#m its a Stylistic Choice. obviously.

[fruitbythefoot7]

the boys are fucking back

[the-disaster-of-passion]

There's definitely a lot of merit to Tuning that doesn't make vocaloids sound human, obviously - at the end of the day its a stylistic choice

But damn Mitchie-M is an absolute master at Tuning it's such a unique and immediately recognizable sound

Miku and Luka dance the twist in my new song "Bad Girl A" MV.

♪ Come on ,baby Let's do the twist ♪

▶︎ YouTube : https://youtu.be/JQoeuGNJfAg

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more���colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your mouth pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, gasping out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complications left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use his assets better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut under spotlight!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[waka-chan-out]

M-miwa kageyama headcanons? 🥺🥺

miwa kageyama headcanons

HELLLL YES. i just cranked these out in one sitting because i am just……..ugh. women. i’m doing both sfw and nsfw again because though i’m in love with her heart, i’m also a whore.

SFW

she’s only into women, but i mean……look at her. of course she is.

she wears an oversized men’s shirt as a coverup when she goes swimming.

she accidentally moves into your apartment. it starts with hookups, then spending the next day with you. then stray makeup products and articles of clothing appear in your home, then her hair straightener and her favorite blanket. next thing you know your spare key is on her keychain, her lease at her place is up, and she’s sitting on your couch eating ice cream when you come home from work.

even before she was trained to style hair she refused to go to a professional to get her hair cut. she also made sure all of her friends went to her instead of a stylist. risky choice, but it led to some really fun hairstyles and her college friends still call her up sometimes to do their hair.

true crime fiend, but she’s so bad with horror movies. she’ll listen to and read the goriest stuff about serial killers but as soon as there’s a ghost or clown on her screen she’s done for. wraps herself around you and tells you she’s not gonna look, but a few seconds later you catch her glancing over her shoulder and letting herself get scared.

LOVES heights. skyscrapers? yes. rollercoasters? absolutely. she’s so crazy about it it kind of scares you.

she befriends saeko and they drink together a lot. she’s a funny drunk too. she laughs really loud and her eyes get crinkly and her cheeks are bright red by the end of the night. she tries to be flirty, too, but all of her pickup lines and innuendos end with her cracking up laughing.

so good at eyeliner. obviously. but almost scary good. she once did her own on a bumpy car ride with only her reflection in the window and it turned out perfect. she never wears anything more than tinted chapstick though because she refuses to give herself a reason to not kiss you.

giving that its own bullet point because it deserves one. insatiable kisser. anytime, anywhere. she’s not big into pda but if you’re going out with friends you have to pry her off of you because she somehow convinced you to get in the backseat and was not planning on letting you go. greets your friends with a huge grin on her face while you’re still trying to readjust your shirt.

she has quite a few tattoos, but they’re all hidden. even some of her closest friends don’t know what or where they are.

NSFW

following up on the tattoo thing, she likes playing a drinking game with people she wants to hook up with. she tells you how many she has total and you have to find them. you have to try to predict where each tattoo is and get to take off an item of clothing after each set of predictions. if you get it right, you get to go again. if you’re wrong, you drink. keep in mind that when you drink she’s definitely tipping the bottle against your lips and kissing away anything that spills, and she’s definitely straddling your lap the entire time.

she tells you what to do and pulls you around but it’s all what she wants you to do to her. kind of a power pillow princess, if that makes sense.

she’s part of the tiny titty gang, but man are they pretty. the first time you see her shirtless you feel almost unworthy. she also rarely wears a bra when she’s just hanging out in comfortable clothes, whether at home or in public so…..take a deep breath and prepare for that.

hand on your lower stomach and eyes boring into yours as she eats you out.

such a good kisser because she takes over everything. i cannot stress how much this woman loves being in your lap. she’s constantly trying to pull you closer, grasping at your face and clothes and hair and body.

just her…..getting off…….by grinding on you…….oh my god.

her neck is so sensitive. she makes fun of you for liking when she kisses yours, but when you touch or kiss her neck her body tenses and her brows furrow and her breaths end in weak little moans.

“oh yes,” and “right there,” in the bedroom. i’m just gonna……i’m gonna leave that there.

fuck her with a strap on and she crriiiiiiesssss. like full on little sobs as she digs her nails into your back.

the hardest she’s ever cum was after you made her edge herself, riding you until she was about to finish over and over, until you finally made her hold still and held a vibrator against her. your neighbors had to politely and bashfully asked you to keep it down and she told you later that she thought she was going to die.

[ephyla]

Boss Lady

Hey guys, I hope you had an amazing Christmas!

This story was inspired by a post I saw a couple of months ago on a subreddit called MaliciousCompliance. I immediately thought that this is something that Hiccup and Astrid would totally do and just hoped I would be inspired to write it at some point. Well, today is that day, so enjoy!!

Summary: 

MODERN AU

Her boss’s insistence on changing her dress code leaves her in a fit of rage. Good thing that she has an amazing boyfriend to help her maliciously comply to his stupid requirements.

***

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I’m just saying that it would be more appropriate if you dressed more like a professional.’

Astrid was internally fuming, but she tried to keep her cool in his office.

‘And what do you mean by ‘professional’ exactly?’ The young woman asked, her teeth grinding.

‘You know, dresses, heels, skirts.’ Her boss replied nonchalantly.

‘With all due respect, why am I the only one you approached with this request?’ If murder was legal, she would have skinned him alive a long time ago.

‘Because they’re not my assistant.’

***

Hiccup was preparing dinner when he heard the door slam brutally. He turned the heat off and placed the pan on a cool surface. His girlfriend, in a fit of rage, was struggling to untie her shoelaces as he walked into the living room.

‘Bad day at work?’ Astrid just grumbled. ‘Who was it this time, Thuggory? Lars?’

‘My obnoxious boss.’

‘Ah.. Should’ve guessed it. Why did he call you in his office this time? Your shoulders were distracting him? Did you show your ankles again?’ Her boyfriend dramatically gasped.

Astrid worked in a small company where the employees were not required to dress professionally since they’re not facing any customers. There’s still the A/C turned on full blast, so it wasn’t like Astrid was showing a lot of skin to begin with, not that it mattered. But her dirty old boss thought it would be appropriate to point out her attire on an almost daily basis. She quickly got tired of it and decided to have part of her closet dedicated to unflattering clothes so she could avoid being grossly objectified by her superior. Today, however, he crossed a line.

‘That pig decided that I should be wearing ‘corporate clothing since I’m his assistant’ while the others are free to wear jeans and t-shirts.’ Astrid fumed as she violently threw her bag on the sofa and stomped toward the bathroom to take shower. Not having the time to reply, Hiccup simply walked back to the kitchen to finish the cooking.

When Astrid came back, she seemed to have cooled off a bit. They sat at the table as they ate their dinner.

‘You know my dad would hire you if I asked him. You’re smart, focused and hardworking. He would love to have you as an employee. And he loves you. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even his son seeing how much he dotes on you.’ Hiccup laughs. A small smile formed on his girlfriend’s face. ‘You know he loves you to death. I’m not the one that’s getting my ribs crushed every time he hugs me because he missed me. Besides, I don’t think it’s fair for me to suddenly be hired on the spot by your father just because I’m dating you. Some more qualified people might need it more than me. I already have a decent paying job, it’s just that I hate the people I’m working with.’

‘I know, I know. But it’s also not fair for you to endure all this just for your boss’s sick pleasure. You’re not paid to be his eye-candy. You’re paid to be his assistant, and right now he clearly is trying to force you to make his disgusting fantasies a reality. Just please, think about it, alright?’ Astrid looked away, but Hiccup scooted his chair closer and caressed her cheek, making her face him again. Her frown still visible. ‘I’ve noticed you know.’ He stated.

‘Noticed what?’

‘You’ve been stressed a lot since you got this job. You barely eat or get a decent night of sleep anymore’ Hiccup traced the dark bags under her eyes. ‘You always seem irritated by something’ He brought a hand to her hand on his sleeve, trying to relax her death grip. She released him and he grabbed her hand, holding it to his chest. ‘You barely have the time for your friends and family. If we didn’t live together, I probably wouldn’t have seen much of you either. I worry about you. I miss you’ Astrid looked away again.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize th-‘

‘It’s not your fault babe. What I’m trying to say is, maybe it’s time for you to be a bit selfish. You’ve worked so hard to get where you’re at, and your accomplishments are not being acknowledged because your boss is only thinking with his dick. You deserve so much better than this. Please accept my help. Not only will the job my dad offer you will be more high paying, but also less stressful. Well, as stress less it can get with Snot and the twins.’ The pair laughed. ‘But most importantly, you’ll also be working with me.’

‘Now that last part seems very tempting.’ Astrid smiles. Working with Stoick and Hiccup definitely sounds much better than being stuck with her current job.

‘Well I sure hope so! I would take serious offence if you told me you’d rather work with that sleezy old man over me!’ Her boyfriend replies while laughing. ‘But in all seriousness, I’ll talk to my dad, I know he’ll be more than thrilled to help you. If by some thorsaken reason he refuses, then I’ll help. I mean you’ve been by my side for the longest time. You stood by me when I lost my leg and had to learn how to walk again.’ He stomps his prosthetic on the floor to prove his point. ‘It’s really the least I can do.’ Astrid sighed.

‘Alright, just this time, I’ll let you help me. Because I really can’t stand working in the hellhole anymore.’ Hiccup beams and raises the hand he’s holding to his lip, kissing her palm. ‘Great! I’ll call dad now and will let you know as soon as I’m sure you got the job. Then you can finally send your two weeks notice letter.’

‘Already written since the end of my first week on the job. For now, I just have to worry about this dumb new dress code made specifically for me.’ Astrid rolled her eyes.

‘I think I might have an idea. Let’s go to the mall this weekend.’ Astrid saw Hiccup struggling to hide a mischievous grin as he got up and walked to the bedroom to pick up his charging phone.

***

‘Hiccup, you’re missing a leg, not your sight, this is very obviously not my size.’

‘Exactly, it’s perfect, I’ll lend you one of my belts so you can keep these up.’ The piece of clothing in question were a pair brown dress pants in the size M from the men’s section. ‘Now let’s check if they have a matching blazer. I’ll also lend you my dress shirts since they’re not the main focus.’ Hiccup picked out a matching blazer in the same size and held it out to Astrid. ‘Actually, let’s find you a dress shirt so we can see how the whole outfit looks like when you go try it.’ Astrid followed Hiccup as he walked towards the shirts and picked one out.

‘Go try this first, I’ll go find a few other outfits you can try.’ He shoos Astrid to the changing rooms.

‘First outfit?’

‘I mean if you want to wear only one outfit every single day until you leave that place, that’s your choice. But it would be wiser if you had a few spares’ He replied sarcastically. Astrid scoffed and left to change.

Hiccup took his time finding a few other oversized outfits for his girlfriend. Once he was satisfied with his choice, he walked towards the changing rooms.

‘Astrid?’ He called out.

‘In here’ She replied from the very end of the corridor. ‘Honestly, I hate the outfit, but this is a great idea.’ Astrid pulled the curtains aside and dramatically posed. His bewildered expression made her laugh.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Hiccup quickly recovered from the initial shock. ‘In all honesty, terrible, but at the same time you seem to be able to pull it off.’ Astrid twirled around.

‘I think if I styled it a bit and asked Heather to sew a few things, because we all know I can’t sew to save my life, it could become a nice outfit. At least we’re not wasting money. She said as she rolled up her sleeves.

‘That’s a pretty good idea.’ Hiccup grins. ‘Is it weird that I want you to bend me over a table and call you ‘Sir’ or ‘Daddy’?’

‘Eh, maybe. I’m used to you being weird though.’ Astrid laughs. ‘But please don’t call me that, it creeps me out.’

‘Roger that. Here, I got you some other outfits. I don’t think you need dress shoes, that might be too much. You can use your pair of loafers.’ Her boyfriend handed her the clothes and went to take a seat while she tried the rest of the clothing.

***

Astrid closed the door behind her. More gently than last time indicating her much better mood. Hiccup’s head popped out of their bedroom’s doorway. He smiled when he saw her good mood and walked towards her and kissed her.

‘I assume things went well?’

‘You should’ve seen the look on his dumb face! I spent the entire day trying not to laugh!’ She rejoiced as she circled her arm around his neck. They swayed for a couple of seconds before ungraciously landing on the sofa. ‘He couldn’t really say anything, because technically, I did what he asked for. I dressed professionally. I just decided to ignore his suggestions about wearing a dress or heels. I mean, who does he think he is, my stylist?’ Her boyfriend laughed and hugged her.

