#practically speaking its more likely that its just a stylistic decision for the second one

[tokagrem]

I headcanon that aphelios' eyes turn blue while he's on the noctum cause of the difference in these two summoner icons

[moonctzeny]

love to hate me

request:  celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count:  7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point 

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

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

Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

 “I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”  

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

 As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work. 

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him. 

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.” 

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place. 

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

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

And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video. 

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot. 

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind. 

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting. 

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out. 

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot. 

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love. 

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears. 

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs. 

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again. 

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message. 

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

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

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you. 

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty. 

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love. 

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

the artiste; hanamiya makoto

tags; fashion/modelling industry!au, lowkey sugar daddy!hanamiya, not telling you anything else so you gotta read these 3.8k words now

tw; unhealthy weight loss techniques

note: charon is the dude who carries souls of the deceased across the river styx - the river which connects the earth and the underworld

“Well, aren’t you pretty.”

These are the first words Hanamiya ever directs towards you, raising his champagne glass as you approach, with the same sleazy smile across his lips that you’ve seen on the face of every man who steps into the host club to soak up the atmosphere of women and wine.

“I’m flattered,” you upturn your lips - amiable but not too friendly, ladylike but not cold.

“Not you’re not,” the man’s tone holds none of its previous singsong. In your shock, you lose the smile, “you’re sick and tired of hearing the same words come out of every man’s lips, right? Nor are you particularly subtle with how you looked up at the clock.”

“I apologise-“

“Don’t. I’m not kidding when I say I’m pleased to meet you,” he stretches out his hand, takes yours and shakes it hard, “Makoto, Hanamiya Makoto. And I’m here to be your Charon.”

At first, your conversations with Hanamiya - always at the club, of course, though they grow more frequent, and soon he doesn’t even need to request you either; all the staff know that he’s only got eyes for you - are stilted and stiff. He’s charismatic but you’re not trained to talk to charismatic men.

“I’m not like the others, am I?” Hanamiya chuckles as if savouring his own sense of superiority. “I don’t work with the script your manager tells you to follow. I bet you’ve never told a single one of your customers what you actually think about them. You know, I used to work for a place like this, a common place pimp, picking up pretty girls off the street for the manager - that’s how I know just about everything you’re thinking. I understand more about your profession than you do.”

“What do you do now?” you ask, noting how the discussion is slowly falling into dangerous territory (the manager’s number one rule: never tell the customer anything they can’t just see).

“I’m a fashion designer, producing haute couture gowns for those with too much money to spend.”

It’s only then that you understand why his name sounded so familiar. And maybe Hanamiya sees how your eyes sparkle at the recollection, because the grin slips back onto his lips.

After that, conversations start getting easier. Hanamiya’s still a little too questioning, just a touch too intrusive, but you can’t avoid the questions of a man who dwells in the summit of society, which you could only dream of looking up at as a child. After all, who hasn’t fantasied about walking down the runway, being the object of everyone’s envy, being the centre of all the photos?

And that’s the worst part of Hanamiya - he keeps saying it’s possible, for you.

“It’s your bones,” Hanamiya tells you, running his hand across your cheek, his fingers pressing down gently onto what lies beneath your skin (the manager’s second rule: never let customers touch you in any way vaguely intimate - insist on boundaries). “God made you to be a model.”

Of course, you tell him you’re not interested (you’ve got a comfortable paying job now, and it doesn’t lack in glamour either, entertaining rich old men with pearls on your neck), but, every time he visits, he asks again. And it slowly gets harder to resist how sincerely he squeezes your hand, how authentic his smile has become (no longer do you feel the sensation that he’s inspecting you - he’s a friend now, more than anything), and how this could be your only chance to fulfil those childhood dreams that would have never stood a chance, if not for Hanamiya.

“I need you,” murmurs Hanamiya, staring so intensely into your eyes that it’s like he’s not looking at you at all, “you’re perfect.”

“Why me?”

“There’s this one dress... It’ll only reach its true potential if you’re the one wearing it. Just one show, just a couple steps down the catwalk, that’s all you have to do. If you don’t like it, you can leave the industry the next day.”

You glance around the club you’ve come to call a second home, at its plushy red sofas which look almost blood-coloured, dimly lit by the chandeliers overhead.

“I’m happy here.” Once, that wouldn’t have been a lie.

Hanamiya sits back, but his gaze still doesn’t leave yours. “You enjoy grandeur here, but only in the night. Don’t you want it in the light too?”

That evening, you quit your job.

It’s raining outside. As the two of you rush to his car, parked a little while away, Hanamiya holds his coat over you head.

“I thought your coat was too expensive to get wet!” you laugh, your hands still shaking with the adrenaline of your own rashness, the soles of your shoes slapping against the puddles on the pavement.

