story behind. We leave lessons we learned imparted onto others, we leave our entwined chapters tethering us to every living being, and if we told enough of our story, then people will continue to tell it, your lessons will live on.

Also listen to others stories because you never know what you can add to yours?

Ok big ramble over

[themoonlightarchive]

Happy Tuesday, y’all!

And hello to all my new followers! Thank you for being here. I hope you stick around for a while. Most Tuesdays, I’ll look back at the most recent additions to my Goodreads TBR and share them with y’all here. I’m excited about this week’s post because I’m really looking forward to reading the books I chose!

The Love Hypothesis (Ali Hazelwood)

“When a fake relationship between scientists meets the irresistible force of attraction, it throws one woman's carefully calculated theories on love into chaos.”

I heard about this book from someone in my book club and I can’t wait till its release date. Fake relationship? Academic setting? Count me in. Plus the cover looks like some ReyLo fanart and I am weak. Why must we wait so long for a book that sounds SO GOOD?

We Can Be Heroes (Kyrie McCauley)

“Kyrie McCauley, author of If These Wings Could Fly, delivers a powerful contemporary YA novel about a trio of girls fighting for each other in the aftermath of a school shooting and the lasting bonds of friendship. Perfect for fans of Laura Ruby and Mindy McGinnis.”

Ghosts? Girl friendships? Mystery? All things I’m absolutely down for. This book sounds like it’s going to be such a good, emotional read. I can’t wait to get my hands on it!

Ember of Night (Molly E. Lee)

“I’ve been told I was as useless as a weed most of my life. Mainly by my worthless father. But I’d suffer anything to give my kid sister a better life—the minute I turn eighteen, I’m getting us the hell out of here. And some hot stranger telling me I am the key to stopping a war between Heaven and Hell isn’t going to change that. Let the world crumble and burn, for all I care.”

I’ve always been so weak for stories with battles between Heaven and Hell. Like Supernatural. It’s been one of my favourite shows for a very long time but even before that I was fascinated by the mythology. This book is right up my alley. Plus the cover is just so gorgeous. Excited to give this a read!

Crownchasers (Rebecca Coffindaffer)

“A deadly competition for the throne will determine more than just the fate of the empire in this riveting duology opener, perfect for fans of The Hunger Games, Aurora Rising, and Three Dark Crowns.”

Queers? In Space? Yes please. I’ve been dying to read more Space Opera and this one seems like it’s just what I need. Plus, as a queer person, I appreciate the representation.

Escaping Eleven (Jerri Chisholm)

“In Compound Eleven, the hierarchy of the floors is everything. My name is Eve Hamilton, and on my floor, we fight.”

I’ve been dying for something similar to The Hunger Games since I read it. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. But I felt like there could have been so much more. It could have been done better. I’m hoping that this will be the series!

What have y’all added to your TBR recently?

[connordavidscamera]

Party Invites and Coffee Companions | Connor Brashier

A/n: this is for the absolutely wonderful @queenmendes​ who just needed some frat boy!connor. Also, Connor was supposed to be an asshole and then as I wrote it, he just wasn’t? Don’t know what happened there lol, I’m sorry. And it’s based off this photo:

Summary: Connor invites you to a party, but things get a little heated when one of his frat brothers starts hitting on you. (College!au)

Warnings: unforgivably beautiful frat boy!Connor is a warning in itself. Also jealous/protective!connor also I guess this could be considered angst? But like… not really? But it’s not really fluff either? Honestly it’s just a mess like the rest of my life, what else is new?

Word count: 3.3k

***

“Y/n, hey, wait up!” A familiar voice says from behind me and I stop just outside the door of the lecture hall. “Hi,” he says softly when he’s finally beside me.

“Hi,” I say back softly, starting to walk again.

“Where you headed?”

“Coffee shop. Need an afternoon pick me up.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, hands in his pockets.

“Not at all.” I swallow the nervousness that’s threatening to build – just like it does every time I’m with Connor.

It’s no secret that’s notoriously gorgeous. Eyes this beautiful shade of blue-green that can change from the lighting or depending on what color he’s wearing. Today they’re bluer because of the royal blue button up he has over a plain white shirt. His hair looks messed up – but in an attractive way, like he’s been running his fingers through it. Which he has because I could see him, out of the corner of my eye, doing it every few minutes in class.

“So,” I say to fill the silence because with me in the conversation, any silence is awkward and I am determined to not do that now. “What did you think of lecture today?” Wow, stupid question, y/n, way to fucking go.

He chuckles and like, did I just feel my legs buckle? “You want the truth or a lie?”

I hum, “A lie.”

“I was rivetted,” he answers casually, opening the door to the university center, gesturing for me to go in before him.

“Oh, thanks.” I look down, walking in front of him.

“What about you? What’d you think of it?”

“Honestly? I found it hard to focus.” Which is true. Because how can anyone focus when a literal Greek God sits in the seat diagonal from you? You can’t, okay? Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s impossible. Half of my notes consist of his name written in various different fonts across the page.

He nods, “His voice is so monotonous, right?” he says before reaching the front of the line and turning his attention to the menu just above the barista, who is absolutely blushing because of the man in front of him. Not that I blame her.

“What can I – I get for you, sir?”

“Large coffee, black. And whatever she’s getting,” Connor nudges his head toward me, pulling out his wallet.

I shake my head, “No, Connor, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just order, please?” he pleads and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his features quite this soft. So of course I cave in and order.

I try to protest again when he hands the girl his card, still paying no mind to her blushing, flustered state. but he just shrugs me off with a smirk, taking his card back.

“Do you need a receipt?” she asks, her voice a little less timid than it was a second ago.

“No,” He waves a dismissive hand to her and walks over to the side to wait for our drinks. I thank her again before following him. “Do you have another class today?” he questions, hands back in his pockets.

“Um, no. I was actually planning to go to the library to try and finish up my English essay. It’s much easier to get things done in there than at my dorm.”

“Roommate problems?” he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“No, it’s not that. She and I are actually really close. We’ve been friends for years. That’s the problem. She’s very much a distraction.”

He nods understandingly. “I get it. I can never work at the house. The guys fuck around too much for me to get anything done.”

“You don’t live on campus?”

“Large black coffee. Regular vanilla latte,” the barista calls out and we both move forward to reach for our drinks. But Connor reaches for both and our fingers brush against each other when we touch my cold cup. It’s a struggle not to flinch against his touch.

“Um, I live just off campus. In the Omega Sigma frat house.”

“Oh, you’re in a frat,” I say, actually a little shocked. He didn’t give off the frat vibe. But then again, what do I know? We’ve only had a handful of conversations. In fact, this is the longest we’ve ever been together without being in class.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he chuckles, handing me a straw.

“No, I didn’t – sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m kidding,” he cuts me off and I’m oddly grateful for it. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d join one either. But it’s not too bad.” He clears his throat. “Hey, I know you said you were going to the library, but do you think we could sit for a minute?”

Well how can I say no when he just bought me coffee? “Sure.”

“The corner table good?”

I nod, “Yeah, perfect.”

He leads the way, sitting in the actual corner seat. I sit in front of him and stir my coffee a little with my straw. This should be weird, sitting with him like this when we’ve never been together like this before. But it’s oddly comfortable. Although, a part of me is still wondering why he even wants me to sit with him. I mean, it’s not like I’m a dazzling conversationalist.

We just sit in silence for a minute and I’m internally screaming as he takes the lid of his drink and just takes a sip of his plain, black, hot coffee. And he doesn’t even blink an eye. Who does that?!

“Do you have pla –”

“Brashier!” Someone calls from behind me and I try not to jump at the loud voice.

He forms a close-lipped smile and nods in the voice’s direction, “Sup, Craigen.”

“I need your notes for psych. I missed the first thirty minutes.”

“It’s a fifty minute class,” he points out.

“Yeah, that’s why I need your notes.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But then his attention is on me. “Shit, where are my manners. Hi, I’m Brian,” he extends his hand to me with a wide smile. “I’m Connor’s roommate and best friend.”

“Best friend is a little bit of a stretch,” Connor says.

I take Brian’s hand to shake and give a polite smile, “Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I take my hand back.

“Brash, did you invite her to the party?”

“Party?” I look back to Connor with a raised eyebrow.

He glares at Brian. “I was about to.”

Brian cowers back, holding up his hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you have a class you need to get to?” Connor asks, running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup.

Brian checks his watch. “Fuck, yeah I do. But seriously, Brash. Those notes?”

“They’re in the room. I’ll give them to you when I get back to the house.”

“You’re a fucking angel. I gotta run. It was nice meeting you, y/n. I hope to see you around soon.” He says before rushing off, not even giving me a chance to respond.

“He’s friendly.”

“He’s annoying,” Connor says back.

“So… a party?”

He sucks in a breath, “Yeah. The house is throwing this party on Friday. It’ll be really casual. Just a punch people looking to get drunk and destress since midterms are coming up. And it probably doesn’t sound that appealing when I say it like that, but it really will be fun. And I don’t really know if parties are your thing but I’d really enjoy it if you came.”

I nod. He’s right though, parties aren’t really my thing. I mean, I’ve been to a few, but I was never the type to go and get drunk. But maybe it would be a good idea – to destress, like he said. And I mean, if he’s gonna be there, I wouldn’t totally mind spending a little more time with him.

“So, would you like to come? It-s – it’s totally up to you, though. You don’t have to. You probably already have plans, so if you can’t, don’t worry about it. I just thought I’d ask.”

“I’d love to come,” I say finally, taking a sip of my drink.

“Really?” he clears his throat, “I mean, yeah. Cool. Um, if you want to give me your number, I can send you the address.”

“Okay.” I don’t tell him that he could just write it down for me, even though he absolutely could. He hands me his phone with a sheepish – if I’m reading him correctly – smile. I type in my name and number and hand it back to him. “I should, I should get to the library,” I say after another couple minutes of silence. “Wanna find a comfortable place to sit. I might be there for a while.”

He nods, “Yeah, no of course. I’m keeping you from your studies,” he stands. “Um, I could – I could walk you there, if you’d like? I parked close anyway.

He still wants to spend time with me? What is his deal? But then again, who am I to deny the company of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on? “Well… if you’re going the same way, I don’t see why not,” I say nonchalantly. Even though on the inside my stomach is doing backflips.