‘I wish I was there to see it all. But I’m happy it worked out for you.’

‘It’s all thanks to you. Things would have gotten way worse if you didn’t have this idea. I most likely would have shoved my heel down his throat or something, probably getting myself fired in the process. Then again that’s not such a bad outcome.’ Astrid rambled.

‘What can I say, I am pretty amazi- Ow!’ He cried as Astrid lightly punched him in the shoulder. He sulked as he held on said shoulder. ‘Whyy?’

‘I could see your ego poking its head out of your oversized mop of hair of yours.’

‘Harhar, if it’s not the leg jokes then it’s got to be the hair jokes. I should’ve seen that one coming.’ He mumbled that last part. Astrid smiled and kissed him.

‘But you’re right, you really are amazing. You’re the best.’

***

I’m normally not a big fan of Modern AUs, so I kind of struggled writing this one. Either way, hope you liked it!

Happy New Year!!

[porkchop-ao3]

Slip Stitch: PART 1/2

My first ever pure Rickcest fic, woo!

Part Two.

Please be nice, this is the first time I have written in third person for a long time! 

This story involves my British Tailor Rick OC and the hairstylist Rick that was seen doing President Morty’s hair in that one episode. The events of this fic were hinted at at the end of my RickCon’18 fic, which you can find here :)

This was getting a little long so I split it into two parts, this part being nearly 2.5k words. Its mostly SFW for now but it will be super NSFW in the next part. Contains: oral sex, frottage, public sex acts, anal fingering.

Enjoy! :D

-

“Well, that went better than I expected. When I walked out there and saw all those bloody lab coats I thought I was going to get heckled off stage.” Tailor Rick chuckled dryly as he walked back into the dressing room after being on stage for the last hour. He'd been hosting a seminar, along with a number of his other fashion-oriented alternate selves, about style tips for the average Rick. It was a relatively stripped back talk, he'd had to speak through gritted teeth when he'd talked about designer lab coats; if it was up to him, all lab coats would be burnt to ashes, but he knew he had to compromise for these Ricks.

“Yeah, but I-I-I wouldn't have outright insulted that Rick in the turtleneck. They might not be on fashion right now, b-but he didn't look that bad. Perhaps you could've softened your words a bit?” The second Rick, who had been sharing the dressing space all day, scolded. He'd been appointed as the stylist for the charity fashion auction, but had volunteered to join the seminar as a last minute guest. Most of his knowledge was in hair styling, and despite grumbling about it for a while, tailor Rick had to admit the panel could use his knowledge.

“Well, do you disagree? Do you not think he- he looked like he had no neck?”

“Ah, but that's not what you said. Y-you told him his head looked like the tip of a short, yet girthy penis.” Stylist reiterated, cocking a brow. Tailor Rick walked over to the mini bar by the dressing table and reached for the bottle of bourbon, unscrewing the cap before turning to his counterpart.

“I repeat, do you disagree?” He questioned. The stylist kept his mouth closed. “I stand by it. He did look like the head of a chode, it was just shoulders and head, shaft and bellend. Where was his neck? Honesty is always the best policy.”

“He's the guy who bid on that God-awful green suit of yours at the auction. You didn't think his fashion sense was s-so bad then, did you?”

“God-awful?” The tailor seethed, spinning around, a glass in one hand and the bottle of bourbon in the other. He poured himself a healthy amount before slamming the bottle back down behind him. “How dare you insult my brand like that. Do you- you have eyes in your skull, don't you? I suppose you're jealous, hmm? Jealous you couldn't afford something like that, so you have to bash it to make yourself feel better.”

“Oh, I could afford it. The president pays me a generous salary, not that th-that has anything to do with you. I simply wouldn't be seen dead in that much forest green. That kind of colour should only be used in an accent piece.” President Morty's stylist quipped, reaching a hand up to his hair to smooth out the eye-catching style he was wearing; all swept upwards with the tips bleached blond.

Tailor Rick's eye twitched, and for a split second, Stylist felt nervous. He quickly pushed the feeling away, nervous? Why should he feel nervous? That Rick was no better than him, he shouldn't worry about pleasing him, or being sensitive to his feelings. The tailor was a pompous asshole who'd been rubbing him up the wrong way all day. And people have the cheek to call him pompous?

“Says who? The guy dressed head to toe in fuchsia?” Tailor scoffed, taking a large swig of his drink.

“Don't try to tell me this is a fashion faux pas, you auctioned off a three piece in this exact colour. If this is bad, then you're a bad designer, bodkin.” Stylist stalled at the words coming out of his own mouth. Bodkin? What the hell, where had that come from? He wasn't even sure how that word had made it into his vocabulary, let alone slipped out now of all times, as an insult, no less. Tailor seemed just as taken aback, if not just plain confused.

“Bodkin?” Tailor mumbled in uncertainty, then shook his head dismissively. “The difference is, I designed that ensemble to be striking, to be worn under very specific circumstances. It's not every day attire, you just look like a little girl running around in her garish pink dress up clothes. That should not be y-y-your go-to look. You'd be much better suited to a powder blue, perhaps even a pale mint green.”

Now he was giving him fashion advice? The worst part was, Stylist found himself considering the advice seriously, taking a tentative glance down at his own hot pink jacket.

“Hmm, no, perhaps the pink is fine. It would just look better if this was shorter.” Tailor mused, strolling across the room towards the other man, reaching behind him to lift up the back of the jacket, holding it so it sat higher on his hips. He didn't notice the immediate tension in his counterpart’s body, nor the colour in his cheeks that could rival the jacket for vibrancy.

The stylist wondered at what point this turned from petty insults and bickering to genuine advice and contemplation over his own choice in attire. He didn't have it in him to question it out loud, he wasn't opposed to the sudden closeness of the other Rick. He smelled good; like expensive cologne.

“I could take it up for you, you know? This cut would- it'd look more flattering. Right now the shape of it a-and all this pink. It's very heavy, it brings your shoulders down and makes your posture appear lazy, even though up close I can tell that it's not.” Tailor continued, moving around to the back of his latest project, dropping the fabric of the jacket and instead sweeping a hand up the tall, gently curved line of his spine. The Stylist stayed impossibly still under the contact, not entirely sure what to say or do.

Tailor eventually dropped his hand from his back and strolled away. When he turned to look, Stylist saw that he was going for a large leather carry case that when popped open, was revealed to contain a bunch of sewing equipment.

“Wait, y-y-you’re serious? You want to alter this, right now?” He questioned, a frown creasing his forehead. Tailor stopped what he was doing and looked up, shifting his glass of bourbon from one hand to the other.

“Yes.” He said flatly, his expression bored.

“No! You aren't chopping bits off of this, this cost a lot of money.” Stylist argued. He gained an eye roll and a heavy sigh for his refusal. “I'll just buy a different jacket, if you're so concerned about the clothes on m-m-my back.”

“I'm not concerned at all. Do you think I care all that much?”

“Well you're the one offering to alter it, you obviously care a little.” He quirked a brow.

“Quite frankly, you could walk around in a bin bag, or nothing at all, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest. I was simply offering my expertise, since you helped out at the seminar. You scratched my back, so I thought I'd scratch yours.” Tailor straightened up, letting his eyes roll up and down the form of the other man as he took another sip of his drink. His eyelids were low and his expression indifferent, but there was a sort of flame flickering in his eyes that couldn't be ignored.

“Yeah?” Stylist snarked, though he didn't know how to continue from there. He suddenly felt tongue-tied, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Even more puzzling, his pants were beginning to feel tight, with this man's eyes on him. This angered him. “I don't need your help. I definitely don't need your condescending fashion advice, I'll wear whatever the hell I want.”

“Well then, be my guest. Fuck me for trying to be nice for once.” The tailor's eyes rolled so hard it was a surprise they didn't disappear into the back of his head. “You can look as frumpy as you like, just don't do it in front of me.” He waved his hand like he was swatting a fly as he kicked his sewing box away, it slammed into a nearby clothing rack, making all the empty coat hangers clatter together.

“Fuck off.” Stylist spat, marching forwards to grab his box of cigarettes from the coffee table beside the other Rick. He didn't miss the other man's eyes dropping to his crotch as he walked, and a flush of embarrassment made his palms sweaty when he realised he was very obviously sporting a semi. The white pants he was wearing practically enhanced it, screaming look at me!

Why the fuck was he getting hard at a time like this? The man was infuriating, thinking he was so far above everyone else. The truth is, he was just a Rick, just like the rest of them. He wasn't fucking special. He had no business talking to Stylist like an idiot, or meddling in his decisions and messing with his head. He certainly had no business grabbing the wrist Stylist was reaching for his cigarettes with, and pulling him upright to get a look into his eyes.

Instinctively, Stylist jerked out of the grip and gave the other man a shove. Tailor dropped his glass, it shattered on the ground, the cheap thin carpet now soaking up his bourbon doing nothing to soften the blow.

“Hey! That was good fucking bourbon!” Tailor growled, latching his hand back onto that same wrist and dragging the stylist close to him, snarling in his face. “I've about had enough of your attitude, you're a little big for your boots for a lowly fucking hairdresser.”

“I'm the president's stylist, you fucker!” Came the retort, spit flying with anger.

“So you keep saying. He's just a fucking Morty. Y-you think anyone's impressed because you help a fucking Morty comb his hair in the morning? If you ask me, I think it's just weird. Th-this is exactly why I refused to live at the citadel, bunch of deluded bloody freaks, you are.” Tailor seethed, leaning in close, physically looking down his nose at the other Rick.

He didn't stay there long, he was shoved – harder than the first time – and fell backwards over his sewing box. He landed in a heap among coat hangers, having knocked down the clothing rack behind him. It stunned him for a while, it took him a moment to work out what had happened, but when he regained his bearings he was on his feet, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened.

Stylist watched him as he so meticulously plucked a piece of lint off of his suit jacket, and brushed down his pants. He was sure the guy was gonna bite back, lunge at him, take him down, and in all honesty Stylist was in the mood for a fight. He was both shocked and disappointed that it seemed the tailor was not interested. The other man cleared his throat and raised his head to meet stylist Rick's eyes.

“Wow, I didn't take you for a brawler. You're even less refined than I thought you were, you certainly fooled me. It-it seems you're nothing but another sewer-rat of a Rick, shame.” He sighed wistfully, and it was Stylist's instinct to swing for him. Though he resisted, since it would only prove his point.

“I'm going out for a cigarette.” He muttered instead, reaching for his cigarettes a second time.

“Really? With that hard-on in your trousers? Whatever will people think?” Tailor mused lightly, his voice like a breeze, completely casual and inoffensive despite his words. It made the hairs on the back of stylist Rick's neck stand up, and he froze, bent over with his eyes on the box of cigarettes. “I can't say I'm shocked. I knew from the moment you met me that you wanted me, it's an instinct I have. Y-you may call me arrogant, I'd see it as me being in tune with others, personally.”

“I don't have a boner. My dick’s just that big.” The Stylist excused, his fingers closing around the box as he raised back up. “Don't flatter yourself, and don't be staring at my junk. An-and you call me the weirdo.” He added with a tut.

“I’m not an idiot, I know what a boner looks like.” Tailor replied, his eyes fixed on the bulge between the other man's legs. To his embarrassment, Stylist could feel it growing. There was no hiding that. “You need help with that?”

The question hit Stylist in the gut like a punch, his cock twitching in response, almost like it was answering the question for him. Who the hell gave this guy the right to make him feel this way? Stylist Rick had fucked around with alternative versions of himself before, sure, but he at least got along with them out of the bedroom too. This guy had been irritating him all day.

Still, he couldn't deny the building sexual tension between the two, even out on stage, every time Tailor butted in while he was talking, or made a passing comment about him and his style choices, to make an example of him. It had annoyed him immensely, but he could not ignore this irritating kind of admiration he had that had been building. The man had confidence, he had a certain kind of charm, he had this effect where everyone shut up and listened to him whether they agreed with him or not. He was a big presence, one that would not be ignored.

“Are you really asking that? W-what, are you gonna jack me off or something? That what you have in mind?” Stylist questioned irritably, narrowing his eyes.

“You'd like that, hm?” Tailor purred, closing the gap between them, tracing his fingertips from his chest, up to his shoulder and around his neck. “I was thinking something more mutual.”

“Won't your girlfriend have an- an issue with that?” Stylist continued to stare into the other man's eyes, searching them for a hint of insincerity. The last thing he wanted was to be made a joke of by this guy.