“You’re way more expensive, angel,” replies Hanamiya.

In the moment, with his raindrops glittering across his hair, and a boyish smile across his face, you can forget that this man is a multi-millionaire who now owns your future. Right now, he just seems like an ally - maybe even a friend.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Hanamiya’s saying as he slips his key into the lock of a tall mahogany door, with his face turned away from you, “model apartments, agencies: they’re all shams. It’s tricky business for a newcomer. You’re safest with me.”

You’ve worked long enough in a shady industry to know that it’s never wise to put all your eggs in one basket.

“Why not an agency? Don’t I need someone to represent me?”

“Agencies only exist to take as large a cut of your earnings as they can, and get you in debt - that’s what the apartments they set you up with are for - and then make you reliant on them, so they can keep taking your money. They don’t care about your potential,” the light down the corridor is flickering, casting fleeting shadows over Hanamiya’s form which distort his face as he turns towards you, “not like I do.”

Something in his tone suggests to you that, firstly, you don’t know the first thing about this industry you’re stepping into, and that, secondly, you don’t need to know. You just need to stick with him.

You can trust him (you think).

After all, Hanamiya’s the one who’s responsible for your being a model in one of the biggest fashion events in this half of the year - you, someone with no experience apart from a couple hours practice with an expert (who had only agreed to it, you understood, because they were desperate to work with Hanamiya too). He’s also the one who kept you company during the dress rehearsal, when all the other models were eyeing you, mumbling together from the distance, dressed in their various shades of blacks and greys and purples like a plague about to smother you whole.

“Ignore them, they’re just envious that you’re the star of the show,” Hanamiya whispered, his lip just grazing the top of your ear, before announcing to the room, “work hard, ladies, and maybe, one day, you’ll get to be my favourite instead!”

You had asked him to not make such a big show of it. One of the best parts of working at the host club had been sitting with your fellow hosts at the end of the day, slipping off your high heels to give your feet a rest, gossiping together about that day’s customers. Making friends with these new colleagues of yours, you explained to Hanamiya, was just as important to you. You didn’t want to be the lone wolf; you didn’t want to feel like you were walking down the runway alone.

“Why?” Hanamiya had replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the mirror before you, you were convinced the other models were glaring at you. “Can’t you cope with the pressure?”

And, now, in the final hour before the first (and potentially last; now it’s so close, you’re starting to realise just how unqualified you are) show of your life, still no one’s talking to you. Even the three people working on you - two on your hair, one of your makeup (in Hanamiya’s words, the star shouldn’t have to worry about anything but the walk ahead) - refuse to speak to you, or even meet your eye in the mirror. Your only option for conversation is Hanamiya, who’s barely interested in you. His eyes keep straying to look over the preparations being performed before him, like a boy studying his ant farm.

“You’re got too much trust in me,” you say to Hanamiya, as your head gets wrenched back by one of the stylists, “I could ruin your whole show.”

“If I thought that,” Hanamiya’s eyes flicker over you, and then return to observing the other models, “I wouldn’t have offered the position to you.”

“I’m no professional model.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hanamiya’s casual smile slips off his face. He’s displeased. You have to put more trust in his decisions, you remind yourself, as black lipstick and eyeshadows is smudged across your lips and eyelids, giving you the appearance of a banshee.

Around 10 minutes before you’re supposed to go out, you’re helped into the gown you’ll be wearing (the other models have been dashing back and forth to get changed into their next outfits, whereas you just have the one), and hairspray is once again sprayed over the crow’s nest that was once your hair (you look deranged, you think to yourself, but Hanamiya gives a satisfied hum once he sees the stylist’s finished product).

And then, in the final seconds, Hanamiya approaches you - “make me proud” - and pushes you onto the catwalk.

One step in front of the other. Let the satin skirt swing. Don’t move your arms too much. Expose the lace that attaches the sleeves to the skirt, hanging down like great wings of spider’s webs. And keep your arms raised, just slightly. Even when the heaps of black satin, piled across your biceps and forearm, make your muscles burn, keep your arms up. Look confident. But haunted too. Walk slow. Let your hips slip to the side, but don’t overdo it. Not like the other models. Remember, you’re the witch. You’re wearing the dress of the witch. You’re not a model.

You’re the star.

At the end - and it’s curious how long the runway feels whilst you’re on it, and how short it looks when it’s over - the lights dim, and, the minute you’re backstage, high on adrenaline, you race into Hanamiya’s arms. You’re shaking too much to speak, but Hanamiya holds you closely, like you could crumple any minute.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “you did exactly what I told you to.”

And then he tosses you to the side, as he goes out to greet the applause.

-----

You’re not sure how (in the photos, you look like a woman possessed - perhaps you shouldn’t have been concentrating so hard on remembering Hanamiya’s advice) but the show’s a success. More than that, you’re a success. Suddenly, your schedule starts being booked up. There’s magazines interested in this new look, photographers keen on being the ones to represent it, and even the tabloids have been writing about “designer Hanamiya Makoto finds yet another hidden talent!”