---

I’m brushing out my hair when my phone dings with a message.

Hey it’s Connor! :)

I smile to myself and finish brushing out my hair before texting him back, not wanting to seem too eager to talk to him.

Hi! I type back simply.

It doesn’t takes long to respond again.

I have the address for you.

Friday night comes faster than expected – and after another impromptu coffee “date” with Connor after lecture. And even though Connor said it was casual, and I know I could have stayed in my outfit from earlier. But I change at least three times.

“Okay, what do you think?” I ask my roommate.

“It’s cute. But I’ve also said that about the last two outfits were cute. So who’s the boy? Why are you getting so dressed up?”

“It’s not dressed up, is it? Should I change the cardigan?”

“No, I mean why have you changed so many times? Who is he?”

I sigh, “Okay. You know, Connor Brashier? He’s in my Tuesday/Thursday lecture. I’ve told you about him once or twice.”

“He’s friends with Shawn, right?”

I shrug, “I think so.”

She smiles, “He’s a cutie. Good choice. You planning on doing anything with him?”

“I’m just going to a party.”

“Yeah, to see him.”

“No. He just invited me. He said it would be a good way to destress.”

“But you like him.”

“Okay, I’m leaving now. I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Have fun, be safe. Call me if you need a ride back.”

---

I’ve barely been in the house for two minutes when I hear my name being called. “Y/n! You came!”

“Oh, Brian. Hey!”

“I’m so glad you could make it. Connor’s gonna be so excited to see you. Can I get you a drink?”

“Um, sure, yeah.”

“Follow me,” he holds his hand out for me and I take it, walking closely behind him. He’s in the middle of pouring my drink when Connor finds his way over to us.

“Hey, you came,” he says to me, placing his hand on the small of my back and I think my heart stopped beating for a moment.

“Yeah, I did,” I smile and turn to look at him. He’s wearing a black hoodie and olive green pants with a backwards baseball cap. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any more beautiful. But god he does. His eyes are greener today. I don’t know if it’s because of the pants or because of the awful lighting in the room, but they’re green and he looks so good. His hair flips out a little under his cap and it’s so fluffy. It looks like it would be so nice to run my fingers through. And I wonder what it feels like to do it. His face, it’s more open today. Softer, maybe. His freckles stick out a little bit more, especially one right by his nose and one on his cheek.

“You look pretty,” he compliments when I take my drink from Brian.

“Thank you,” I say, to both of them.

“I’ll leave you two alone, but I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Brian says, pushing just past Connor.

“It’s kind of loud in here, you want to head outside?”

I nod, “Sure!”

We make our way outside, it’s a little less loud, but there’s still a lot of people out here.

“Pretty good turnout, huh?”

“It’s actually kinda small compared to our usual parties.”

I stare, wide eyed at him. “You mean they get bigger?”

He takes a sip from his cup with a certain nod, “Oh yeah. Last month, we got the cops called because it got so big.”

I laugh, “I heard about that. My roommate was at that one, actually.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, she came for Shawn.”

He chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Shawn bring a lot of girls back?”

“I wouldn’t say he brings a lot back. But they definitely attach themselves to him. He plays music when the bar down the street does open mic night. Girls love musicians.”

“And what about you?”

“What? Do I love musicians?” he jokes and I can’t help but laugh.

“No,” I say back. “I mean, what do you do? What makes girls attach themselves to you?” Besides your gorgeous face and fluffy hair.

“Girls aren’t exactly beating down my door,” he says softly.

“Somehow I find that hard to believe. And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Okay,” he takes in a breath. “I do photography. Film, mostly.”

“What kind of film?”

“Anything. I started with skimboarding, and just progressed from there. Sometimes I film the parties – the guys just fucking around in the house. Compile it all together just for fun.”

“Can I see some of what you’ve done?” I ask, genuinely interested in this boy and his hobbies.

“Um… yeah.” He pats his pockets and curses. “Fuck, I left my phone in my room. Give me second?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, just… wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Now what is a pretty girl like you doing standing out here alone?” A voice says from my left where the door to the kitchen is. I startle a little before forcing a tight smile.

“Um, I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be right back.”

“Well, I’ll keep you company until he comes back. Does that sound okay?”

I want to say no because I don’t really like the way he’s looking me up and down. But I go against my better judgement and allow him to stay. “I guess that’s okay.”

“I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

“Pretty name,” he takes a swig of his beer, looking me up and down again before taking a step closer, to which I take a subtle step away.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Don’t really come to a lot of parties.”

“Well I assumed. I definitely would have remembered you if you had.”

I want to roll my eyes.

“Can I get you a drink?”

I hold my cup up for him to see. “Already got one, but thanks.” I look around the backyard at all the people talking and laughing and I hope Connor comes back soon. Because Tim’s just taken another step closer to me and I’m really not –

“Little close there, aren’t you, Tim?” Connor’s voice sounds from behind the tall guy and I feel myself let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Just making small talk, Brashier. No big deal.”

“Right,” Connor says, squeezing between us, his hand gently grazing my thigh as he pushes me behind him. My breath hitches but I don’t thing either of them notice. And if they do, they ignore it. “I think you should go find someone else to talk to.”

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make. That should be up to y/n. What, do you make her decisions for her? Because she’s her own person and she can make her own decisions.”

“I know she can. But I’m this close,” he pinches his fingers together, “to punching you for getting too close to my girl. So let’s make a good choice, Tim, because it’s not looking too good for you if you keep on the path you’re on.”

I try not to let it get to me that he just called me his girl. He’s doing it for Tim’s benefit, I tell myself. He’s just trying to get him off my back.

Tim laughs, like actually laughs. “God, Connor. It’s a party, man. You need to loosen up. Maybe y/n can help you with that. She looks like a screamer. Could be good for your ego,” he says earning a hard shove at his chest from Connor.

“Con, no. Stop,” I reach for his arm, and I know this is serious and I shouldn’t be thinking it, but… how his muscles feel really nice. Even when they’re covered by his thick hoodie.

“Yeah, Con, stop,” Tim mocks. “Listen to your little girlfriend.”

“Tim, fuck off. I swear to god, I will punch you.”

“You’re gonna risk getting kicked out of the frat for a stupid girl?”

“Watch it,” he warns, taking a step closer to Tim who has somehow stepped farther from this scene that’s developed. I yank on his arm, my chest pressed firmly against his back.

“Connor, calm down. It’s okay.”

He turns his head toward me, the bill of his cap barely missing my face. His jaw is clenched tight, but his eyes show nothing but compassion. “Do you want to get out of here?”

I nod, “Please.”

“Let’s go,” his hand is back around my waist as he leads me the opposite way of Tim. He rounds the corner and we leave out the side gate. Only once we’re far enough for the bass of the music to not shake the ground we’re walking on does he take his first full breath. I do too, relieved that he’s no longer heaving. “I’m sorry,” he says finally and stops walking, his hands in his jacket pocket. “For what happened back there. I just – Tim’s not a great guy. And I know, I know it’s not my place to tell you or anyone else who you can and can’t talk to, but just know that I was doing it to prot-”

I cut him off with a soft kiss on the cheek, and we’re both blushing when I pull away. “Thank you.”

He clears his throat and looks at the ground, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Oh, um… you’re welcome.”

I check the time on my phone, “Do you want to go somewhere?” I ask.

“Sure, where?”

“I don’t know. We could go get coffee at the diner downtown. They don’t close until one.”

He smiles despite the tense situation we were just in, and I smile back. “Is coffee gonna be our thing?”

I shrug, “That depends… do you want us to have a thing?”

He swallows and nods, fixing his cap on his head and pushing his hair behind his ears. And oh my goodness this man has the cutest ears. “I want us to have a lot of things… I mean, only if you want to, of course. I just – I don’t know, maybe we could hang out a little more. Preferably away from the frat house.” Away from Tim, he wants to say. “I want to get to know you. As more than just a classmate, or coffee companion.”

I can’t help but laugh as I take his hand, leading him in the way of my car. “I don’t know, coffee companion sounds like a pretty good gig.”

“What about a coffee date?” he asks with a smirk.

“Well… I think that sounds even better.”

***

I hope you enjoyed! Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

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* bold wouldn’t let me tag

** if you want to be added or removed from any list (permanent, Shawn, Connor,  We Were Us, or Not So Brash Brashier’s) just let me know

[outroshooky]

no halo | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (brief angst, fluff, smut) (exestolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader, bestfriend!min yoongi x reader

⇢ word count: 5.3k

⇢ audio: brockhampton’s ginger album

⇢ warnings: brief angst (it’s exes to lovers, what do you expect), a smoking mention, some varied cursing; implied and explicit smut (soft!! body worship). there’s a happy ending, i promise.

⇢ a/n: i sat down at my laptop today, turned on no halo by brockhampton, and started writing. six hours later, i cannot believe that i managed to smash a brutal writer’s block by churning this out in literally one day. i hope that this is a bit of bright light for you, dear reader, in a time where nothing seems to be going your way. you will make it through no matter how messy or uncertain life seems to be, and you will come out on the other side all the more stronger for having survived it. 

Believe it or not, it’s the pair of battered red Converse slung over his shoulder that tips the whole thing over the edge.

It’s inexplicable. Perhaps it’s the memories attached to it, knotted and strung through metal rivets scuffed with night rides and hard asphalt. Tastes like cigarette smoke and ashen dreams wafting from the driver’s side window, but there’s something more bitter there. Heartbreak veins, like you’d expect them to pulse with anything but. They say love doesn’t last when it’s not built on something solid, but somehow, heady summer nights and network love aren’t enough to pass the time.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with those?” It bites, thickened with venom. Somewhere far-off is a headboard banging, curses of those stupidly thin walls of the motel complex. 

“They’re mine,” Yoongi says. Which they are. Unfortunately. “I need them to like, go outside and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back.

“A ray of sunshine you are,” he remarks. “Any particular reason you feel like biting my head off in this shitty hotel room?”

The silence explains absolutely nothing. What he doesn’t know is that it’s not his fault. It’s right there in the middle of the dingy carpet, cracked and bleeding, privy to one and one alone. You’re too stubborn and he’s too good and here you find yourselves, locked at an impasse. He doesn’t know how good he is, how he’s patched your wounds up with wind in your hair and sand between your toes. He tries his best; it’s better than anything you would allow yourself, a luscious pleasure in such a stark world. So you settle for what you’ve got, and he shakes his head.