“Girlfriend?” Tailor questioned. “You mean my model? She's not my girlfriend. I don't- she isn't my type.” He explained, a certain edge to his voice that told the stylist all he needed to know. Tailor looked him over now that he was closer, his fingers brushed upwards to the back of his head, feeling the soft short hair of his partially shaved head. “You, however…” He purred very quietly, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. Stylist licked his lips.

Tbc...

[gascon-en-exil]

So Who’s the Queen?: A Chess of Blades Review (Part 1)

A gay male dating sim with a recurring motif of chess references and not once are any of the guys likened to queens. How positively appalling.

That missed opportunity aside, this quick little indie visual novel caught my attention about a week ago and got me invested enough to generate two posts’ worth of discussion. Admittedly this is only the second visual novel I’ve actually played through - the first being the delightfully raunchy Coming Out on Top - but I’ve picked up a bit of other examples of the genre from fandom osmosis and watching playthroughs on YouTube so I’d like to think my reference pool is at least a little larger than that. Despite the apparent lack of a fanbase a few of my followers expressed interest in hearing what I have to say on the game, so here we are. Note that as this is one of the very rare occasions where I’m not presuming that I’m writing for an audience already familiar with my subject I’m going to do my best to avoid major plot and characterization spoilers in the event that anyone wants to check this game out on Steam. I will be talking a fair bit about the lategame sex scenes, but given the nature of Chess of Blades I don’t think anyone will be spoiled to learn that the main character gets up to an assortment of naked sweaty fun with his various love interests. This will be a review in two parts - this one covering my general thoughts on the game’s overall story, themes, and presentation, and the second one on the love interests and their individual routes.

Protagonist Rivian Varrison is a young nobleman of an unnamed kingdom modeled after a vague blend of early modern European nations. The son of a celebrated military strategist, Rivian is sent on his own to attend a week-long celebration for the king’s birthday at a remote royal castle despite his mildly antisocial tendencies and lack of familiarity with court life (and sex, because of course he’s a virgin). During his time at the castle he becomes embroiled in one of several plots by antagonistic forces that threaten to destabilize the kingdom’s foreign relations, and with the help of a collection of men who want to bone him Rivian has to avoid getting murdered, save the day, and also figure out what and who he’s going to be doing with his life once the party’s over. Oh, and there’s a quick handwave in dialogue near the beginning of the game establishing that homophobia is not a problem in this setting. Arbitrary sidestepping of serious real world obstacles, yay!

However, from my limited understanding of traditional yaoi homophobia is not often as much of a concern in the genre as might be expected, and this is one of several elements of CoB that give me the impression that, like yaoi/BL, the game is written with a female audience in mind. Rivian hits all of what I assume are defining traits of an uke intended to be identified with by a female player; he’s a waifish and inexperienced sub bottom with flowing hair and sensitive nipples, all of which come into play in some way for every sex scene. I don’t mind it though, because I just so happen to also be a waifish sub bottom who can find him quite relatable. Not the bits with hair pulling and nipple play perhaps, because I get next to nothing out of either, but I can use my imagination. Suffice it to say that CoB is clearly inspired by the conventions and dynamics of yaoi even if it isn’t always entirely beholden to them.

I wouldn’t even say it’s the sex or those particular dynamics that comprise the main draw of the game, because both the political and romantic storylines offer enough enjoyment on their own to encourage multiple playthroughs in order to see everything. It helps that the main conflict differs depending on the romantic route, and each comes with its own antagonist(s). Characters - love interests included - who act in a certain role in one route may serve an entirely different one in another, or they may not appear at all. At the heart of all the nefarious goings-on lies a shadowy organization presumably modeled after the politically divisive Jesuit order of the Catholic Church minus the religious motivations (the fact that the organization appears to be named after their founder St. Ignatius of Loyola is a dead giveaway), although there’s enough variety in the specific antagonists to allow for more than one reading of what’s really going on with all these murders and kidnappings and such. The distinct but interwoven nature of the four storylines manages to do a lot with a small cast and a compressed timeframe, and while I don’t think you’ll find anything truly groundbreaking in terms of narrative I feel like it would be rude of me to spoil the particulars.

Gameplay is...well...

...just that, really. It’s a series of fifteen or so questions with two choices each that determine which storyline and romantic route you’ll follow and then eventually whether you get the good or bad ending for that route. That’s a bit sparse even in comparison to other visual novels I’m familiar with, but it works well for what it is. The algorithm for determining the romantic route especially is less obvious than you might expect, as it’s impossible to favor one man exclusively at the expense of the others. Moreover, if you don’t favor one man to at least some degree Rivian gets murdered before the plot even gets properly started in a generic bad ending that’s almost comical in how unexpected it is.

Presentation is a bit of a mixed bag. The artwork is serviceable and even quite good at points. but there’s a fair amount of stylistic variation and the NSFW art in particular doesn’t impress me very much. The soundtrack is excellent for an indie game, with fourteen original pieces that all do a great job of matching the tone and atmosphere of the scenes. I have no complaints about the writing apart from the odd typo or awkward phrasing choice, although there are a few quirks I couldn’t help but pick up on. For instance - Rivian, all of the love interests, and several of the side characters get compared to animals at multiple points. In exactly one scenario there’s the implication that this might lead into some offscreen pet play, but aside from that it’s just a rhetorical device. Maybe Rivian is secretly a furry? The chess motif is also less prevalent than I was expecting; it’s actually more prominent in the names and icons of the game’s Steam achievements, rather than in the game itself.

Then there’s the matter of the voice acting. While I appreciate the ambition of an erotic visual novel with multiple routes having full voice acting, the execution often leaves something to be desired for a number of reasons. The most common is that the VAs affect noticeable accents for many of the characters, usually to make them sound posh and refined, and either because of inexperience or because of just how strong the accents can get some of their line reads can come across as stilted or unnaturally paced. Rivian is unfortunately one of the more notable offenders. He’s the character with whom the player is meant to identify, and yet his voice is so obviously affected that it took me some time to stop thinking of him as a parody of a nobleman designed purely as comic relief. I found his voice less distracting in major emotional scenes thankfully, although on that note I also have to point out that the sex scenes are fully voiced as well. This doesn’t help anyone on the whole, not least because of how difficult it can be to authentically vocalize getting your dick sucked or taking a cock in your tight virginal hole. Also...there are sound effects for some of the kissing and blowjob scenes, and I really wish there weren’t. In all seriousness, if you’re audibly slurping that much while doing either of those things you’re either being intentionally sloppy because your partner’s into that or you’re extremely slow on the uptake about what to do with a penis or someone else’s tongue in your mouth. I suppose I should be thankful that we’re spared tonguing sounds during the rimjob scenes or the slapping of balls on ass. It’s worth noting that the option to mute some or all of the voice acting exists, but I stuck it out because there were some performances I genuinely liked and because I was determined to get the full experience - for better or worse. 

Whether what I described above justifies the rather steep price tag for an indie visual novel (because of the voice acting, possibly?) is a personal call, but for what it’s worth I enjoyed my time with the game in spite of those shortcomings and do recommend it for fans of period M/M romance, particularly the kind you’re likely to find in Japanese properties like the ones from which CoB clearly draws inspiration. I feel like I’m getting ahead of myself, though, as this post is going to have a second part. Next time I’ll be critiquing each of the four love interests both in and out of bed, which will undoubtedly make for a fun and extremely filthy bit of writing.

[flowerconcept-blog]

enemies 2 lovers!doyoung

kim doyoung........is your worst nightmare.......

you're a stylist for a male fashion magazine and your life was so easy before doyoung arrived ;(

taeyong the photographer is wonderful and sweet.... taeil the lighting director is an angel........  mark the props director is like ur cute lil brother.... sicheng the other stylist is basically a living teddy bear!!! and your regular models johnny, ten and jaehyun are hilarious

basically before doyoung you were all like a cute little family and you would all go out for drinks after every shoot and you miss those days

because one morning you walk into a shoot and.....taeyong is standing next to another guy with a camera?!?!?!?!?! why????! your world is turned upside down

taeil explains to u that because the magazine is getting bigger they brought in this new photographer, kim doyoung

u've actually heard of the guy! u've seen some of his portfolio online and he's a really good photographer so you're excited to work with him at first

until you send the new model yuta out in your favorite outfit of the day

and kim doyoung..... has the AUDACITY to say "what the hell is that top"

immediately ur up in arms like that's from gucci's 2018 f/w collection exclusively lent to us for this shoot it costs more than you're worth and you're blessed to even be LOOKING at it check urself

from that moment on, u and kim doyoung were sworn enemies

at every shoot.. every SINGLE shoot... the two of you start bickering because he has to run his goddamn mouth

it honestly astounds you how such a sweet handsome looking guy can be so frickin annoying

once he walked into work looking all high and mighty and opened his mouth to speak to u and u were like "i KNOW the sweater you're wearing is from the 2010 H&M collection don't even try" and haechan the lighting assistant laughed so hard he cried

but even when you destroy him so effortlessly he keeps coming back for more! aka he questions your fashion choices when clearly he should be deferring to you!!! as if you won't take him out for saying your miu miu bag is an ugly shade of pastel yellow!!!!!

and then he cooes over sicheng's outfits and ok you understand cooing over sicheng plus he's a good stylist but you're head stylist for a REASON!!! you're great at your job!!

not that you want doyoung to compliment your work though. you hate him

he bickers with other people too especially taeyong but he's the worst with you...... he just refuses to let you live….. you and taeyong have started having your own little pity parties over lunch when doyoung is particularly savage ;(

after shoot dinner and drinks turns into doyoung and haechan ripping into the whole crew.... which admittedly is pretty fun but you wish he would just leave u alone

mostly because johnny keeps insisting that the sexual tension between you two is ridiculous ,,,,,,,, and ten sits there nodding like johnny is Dr. Phil but it's not like you LIKE satan himself kim doyoung

it's not like you wish u could run your fingers through his hair to see if it's as soft as it looks....it's not like you watch him take photos with those elegant hands and think about holding them..... it's not like you've wondered whether that big mouth of his would be good at kissing.....

it's not like bickering with him is the best part of your day because of his unrestrained smile when you snark him.....and it's DEFINITELY not like you get jealous whenever you overhear the makeup artists cooing over him

because what would you do if doyoung started ignoring you and teased sunmi the hair stylist instead???? or worse, what if they started dating?? what if hes interested in one of them??

no.... it's not like you like him.... not at all

but johnny and ten keep pushing you and saying you do, which is driving you up the wall because more or less you can't handle the thought of liking doyoung when he so obviously dislikes you

you feel like you're in high school again, pining over someone out of your league, so even though you don't ACTUALLY like him at all you decide you need to get over,... hypothetically liking him

so you sort of..... pull back from bickering with him.... when he says one of your styling choices is bad you ask sicheng to redo the outfit.... of course you still can't resist calling him out for his bullsh*t every once in a while but you avoid him as much as possible

cause that way you will not feel any of the confusing love emotions that bubble up whenever you're around him! you can live in sweet sweet denial!!!!!!

ten nd johnny are like This Is The Opposite Of What We Wanted(that's what you get for being meddlesome assholes)

meanwhile doyoung......honestly misses you...... he misses having someone who can outwit him because his whole life he's been the snarkiest one in the room and people haven't known how to respond to him

but you ,,,,,,, you give him a run for his money, in fact you beat him in pretty much every argument the two of you have

and yeah haechan and some of the other guys are good at going back and forth with him...... but doyoung isn't hopelessly crushing on any of them like he is on you

the more you draw away the more he worries about you...... taeyong always points out when he gets distracted and glances over to you during shoots

but he can't help it! your pretty nose pretty lips pretty face pretty everything is so eyecatching to him...... he's a photographer he can't help but be drawn to beautiful things and he finds you unreasonably beautiful!!!