“’Another’?” you ask Hanamiya, stretched out underneath his bed’s thin black duvet - he keeps saying he’ll find you your own place to stay, but he’s yet to refer you somewhere, and you’re not sure you’d want to go, even if he did.

“There’s been a couple models in the past that I brought to the industry,” he replies, slipping off a dark grey tie, unbuttoning the top hole of his black shirt, “but none with your potential, angel.”

Your attention returns to the magazine, as you reread the article for the tenth time. There’s something addicting about seeing your name written there, seeing your photo printed into the glossy paper. Over and over, you run your fingers across the ‘truly the star of the show’ printed in Times New Roman, and, every time, the words bring a shiver up your spine. That’s you. You’re the star. You’re Hanamiya’s star.

-----

A few weeks after the show, and your days are spent on booking after booking. Today’s job involves wearing a collection of what Hanamiya deems as ‘funeral dresses’ - long black frocks, not quite ballgowns but clearly not designed for the average grieving mademoiselle. And it’s only the three of you in the studio today: you, the photographer, and Hanamiya.

(You’re not sure why Hanamiya attends all these bookings of yours. He’s a busy man, after all; just organising your schedule seems a lot of work for someone whose main job is focused on something entirely different. The one time you asked him as to how he finds the time, he replied that, “as the artist, I cannot possibly leave you - my muse. Not unless you want me to?” He raised an eyebrow, and you never asked again, knowing very well that you weren’t ready to be separated from his company).

“Hand up a little,” says the photographer now, “no, put it back. The pose isn’t working. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He approaches you, squints, grins, and begins to adjust the positioning of your legs and torso. His hands slowly slip to your hips - you bite your lip as to not gasp - and then to the inside of your thigh, give your skin a slight squeeze.

And that’s when you slap him. Storm over to Hanamiya.

“Makoto, this man is no photographer,” you retort, filling your voice with rage to hide how your hands are shivering, “he’s a commonplace groping pervert at best.”

“Hush up, angel,” Hanamiya doesn’t even look up from his book, flicks to the next page “the plot twist is coming up.”

Just the three of you in the room, you think once more, frozen to the spot. And then the photographer guides you back to your position, and, though he’s less loose with his hands now, his grin has only grown.

“You’re being paid to be a mannequin,” he says, rubbing his thumb down the side of your torso, as if adjusting how the dress sits on you, “keep that in mind.”

Perhaps it’s due to his book, but, in the corner of the room, Hanamiya’s starting to laugh.

-----

In the evenings, the two of you return to Hanamiya’s apartment together. He cooks - you always offer to, but, in his words, you’re too good for household chores - and then, sat at opposite ends of the mahogany table, you both eat and discuss the day. Even now that he spends most of his day with you (and when you’re not on a booking with him, you’re trapped in his apartment, whose key you’re still yet to receive, not that you mind, of course: there’s plenty of fashion magazines here to entertain you, many of which now include photos of yourself), Hanamiya continues to ask you questions about your life. It’s like nothing has changed since the two of you were chatting together at the host club.

But that’s the pleasant thing about Hanamiya. He’s always so easy to talk to. He never treats you like the man who’s brought you all this success; rather, he treats you like you’re the one who’s enriching his life.

And that’s why, months later, sharing a meal together as per usual, you raise to Hanamiya your concerns as to how you’ve been getting less bookings recently.

“Of course I know you’re busy,” you twist the spaghetti around your fork, “but I’m getting more popular with each passing day. I need to keep up with it.”

“Oh, and that’s my job, is it?”

“You’ve always done it before.”

“Aren’t you getting a bit above your station, angel dearest? If you want more jobs, make a network and find them.” You can tell, from the way Hanamiya’s voice has dropped, from the way he’s placed his wineglass back down on the table, that you’re pushing your luck, “I’m no slave of yours.”

Fighting to keep your voice composed, as you wind the pasta tighter around your fork, you respond, “then at least give me a larger percentage of the payout from my bookings than I’m currently getting.”

“Do you even know what percentage you’re getting right now?”

You don’t. You’ve been relying on Hanamiya to handle the financial side of things; he always said that it made more sense for him to manage the books, since he was the one finding the jobs in the first place.

Your silence is telling and Hanamiya grins, takes a long sip of his wine.

“Just remember, I brought you into this world. It wouldn’t be hard for me to take you back out of it,” he purrs, glancing at how your plate is still full, “and that reminds me. Do be careful with what you’re eating, angel. I wouldn’t want you to lose your edge.”

That evening, you throw up the little of the spaghetti that you had eaten. It’s time for a change, you reprimand yourself. You can’t let yourself fall out of Hanamiya’s favour.