“You know you can come to me, right? About what’s on your mind?”

You finger the fraying tear in the bedspread, the cotton crumbling between your thumb and index.

“Look, I’m not good at this feelings thing and you know that. But you’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want to hear you out, okay? Whatever you’re thinking about. You’re not gonna hurt me; it’s not like I haven’t been through the ringer myself. You’re not so different, yeah?” Yoongi’s eyes search your own for acceptance. Defeat. Anything at all. “You’re not some kind of lost cause because one asshole in particular who shall not be named made you feel that way. Maybe it was two assholes. Whatever. Your worth isn’t dependent on their opinion of you.”

It feels like rambling but burns like an iron, sears through the darkness hovering over your consciousness, casting shadow. That thing twitches, bent and broken deep inside, staining down the bedsheets and spilling onto the beige carpet. He’s hit home, and Yoongi knows it when the defiance in your brow drains, floodwater evaporating against the creamy popcorn ceiling. He’ll forever hold that he doesn’t have a way with words; you’d kindly argue the opposite.

“I’m sorry, Yoon.” You look up at him for the first time since you’d woken up on opposite sides of the same bed. Something about childhood innocence preserves moments like those, in spite of years gone past since the last time you shared a bed like that. Nothing dirty about needing companionship in the form of a brother you’d had since you’d skipped stones down at the pond in grade school. He knows you intrinsically, like the scars that cross his knees and the freckles that dot his neck, no better and no less. “You deserve better than the way I’ve been treating you. Because you’re right, you know. But right now, it hurts.”

“Hurt doesn’t make you any less human. It’s a part of life. And it’s okay to hurt sometimes. Just don’t let it consume you till there’s nothing left.” He readjusts the shoes tied together by one string, sitting on the narrow angular of his shoulder. “Breakfast ends in an hour. I’ll grab you something and bring it back, and then we’ll figure out what to do next, yeah? I don’t have work till Tuesday, so we don’t have to be back for a few days more.” He pauses in the doorway. “Oh, and for the record, fuck Kim Taehyung. I’ll knock his teeth through his ass for the shit he put you through.”

The small smile you crack brings a toothy grin to his own visage. “Excellent advice.”

There’s a wry fondness dancing in the deep russet of his pupils, burning umber in the low light. “I try.”

Fuck Kim Taehyung. The exact advice you needed to hear, and the exact advice you decided to act upon, in exactly all of the wrong ways.

It’s the number that is stamped on your brain like a fifty-dollar tattoo— not necessarily the most tasteful, a pain in the ass to remove. Unfortunately, it is the tattoo that your thoughts like to trace with gentle fingers, rubbing at the lines, blurring the edges. Laser removal takes time and patience, but the contrary nestles in the form of stupid decisions and late-night mistakes. Like a dead battery on your Wrangler at 1am on the back streets, a useless cell phone, and three weeks of time to think.

Grief gave way to rage gave way to kindling coals of sadness, burning low but bright enough to light your way. Gone were your attempts to fan them back into the roaring bonfire those motel walls once contained, but here were your best efforts to cradle them close, nurture them that they might die out on their own, and most of them had. Moving on tasted ginger-sweet and minty-bitter, the chill in the air as the leaves tumbled and crunched underfoot, ignited with reds and yellows and everything in between. A summertime flame left for the autumn rain.

Pour the rain did, leaking rivulets down the windshield as you sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard. In times like these you’d call Yoongi, but he didn’t get off work till the morning and an impossibly timed dead zone did nothing to help your wireless suffering. Nighttime meant comfort for souls like yours, an escape into the quiet of dusk when everyone else sought the dreamy confines of sleep. Unfortunately, it meant that everyone else sought sleep while you were cursedly awake and stuck in the downpour. No place to go, no one to find.

You let your head fall forward and hit the steering wheel with a thunk. Fuck.

Knock knock.

It’s a glance to the left, out the driver’s side window that reveals a silhouette framed in darkness, wrapped in a thick coat, peering through the glass. Hand raised to brow and you can’t help the involuntarily yelp that leaves your mouth from the sheer proximity of the stranger. The figure flinches back in response, and you can’t help the immediate pang of worry. You can’t afford to miss a chance for help, but you also can’t roll down the window, and thus you’re opening the door and squinting into the rain as it blusters through the open gap. “Hello, I’m sorry, my cell phone isn’t working, is it possible for me to borrow yours so I could call somebody to pick me up?”

“Wait, what?” The stranger hunches slightly, peering through the watery onslaught. “Is that who I think it is?”

Oh god.

Oh god no.

The sheer absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you, not like the way relief is wrapping that thick timbre around yourself like a familiar blanket. The irony of your car happening to die only a few blocks away from that little blue two-story, the coincidences of such a familiar stranger going out for a stroll in the middle of a fucking rainstorm. Of course he had to.

“Unfortunately,” you can’t help but grimace. “Taehyung, what the fuck are you doing out here in weather like this?”

You can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It almost aches. “Are you saying this isn’t ideal weather to take a walk and enjoy the fresh air?”

“No,” you reply bluntly. Infuriatingly positive he is, always has been. “Ideal weather isn’t a fucking thunderstorm.”

“Mm.” The momentary quiet, save the rainfall, hints at what goes unsaid. “So what are you doing out here?”

You bristle. How to formulate a response that would not warrant help, but also warrant help? “I was out taking a late-night drive and stopped to take a break. I was getting drowsy and I prefer to be a responsible driver, so I pulled over to make sure I was awake enough to drive home.”

“What a considerate person you are!” Taehyung trills, and you’re almost positive it is completely unironic. “How are you feeling then? Do you think you’ll be able to drive home?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be fine.” A tight smile. Polite. It takes every ounce of will to not study him deeper, all of the curves and edges hidden snugly in the darkness. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s raining really hard as well; you won’t be able to see well even if you aren’t feeling drowsy.” There’s genuine concern in his tone, warmth bubbling from his throat like liquid sunshine. Maddening. But he’s right; he’s shining a bright light through the flimsy veil of your lies and you’re pinned. Even more maddening.

“Taehyung, it’s—” you clamp your mouth shut because in a slip of the tongue, you were that close to letting anger seep into your tone. That close to losing your stance as the better man, but the line of who exactly is the better man is smudged beyond sight in the downpour. You take a deep breath. Start again. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Lightning flashes, jolting the clouds and cleaving them in two. The very world could be coming down in tatters around him and Taehyung wouldn’t think twice about being his everyday self, annoyingly cheery and maddeningly gentlemanly. You swear you see a flash of teeth, a boxy smile despite the water dripping from his umbrella, striking the pavement with an irregular heartbeat. Not your own, of course. “Nonsense! We can’t have you left out here to soak like this. Come on, you can drive us home!”

Oh my god, he certainly has not disappeared quicker than the very implication left his mouth. He is not shaking his head like a dog shedding wetness, nor opening the passenger’s side and hopping in, pausing to fold his umbrella in the gap before pulling the door neatly shut. You are not seated in your dead Wrangler with your ex-boyfriend at one-thirty in the morning in the middle of the very heavens coming apart with a religious fervor.

Taehyung brushes his wet hair out of his face, dribbling water down his cheeks. For all of your expectations, he looks no different than when you saw him last, standing on the curb with all the world’s joys flickering in his pretty almond eyes. The shadows cast his profile in a gaunter light, sweeping down the hollows of his jawline, his cheekbones; your fingers tighten around the door handle. Apparently, three weeks might not change much after all.

“Oh sorry, did I rush you?” He opts to ignore your blank-eyed stare of shock, reaching out to you before pausing, his hand outstretched to touch you. “I didn’t mean to rush you if you’re not ready to drive yet. We can sit here as long as you’d like! There’s no rush for me to be home. I just wanted to get out of the rain; it was starting to soak through my umbrella!”

For all of this, you can manage a brief: “Yeah.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go!” The optimism in his voice is painful.

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah!”

“I lied.”

You don’t need to look at him to know the way his forehead will furrow. “What?”

“Gah!” You can’t help pinching your brow between two fingers. “I can’t fucking believe this—”

“Believe what?” Blinking doe-eyes, long lashes wet and thick in the dimness.

“Taehyung, my car battery died three blocks from your house and my cell phone isn’t working, and now I’m sitting here with my ex-boyfriend in the passenger’s seat and I have no fucking idea how I ended up here.” You sigh. “Do you not see the irony in this?”

He blatantly ignores the gesture towards the massive elephant basically perched on the center console. “No wonder your car is off! We’ll walk then.”

“Taehyung, please just make it easier for the both of us and l—”

It’s no use. Dear god. How you had ever put up with him, shared a bed with him is currently escaping you, but regardless of this, he is already out of the car as the words punctuate empty air. Weighing options is impossible when you have none to choose from.

“-use my phone to call somebody to pick you up!” The driver’s side door opens and he’s there, right there, not across the console or the bar or whatever. Right there. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

“Kim Taehyung, for god’s sake, I am your ex-girlfriend!” The exclamatory stops him in his tracks. Finally. “Why are you helping me?”

The rain pours rivulets down his black slicker, drenching his hair and bunching along his shoulders and running down his arms. And yet, he brushes the water from his brow with a swipe of his thumb, peers at you, sneakered feet planted firmly in the asphalt. He raises a finger to the sky, smiles— not a half-smile, lopey and lop-sided, but a true grin, squared and gummy and full of wonder. “Ideal weather.”

“Kim Taehyung, you are absolutely ridiculous—”

“Ideal!”

“So let me get this straight,” Yoongi grits as you sit across from him, your frame molded into the plush of his second-hand loveseat. “Your car died on the back streets, coincidentally three blocks from Kim Taehyung’s house, who is— just to double check— the asshole who shredded your relationship, and he happened to be out for a walk in the rain and stumbled across you in your car, and offered to take you back to his house and let you stay there till morning until you could get me to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“What the actual fuck.”

You gesture at him with your free hand, the other occupying a mug of steaming tea. “Join the club.”