and he wants desperately to be able to talk to you again and maybe tell you about his feelings, but as oblivious as doyoung is sometimes he knows you're avoiding him and he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable

so all he knows how to do is keep trying to get your attention with his jokes and chatter and jabs ...... which doesn't really work

the dynamic shifting between the two of you honestly messes the whole crew up..... taeyong is always worrying over you and doyoung being okay and mark is trying to get doyoung to talk to you and ten is trying to convince you to talk to him and taeil just watches everything nervously in the background

except both of you are really fuckin stubborn so nothing happens

until things blow up one day

you barely slept the night before because your cat was puking and meowing all night and you spilled your coffee all over your new jacket this morning and yuta has been flirting with you since you came in and if he calls himself "your osaka prince~~" one more time you seriously might snap

but you have a job to do and you do it, working with sicheng to dress yuta and you shove him over to doyoung

who IMMEDIATELY looks yuta up and down and is like "this top doesn't go with the background of the shoot what r u doing" and its supposed to be lighthearted

usually you would ignore him but U Have Had Enough and you're so fuckin tired and doyoung is such an ASSHOLE and fuck you like him SO MUCH and why can't you get over it?!?!?!? and it all just explodes and suddenly you're in furious tears

and ur pissed off about doyoung ur pissed off about crying ur pissed off about yuta everything is pissing you off so u just shout "FUCK YOU KIM DOYOUNG" and stomp off into the hallway with everyone staring at you in shock

you kind of stand right outside the door shaking and scared because what if you get fired for harassment?? what the hell did you do that for?? you slide down to sit on the floor just letting all your frustration come out

so when doyoung comes out he finds you sitting there curled into yourself and you just sigh when you see him like "if you're gonna get me fired don't apologize"

and he's ?????????? because why should he do that???????? but that's not the most important  thing going through his mind as he carefully sits down next to you

"i don't want you to be fired i want to apologize. i know you hate me and i understand because i've been an asshole to you but thats because......"

he trails off and when u peek over at him he looks the most serious you've ever seen him, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as he seems to pick his words

which is surprising because kim doyoung never thinks before he talks and then he says

"i like you"

and you think for a second youre hallucinating???? you can't help but laugh because is he just punking you??? is this a hidden cam???

but he's completely serious and his ears are red and you stop laughing in shock like "wait you LIKE ME????"

doyoung has the audacity to snort "of course i do.... i literally stare at you all the time how could you miss it"

u gape at him..... because seriously.... "are you a child?!?!?! do you think picking on someone is flirting?!?! how was i supposed to know!!!!" and he sighs and starts to stand up like "i know you don't like me back but i wanted to tell you. i promise i'll be professional from now on"

suddenly you realize you haven't told him you like him back so panicking you pull at his arm and pretty much just kiss him

which soon deteriorates into a pretty fierce makeout session with doyoung's lip between ur teeth and his big warm hands slipping clutching at your shirt and running up and down your sides until you hear a throat clearing....

mark is standing there awkwardly like uhhhhh we gotta uhhh do this shoot..... uhhh and u hear haechan holler "THEY MADE OUT" because he can tell from his best friend's stammering hehe

as the kid darts back into the studio you look up at doyoung's mortified face and finally finally tell him that you like him too

and honestly doyoung would traumatize his precious mark lee a thousand times as long as he got to hear you say those words for the rest of his life :'^)

that night after dinner with the gang doyoung takes you to a cute little cafe and you spend three hours talking about your lives and when he teases you it's lighthearted and sweet

that night you cannot help going home with him and not that you'd tell him this but Dr. Johnny Phil was right that intense sexual tension makes for an amazing first time

you both admit that you were unnecessarily hard on each other but doyoung doesn't hold back his opinions at work, and now that he's more respectful about it you actually really welcome his opinions.... he pushes you to do better and to learn more as a stylist

and you're the same with him! if he takes an ugly photo you tell him it doesn't work and he loves that about you

now that you don't try to rip each others throats out you're highkey the magazine's dream team and even the editor in chief compliments you on "your excellent collaborations"

yuta still flirts with you to get a rise out of doyoung but either you or doyoung basically just ruin yuta's life with a single sentence when he gets too touchy

lots of lots of teasing in private but now the teasing is accompanied by doyoung biting at the sensitive spot below your ear or leaving hickies on your chest and uh using his mouth in more creative ways..... if u know what i mean

you're the only person who can shut him up!!! 90% of the time he actually listens when you tell him to shush but the other 10% of the time he's just staring dreamily because you're so pretty when you're annoyed

and all the time

tells u how beautiful you are and how much he loves you totally out of the blue and you have to hide your face because you can handle him calling you the devil incarnate but not him calling you his angel

[blogsbycris-blog]

What To Know When Getting Hair Extensions

However, it can also cramp your style when the clips are showing, the colors don’t match your natural hair, or when the quality is not that good. That’s why having enough knowledge about hair extensions is important.

Here are some of the things that you should know when getting hair extensions:

1. Material

Typically, hair extensions are made of either synthetic materials or real human hair. Each of them has its advantages and disadvantages. Listed below are some of the things that you should consider:

● Synthetic

This is more affordable and its cost usually ranges from 50 to 100 USD. Compared to hair extensions that use real human hair, synthetic ones don’t frizz when they get wet.

Unlike in the past, their fibers are stronger because of technological advancements. However, these types of extensions aren’t that flexible, especially if you want to curl it since it will only last for three to six months.

● Human Hair

Since it is made from real human hair, this hair extension looks more shiny, natural, and flexible than synthetic ones. It’s also easier to style, blend with your natural hair, and cut. However, it’s more expensive, ranging from 300 to 4,000 USD, depending on whether you’re getting partial or full extensions.

2. Different Types

There are permanent and nonpermanent types of hair extensions. The right choice for you will depend on your budget and what your hair really needs. You can fit non-permanent extensions by yourself and you can also remove it on your own, while permanent ones should be fitted by professional hair stylists. Here are the different types of permanent and non-permanent hair extensions:

Permanent

● Tapes

The hair extension is placed between two bioadhesive tapes, and it can last for up to six weeks. If you’re exercising or going to the gym regularly, then this is not

suitable for you since the tape will be loosened by your sweat. Soak up moisture by using dry shampoo and refrain from applying hair conditioners.

● Weaves

The procedure for this type of extension can last for up to three hours. In small strips, the hair will be braided tightly and then small pieces of hair extensions will be woven and sewn into a hairnet that will be glued onto your scalp. This can last for up to four weeks.

● Bonds

Keratin attachments are used in this type of permanent hair extension. It’s the same as tapes, but the strands will be circular and bonded with keratin instead of small strips of hair. It can last for up to six months, but in order to keep it looking good, make sure it will be tightened every six to eight weeks. The procedure can last for five hours.

Non-Permanent

● Clip-ins

These are reusable and temporary. They’re easy to fit and remove since you’ll just have to clip them onto your hair. Clip-ins can last for six months, depending on how well you can maintain them. Secure their grip by teasing your hair roots before clipping them.

3. Cost

Obviously, permanent hair extensions are more expensive than temporary ones. Since the former can take hours to finish and a stylist is needed to do the job, labor costs will be added so you should expect that it’s a little more expensive than just doing it by yourself.

Permanent hair extensions can cost from 200 to 600 USD, while the temporary ones can cost from 80 to 200

USD only.

Always remember that a hair extension with good quality comes with a price, but if maintained properly, it can last for up to eight weeks or more. However, if you’re planning to use hair extensions for just a short period of time, try using clip-ins instead.

4. Maintenance

As mentioned above, to make your extensions last longer, you need to maintain its quality. Here are some tips on how you can keep them in the best shape:

● Put a hair mask that can restore the moisture and can replenish your hair shaft. Do this once a week.

● If you have clip-ins, store them properly. Don’t just throw them anywhere. Remove their tangles, make them dust-free, and put them on hair extension bags, ziplocs, or shoe boxes.

● Use mild conditioner and shampoos. Apply serums or conditioner on the mid-length and ends only. Avoid m applying them on the roots since they make the roots oily.

Hair extensions can make or break your overall look. So, consider the guide above and find the

best hair extension that suits you and your budget.

[maiathebee]

Comprehensive Bibliography Of BTS

This is just a list of material referenced, alluded to or related to BTS’s concepts, music, photobooks, albums and music videos.  This is not a fan theory, or an attempt at one! Anyways here’s the precursor to my scholarly paper, lolllll (I’m not joking though).  I’ll update it as we goooooo....

Also, I know almost nothing about the School trilogy, but it’s my understanding that there’s not a lot of outside source material.  I could be wrong though.  Does it reference mangas and stuff??? send me a msg if you know.

(just a reminder that while BTS is remarkably involved in the creative direction of the group, the formation of a kpop groups’ era/concept is made by a large team of people, and therefore the members probably haven’t even considered or explored upwards of half the material on this list).

(asterisks mean that these works are not directly referenced by BTS in their interviews, lyrics or imagery, etc, but which are still tangentially related)

BTS book club list is as follows:

Shim Cheong - a Korean Panseori tale (Dark and Wild)

Demian by Hermann Hesse (Wings)

Seven Sermons to the Dead by Carl Jung (Wings)*

The Collected Works of CG Jung by Carl Jung (Wings)*

Thus Spoke Zarathustra by F. Nietzsche (Wings)

Beyond Good and Evil by F. Nietzsche (Wings)*

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas by Ursula K Le Guin  (YNWA) 

The Moral Philosopher and The Moral Life by William James  (YNWA)*

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (YNWA)*

Le Transperceneige by Jacques Lob (YNWA)

Then here’s the film club list:

She and Her Cat (dir. Makoto Shinkai)(short film) (HYYH pt.2)(this is according to Bang PD)

Lost River (dir. Ryan Goslin) (Young Forever)

Big Fish (dir. Tim Burton) (reason here)  (YNWA)

The Helpers/No Vacancy (dir. Chris Stokes) (YNWA)* (tbh this seems fairly coincidental to me, which is why it gets an asterisk.

Snowpiercer (dir. Bong Joon Ho) (YNWA)

BTS music playlist:

Wild For The Night by A$AP rocky (Dark & Wild)

Friday Night Lights by J.Cole (Dark & Wild)

2001 by Dr. Dre (Dark & Wild)

花樣的年華 - Zhou Xuan (HYYH pt.1/pt.2)*

Nevermind - Nirvana (HYYH pt.2)

Wasted Youth (HYYH pt.2)

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd (Young Forever)

Passacaglia in D minor (BuxWV 161) - Buxtehude (Wings)

You’ll Never Walk Alone - Louis Armstrong (YNWA)* (100% this isn’t a purposeful reference, but it’s a good song, y’all should listen to it)

BTS’s art history class bibliography:

Julius Caesar on Gold by Basquiat (Young Forever)

Tricycle by Basquiat and Warhol (Young Forever)*

Orange Sports Figure by Basquiat (Young Forever)

The Fall of the Rebel Angels - Bruegel the Elder (Wings)

The Landscape with the Fall of Icarus - Bruegel the Elder (Wings)

The Lament for Icarus - Draper (Wings)

La Pieta by Michelangelo (Wings)

Personnes by Christian Boltanski (YNWA)*

Further Analysis (and more fan-theory type stuff) in chronological order,  under this read more~~

I’m not sure there’s meant to be a single “correct” reading of the group’s narrative or story. Even in Wings, which drew its story fully from Demian, the ultimate narrative of the BST M/V is more vague.  While there might be a complete and overarching narrative that Bighit is trying to create with Bangtan’s concepts/mvs, I think it’s more likely that there are a lot of narrative threads running through the story, and some are maintained longterm, some are relevant only to as specific chapter, while others are merely aesthetic/cosmetic.  I have a feeling that even longterm narrative ideas are sometimes allowed to fade away for the benefit of moving the story forward at the pace they want. 

Dark and Wild

Shim Cheong is just a throwaway simile on hip hop lover.  I’m pretty sure it’s a reference to the idea that seeing Shim Cheong again allowed her blind father to gain the ability to see.

References like the one to Wild for the Night on hiphop lover (they also tweeted about the song back in 2013) don’t really do much except show that they genuinely like/listen to American rap and also it explains at least 66% of the dumb mistakes Rap Monster has made, probably, my poor problematic child.  Hip Hop lover references a ton of artists, but I just included the ones that are mentioned by more than just name.

The Most Beautiful Moment In Life (pt.1/pt.2)

Zhou Xuan is the first media reference point for HYYH (花樣年華)(It’s what the Chinese title for In the Mood For Love is based on). The lyrics refer to forgotten dreams.

Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood For Love (花樣年華) is not listed, as RM mentioned in the interview that this was not associated with their album. 

Notes of a Desolate Man by Tianwen Shu is excerpted in a Taiwanese literary anthology by the name of  花樣年華, and I though think it relates thematically, it’s merely my own personal association~ There’s no indication that BTS or Bighit even knows it exists.  Tianwen Shu is greatly influenced by Lu Xun, who wrote the anti-confucian societal norms novel, A Madman’s Diary. 