“Just to double check, we’re talking about the same Kim Taehyung. The dude who you officially dated for a solid four months but fucked around with long before that. That guy, right? That Taehyung?”

You release a deep breath; the steam rising from your mug winds away. “Yes, it’s the same Kim Taehyung.”

Yoongi looks like he is about to spit nails. “I hope you took the chance to kick him in the balls.”

“Yoongi!”

“Just saying.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse, actually.” Your companion raises an eyebrow. “He gave me his umbrella when we walked back.”

“Ah yes, because giving you his umbrella once undoes six months of emotional damage—”

“Yoongi, chill. I did what I had to do—”

“Which is good, because survival skills are important.” He searches your face for any hint of something other than stoicism. Forgiveness, maybe. “And it doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

“I didn’t say it was,” you affirm. “But even if I don’t like him, I owe him credit where it’s due.”

Yoongi frowns. He knows not to push, but curiosity pecks his bones, nips his intuition. “For the third time— why didn’t you call me last night when you got back to his house?”

You sip at your tea. Flaxen sweet, mild on your tongue. “You were at work and I didn’t want to bother. Paying rent is more important than saving my sorry stranded ass.”

“You’re neglecting to mention the Kim Taehyung part.”

He rubs a fine nerve, one push too far. “Yoongi, what are you so worried about?” You sit up, place your mug on the fold-out table. “It’s not like I’m suddenly pining over him just because he happened to be there when I needed help. It’s not like I had any other options; I can handle myself. Taehyung and I broke up a month and a half ago; I’m not as… broken as I was before.”

It’s written on Yoongi’s face that he doesn’t like it, but protectiveness wins out over stubbornness. It always does when it comes to you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You soften. “I know.”

The tension drains from his hunched figure. “I know you can handle yourself when it comes to people like him. But I also know how hard you cried over him in a shitty motel all those weeks ago.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t want you to feel like that again because of someone. Fool me twice, you know? You deserve better than that.”

Your eyes flick to his. Steady, warm, weighing justice by the tawny flecks that glint in the raven black of his irises. “I do. And I don’t doubt that. It won’t happen again.”

His own mug clacks as it meets the wooden tabletop. “You know, you never told me what exactly happened between you two that ended it. Like, I know the rough idea, but not play-by-play. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but…” He trails off, leaving the gap.

“Ah.” A remark, neutral in sheen but bitter in taste. Like biting into the shell of a crisp apple, only to find that it’s not as sweet as once hoped it to be. “Sure.”

So Yoongi listens.

It’s strange how someone so vivid in nightmares, so seemingly real as the pen between your fingers or the breath in your lungs, can fade away so quickly by daybreak. Before you ran into Taehyung again (for better or for worse? For worse), he loomed as some larger-than-life figure in the back of your consciousness, spewing traumas and terrors like a river gully. But there he was in the passenger’s seat, no larger or smaller than before. Just Taehyung. Terrifying in premise, in rationality, on the contrary.

With that in mind, it was hard to not wonder if you had, perhaps, not given him credit where it was due. The Taehyung you met in the pouring rain was the same Taehyung whose hair you brushed sand from and temple you kissed and sides you pinched to get him to squeak when he laughed. Memories you tried to stuff away, filter through a new lens with every flicker in your mind, like a crackling film reel. But there he was, and here you were, and you weren’t quite sure who you were running from anymore.

Is it easy to run from someone who your lips know the taste of, fingers know the feel of? Is it easier to run from yourself when you strip away the miscommunications, aches and pains?

Yoongi knew the full story now. Terrifying to admit your fault, any measure of it, because you never liked to show him what being broken looked like. Some measure of personal freedom exercised, but with the wrong heart in mind, because he would never judge anything you had to say and instead, simply listen. He was always an older soul than you ever tried to be and he knew it, rugged wisdom at its finest. But ultimately, he only knew what he was told or taught, and there you were, spilling the unmangled truth to him on a Wednesday morning over two cups of chamomile tea. 

Coming to grasp with imperfections is part of the cursed struggle of being human, of embracing those little nicks and dashes that make us who we are. It does not mean we are loved any less, but loved because of them; none of us are angels. These messes are our measures, our faults and our pleasures. How terrifying it all is, being ourselves. Being raw and vulnerable and attacking those thoughts that weigh heavy on our consciousness, day after day.

And it is easy to wonder if you matter through all of this, through the chaos of that inner dialogue. It’s moments like these that put those perspectives into frame, click them like camera shutters pausing time to breathe and think. To look at the white-framed ink is to rewrite tangibility, printed blurry on those transparent rolls. Nothing is so unforgettable when it is angled just so.

In the evening, in the comforts of your apartment, you uncork a Polaroid from where it is hidden behind some cheery optimistic phrase you stole off of tumblr. Bullshit for the purpose it serves, painfully ironic for the task it demands. A picture of a boy with cherry-red hair and a boxy grin on his face, arms wrapped around you with all of the comforts and ease of home. There’s mirth in your eyes, sheer joy and laughter. No alcohol involved, just two people who found it easy to slip into each other’s company just-so. A jasper gem for you, polished to perfection and printed right underneath your fingertips.

Anxiety clenches at the base of your jaw, massages your throat with the cruelest intentions. You swallow it back.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Crackles to life.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Taehyung?”

His voice melts through the receiver like buttery chocolate, smooth and warm. “You still have my phone number! Hello! I thought I’d never hear from you.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?” You blink in confusion, then shake your head. “Never mind.”

“I thought I’d never hear from you. That guy who picked you up didn’t seem to say much, but I figured you’d call eventually to say that you made it home safe. So I guess you did! And I’m glad.” You can hear Taehyung smiling through the phone, easy inflections of speech.

“Yeah.” You fidget, playing with the edge of your sleeve. Now or never. “Taehyung, I owe you an apology.”

This is the first time he falters, hints at something deeper. “What for?”

You take a deep breath. “You were kind to me. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time, so I was a complete asshole to you. And I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was the least I could do! Nobody deserves to be stuck in the pouring rain—”

“I’m not talking about the rainstorm.”

He stutters. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Taehyung.”

He’s quiet. It is terrifying.

“Taehyung, both of us know what I mean.”

You momentarily wonder if the line has gone dead. Perhaps it has. A saving grace, and then that deep timbre crackles to life on the other side. You nearly miss what he says.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers.

“You were kind to me,” you stutter. “Kind to me; so, so kind. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was w-when you gave it to me. And I was a complete asshole to you. I’m sorry.” You wait for something, anything, but he gives no intention, and you continue. “Taehyung, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was so terrified that I stuffed it away into some far-off corner and tried to pretend that it wasn’t happening. I turned so much outward onto you that you didn’t deserve because I didn’t know how to be good enough for someone like you. I took you for granted, Taehyung, the exact opposite of everything I should have done. You glow like the literal fucking sun, and I’m a little cloud drifting through the sky. I should’ve let you shine through me, but instead, I just blocked you out. And I’m sorry,” you confess, the tension in your shoulders collapsing. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time in weeks you wish you could see him in front of you, gauge his reactions like barometric pressure, but instead he’s across town and you are here, feeling ever-so-small in spite of yourself. It was easy to read what he was thinking, painted across his face in swaths of joy and sadness and everything in between, but here, he gave away nothing. 

Please say something, Taehyung. Please say anything.

“Ideal weather,” he murmurs.

“W-What?”

“A sun without clouds in the sky shines blindingly. Clouds temper all that light; certainly we don’t need all of it.” It sounds so cheesy, some Shakespearean verse he quotes from off the top of his head, but it is the closest thing he’ll phrase to acceptance, and you swallow down a relieved sob. He calls you by name then, lets it ring warm and sweet, the way he used to say it. With life, energy, everything it lacked simply because it rang from all the wrong mouths till then. “Everything happens for a reason. You did the best you could. It just didn’t work out at the time.”

“Taehyung, it’s okay to blame me. It’s okay to say that I was the one who fucked it all up, not you. For god’s sakes, you never did anything wrong. It was always my insecurity, my mistakes—”

“You’re only human. You did the best that you could, just as I did. Who could blame you for that?” Taehyung’s words seep heat into your bones, calm your trembling fingers. “I couldn’t. Nobody could. I certainly don’t think any less of you for it. None of us are angels; we did our best with what we had. And that’s alright.”

You can’t help but laugh, dry, monosyllabic. “You handled this so much remarkably better than I did, god.”

He’s breathy with amusement. “It took a little while.”

“I could imagine.”

He hums. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

Your index finger finds the edges of the instant photo. His smile catches in the light of your desk lap. “There’s another reason I called.”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, no.” You trace his shoulders, the planes of his chest. “I just wanted to say. I have a Polaroid of us from July, from that bonfire that Jeongguk had with like fifty people down at the beach. I kept it, selfishly. It’s been pinned up on my bulletin board behind another piece of paper. But I took it out today. And I think I might pin it up in front now.”

“Oh, the cherry red hair.” The fondness seeps through the receiver. “I loved that night.”

“Me too,” you admit. A beat of silence. “Goodnight, Taehyung. Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re hanging up already?”

“What?” You nearly sputter.

“I haven’t gotten to talk about the Polaroids I kept, too.”

There are two ways to fundamentally seduce Kim Taehyung: make his coffee exactly how he likes it, or play with his hair while he’s lying on your chest. Both of which you achieved, and both of which led to your current predicament.

But we’ll rewind a bit.

That phone call, the first of many, lasted into the early hours of the morning, that sacred time that you both hold dear. It tasted like nostalgia and fondness, feelings you corked and bottled out of fear of what might lie on the other side. But in this case, the other side was a friend and more, a living history book for all of the cracks in between. And he simply adored filling them in.

That lazy afternoon where you planned on having a date at the park, but it had poured rain nearly as intense as the day you reconnected with him. You danced in between the raindrops instead, bare feet on the gravely asphalt, wishing you could touch heaven and so you kissed the boy whose cheeks were between your palms. The spontaneous road trip you took to the next big city over, five hours away, simply because for the first time in so long, you had nowhere to be but with each other. Hands held between library shelves, firelight’s glow on faces untouched. Sharing a tuft of blue cotton candy with sticky fingers, talking about everything and nothing under the moonlit, cloudless sky. For every instant photo saved were memories tenfold that he plucked from that mind of his like stars placed in the breadth of the cosmos.

One phone call became two, became four. Became texting over a break at work, FaceTiming over dinner. Became meeting each other for a late breakfast, studying at the cafe for an early afternoon cup of espresso. Depth and understanding, and Taehyung is slotting into your life without a second thought, as easily as you’re slipping into his. You let him this time, so much smoother than before. You want him to.

Neither of you can deny what it is happening, but neither of you can find a complaint to lodge. So when he asks you out, fingers entwined over the metal arm of the park bench, a bouquet of sunflowers tucked next to you, he already knows what your answer will be.

Indeed, there are two fundamental ways to seduce Kim Taehyung, and as a master of both of them, it is only a matter of time before you find yourselves at the foot of your bed; he pulls you closer to press his lips to your own. He tastes like cappuccino and chocolate and you’re humming into the kiss, shuddering underneath him. He still knows your body, every divet, every edge. He never stopped loving it— never stopped loving you.

He worships the way he loves— selflessly, giving every ounce of himself without abandon or question. When he eases himself between your thighs, the look in his eyes is nothing short of sinful adoration, seeking out every secret to your pleasure. It’s ingrained in his memory, the way you gasp or grab his hair when his fingers dance along your skin; he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. It is worth every wince as your digits tug at his scalp; he swallows down everything you give him and begs for more, more, more.

And likewise you lavish him, devoting minutes to dot his heaving ribs with kisses, stroking comforting palms down his sinewy thighs. Taehyung is every work of art you have wanted to see in a museum, living, breathing, merely mortal but so much more. So vibrant, so raw.

And afterwards you lie together, unable to tell where he begins and you end. Breathing in the heat, piecing each other together in the silent din. Clothes are tossed about the room; you can’t find it in you to care. You turn to him, caress his cheek, run a thumb over his lips. “Stay here tonight. Please.”

He smiles and your thumb brushes his teeth, boxy and exposed through the gap of his grin. “Was the overnight bag not enough?”

“How did I not notice you packed an overnight bag?” You sit up, wrapping the blankets around your torso, scanning the room to spot his duffel.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, wraps himself around you like a human koala. “I’m very good at being sneaky.”

“Mm, I noticed.” There it is, against your dresser. Your heart swells, fit to burst.

“Come to bed,” Taehyung hums, gritty, a little seductive. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think it’s meant to. Your fingers find his own and knit together over his knuckles.

“I’m right here, sunshine.”

He kisses behind your ear, the gentlest of intentions. “I love you,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”

You squeeze over his hand. Everything left unsaid, in the space of a breath. Two. “I love you too,” you whisper. “And I will always be here, loving you, with everything I could possibly give you. Every ounce of my heart. I love you.” 

He squeezes back, wraps the blanket around your frame, tucks you in tight. He kisses your shoulder with lips of silk, and you roll on your side to get comfortable, his arm draped over your waist. 

Against the far wall, propped up on his duffel, lies a pair of Converse sneakers, as scuffed and beaten as they were saturated with rain, on the day you fell in love with Kim Taehyung all over again.

[jj-lynn21]

The Calling ch 1

Notes/warnings: Bill Skarsgard, Robert, Pattinson, Sebastian Stan Tom Holland and x-reader. This is another story about being an extra. No warnings in this chapter.

ch 2, ch 3 ch 4

An untitled movie was getting ready to film near you. You weren’t even sure who was in it, but rumor had it the movie Starred Bill Skarsgard, Robert Pattinson, Sebastian Stan and Tom Holland. You couldn’t believe they would be able to afford to make a movie with all these men, so you didn’t buy into the hype.  

You kept track of the local casting call website just to maybe be an extra for a little extra cash. Lucky enough that you worked from home so if you got a part as an extra or something you could drop everything and be wherever they needed you to be at a moments notice. It was fun the last few times you did it. The pay was nice to. As you scrolled through the feed of productions you saw it. The movie everyone was talking about was casting extras.

When you read through the criteria it said they were looking for people that fit your description but nothing about what you would be doing. You knew that was common. If you were chosen, they would email you more information. All you had to do is send two to three pictures of yourself, preferably in clothing similar to the 1940-1960 style; and a short bio about yourself if you had any experience but you didn’t need to have any experience for the roles.  

You pulled your 50s dress you used to go as Sandy from grease at Halloween and leave your hair down with some curl to it for the first picture you take using your mini tripod for your cellphone. You take a head shot with that look also. Then throw together a rosy the riveter looking out fit complete with a little dirt from outside on your face. You email the pictures and a sort resume mentioning your other work and how you enjoyed it all so much. Next you play the waiting game. Its Tuesday morning and the deadline to hear back is between Friday and Saturday.

You go on with your normal week as per usually. Part of you holding your breath for some little acknowledgment from casting. Finally, Friday rolls around and you scour your email for that one special confirmation but there is nothing. Groceries, cleaning and a nice long shower to wash the day off of you. Reading a book always relaxes you before bed. You yawn after reading for several hours and decide to call it a night. Grabbing your phone for the nightly one more check if there is anything from friends or family in your email, you come across the confirmation from casting.

Congratulation (YN), you will be an extra Monday- Friday of next week for Unnamed Project filming here for the next four months. There will be lots of opportunities for local actor. For now, please sign the attached disclosure form and send it back to us promptly. We will send out another email with what you need to wear and/or bring.

You opened the attached disclosure:

1.       There will be no cellphone while shooting. They must be left in holding. If you are seen with a cellphone you will be dismissed. And we will not be hiring you again.

2.       No talking to the main actors. They are working. They are preparing. They are not there to sign autograph or pose for selfies even if you see them off set.

3.       Follow directions. a P.A. will help you with any questions. Michel from casting will also be in holding to answer any questions.

4.       You will be in holding until a P.A. comes to take you to set and tell you what you will be doing. Please ask questions if you are unsure what to do.

5.       And while onset always be quiet. Filming is happening even if you are not in the scene.

Congratulations again. We look forward to working with you.

Terry Wilson Casting

You sign the disclosure and send it back. You are so excited but can’t tell a soul. That’s the downside of working on a movie that won’t be out for months, you can’t say anything. The only thing you can say is that you are working on something. And you have had a great time.

Saturday before noon you get another email from casting. Please reply if you will be 100% available Monday-Friday. You reply you will be there. In this email is the address of where you will park. Then you follow the yellow signs to holding. You need to bring three outfits, which is the norm for an extra. No hair and make-up tent for you unless the make-up person freshens you up a few seconds before the director yells action which did happen once. 

It was so funny when she ran over to you and one of the other extras you were working with to shine and fluff your hair and put some powder on your face. She said how pretty you looked before running off again. It made you laugh really. That laughing face kept up through the fifteen takes of you walking in the background as the main actors said their lines in various ways. You thought it was fun but other extras were not amused at how long it took to film what seemed like a short scene that might not even make it into the movie.

You loved it all. Sitting in holding making friends with other extras. Some of them with hopes of being main actors someday. You loved going to sets even if they didn’t use you, but you got to watch things being filmed. The equipment was fascinating. There were always snacks on set and a big lunch. From burritos to crab legs your last shoot’s food was way more than you expected. This shoot was going to be awesome too. You just knew it.

You get together three outfits as you look at picture examples they sent you with your email. The two outfits from the photos you sent them would do. Plus, you packed a pencil skirt with a button up sweater that looked like one of the pictures. All muted colors. You decide you will wear the dress to set Monday morning for your six in the morning call time.

Your alarm goes off at 4 am. Normally this would feel like some kind of torture. You would hardly ever think of getting up this early. But not this morning. This morning you were excited to be getting up so early. So, many possibilities. You knew you had to hold back your excitement as much as possible. You read an article about getting caste in films and found out the more excited you seemed the less likely they would choose you to be in more than one scene for the day.

You did your make-up and hair. Put on the dress and flat shoes you chose. Made coffee of course. And was out the door in less than an hour which gave you plenty of time to get to holding. You showered the night before to save time. 

You found parking easily with the bright yellow signs that shined in the darkness. A shuttle picked you and about a dozen others up at parking to take you to holding in an unused build in downtown. Even though you knew the city well, you were not familiar with the rundown area.

Oh, awesome, you thought when you saw the breakfast truck on your way in the building. One everyone was settled in the room and the crew had their breakfast. Then you were told to go ahead out to the truck to grab what you wanted. Sausage, eggs, cheese and potatoes were offered in a bowl or burrito. The burrito you ordered was delicious. Juice, milk, water, pop and coffee were set up back in holding with a table of various snacks. A lot of people you worked with before were there, so you sat with them discussing absolutely nothing of importance. But you all laughed at each other’s jokes.

A lot of them had been doing this for years. One guy said he has been in extra for 20 years. How did you never hear of this sort of work before being available to you? Most of them worked in the surrounding states also. They were willing to drive up to five hours a day to work or stay the night at a hotel if needed. Still this is not work that 100% pays the bills. Averaging $10 an hour in your area. Plus, up to a $50 bump if you have a car they need. One guy claimed in another state they paid him $100 an hour. But that was only one movie he ever did which paid that amount.

After a few hours a P.A. walks in and looks around the room. He chats with the person from casting for a minute. Then he addresses the room. “The director needs a few of you to walk on the sidewalk and sit in a café. They have sent me to get who they chose.” He looks around the room again and then starts pointing. “You, you and…” You take a deep breath and let it out slowly and he chooses you. “And you. Come with me.”

You get up and smile. One of your acting buddies at the table said, “Have fun. Make the most of it.” And you plan to.

[celestialholz]

The continuum is not entirely sure, what to think about this relationship until one of them, probably Amanda , points out how much the overall chaos and tormenting in the universe (caused by Q) has decreased since the beginning of the relationship. The Continuum therefore had to begrudgingly classify Picard as a positive influence.

Ah bloody hell, my apologies for taking forever with this, mon anon - I think we all know I’m fairly useless by now, right? Hope this makes up for it! ^_^

Got any fun, fluffy or just Soft™ headcanons you’d like as fics for our positivity event, friends? My inbox is open!

So, then, one Q comments to another one particularly droll morning, searching the universal airwaves for worthwhile gossip, Q’s sleeping with a mortal.