Nirvana t-shirts are a go to for BTS’s stylists, probably MOSTLY because they fit their preferred grunge image, but the word “Nirvana” fits well into the ideas of tragedy/death, utopia/dystopia and idealism that BTS plays with, while Nirvana the band is obviously a good reference point for realistic portrayals of youth culture and music which speaks to young people, particularly the crazy popular Nevermind (ahem Yoongi’s intro song) with Smells Like Teen Spirit and Come As You Are.  (further fan theory here)

It’s crazy to me that Bang PD found inspiration in a five minute anime about a cat, but read the wiki summary and you’ll believe him:  “When it's over She cries and becomes depressed. Chobi does not understand what the conversation was about or what happened but concludes that it was not her fault. He stands by her and comforts her. Time goes on and it becomes winter. She continues going to work and moves on with her life. In the end Chobi and She are happy with their life together and say in unison, 'This world, I think we like it.’”

Fire (Young Forever)

Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” thematically deals with youth/nostalgia (Shine On You Crazy Diamond: "Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun").  It includes critiques of the music industry and the cliches that the group had to deal with.  The narrative of Wish You Were Here is very much in line with Bangtan’s overall group narrative.

Lost River (a phrase you can see on a wall in the Fire M/V) is a film about a poor community, and specifically a mother and her two sons, going through crisis.  The film includes a scene of a party in an abandoned high school and ends with both a house and a car on fire. The film has an open ending which leaves room for an improved future, but the film is primarily about the limited possibilities and opportunities

As far as I can tell, the “Basquiat” paintings in the fire M/V are just imitations rather than references to specific paintings.  They’re probably being used just as an aesthetic choice - Basquiat’s art was a synthesis of street art, outsider art, social commentary and post-expressionism.  However, his life is also relevant narratively: he died young at 27 and he first gained fame as a graffiti artist.

I’m not putting it above because the film is super inappropriate, but the phrase “enter the void” is used in the Run M/V, and could refer to the Gaspar Noe film of the same name.  The title of that film is, in fact, a reference to The Tibetan Book of the Dead.  However, the term “void” (and the images of the void in the M/V) could just be a reference to five elements in Japanese Buddhism (including fire), particularly the Book of Five Rings.  But this is me getting uber fan theory, lol.

Another graffitied phrase in the Run M/V is “wasted youth.”  This could be one of three things; a reference to the hardcore punk band, Wasted Youth, an allusion to Fast Times at Ridgemont High which also includes a scene featuring “wasted youth” graffitied on a wall, or the phrase isn’t an allusion, but merely a description of the M/V concept.

Wings

The relationship to Demian needs its own post, so I won’t even go into it itself, but the tangential references it spawned are as follows:

The paintings in the Wings video are all in reference to Demian but are also all biblical/mythological in nature, based on the book of revelations, Ovid’s The Art of Love,  and the crucifixion.  The religious references, however, are dulled down -- Jesus is not fully sculpted, leaving him to be a vaguely carved form and allowing the image to stand more as an allegory for the relationship between mother and “son” in Demian.  (some further fan analysis of the art here)(and more specifically on the use of icarus).

The Passacaglia is also a piece which is referred to in Demian in the part of the book where the narrator begins to find spiritual fulfillment through music and art, something BTS talks about a lot.

Demian draws lot from Carl Jung, particularly his ideas about symbolism, archetypes and psychoanalysis.  The book specifically alludes to Jung’s Seven Sermons, and the idea that Abraxas is the ultimate being, uniting both god and the devil.  Thematically, through Demian, this deals with themes of forming ones’ own moral code, and ideas of will and strength of character, with good and evil being both at odds but also simultaneously part of everything. This theory/concept in largely influenced by Nietzsche, most especially his Beyond Good and Evil.  Together these are all philosophies which pull away from the ideas of societal norms or strict social structures and place a premium on personal/creative expression.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra (quoted in the Wings photobook and BST M/V) also furthers this idea that good and evil are “a wheel.”  It posits that Truth (not morality) is the highest virtue and that idealists flee from reality (SEE: Icarus).  The novel also introduces the idea of the overman, which is a gross idea and super problematic, but I can it being applied thematically to BTS as the idea of a ‘fully realized self.’  Zarathustra is a figure Nietzsche borrowed from Zoroastrianism.  (this writer has more ideas on some connections to Nietzsche).

You Never Walk Alone

“Omelas” and the theme of walking obviously references the Le Guin story, which is inspired by the William James essay, which in turn borrows ideas from Dostoyevsky.

Namjoon’s reference Snowpiercer plays into the video’s visual narrative (an inescapable cycle, the train, the cyclical nature of seasons, laundry is a cycle [2mjjk theory speaks to all these, lol]) as the story is about a train which circles the globe, in a world stuck in perpetual winter. Unlike the more environmentally-focused graphic novel, Snowpiercer the (korean-directed) film is intensely focused on class inequality, a theme which runs through BTS’s albums (see particularly Baepsae, but it’s a concern relevant to their School series, since most pressures put on students are related to social class) and which is of incredible concern to Korean people, and therefore is a common concern of a lot of Korean art.  Bong Joon Ho’s other film works are all very heavy on social commentary  (the host deals with the american military and politics/activism, sea fog also talks about social inequality... etc...), so referencing one of his films is a pretty clear statement that you are making a critical commentary on something.  Like the Le Guin short story The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, the film is about a dystopia in which the upper class/middle class/general public is reliant on the continual suffering of another (in this class the lower class or last train) to survive.  Trains provide a very easy metaphor for class given their class divisions into separate carriages.  This was also applied in another Korean blockbuster from the last year, Train to Busan (dir Yeon Sang-ho), which included some pretty transparent commentary on the negative effect that an apathetic, self-serving, lazy (male) middle-aged, middle-class could have on the survival of families and younger generations.

Most fan theories agree that the clothes in the M/V are a reference to the sewol ferry disaster.  Here is the fan explanation for how that connects to Boltanski’s Personnes.

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How to Recognize a Quality Font

To understand when a typeface is of good quality and well designed, we must first understand that within type design, or font design, there are innumerable technical aspects to consider, which contribute to the final result of that font. We talk about things like the quantity of styles, typographical variations like bold, italic, black, thin, small caps. But also things like space management and therefore kerning, tracking and leading.

All the proportions between the various glyphs, between the vertical and horizontal rods. Or even the management of open type features of a font. These are all functional, technical and aesthetic aspects that help us understand how the quality font is… or isn’t. The knowledge necessary to build a complete and well-made font are many and are not limited to aesthetic or stylistic choices only.

Technical aspects to be analyzed

The best way to understand if a font is of quality or not is to verify if, within it, there are these technical and design features. A typeface, to be considered quality, obviously also needs to respond to certain aesthetic characteristics.

And here everything becomes a little more complex. Because if, on the one hand, the technical aspects are easily analyzed and identifiable, the aesthetic canons are more subjective, right? No. I will explain this to you shortly.

Now, let’s focus on some technical aspects that I personally use to check the quality of a font:

Glyphs must be well designed

The first thing to do is to observe and analyze the individual glyphs. There are some features that make a quality typeface, and there are some that make them quite the opposite. The thing to look at is how the various glyphs are consistent with each other in terms of style and design. Individual letters must communicate in the same way within each typeface.

To do this kind of analysis, there are some tricks that type designers have used for hundreds of years. For example, there are some groups of letters that are designed using the same compositional elements, such as h / n / m / r / u. As well as the b / d / p / q or uppercase letters like O / Q / C / G, which have similar structures and curves.

It is this set of elements that make up the supporting structure of a typeface. When you go to analyze the quality of a font, you need to look for that repetition of those shapes, of those curves, of that thickness of the rods. In this way, reading a text with a quality font, one perceives a sense of rhythm. There is nothing out of place.

Furthermore, one way to analyze the design coherence of the glyphs is to compare certain details and their components.

Graces must be visually consistent

In a quality serif font, for example, the graces must be visual all the same or at least coherent with each other. And the same goes for the punctuation, the eyelets, the thickness of the temples, the ends of the temples and, in short, all the details.

Diacritical marks must be well balanced between them

Other things I always look at are the accents and diacritics, especially those of glyphs not commonly used in English as circumflex accents. Even if these elements are well designed and balanced, following the same aesthetic principles and with attention to detail, it is often an excellent sign of quality.

The number of glyphs

Furthermore, the quantity of glyphs contained within a given typeface is also attentive. Having many glyphs is not a collector’s habit, but it is simply a tool that makes the font you use flexible since it makes it adaptable to all the various languages ​​that use those specific glyphs or diacritics. For example, German uses the double S (or scharfes S ) ß, the Polish, the ogonek ę, again the French, the cedilla ç.

So, if you plan to write a long text, I suggest you choose a font that also contains these diacritical marks, because every now and then you will have to enter foreign words.

How to understand if a font is of quality

Now let’s take an example of everything we’ve said so far. Take the Helvetica Neue, Minion Pro and Melisande Sharp fonts. There is no doubt about the perfection of the first two, both designed with undoubted coherence. Writing a text in one of these two fonts, everything will appear in its place, coherent and linear.

Melisande Pro (downloaded for free), on the other hand, is not horrifying but appears to be of poor quality. Analyzing the first group of letters of the image, we can see that the h / n / m / u have the same basic forms. However, the r does not recall the form of n, as happens in the other two fonts.

Furthermore, m / n / r do not have optical corrections, which is very important when working with typography.

Another mistake can be seen in the accents, which are inconsistent with one another. This denotes a lack of attention to detail, which makes this font altogether of low quality.

1. Does it have different weights?

The fact that a character has many different weights does not mean that it is by force of quality, but it is a sign of design care, which is often a sign of care in other areas. Furthermore, having fonts with many weights is quite useful for one’s own projects, because it allows us to create contrast and visual hierarchy.

Generally, it goes from a minimum of 4 style and weight variations, namely roman and bold, and roman italic and bold italic. But it’s always better when there is more.

When you have to use the font only for a logo, or for a single title, it’s not essential, but to have more flexibility, I suggest you consider how many weight variations a font has.

2. Do you have any real text variations?

In particular, I refer to italic, oblique and small caps. Generally, a quality font, especially if it is to be used for a long text, needs true italics that is a variant of the font that has different glyphs, especially if it is a serif or pardoned. For example, in this case, the Minion Pro has true italics. If it does not have an italic type, it must have an oblique, as in the case of geometric or neo-grotesque sans-serif fonts such as Futura, Helvetica or Univers. They do not have a true italics but they still remain quality fonts if used in the right ways. The important thing is that they don’t have an oblique version which is simply a stretched version of the font in the regular version.

Another variation that I think is very important is the small caps. To understand if a font you already have has a TRUE small-case, just open a program like Illustrator or InDesign, set a few small caps and check the thickness of the rods compared to that of lower case. If they are the same, then it is a real small cap, if they aren’t, then it is not a real small caps.

3. Does it have good space management?

Managing spaces within a typeface is an art. Really. The real type designers keep their tricks to manage the various kerning pairs as something extremely precious. A quality font is one in which, when used, almost no changes are to be made in kerning and spacing (apart from cases where there are design needs to do so).

4. Do you use Open Type features?

The last aspect is that the font has open type functionality. Open Type is a font file format, developed in the late 1990s by Microsoft, which has become the main format when it comes to font files. This is because an open type font allows for many glyphs, many features, such as the use of ligatures, the use of different numbers (such as apex, as a subscript), which are all consistent with the rest of the font.

Conclusion

I really hope this article has been useful to you and that it has provided you with the necessary tools to be able to recognize a quality font for your next projects. Obviously yes, it is important to assess whether a font is of quality or not, but at some point the final question to ask before the fateful choice is: is this font suitable for the project in which it will be used?

Until later,

WDL

Read More at How to Recognize a Quality Font

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 2nd December 2018

Finally, we’ve gotten to December – this’ll be a busy month for me considering all the end-of-year lists and such, but it’s also the holiday season, so let’s look at how the charts reflect that jolly spirit? Oh, a new 6ix9ine song? Okay, well, we’ll get to that in a bit. Welcome to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Top 10

Staying at the top for a fourth week today is “thank u, next” by Ariana Grande, which has recently been knocked off in the US by “SICKO MODE”, but it’s still reigning pretty strong here.

The runner-up spot hasn’t shifted either, as “Woman Like Me” by Little Mix featuring Nicki Minaj is still at number-two.

Actually moving this week, however, is “Thursday” by Jess Glynne, up only one space whilst still entering the top 3 at number-three.

Also climbing this week is “Without Me” by Halsey, now at number-four after a two-spot increase.

Unfortunately, this means “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper has suffered, being pushed down two spaces since last week to number-five.

At number-six, after an initial surge due to TikTok and Snapchat, we have Ava Max somewhat proving longevity here with her first ever UK Top 10 hit, up seven spots from last week, “Sweet but Psycho”. Congratulations.

“Funky Friday” by Dave and Fredo hasn’t moved at number-seven.

“ZEZE” by Kodak Black, Travis Scott and Offset is actually up two spots to number-eight this week. “Guess we all made for each other”, whatever that means in the context of the song – listen, I reviewed the song in full and any time I’ve heard it since have felt like A-level physics tests, without any equation sheets.

“Sunflower” by Post Malone and Swae Lee from the Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse soundtrack is down a spot to number-nine.

Finally, to round off our top 10, Freya Ridings’ “Lost without You” is down a space to #10.

Climbers

Surprisingly on this slow week, we have quite a handful here. George Ezra’s “Hold My Girl” is obviously up eight spaces after the single push to #25, nearby “Baby” by Clean Bandit featuring Marina and Luis Fonsi up six spots to #26 – which will also get the album boost next week. “Mo Bamba” by Sheck Wes continues to rise ten positions to #27 (and I couldn’t be happier for it), while “I Found You” by benny blanco and Calvin Harris is up 11 spaces, taking me by surprise to #29. I didn’t necessarily think this would catch on that well, but I guess clubs are interested so I’m not going to be complaining – I like the song.

Fallers

Wow, we have much less of these than I expected. I knew it was a slow week but most slow weeks at least come with a lot more fallers than gains, yet we just have a spoonful. “Let You Love Me” by Rita Ora gets its streaming cut that takes it down nine or so pegs to #14, while The Greatest Showman hype dies down for P!nk’s “A Million Dreams” and James Arthur and Anne-Marie’s “Rewrite the Stars”, down five and one positions respectively at #16 and #17 – this isn’t happening soon enough, frankly. Since “Back and Forth” by MK, Jonas Blue and Becky Hill couldn’t possibly have a streaming cut, I’m just going to assume it absolutely collapsed this week down a whopping 23 spots to #37. Yikes.

Dropouts

“Leave a Light On” by Tom Walker drops out again from its #36 return last week, while of course “Broken Homes” by Nafe Smallz, M Huncho and Gunna is out from #38 as that type of grime-trap never does all too well unless it’s named after a Cadbury chocolate apparently. “Strip” by Little Mix featuring Sharaya J is also unfortunately out from #25, whilst the hilariously awful “No Stylist” by French Montana featuring Drake is taken with it from #22. “The Greatest Show” covered by Panic! at the Disco is also expectedly out from #39, but otherwise that’s all. Now, let’s get to the bigger story.

Returning Entries

Okay, cool, “Remember Us This Way” by Lady Gaga is back at #39, “Goodbye” by Jason Derulo and David Guetta featuring Nicki Minaj and Willy William is back at #40, but the main headline is of course going to be the start of the influx of Christmas music. While I may need to deal with more of this when I potentially change the format next year, we still get enough in the top 40 over December so I apologise for the Returning Entries sections eventually becoming smaller and more monotonous as we go on – naturally by two years we won’t have any returning entries we haven’t talked about, other than special occasions like “Three Lions”, so this December month is pretty much the end of this section and also the start of me attempting to review Christmas music, which is harder than you think. While “Fairytale of New York” is at #66 and “Last Christmas” is at #52, the one that reigns over all, and is currently already at #14 in the US, is this classic.

#34 – “All I Want for Christmas is You” – Mariah Carey

Well, this is one of the first times on the show I’ve reviewed both Christmas music and one of my favourite songs of all time. There’s something in the joy of those twinking bells and synths, Mariah’s sweet yet powerful delivery and most importantly the freaking sleigh bells, that make me want to involuntarily smile. The lyrics are simplistic yet they’re now just iconic, aren’t they? If you haven’t sung the chorus to this song, and you have a working voice-box, I doubt you’ve lived through even one Christmas. It’s not like the verses are anything to scoff at, either, hell, the bridge is arguably where Mariah really excels, especially with the male choir behind her providing some vocalisation that really has that carol feeling to it, especially with the main reason this song is so fantastic, other than the choirs, other than Mariah Carey being the vocal powerhouse she is (seriously, that final chorus is transcendent), and other than the joyful vibe, those sleigh bells combined with the driving percussion which just give the song such a punch that you need for a Christmas song to work as well as they can when you do them right. Even if Mariah Carey flops for the rest of her career, she’ll always be making bank out of this timeless tune which I hope stays for more than a while during the holiday season. Sadly, I can’t give this Best of the Week, but you’re damn sure I would if I had that choice. Sadly, not all of our Christmas returning entries will be this good over the weeks, although I’m sure this entirely makes up for it.

NEW ARRIVALS

Now you’ve got in that festive mood, how about we kiss under the mistletoe to aggressive trap-rap about gang violence? It’s that time of the year again.

#38 – “KIKA” – 6ix9ine featuring Tory Lanez

Listen, I don’t want to seem like I enjoy 6ix9ine’s music or defend his actions. He deserves that 25-to-life sentence, he’s an awful human being and most of his music reflects that in every way. If I really had the strength in me, I’d do what I did with “FEFE” and just ignore it completely, instead talking about 6ix9ine’s legal troubles, but this is Tory Lanez’s first ever UK Top 40 (and 6ix9ine’s third) so I don’t want to seem disrespectful to Tory, hell, he’s easily the best part of the song... which, yet again, I hate to admit, I like quite a bit.

The beat here really reminds me of the tropical trap stuff like “ZEZE”, and just like that song, Tory Lanez doesn’t let the melody go any further than a few seconds before he hops in for the hook, which is insanely catchy and I do like the dude’s voice, so he can pull off lines that may seem cliché like “I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it” with enough charisma, but then 6ix9ine comes in and just interrupts Tory with some repetitive, mindless bars that reek of “I wrote this in two minutes”, but it’s over quick and we do get a pretty funny reference to Bobby Schmurda’s hat, so we can quickly get to the kick that builds into the great hook again, hell, and in the second verse, after Tekashi steals a Lil Pump line (seriously?) and claims that he’s on some “Ray Charles, John Cena s**t” because he “can’t see the b****”, which is actually hilarious, Tory interrupts 6ix9ine in return with an admittedly funny skit with him replacing “TR3WAY”, a word 6ix9ine cannot legally say anymore despite his catchphrase “it’s f***in’ TR3WAY!”, with other words such as the Trojan brand of condoms, and the American chain Target, before bursting into laughter. Uh, yeah, I’m hesitant but this is a good ‘un, despite its many, many charming flaws – it’s clearly supposed to be funny, so that’s how I’m enjoying it.

Oh, and my friend Prez wanted me to talk about “WAKA” and while I do love A Boogie wit da Hoodie’s singing voice here, with a pretty catchy hook, I’m not sure how I feel about the song in general. The beat has a pretty intense string melody which I can dig, with Boogie actually developing a story which is interesting enough, until 6ix9ine literally shoots the song up, with gunshot and explosion effects that’d make you think he’s Joe Budden, but his part isn’t that awful and it’s insanely short because he’s the feature on his own album for the most part, so, yeah, this is a damn good Boogie song with a few intrusions from the Skittles-man. If we had a version without Tekashi, I’d like it even more.

#20 – “AirForce” – Digdat

Who’s Digdat? Good question. How did his first ever single debut in the top 20? I don’t know, but congratulations, I guess. Since I’ve looked more into British hip-hop, I actually recognised the name but didn’t know much about his particular brand of reggae or pop-infused grime-trap, so I did some research, and yeah he’s pretty okay, albeit a tad boring, so I didn’t expect him to get a hit on his own – and that’s because he didn’t. This song charted because of a remix from much bigger grime duo Krept & Konan, but since that has less streams, we’re talking about the original, and again while I appreciate the dark string-based production and Digdat’s blunt and fast delivery, it’s a bit too generic, I’m sorry. There’s too much bass here that overpowers the actual beat, and the first minute essentially being a bunch of synth-air with producer tags is a bit of an odd choice. The beat is pretty good but the mixing somewhat ruins it, but not enough to be all that noticeable. It just rounds out to a perfect, balanced, “I don’t care”. Hope Digdat gets some more recognition after this, though, the dude has potential.

Conclusion

I don’t feel like I can really give Digdat a Dishonourable Mention or Worst of the Week, but “KIKA” is just clearly so much better, so yeah, Best of the Week goes to Tory Lanez, whilst I don’t think I can really be that mean to DIgdat, so he gets Honourable Mention for “AirForce”. See ya next week, when I’m guessing there will be an influx of Christmas music!

[isaacathom]

ok heres my eurovision liveblog thoughts i guess

i love slovenias look but im not a.... trap fan?? is that the genre? not a fan of that. also not a flashing light thank, thank you.

‘the need for everyone to fall in love’ the need??????? sfuck off

uhhhhhh...... oh thats cute. oh those lil videos are cute. and i appreciate them. i wish she’d say the /O/ in old because she clearly can but it just sounds like ‘ahld’ or smth.

what wa the point of the australian presenter to spoil the fact her husband showed up on stage like that wouldve been sweet if i hadnt KNOWN it.

‘electronic groups’ oh god AGAIN? oh thank god. oh this is nice.

‘really gets under your skin’ wow these presenters suck. thats very much the wrong metaphor. like that literally means the opposite of what you WANTED it to mean. shit. fuck.

these presenters honestly are just kinda ass. also ‘songwriters are saying it doesnt make sense’ ??? are they stupid. its. its not exactly abstract expressionism?????? what the fuck are they talking about. also what was hthat camera cut with a bald man just side eyed the camera like hes ready to kill. my god. what a legend. but was thatcomment.a joke? wild. oh it was a joke. ok. yea no im not feeling their humour. also why do they keep cutting out.

oh im really liking portugals. like it just feels nice. its sorta cozy.

‘thats one way to put it’??????? was that a gay joke?????? what the fuck was that. what was that?????? like, she said ‘listening to music for 73 hours straight’ and she went ‘straight? thats one way to put it’ IS IT A GAY JOKE???? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN. im so confused. i dont understand. pls. why.

ooh its time for the invader, im Ready???? i think im ready. im sorta not but i sorta am. no choice, i cant pause. im liking this song though. ok cool im getting second hand anxiety about knowing an invader is coming. im not ready. i have no choice but OH BOY!!!! oh boy!!....... ok she handled that fairly well, but the fact her vocals kept going does look weird (tho its just clearly a backing vocal track to help boost it or to allow her to hold long notes, so im not fussed)

i like this song tho, i sorta wish she’d taken the reperform . ooOOOOH ‘absolute cockhead’ same. i like that they decided to cut to an interview to allow for the backstage crew and security to figure out what the Fuck just happened. like its obvious it was an unplanned interview but i think that was a good way to do it. a+

oh fuck thats ethereal. wooooahhhhhhhhhHHH. oh bitch. oh my god. i love this. oh i REALLY like this one. gave me chills. also, ‘crazy colonel sanders’ what, the flutist? yall are uncreative fuckers. he looks nothing like colonel sanders, in ANY way. like he just loosk like your reclusive grandfather. or like uhhhh montgomery montgomery from the asoue movie (i forget the actor sorry i know hes big)

oh this song hurts and it really shouldnt. ow. fuck. im meant to be doing my essay and im crying on the couch bitch Fuck. listen dude songs about close family dying hurt me so bad. HES CRYING TOO!!!!! bitch. ow. god no wonder he came 4th, that shit fucking Hurt me. oh my god. my throat hurts. god dammit germany! no!!!! bad!!!!! i came for fun. im slain.

im a fan of this albanian song too. it feels sorta like im listening to uhhhhh...... one of chelseas french musicals, actually. specifically robin du bois. i think its the instrumentation. big fan. oh my god i Love him.

why is their outfits being designed by gautier matter. wow those are square shoulders. i wish he hadnt. looks like something a Sith Lord would wear. the shoulders are better in context of the whole outfit. just..... not on a close up, i dont think. uh lovely song btw. oh the converse do not work with that outfit. why is she wearing sneaker esque shoes. what the hell was that.

he did a backflip?? in rehea- woah. hold on. black bars????? they havent been there the whole time, have they?? this looks like an aesthetic choice???? im confused. oh no did he have to dance like that. was that to fill in for the backflip they had to cut because he hurt himself. :| did they just dab. this is disgusting. i mean the song is nice but Why tho. czech hipster man, why must you hurt me. also i love how ‘whats up eurovision’ worked perfectly with the beat. v nice.

i heard viktor krum, what did he do. what does he have to do with this. why the fuck did they mention viktor krum, that actor is bulgarian and this is denmark???? i cant rewind. did i miss a joke. also ooh this is a fun viking beat.