Her sister opens a single, disinterested eye from the depths of her silk hammock, drawn from her own idle contemplation of time and space via the magenta sky high above; contemplation, naturally, that requires nothing in the way of vision.

He was always was weird, she replies carelessly. 

Seriously though, their brother chimes in from an adjacent sun lounger, shades draped over each set of six eyes, that is a level above your standard ‘weird’, Q.

Well, if anyone was going to -

Oh, it’d have to be him, of course, fussily adds another sister several linear fathoms hence, telepathy perking up from her contrivance of the cosmos’ most fiendish crossword. He was only telling me several centuries ago what an absolute abomination mortal dalliances are, the hypocrite!

He never wasn’t, pipes up yet another brother, riveted by the idea of moving a Iota quadrant sun six inches to the left. What in the universe’s name is supposed to be so fascinating about this human?

… Well, Frenchmen are supposed to be ‘sexy’, apparently -

You’re kidding, right? Chip in two siblings simultaneously, air hockey with a flattened asteroid in full swing, table kilometres wide. Have you seen that guy?

And why in creation would he want to sleep with him anyway?! It’s disgusting!

Eurgh, can you imagine? An elder adds with notable distaste, mid-domino tower of the Great Isleppan Cathedral; knocking it down is going to be spectacular, he knows. It’ll fall as comprehensively as the hopes and dreams of their third empire. All those liquids - 

Good galaxies, stop! His sister shrieks. We can’t allow this, it’s unnatural -

Mm, not to mention messy, Crossword concurs. Imagine when he dies, what an absolute hassle it’s going to be -

Oh, he’s a wild child at the best of times - we ought to bring this before the council, really, Star-Shifter agrees pompously. 

Probably best we just execute this human now, be done with it -

ENOUGH! 

They all start at the bellow that ripples through the very fabric of the Continuum, red fracturing the stagnant air for a split second. They pause, finally curious for the first time in millennia, awaiting the follow-up with bated breath none of them require.

A question for you all, the Q formerly known as Amanda Rogers begins coldly, when was the last time Q proved a nuisance?

Last Tuesday, Six-Eyes replies immediately, petulant.

I don’t think beating you four times in a row at Tamarian chess really counts, she snaps back. Anyone else?

Collective thought bubbles away for a moment, all of them trying to grasp answers from any available form of cosmic ether.

… It has been a while, Dominoes admits darkly.

Seventeen months and a day, to be exact, Air Hockey One mutters.

And the last time we divined anyone being notably annoyed at him? Amanda prompts.

About the same, Air Hockey Two says bitterly.

… Perhaps it’s best we leave them be, Crossword proposes. If I have to deal with that idiot misplacing one more damned asteroid belt -

Oh, that was me! Calls another Q, new to the discussion, blonde hair fopping in a sea breeze further down a unreal coastline as he puts the finishing touches to a to-scale sand tank with a dry sigh. 

Idiot, Crossword spits at him, returning her attention to three thousand and seventy-eight across in palpable disinterest. Forget it, folks. More trouble than it’s worth.

I was enjoying that, dammit, Air Hockey One laments to his sister. Round five hundred and sixteen, then?

The Continuum falls quickly back into a comfortable, non-gossipy lull, and Amanda’s irritated attention snaps to her companion, who holds up half-hearted hands in careless defence.

“I was right behind you,” Junior assures sarcastically, and she throws stardust at him in petty retaliation. “Hey!”

“Just don’t tell him, okay?”

———

“Q,” Picard insists, “are you alright?”

The god’s focus snaps back to the correct realm, lips pursed at the Continuum’s comparative silence.

“Mm,” he mutters, grin in full force as he’s passed a glass of the Picard family wine. “Apologies, darling - Kinetic Gardens of Utirion, allons-y!”

The captain takes a seat beside him, eyes creased by concern.

“You’re welcome to discuss it, mon dieu, here or there.”

Q reaches forward, clasps a hand tenderly, burns delightfully in the depth of granite resolve that shines at him.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, dearest,” he promises softly. “I’m certainly not going to. Ready?”

Picard smiles quietly, somewhat mollified, excitement barely contained. “Permanently.”

He snaps, beaming; it’s a dreadful evening to be remotely worried when there’s a triple sunset beside the human he loves to enjoy, a fine vintage, and croissants - oh, so many croissants.

… He’ll find out their secrets though, later. They can all count on it.

[jancmalandra]

Moominpapa Steps Up

On choosing your family

Moominpapa had easily won the cooperation of his family while Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My were away by leading the way. All the best parts of his personality shone forth as he worked to make up for the aggravation he had caused his wife and family. He worked harder than any of them to feed his family and maintain Moominhouse and Moominmama's garden over the week before she and her companions returned. It really helped that the joy he found in his family and his calling as a storyteller had fully returned and was highly infectious.

On Monday of that week, after they had finished tending Moominmama's garden and enjoyed Moominpapa's roasted vegetables for dinner, Moominpapa continued the story of his time in New York City as promised. They all gathered in the parlor and got comfortable. Moominpapa was thoroughly delighted in being the center of attention.

"As I and the Hattifatteners made land, I saw the lights of the huge skyscrapers of the city stretched out before me and was awestruck.", he began, "I'm surprised that I had the presence of mind to hide my sailboat carefully before I followed the Hattifatteners into the city. What I hadn't realized was that the Hattifatteners' arrival had put the Hemulen Police of the city on high alert. They had put the entire city on lockdown and cleared the streets of all civilians for their own safety."

"The Hattifatteners made their way toward the Empire State Building and climbed to very top, as the spire there is literally a lightening rod. The tremendous thunderstorm that the Hattifatteners and I had followed to Manhattan caused numerous lightening strikes to the skyscraper, and the Hattifatteners absorbed all the electricity they needed and then headed back to their boats. I and the Hemulen Police watched the spectacle in awe, but after the Hattifatteners left I found myself surrounded by the police. They were less than pleased with my presence and immediately arrested me!"

"Once the Hemulen Police discovered that I had no identification papers of any kind and had arrived in Manhattan without going through official immigration procedures, they were ready to deport me as soon as possible! That might well have been the end of my adventures in America if it hadn't been for my Aunt Jane!"

This dramatic turn in Moominpapa's story had exactly the effect on his audience that he had hoped. They were even more riveted on his tale than before.

"I know that you all have often wondered how I could have been an orphan and be fully acquainted with my parents and their family at the same time.", continued Moominpapa after pausing for effect, "Well, here is where I tell you how I met them. You all know how formidable Aunt Jane was from my story of how she tried to force her fortune upon me against my will. She was even more formidable at the time I first met her in Manhattan! She was fully aware of every event of any significance going on in the city and as my deportation case moved through the court system, she appeared in court and insisted that she would take custody of me and sponsor me in America. She had my birth certificate and every other official proof she needed to show that I was, in fact, her nephew. Before I could take any of this in properly, she whisked me away to her luxurious townhouse in the heart of the city and I found myself officially adopted by my own family."

"There I met my parents for the first time. It would seem to make more sense for me to have been very angry at them for abandoning me at the Moomin Foundling Home as a baby, but I wouldn't have found such a wonderful family as the crew of the Oshun Oxtra and the inhabitants of my colony or had such an enviable life of adventure if I hadn't been left there. I was too curious about their lives and the world of the big city to be angry with them."

"Their names were Cedric and Emily and they were not quite what I was hoping for in any case. They were very typical of most Moomins; they were preoccupied with being respectable and living stable lives. There was just a trace of adventurousness in Emily, however. I had been born in the first year of their marriage. Aunt Jane had made it clear to them when they got married that any children they had were to be put under her supervision, so that they would receive the strictest upbringing possible. Somehow, Emily managed to hide her pregnancy from both her and her husband and left me at the orphanage immediately after I was born to give me the best possible chance at a life of my own. She told me secretly that she was quite pleased that her gamble had paid off beyond her wildest dreams when I had told her the whole story of how I had grown up."

"Cedric was quite another matter altogether. He was stuffy, dull, unimaginative, and very obsessed with propriety. The only thing I ever got from him that appealed to me was my first top hat.", Moominpapa said, pointing to the hat on his head, "Aunt Jane was the head of the family because of more than her forceful personality. She had taken the family clothier business, which they had started in Moominland, and transplanted it to America to even greater success not long after I had been born."

"Aunt Jane was very determined to make up for what she considered to be lost time by teaching me the family business and passing it on to me whether I wanted it or not. I was equally determined to learn about the real New York City on my own terms. The next four years of my life were a continual battle of the wills between the two of us. Tomorrow night, I will tell you the story of Aunt Jane's side of things. I hate to admit it now, but exploring her world was an adventure that I wouldn't have missed either."

Everyone in Moominhouse went to bed that night filled with anticipation for Tuesday night's story session.

To Be Continued

[lazyxlazer]

Shit Church Experiences Pt. 1

As the pandemic continues, I’ve been thinking more and more about shit that I never had time to think about before. It weighs on my mind as I try to sleep every night, and since I process by writing things out, I decided this would probably be a good first step at getting it the fuck out of my head. Nothing has affected me quite as much as my church experience. None of my current friends went regularly as a child, so I’ve become the go to for Bible related questions. Unfortunately for them, I’ve blocked a lot out from my memory as far as Bible memorization goes. A lot of the other shit persists.

I had never heard of church until I was probably 8 or 9. My aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in an apartment complex in my hometown, so I was over there frequently being watched by my aunt and uncle. I remember one day being asked if I would like to go on the “church bus” and go to Sunday School with my cousin. She was probably around 5 and my aunt was putting her on this “church bus” alone to go to some unknown church. Mind you, this wasn’t a traditional bus but a large 14-seater van. Don’t worry, it had windows! I’m not sure if I was supposed to keep my cousin company or if my cousin was just encouraged to bring me along.

The church was about five or so miles away from the apartment complex and sat on a mostly empty highway. It was surrounded by lots of trees and the road with the entrance to the church was kind of treacherous. Since there was not much else around, people driving on the highway weren’t very good at paying attention to cars slowing down to turn into the church. When I first started going, it was large but pretty modest inside. It had red brick walls and a tall white steeple. The inside had a cafe and an area for kids. Sunday school rooms were upstairs. The sanctuary was covered in thick maroon carpet. I should have taken it as a subdued warning; everything in that place was a shade of red. A few years later they would build a brand new, extremely massive sanctuary and a school onto the side of the old church building. The adults had church in the new sanctuary and the kids used the old building.