WHAT HE FUCK DOES VIKTOR KRUM HAVE TO DO WITH IT. these commentators absolutely suck. i literally dont understand. they look NOTHING like durmstrang??? yall fuckers seen the movie?

also wow this is the much hyped australian act................. hmm. yea no we deserved 20th place. this isnt great. it also doesnt feel like shes hitting certain notes? but im tone deaf so i cant judge. this really isnt great. like ‘oh were a win chance’ yall blind from patriotism. i prefer most of the others. this isnt great. (i mean i dont wanna be that downer asshole but i Mean......... this is a competition and we got what we deserved here) oh god no that didnt work. nnn nah.

also STOP THE FUCKING FLASHING LIGHTS you fucking assholes. oh my god. im just /begging/. oh my god shut the fuck up commentators. these commentators honestly fucking suck. i hate them.

the commentators dabbed. Why. WHY. whats wrong with yall. fuck me.

also im still bewildered by the ‘straight? one way to put it’ joke like genuinely what was it. if the prior performance had been one of the gayer ones that i know are coming up, then maybe itd make sense. this is bewildering. heyyy its the ncis lady. i like her.

im waiting to finally hear israels unbutchered song ver (the ‘vote for israel’ ad presumably fucked it).

fuck i need food and i cant pause. god, is every song a favourite, yeesh. small aside - im sick of bands with a Single female. cowards. i mean this band is fairly diverse and i appreciate that! thats very nice!!! its not a specific knock. just like.... come on........... where the girls in the big bands at.

X RATED WIGGLES???????? are you all fucking mad. good lord this shit is absurd. oh this feels like a gameshow set. i like this. oh i like this. this is an aesthetic. i love the illusion stuff. im a Big fan. i dont think id call any of this x rated... m, certainly. wouldnt ban most of this from tv, you feel me. i thought that was quite fun. can you stop talking over the actual presenters please, you australian cockheads. im really hungry.

ooh i like this. edm, right??? i kinda dig it. like its hit or miss for the genre but i like this.

I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE BLACK BARS. fuckers. it was stylistic, right? i appreciate it.

oh. screamo? fantastic. just what i want! :) precisely my genre :) big fan of screaming :) OOH this opening beats though, ooooohhh fuck yea. lets hear it boys. oh, les screaming, more yelling. no im mostly okay with that. its in hungarian but thats aight. im sure the nordic countries appreciate this hard rock representation. also, flashing lights!!! stop! oh im not a fan of the backup singers there. thats a shame.

‘unique song’ thematically??? yall fucking crazy weve covered both bullying and metoo in two previous songs. ya dunce.

ok lets hear it. OH her vocals are gorgeous. also by ‘referencing jpop’ are you talking about the outfit??? im mixed on it because idk shit about ~culture~ but it is cute, i suppose. i dunno anything about jpop either.

but wow that ad really did not represent this song well. dumbass.

huh. country. weird. i mean this is nice, sure, but its not my thing.

HEYYY IRELAND!!! helloooo. this is nice. just nice and sweet. like that was just nice.

ooh cyprus. oh my fucking god STOP SAYING FAVOURITE you absolute fucking balloons. ‘how does she get the outfit on’ you can see the zip and its obviously a full body suit, ding dong. dumb man. im liking this though. big fan.

oh final song, thank god, i can almost go get FOOD!!! im hungry.

was that a russian overlay. interesting?? i also feel like some of these overlays definitely arent italian. are they singing italian tho? are the overlays just thematic w/ some subtitle esque ones? its nice though. like, the message is definitely in a good close and i love it on that level..... on a uh...... Song level? not really.

well that was neat.... im getting food. oh jeez the commentators almost spoke over each other yeesh.

why do they keep saying fucking viktor krum. im so fucking mad about that. its so fucking stupid. like thats. thats not. thats not remotely close??? you dumbass.

not an exhaustive list, but i like norway, portugal, UK, germany (brings me to fucking tears), albania, france (STOP GOING ON ABOUT GAUTIER), finland, bulgaria, moldova, sweden, israel, cyprus. theyre nice. germany fucked me up the most so i think im legally required to say i wish germany had won.

‘heres sandra bullock and jennifer lawrence’ shut the actual fuck up.

anyway im leaving. that was fun.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Why Green Is This Season’s Sharpest Tailoring Move

https://fashion-trendin.com/why-green-is-this-seasons-sharpest-tailoring-move/

Why Green Is This Season’s Sharpest Tailoring Move

We’re card carrying cheerleaders for colour. Black, grey or navy menswear is great, especially at the formal end of dress codes, but it’s very, very safe. This season your best way out of the quagmire of inoffensive uniformity comes via green tailoring.

The mere thought of coloured suits is usually enough to send sweat glands into overdrive and blame lies at the door of a pretty nasty smear campaign. Fancy dress shops are full of the stuff, conjured up in polyester and with fits so appallingly off the mark they make that school uniform your mum promised you’d grow into look like a bespoke number.

Change is afoot though. From among all that crappy coloured cloth, green tailoring has broken from the pack and – assisted by heavyweight designers and permanently well-dressed A-listers – ended up as this season’s freshest way to suit up.

How Green Tailoring Got Its Groove Back

Like any fashion trend, the green suit’s return to form didn’t happen through sheer luck. Bigwigs of the design world have been chucking their weight behind the cause left, right and centre. Sure, it may not have the moral weight of the #metoo movement, but for your wardrobe this is progress.

Where did it all start? Gucci’s SS18 Cruise collection kicked off proceedings with a jewel green three-piece, while fellow fashion titans Prada went into military mode for SS18, with pale khaki tailoring being their contribution to the green party.

It’s not only the puppet masters of menswear that are going full-on fanboy for green suits though: many prominent suit wearers are also helping fight the good fight. Awards season stalwart Timothée Chalamet has spent the best part of the last 12 months encased in an endless supply of green. Then there’s male model Oliver Cheshire – bellwether of anything that’s deemed to become a ‘thing’ – who has happily and repeatedly suited up in the shade.

Jonathan Leibson/BFA/REX/Shutterstock

There’s a spectrum of envy-inducing greens to choose from, too. Emerald and bottle green let you make a statement without straying into Diddy territory. Earth tones like sage and moss prove that business casual doesn’t have to be stuffy and military khaki is a good option while off duty.

The appeal of all green suits lie in their ability to shake up stuffy formalwear without scaring anyone in the process. “Green is a wise tailoring investment, and with carefully chosen accessories it can jazz up your wardrobe while still remaining both timeless and versatile,” says Paul Higgins, a stylist whose CV name checks Diesel, Reiss and Aquascutum.

So, now it’s brick-through-a-window obvious that tailoring has nailed its colours to the mast in green, here are all the practical reasons why it’s tugging at the heart strings of club menswear.

Richard Young/REX/Shutterstock

It Will Look Good In Linen

If Brexit has taught us anything, it’s that you can’t have your cake and eat it too: such is the case with linen suits, which are breezy and sophisticated on one hand, but will wrinkle at the slightest provocation on the other. When taken in green though, we’re willing to consider the latter a minor inconvenience.

“Green linen tailoring is contemporary and versatile,” says Higgins. “Yes, it will work with a white shirt, but a crisp white T-shirt and white sneakers worn sans socks will add a more modern spin. You could even try wearing yours with a navy knitted polo shirt and brown buckle loafers: the options are endless.” To dress it up, ignore the green-and-blue rule with a cornflower work shirt and navy tie.

The other advantage: a green linen suit will let you go smart and sweat-free without bestowing leathery-skinned international playboy vibes in the way a cream version might. The only thing you need be mindful of is those pesky creases, so do as much standing as you can.

H&M

It’s More Than The Sum Of Its Parts

If anything has so much has a whiff of versatility, you can be sure we’ll be furiously ‘adding to basket’. So, the fact that green tailoring works as separates is not only music to our ears, but a godsend for variety-starved wardrobes everywhere.

If you’re not convinced that each piece of a green suit can go it alone in the summer, then we raise you Pitti Uomo, where street style magnets often wear green suit trousers and never fail to look dapper.

The key to cracking the Pitti split is far simpler than it looks. It’s all about balancing light and shade, according to Timothy Lord, a stylist who has spruced up the wardrobes of Jude Law, Keith Richards and Michael Fassbender. “If you’re looking to get the most out of a green suit, try contrasting a pair of green trousers with white trainers and a crisp white tee for a casual cafe lunch,” he says.

This Italian-inspired mash-up can also be dressed up. “This contrast works in more formal settings too. To take you from day to evening add a shirt and jacket, again in pale hues such as cream and white,” says Lord. Or, if you’re making the jacket the star of the show, keep your trousers and shirt neutral.

Windsor

It Will Work For Work

By definition the office is not the place for fun, unless that is you work in one of those young, creative ‘enforced fun’ offices – which nobody actually thinks are fun. As such, it’s easy enough to let your navy or grey tailoring become a sad, sartorial marker of monotony. A green suit is your way out of the darkness though: it won’t raise eyebrows at the water cooler, but it’s got a bit more personality about it.

The rules for wearing a green suit at work differ from those that apply to grey or navy tailoring. While green can be paired with a white shirt and tie may work for awards season, it’s too much of a statement for your 9-5.

You’ll need to switch up the default colour of your suit’s companions. “Make a green suit work appropriate by teaming with the right shades,” says Lord. The method for correctly pairing colours for work is pretty black and white: well, black and blue technically speaking.

“A blue denim or chambray shirt will work well with a green suit, then all you need to add is a black knitted tie and black suede Chelsea boots. If you want a little bit more colour, try a rust or burnt orange pocket square for a pop of colour.”

Suitsupply

It Does Dressed Down

In another win for the green suit, it’s got the moves to work in your casual wardrobe too. It might sound a little difficult to pull off, but with a few canny styling tricks it’ll slot right into your weekend line-up. Think Johannes Huebl radiating maximum swag outside some exclusive menswear show and you’re on the right track.

“Dark pine green is an excellent choice for a suit that you’ll be wearing for dressed-down occasions,” says Sarah Gillifan, founder of men’s personal shopping and styling service Sartoria Lab. “It’s so obviously different from the default grey and navy options chosen for work and it has the added bonus of complementing lots of skin tones.”

It goes without saying that there are no shirts allowed here, instead look to your trusty casual basics. “Neutral basics (T-shirts/crew neck knits) in white, navy or grey work best,” says Gillifan. If you fancy going bolder though, there’s wiggle room to get creative. “To step things up a notch, add accents of burgundy or pink via your shoes or accessories.”

Ted Baker

Current Styles

[fathersonholygore]

Plac zabaw (English title: Playground). 2017. Directed by Bartosz M. Kowalski. Screenplay by Kowalski & Stanislaw Warwas. Starring Michalina Swistun, Nicolas Przygoda, Przemyslaw Balinski, Patryk Swiderski, Pawel Brandys, Anita Jancia, Pawel Karolak, & Malgorzata Olczyk. Film It Not Rated. 82 minutes. Drama/Thriller

★★★★1/2

Disclaimer: The following discussion will reveal major spoilers

  One of the more disturbing films of the past few years without any need to be graphic, the Polish dramatic-thriller Playground from director-writer Bartosz M. Kowalski is a stunning and brutal look at the beginnings of adolescence; some of which are vastly different from the others. It’s the story of three different kids in Poland – a girl, Gabrysia, and two boys called Czarek and Szymek – whose lives collide in unintended ways. But it’s the two boys who’ve clearly wound up on the more dangerous, decidedly more violent path in the end. It ought to be known, the film’s screenplay is quite obviously based on the tragic story of little James Bulger, a two-year-old British boy abducted, tortured, and murdered by a couple ten-year-old boys. Now, this doesn’t become totally apparent until later, as the plot’s heading to a close. However, when the knowledge sets in – for those who already know the story of Bulger in gruesome detail – it does so with the power of a hammer. As a hardened horror lover, I’m still capable of being surprised. Suffice to say, Playground‘s closing scene does the trick. But it’s ultimately the lead-up to the finale that holds the power. Kowalski isn’t looking to absolve kids who do brutal, ugly things, neither is he seeking to condemn them. His film is a stark examination of the lives of kids when they’re left to their own devices. Like a visual metaphor for the age old question usually asked in fear, or maybe to instil some: it’s [insert time here], do you know where your children are? Kowalski does well by introducing the viewer to the lives of the three main characters through a lens of class struggle, from varying perspectives. We see Gabrysia, and her home life looks middle class, perhaps even higher. She only has to take care of herself, though her home life seems, in some way, slightly odd. Then there’s Szymek, whose life consists of taking care of his disabled father, whom he beats after their morning routine. Finally, Czarek lives with his ageing mother, and he has to share a tiny room with his screeching infant brother; he doesn’t beat mom like Szymek does his dad, though he does casually joke about smacking her around. What’s clear, though, is that all three of these children have private lives; very private. The painful process of burgeoning adolescence comes through realistically, as Kowalski employs a documentary-like style as director. There’s some fantastic imagery, too. Such as the parallel of Gabrysia often putting on/reapplying lipstick – the youthful ideal of beauty and love, typically more feminine (I said typically; I don’t buy into gender roles) – versus Szymek and Czarek often seen smoking – a symbol of death, and the bringing of death, historically, is typically seen as masculine. Just a small piece of symbolism that works within the film’s context. These kids are left to their own, and what this illustrates is how children usually develop their sense of control and power. A lack of control at home can sometimes lead to a sad exertion of physical – or sometimes mental/social – power at school and elsewhere outside of the home. We see that Szymek even starts at home with the abuse of his disabled father, though the most shocking of his abuse is saved for someone else. Although Playground isn’t interested in making judgements, there’s a good deal to suggest the film falls farther towards nurture than nature. Not in that it discounts the role of nature. Rather, it feels like Kowalski’s suggesting nurture is of more concern simply for the fact it can do a lot of damage, it can be altered, whereas nature’s just uncontrollable and out of our hands. Society as a whole can change how it nurtures its children; it can’t change nature. Too often, the powerless take out their frustrations on those with even less power. It’s a cyclic process of victimisation and re-victimisation, in which the powerless engage in a painful loop of abuse. Szymek and Czarek don’t hurt Gabrysia physically. They could’ve done so – the two boys were out in the woods with her, alone. And for a moment it feels like they will. They don’t hurt her physically, choosing instead to do so emotionally, because Gabrysia, as a member of the middle class, has more power than them. She might even have been able to fight them off if they tried attacking her. Therefore, the two boys find a little boy, years younger than them. On this poor child, they enact their revenge – one against their parents, against the adults of the world, against society and the unfairness of their socioeconomic status. This isn’t a REASON, it doesn’t excuse these boys for what they’ve done. That doesn’t mean these statements aren’t true, either. The inclusion of class in the plots and the film’s story is significant, even if they’re only brief. Kowalski shows the viewer different upbringings in small town Poland, then how their effects manifest outside of the home in social situations beyond the family. The film is a contemporary view of class in this Polish town – one boy’s looking after his disabled father with no indication of how things got that way, where the kid’s mother is, and so on; the other boy has an older mother, an infant brother, and his older brother looks to be the sole breadwinner of the house, shelling out the money in increments. We see a large age gap between parents and children. In addition, there are suggestions of poverty, and perhaps even a lack of sex education, or maybe just a lack of access to birth control. And we must continually consider the religious faith in Poland, where Roman Catholicism remains fairly dominant, surely speaking to some of the family issues (particularly re: sex/birth). Crammed into these earlier moments, before the existential and visceral horror truly spirals out of control, are suggestions of exactly why things are how they are – what’s so disturbing is how Kowalski doesn’t dive any deeper, leaving us with only scraps to use in ascertaining motive for the finale’s shocking crime. In the last minutes of Playground, the desire to avert one’s eyes is endless. Those details of the Bulger murder are filmed in a far, wide, static shot, and every sound is more traumatising than the last. Kowalski’s choice of shot here is more than just a pure stylistic choice, it fits in with the overall way he handles the story in its entirety: he doesn’t put us too close to the horror, just as he kept us at arm’s length while peeking into the lives of the three main child characters, and so there’s no way to get too specific. In the end, is specificity really the point? Will being more graphic, more explicit, and more specific, in any shape, change our perspective? Will we suddenly understand what could possibly motivate two young boys to kill an even younger boy in cold blood, on a complete whim? No. We’ll never understand, at least not to a point where we’ll be able to reconcile the actions with the motivations. By keeping a distance from the subject matter, visually and thematically, Kowalski allows us to ingest a piece of fiction that might otherwise be far too harrowing for the average viewer. For this reason, above all else, Playground is an absolutely rattling piece of cinema that deserves to be seen, discussed, and most certainly remembered. Cyclic Abuse and the Horror of Unattended Children in PLAYGROUND Plac zabaw (English title: Playground). 2017. Directed by Bartosz M. Kowalski. Screenplay by Kowalski & Stanislaw Warwas.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: K-Pop Conquers the World

I admit it: I’ve come to prefer Korean pop over American pop. The familiar argument, that Korean producers replicate American pop conventions with sly distance and scientific expertise, won’t fly — given the present mediocrity of the American Top 40, what’s to like? Rather, the auteurs behind K-pop have mastered a sort of transhistorical bricolage that stateside comes naturally only to indie bands and the occasional hip-hop beatsmith, turning the planet’s entire history of recorded music into the K-pop producer’s playground — a massive compendium of discrete ingredients available for ransacking, for twisting into concise pop structures. If this is the counterargument to the plagiarism charge, I don’t entirely buy it either, since it could just as easily produce surreal garbage. Maybe it’s just that when a musical cottage industry starts training kids to be pop stars since before adolescence, some of them turn out really talented.

I.U.: Palette (Loen/Fave)

Since going ���mature” four years ago on her breakthrough album, Modern Times, I.U. has specialized in several international ballad styles, none of them originally Korean. Assuming an air of dreamy sophistication, the former ingenue has dipped her toes into lounge-jazz, bossa nova, neodisco, Celine Dion facsimile, and any number of styles consistent with notions of cosmopolitan urbanity. Leave it to an aesthete this shrewd to identify each genre’s good parts and isolate them in palatable replicas for her fanbase. The floaty, feathery R&B she offers on this album is typically delightful.

Qualities that would repel in an Anglophone or Francophone singer fascinate in her: her choices in stylistic sources position her as the final link in a chain denoting moments of self-conscious self-differentiation. Slow R&B burners this fluffy, not to mention cocktail ballads this demonstrative, would already qualify as shamelessly retro if Justin Timberlake sang them; I.U.’s translation of this mode into Korean adds an extra layer of distance, such that the music turns obsessively self-reflexive, containing mirror upon mirror. Awareness of form ensures a willingness to stretch formal boundaries, and this album uses blank space to such masterful effect that each song blurs the traditional distinction between ballads and dance tracks. Piano, strings, quietly subtle rhythm guitar, and cannily minimal drum machine create thin, restrained, readymade shapes. While she sings straightforwardly around the melody in the foreground, her breathy backup vocals — or strings, or a softly ostinato keyboard texture — fill in the empty spots between the lines drawn by the discrete instruments, tricking the listener into imagining vast expanses of space. Paradoxically, the effect is intimate; the songs and their singer have room to breathe, especially on “Love Alone,” the album’s centerpiece — a slow, haunting, excruciating ballad extraordinaire. Swaying with stark power while stealing from Brazil the concept of saudade, the song’s gentle, plucked acoustic guitar harmonics accentuate a melody inextricable from the rawness of her voice. Nine more songs in this vein produce an album of exquisite delicacy.

Thrilling in its reticence, Palette is primarily a triumph of arrangement, of instruments positioned next to each other in complimentary proportions. Hence, you can feel the ache in I.U.’s singing. Play it at night over headphones and gasp at her every whisper.

Day6: Sunrise (JYP Entertainment)

Each release by this guitar-toting gang has leaned a tad more heavily toward arena rock, and their full-length debut is where they turn on their distortion pedals and crunch up a storm. Pounding energetically as they do, there’s nevertheless a dull predictability to this move that makes me wish they’d lighten up again.

As their eye shadow and punchy, theatrical dynamics would indicate, they draw as much influence from mid-’00s American emo bands as from late ‘00’s Korean indie-rock, but their strengths are inversely proportional to those of most emo bands. Theoretically I’m not sure whether Dashboard Confessional is a band anybody should emulate. As with those avatars of bathetic yearning, Day6’s ballads, so huge and soaring and plaintive, are kitsch masterpieces — the magnificent “I Smile,” its solemn, arpeggiated guitar chime ringing out through the air, flaunts heartbreak the way a jock might bare a set of washboard abs. Their upbeat songs, however, land with a joyless thud, beholden to excessive notions about how hard the drums must hit and how gritty the guitars must sound. If the mix were crisp rather than merely polished, the guitars might crack sharply and provide serviceable contrast with the songwriting’s earnest sensitivity, but instead the band bulldozes the material into a blunt thrash. Comparison with Daydream, last year’s sublime mini-album, reveals much; when their power pop was still agile on its feet, their amusement at getting to act like heartthrobs shone through. Here the distorted whomp obscures such frivolities. The difference is slight but exhausting.

Many of their hooks remain fetching — ”I Wish,” “I’m Serious” (what a title!) — but taken together they equal an album overwhelmed by hasty rock loudness. Barring a resurgence in rhythmic spring, I hope they shift their focus to ballads exclusively. Adducing a bleeding heart may just inspire emotions extreme enough to satisfy.

Ignito: Gaia (Mnet)

I’m skeptical of foreign language rap — each language’s cadence clicks with a different set of rhythms, and not always those specified by received Anglophone convention. Thankfully, Ignito concedes nothing to such expectations, and the Korean rapper’s second album delivers sensationalist energy while realizing the language’s sonic potential for rapid-fire delivery.

Musically, this album turns being loud and obnoxious into a battle cry. Producer Kontrix’s beats — which combine synthesized strings, power chords, sinister showoff lead guitar, giant slabs of slammed electronic boom, and, on “Metal Rising,” a massed choir — recall prior hip-hop accompaniment less than they do Kavinsky, the Star Wars soundtrack (prequels only) interpreted for synthesizer, and any music imbued with the sort of grandiosity whereby a hero has only four minutes to save the world. This is maximalist orchestral technocratic schlock of the highest order, conjuring a mock sense of shock at its own presence — “oh no, it’s me!,” cry the electronic violins and the blues guitar. The bullheaded arrogance necessary for a rapper to choose this as his musical setting astounds, and Ignito delivers. He’s got the voice for it: deep, aggressive, froglike, inhabiting a defiantly angry yet infuriatingly self-assured tone that matches the orchestration exactly. Lacking sufficient knowledge of Korean rap to place him in context, I’ll compare him instead to Kevin Gates; both convey the sense that their tongues are too big for their mouths, so they can only blubber their lips. But Ignito’s flow is quicker and more multifaceted, more mindful of internal rhymes, more willing to stretch a line and break the meter. Treating macho puffery as a kinetic skill, the album plays like a pushy show of technique. He’s got the eye of the tiger, and you’re gonna hear him roar.

No clue what the lyrics are saying beyond an English chorus or two, and I’m not sure I want to — given his manner on the microphone, he might be an unpleasant character up close. I’m grateful to the language gap for rendering delectable such a vivid portrait of gruff masculinity in the abstract.

Lovelyz: R U Ready? (Woolim/CJ E&M)

Whatever the virtues of sugary soda and tacky plastic product, a reasonable consumer could wonder just how many girly electropop albums one needs. The answer is a zillion, obviously. This Korean girl group’s second album, as tangible as Silly Putty, terrifically demonstrates why.

So cheerful one might consider them a parody of pep, PC Music’s fantasy of what the perfect K-pop band would sound like, Lovelyz inhabit a childish cuteness that, contrary to expectations, isn’t common in K-pop proper — even the danciest stars typically court the adult contemporary market as well. With song titles like “My Little Lover,” a singer (one of eight) named “Baby Soul,” and a musical style whose cartoon simplicity codes as pre-erotic, Lovelyz instead pursue the diminutive. The album thrills in its one-dimensionality. Fizzy bright synthesizers squeak, whirr, and pop like balloons pop; synthetic slapped funk bass bounces like a rubber ball; hyped-up drum machines get the party going; breathless vocals project utter delight at the fact of their presence in such a playful environment. Imagine a digital electronic template as sweet and clean as Britney Spears’s, with the mood altered from flirty ambiguity to the joy a child feels upon seeing a pile of birthday presents, each shinier than the next, wrapped in glossy paper and tied with a bow. I’ll extend the metaphor: the singers, ebullient as they are, represent the kid. The spritzy beats, and by extension the whole album, represent the most fabulous gift one could have hoped for. What a treat to witness such joy.

This album ticks off so many of my taste boxes — sleekly stylized product, formalized genre exercise, crafty simulations of emotional structure, sonic textures you can taste and feel — that it inspires the sneaking suspicion that these elements all belong to one mode. They don’t necessarily, though. The album’s just perfect, that’s all.

The post K-Pop Conquers the World appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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