I don’t remember what that first time was like, but after that, I was in love with going to church. We sang songs and danced around, they gave us SNACKS, we played fun games, and the best part was that I was being told how good of a child I was for going to church. 

The church bus started coming to pick me up at my own home every Sunday. I took my mom with me one time. Then the next time my dad came. After that, we went to church every Sunday without fail. This comes back to haunt me to this day. If I hadn’t gotten on that stupid bus, I never would have gone through all of the pain and suffering that it caused later down the line.

Even though my parents were church regulars, I still rode the church bus. I got to hang out with kids, sing songs, and goof around without my friends. Also, if we brought friends, then we were rewarded. Whoever brought the most friends on the church bus at the end of the month got to go out to lunch with the bus driver, Jake. What a reward, huh? He took us to Wendy’s for burgers, fries, and a frosty. I won that prize SEVERAL times.

The thing about me is that I’m very motivated by praise from authority figures. I’m also very motivated by food. Naturally, church was a dangerous environment for a person like me. There’s always food, and there are plenty of people that have authority and use it to the fullest extent. It wasn’t even hard to look up to them because everyone was always so kind, or pretended to be. 

In Sunday school and in kid’s church, which they called “Adventure Land,” I was very subservient. I memorized all of my Bible verses, I did my daily devotional, I prayed. I wanted to be the best, and I wanted God to love me the most. I thought that if I showed them and God how good I was then I wouldn’t end up in the scary, fiery place called Hell. I had to prove I was good enough to be in heaven. I also wanted to prove to everyone else that I had worth and was meant to be there.

I was quickly pulled into the church “family” and my parents were too now that I spent every Sunday and Wednesday at the church. My dad joined the church choir and band. He played the saxophone, and he loves nothing more than to sing his heart out. My mom cleaned the church every Tuesday. I would usually go with her then, too, to help clean. When I got a little older, I got roped into doing puppet shows and teaching kids how to do the dance moves for the songs. The adults trusted me to help teach others what to do, so I felt the worth I wanted so badly. I knew all of the words and motions to all of the songs! I raised my hands and swayed to the music. I closed my eyes and pretended to feel the Lord’s presence. I knew how to do this stuff. Therefore, I was perfect for indoctrinating younger children!

I don’t recall a lot of the time I spent “witnessing” to other children, but I have a strong memory of something I did for Vacation Bible School (VBS). In the summer, there was a weeklong camp that parents sent their kids to so we could learn all about Jesus and be entertained so parents could have a break from their kids. I went up on stage with two adults in front of the entire congregation and sang a song and danced as a preview for that year’s VBS called Amazon Outfitters. I still remember the song. Now, I see how racist and fucked up it is. It went:

Amazon Outfitters,

We’re on a mission for the one true God.

We cannot be quitters, 

We’re on a mission and we will not stop.

Amazon Outfitters, 

We’re giving everything that we’ve got 

To help others discover

The wonders of the one true God.

And at the end of that verse you made a guttural “HUH!” noise like Edwin Starr in his song “War” because that’s exactly what that song needed. The song is poorly written, but at least it has the imperialistic undertones! Colonization, anyone?

So yeah, a person who is now painfully introverted went up on stage to advertise to parents and their children how they could be cool, just like me, if they went to VBS. Where was my shame? I desperately needed it then, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was important.

I was also a perfect candidate for indoctrinating others because of  how “inspiring” my story was to others, at least according to the adults. I came to church for the first time WITHOUT MY PARENTS and CHOSE to keep coming back. Heck, I BROUGHT THEM WITH ME!! I was the pride and joy of several Sunday School teachers and youth pastors. I was also “saved” before my parents were, so it was because of me that they got saved too.

It’s an absolutely riveting story, let me tell you. One of the church members was an actual cowboy. He had a farm, he owned horses, he had a cowboy hat, he had a handlebar mustache, the dude had it all. On a very special day of church, he brought one of his horses with him to show all of the children. While he talked to us about Jesus, I was enraptured by that horse. I’m not really into horses, although maybe I could have been in another life, but at that moment, nothing was more important to me than touching that horse. He had rich brown hair and a diamond shaped white spot on his nose. Luckily, if we decided that we wanted to ask God to forgive our sins and to follow him no matter what on that very day, we were allowed to come and TOUCH THE HORSE!!!! Like fuck was I passing up that opportunity! I was the first kid to stomp my happy ass up to that horse. I touched it and asked God to forgive me of my sins without a second thought.

I was informed soon after that I would have to get baptized, you know, because we have to wash away our sins in a chlorinated pool before it’s official. I did that without question. It was on a day in April in the old church building. It was still cold outside, enough to wear a jacket. I’m pretty sure I wore a dress that was white and lacy. You wouldn’t catch my gay ass in something like that now-a-days, which is why I bring it up. Upon arrival at the church, we were told that the heater in the baptismal wasn’t working, but it would be okay to go ahead with the baptisms. 

It was not okay.

That water was so cold, that everyone that got baptised that day was a shivering mess for the rest of the service. My legs turned purple. I will NEVER forget how cold I was and how foreign my legs looked on my body. I also recall keeping my eyes open when the pastor dunked me into that water.The pastor laughed at me and told me I was weird. Then, later in the day, my parents threw a little party for me where everyone brought me gifts for being baptized. It made me feel proud and WORTHY.

I give myself a lot of shit for following so blindly, for not questioning, for believing every adult I encountered had good intentions, but there was absolutely no hope for me then. I’m a people-pleaser, I’ll admit it. I know how to listen, pay attention, be quiet, obey. I was taught to always respect adults no matter what. I never questioned them or talked back. I once asked my parents what I was like when I was younger, beyond my memory. My dad said to me, “You were always such a good little girl. You were so...meek. If another kid was throwing a fit because you had a toy they wanted, you would just give it to them and do something else.”

He’s not wrong. That behavior persists to this day. I find it interesting that my parents weren’t more concerned about it. I was such an anxious child. I identified with cartoon characters like Piglet from Winnie the Pooh and Chuckie from Rugrats. Miss Frizzle from The Magic School Bus, too, but that’s just because I’m a weirdo nerd. Maybe they found it endearing and sweet. Maybe they liked how cautious I was because they never had to worry about me doing something dangerous. Honestly, I don’t blame them. I’m sure I was an easy child to handle. However, at a time when I needed more than ever to have ideas and opinions, I was indoctrinated into an extremely toxic church environment. Something that was supposed to give me meaning, purpose, and worth actually left me with nothing when I no longer followed without question.

I still have plenty floating around in my head and MANY STORIES that I believe need to be told. Later I’ll be talking about:

The Youth Barn - are you ready teens?! AYE AYE, JESUS!

The Baptist Church Break-up

The Truth About Bob (spoiler: it’s not good)

The Pizza Church

Noah and The Wonderful World of Technology

Ken Ham and Creationism

Youth Group

Church Band

“Dude, your pastor is a little creepy…”

HOW I ESCAPED

[virtchandmoir]

Tessa Virtue steps into the style spotlight for new 'uplifting' fashion campaign

Canadian Olympian talks personal style, women supporting women — and what's next for her off the ice.

August 30, 2019

From left: Ashley Callingbull, Karine Vanasse and Tessa Virtue are featured in a new campaign for Canadian retailer RW&CO.  HANDOUT/RW&CO.

Growing up, Tessa Virtue faced no shortage of strong female role models.

“I was so lucky. I grew up with an incredibly strong grandmother, mother and sister,” Virtue says. “All three, independent, fierce, clever women who were hard workers, had goals and visions for themselves, and were really ambitious.”

“And, they didn’t apologize for those goals.”

The trio’s individual and combined influence left a Virtue with a sense of “limitless,” she recalls.

“I really believed that I could do or be anything,” she says with a smile.

While she didn’t pause to think much on it then, she’s now keenly aware of the fact that her inspirational upbringing, surrounded by a network of strong women who promoted the underlying message of “yes, you can!”, wasn’t always the case for other young girls.

“I didn’t realize that not everyone felt that way. That, not everyone felt that privilege,” she says.

The realization has been a contributing factor to the increased visibility of Virtue in media and advertisements in recent years — primarily those following the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics where she and ice-dancing partner Scott Moir stole the spotlight for their riveting routines — that allows fans and followers a glimpse into Virtue’s life that goes beyond her on-ice achievements.

“For whatever reasons, after the Pyeongchang games, there was a different awareness of both Scott and me … but it provided so many unique opportunities. And, hopefully I can have some kind of impact for young girls to look up to,” she says humbly. “I feel very privileged to be able to be considered any kind of role model.”

Olympic ice dance gold medallists Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir of Canada hold up the Canadian flag after their winning performance at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympic Games on Tuesday in Pyeongchang-gun, South Korea. PAUL CHIASSON / CANADIAN PRESS

Her visibility on social media platforms such as Instagram, where she boasts a following of 364,000 and counting on her account @tessavirtue17, is one area where she works to constructively (and carefully) share her struggles and successes, in the hopes of leaving a positive impression on those who may happen to scroll by.

“I’m conscious of that. And I try to do that in a way that is authentic,” she says of fully realizing the scope of her role via social media and beyond. “I think, often, about how a nine-year-old girl would feel if she were to scroll through my Instagram. And, what messaging I’m sending, both objectively and subjectively. I think, ‘What kind of role model am I?’”

Focusing on the type of content she shares — positive messages and happy shots of herself attending events or with friends and family —  has kept her somewhat safeguarded from the rampant online trolling that plagues many celebrities online. And, when she does face negativity, she doesn’t allow herself to get too caught up in it.

“You put yourself out there and I think there is always vulnerability with that,” she says. “Whether that’s standing at centre ice and waiting for the music to start, or posting something on social media for everyone to criticize, you just have to hope that the good outweighs the bad.”

Her ambition to present a positive role model to young girls and women led her to a recent collaboration with the Montreal-based fashion brand RW&CO. The campaign, which sees her featured alongside Canadian actress Karine Vanasse and First Nations activist Ashley Callingbull, the first Indigenous woman to be crowned Mrs. Universe, aims to promote “powerhouse” working women, in various stages of their careers.

“The campaign is so in line with my messaging and the things that I’m trying to accomplish now, outside of sport,” Virtue says. “And it’s something that I can relate too, also.”

Virtue hopes people pick up on the collaborative, supportive air of the campaign stars and feel empowered to introduce that outlook into their own lives.

“The culture now of this competition that’s ingrained in us, to pit women against other women, and this unrealistic standard that we’re all held to — all these issues are pervasive,” she says. “We can only be stronger for women when we support one another.”

Speaking on a hot, sunny day in July at a studio space in Montreal during a brief break in shooting images for the campaign (with her mom looking on in support), Virtue reflected on how, at 30 years old, she’s reached a point in her life where she’s “transitioning,” personally and professionally.

“And I’m looking to other women to support and uplift me,” she says of the changes. “So, I think it’s really neat that (RW&CO. is) putting together, really, a movement to incorporate so many things. And, they’re not just talking the talk.”

To mark the release, the retailer will be running a contest for Canadians to nominate an inspiring woman in their lives. The winner will receive a donation to the charity of her choice.

In addition to providing a visual representation of strong female role models, the partnership provided Virtue and her campaign co-stars with the opportunity to donate a portion of their fee to a cause of their choice. Callingbull directed her share toward a shelter for Indigenous women and children, while Vanasse chose a women’s shelter in Montreal.

Virtue, chose to promote another passionate platform, highlighting her efforts as an ambassador for the Canadian organization FitSpirit, which works to promote and support physical activity and athletics programs for young girls.

“It’s something that is so close to my heart,” she says of the role. “Obviously, I’ve reaped the benefits of sport and activity. But not many girls, as it turns out, even have the resources available to them to be physically active or to maintain that as they go through high school. So, FitSpirit is connecting with schools and giving that accessibility to young girls and youth at a time when they might otherwise drop out our prioritize other things.”

“It’s an opportunity to be active and connect with other girls — and to realize the power that those lessons and the sense of building self confidence and self worth that will carry forward for them.”

Recalling a recent visit to a school with FitSpirit where she met with young girls in the program, she recalls, with evident pleasure, sharing her enthusiasm for athletics with the girls — and how she took a little bit of something away from the visit for herself, too.

“They were so curious and it’s so obvious that they’re capable of taking over the world,” she says of the energetic assemblage of youths. Needless to say, it left her feeling inspired.

“When we realize the powerhouse of that sisterhood and the camaraderie among women — there’s no stopping us,” she says.

Flash fashion: Style talks with Tessa Virtue

Canadian Olympian Tessa Virtue may be known more for her on-ice moves than her off-ice style — but, these days, the 30-year-old athlete and ambassador is putting a lot more emphasis on what she wears.

“I lived in either sweatpants or athletic wear,” she says with a laugh of her go-to uniform during her training days. “I was really of two extremes, which plays to my personality as a bit of an extremist. I was either in full-on workout wear or black tie. So, I didn’t have that middle range.”

But, now, as she ventures confidently into her next career adventures that see her stepping away from amateur sport, she says she’s having fun exploring her personal style as she spends more time in the “corporate sphere” and much less time on the ice.

“It has definitely evolved over time,” she says of her fashion sense. “Now, I would say my personal style is pretty classic and refined — with a bit of a twist. I like to have a bit of an edge to every outfit.”

Virtue recently took time away from her busy schedule to dish four tidbits about her personal style. Here’s what she had to say:

On how she chooses her outfits: “I definitely dress based on my mood. I like accessorizing differently. Having classic, quality pieces and mixing in graphic tee, a headband, a pair of funky boots or a belt and changing the outfit entirely.”

On here greatest style influence: “My mom has always shopped for me. I’m so lucky that I have an in-house stylist.”

On her MVP (most valuable piece): “I love a good blazer. Whether it’s jeans, a T-shirt and a blazer, or a power suit, I think that would be my staple.”

On her most cherished item: “My grandmother’s necklace.”

—Windsor Star

[recentanimenews]

Happy Birthday, Space Cowboy: A Shinichiro Watanabe Retrospective

  Today we wish a very happy birthday to the Cowboy Bebop director, the one and only Shinichiro Watanabe! Watanabe-san has been a powerhouse in the world of anime for well over two decades, working with acclaimed studios such as Sunrise Inc., Studio Nue, and BONES. His mastery at blending Western and Eastern elements has earned Watanabe a devoted fanbase in many different countries. One of the most consistent aspects of Watanabe's catalog is his skill at successfully amalgamating a variety of genres from sci-fi to Westerns to comedy and more.

In honor of Watanabe's birthday, I'll be exploring the artistic depth of three anime from his impressive oeuvre and celebrating the very special spark that can be found in all his works. Read on for more!

Terror in Resonance (2014)

Terror in Resonance seems critically underappreciated when compared to some of Watanabe's other directorial efforts. Though it lacks the robust character development and sense of immersion found in his other titles, the series still retains many of the qualities that make Watanabe such a globally respected anime auteur.

Terror in Resonance follows two high-school-aged terrorists named Twelve and Nine as they plot a series of bombings in order to reveal the injustices enacted against them — and many other children — during a secret government operation called the Athena Plan. Along the way, a lonely girl named Lisa finds herself enwrapped in the boys' mission, and experiences camaraderie for the first time due to their presence.

The show's basic premise alone reflects Watanabe's willingness to explore uncommon thematic spaces by featuring literal terrorists as two of the main characters. Common in his other works as well, Watanabe invites viewers to feel compassion for characters who inhabit the outermost margins of societal acceptability. The show doesn't endorse Twelve and Nine's actions, but it does position them as isolated characters with real human attributes, acting coherently in retaliation to the incorrigible exploitation they faced as children. Twelve and Nine also make extreme efforts to make sure no one is killed due to their bombings, which serves as an empathetic deviation from standard depictions of terrorists as one-sided, monstrous caricatures.

Ultimately, Terror in Resonance features many trademarks of Watanabe's unique touch: compassionate explorations of loneliness, a tragic narrative interspersed with brief moments of beauty, and yet another gorgeous soundtrack by Yoko Kanno (a frequent collaborator with Watanabe).

Macross Plus (1995)

Watanabe made his directorial debut as co-director for Macross Plus working alongside Shoji Kawamori (the creator of the original Macross). This four-part OVA is the best flying mech, artifcial-intelligence-pop-music-gone-horribly-wrong redo of Top Gun I've ever seen. I remember I first saw it on the Starz Channel back in 2002 or 2003. It was fun to revisit the US dub recently with the fresh realization that Bryan Cranston — aka Walter White, our favorite fictional suburban meth dealer — did the voice acting for the main character Isamu. Isamu is like a more womanizing Spike from Cowboy Bebop, mixed with the arrogance of Mugen from Samurai Champloo, and is an early example of a recurrent protagonist-archetype in Watanabe's titles. The playful comedic qualities Watanabe would become known for were already apparent in much of Macross Plus, such as the scene when Isamu and his rival Bowman bring up old adolescent/high-school gripes while they're both engaged in an airborne mech-duel to the death.

Once again, Yoko Kanno's absolutely incredible score must be mentioned. The soundtrack ranges from orchestral music perfect for dogfights to emotional ballads and '90s trance (there's also a really cool reference to the Aphex Twin album "Selected Ambient Works 85-92" on a bus sign in one scene). Watanabe's first directorial outing already grapples with a subject near and dear to his heart: music. The last episode features an intense sequence involving an AI popstar named Sharon Apple, who takes control of everyone viewing her concert via seductive musical mind control. This scene explores a what-if scenario: an imagined future where technology meshes with the power of music for nefarious — rather than healing — ends. Either way, since Watanabe is a self-proclaimed "music freak," it's fun to watch him implement a plot device about just how disruptively powerful music can be (his most recent anime Carole and Tuesday tackles AI and pop music with a more neutral lens, as an FYI). Macross Plus is not to be missed.

Cowboy Bebop (1998)

  I'll never forget what it was like to experience Cowboy Bebop for the very first time when it initially aired on Adult Swim in 2001. I must have been 12 or 13 at the time, and few pieces of media have made such a lasting impression on me. I was already extremely impressed even after seeing the first episode "Asteroid Blues," but it's the fifth episode entitled "Ballad of Fallen Angels" — where viewers are introduced for the first time to the central antagonist Vicious — that completely sold me on the series.

"Ballad of Fallen Angels" culminates in a climactic battle that takes place in a church, with the main character Spike duking it out against Vicious and his goons. The most memorable moment for me is the scene when Spike is thrown out of the top of the church by Vicious. Spike falls in slow-motion as viewers are treated to a montage of his tragic crime syndicate past and his relationship with his lost love Julia. It's such a stunning moment that perfectly echoes the old creative writing adage "show don't tell," since it subtly expresses so much about Spike's life without explicitly battering it over your head. The scene speaks volumes in just a few wordless seconds, with no sounds to be heard at all other than Yoko Kanno's gorgeous choir and piano-based track "Green Bird." I've drifted toward arthouse movies as I've grown older, and I truly think the aforementioned scene was my first time experiencing the ineffable artfulness that I find in the experimental films that move me most. It feels a little silly and overblown to say, but the sequence feels like it contains a large spectrum of life — love, hate, sadness, memories, dreams, etc.

Cowboy Bebop is a show that abounds with moments like this. There are so many moving scenes rich in an atmospheric tenderness that aches with longing, loneliness, and beauty. Intimate scenes where characters in interstellar ships stare quietly at a sea of stars. A view of someone smoking a cigarette alone in a dimly lit alleyway. Or something like the ending of "Waltz for Venus," when a music box-esque song plays while Spike gazes into the sky as spores that can blind drift downward like snow.

I could go on and on about the series — the masterful quality of Keiko Nobumoto's screenplay, the riveting action sequences and lovable characters, the expert blend of genres coupled with breathtaking animation and music, and how Spike's somewhat Buddhist philosophy (whatever happens, happens) influenced my own. Cowboy Bebop truly deserves all the praise and is undoubtedly one of the best animated works of all time.

So here's to you Shinichiro Watanabe. I hope you have a birthday as stunning and cool as the anime you've graced the world with.

What else do you love by Shinichiro Watanabe, and why? Sounds off in the comments below!

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