It’s with this in mind that you start swallowing down cotton balls, dipped in juice beforehand, and, as you feel them slide down your throat, you tell yourself that you’re full.

But still, the number of bookings continue to decrease. Those that you do attend are often filled with other models, so you’re just one of the crowd, one of many faceless limbs and torsos. No one speaks to you, even though Hanamiya’s not spending much time with you either. You stand in the queue, waiting for your photo, and, as the photographers criticise your inability to look natural in a pose or to even maintain it - “is your head full of wool, woman? Keep your hand there!” - you think back to your first (only, so far) fashion show. How you were the star of the show. How you’re still the star of the show.

These petty little bookings with their petty little photographers simply don’t understand your potential.

That’s what you’re repeating to yourself during your lunch break, having snuck outside to swallow down another couple cotton balls - this time dipped in chilli oil (if your mouth is burning, you can’t be hungry, right?). The sky glares down at you, painfully bright, as you run your tongue over your lips again and again, feeling the grooves in the flesh, where you’ve bitten into your lips hard enough to make them bleed.

“You’re the girl that did Hanamiya Makoto’s last show, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

The woman, who’s just stepped outside to stand beside you, blows smoke into your face, before inspecting you more closely. She’s tall, and there’s something skeletal in her fingers as she brings the cigarette up to her lips once more.

“He’s losing interest in you, isn’t he?”

“How dare you-“

She glances down at the remaining cotton ball in your palm.

“Just take coke if you want to get skinny,” the woman states, looking you up and down like she’s pitying you, “it’s downright weird to eat cotton. Coke speeds up your metabolism, makes you less hungry too.”

“Coke also gets people addicted, and then killed.”

“In that man’s mind,” she leans back against the wall, as a cloud of grey trickles from her lips, “beauty comes first. So us models who hope to work for him can’t prioritise our futures. You’re not going to last long with your current attitude.”

“What would you know? I bet you’ve never been in one of his shows.” Your words come out tenser that you had wanted them to. “I’m the star of-“

“There’s nothing permanent in this industry,” she lets her cigarette fall to the floor, and grinds it into ashes with the heel of her platform boots, “but I guess you’re still new to the game.”

-----

The booking grows worse throughout the day. As the humidity increases, the photographers’ tempers shorten - and Hanamiya doesn’t look your way when you get yelled at once again. You’re spending even longer stuck in the queues, standing silently, listening to the conversations of the models around you.

One woman glances at you with a smirk, and then tells her companion, “there’s rumours he’s found a new girl, another host club adoptee.”

You don’t have to guess who the ‘he’ is.

So, that evening, when Hanamiya returns late as he has been doing for the past coupe weeks, you confront him. Dressed in the slick black dress he bought you, wearing the diamond necklace he offered you as a birthday present, you pin him between against the wall, the minute he walks through the door.

“You’ve been at the host club, haven’t you? They’re saying you’ve found someone new, that you’re going to replace me!”

Loosening his tie, Hanamiya murmurs, “you’re not my wife, you know, angel.”

“I am the star of your show,” you hiss in response.

Hanamiya pushes your torso away from his, and something about his touch, or perhaps how you haven’t eaten anything substantial since 6am this morning, makes your knees weak. You collapse to the ground, your head slamming against the wall beside his leg.

Slowly, Hanamiya rolls up his sleeves, grabs your chin and pulls it up - hard.

“Don’t tell me this is all you’ve become - a jealous, talentless bitch?” He smiles, but there’s nothing entertained in his eyes. “All my expectations for you, and yet here you are, keeling over like a donkey in a fucking third world country.”

You fight against the pressure of his hand on your chin, but his hold is too strong to go against. “The new collection, “Styx’s Allure’… I’m going to participate in that show, right? Everyone’s talking about it, all the magazines are raving about it; I can’t not be in it.”

“Sure you can,” Hanamiya pulls you back up to your feet, and now it’s you being pressed against the wall, “in fact, I’ll save you the trouble of having to wait to find out. You’re not in it. You can beg all you want, and you still won’t get it. There’s a cute little girl at your old employer’s place; she’s much more suited-“

“I thought you said I’d be the star!” you snarl, overwhelmed with an exhausted rage.

“I thought you’d be capable of being the star,” sighs Hanamiya, running his hands around your neck, like he’s contemplating just how thin it is, just how easy it would be to snap, “but don’t worry, angel, you’re not entirely useless.

Just the other day, I was talking to a taxidermist about you.

You know, some things just don’t reach their true potential in life.”

[13lov]

heaven. (m)

# pairing. manager!namjoon x idol!reader

# genre. late 90′s - early 00′s au, idol au, smut, fluff.

# word count. 5.5k+

# warning(s). house party [ alcohol usage ], smut [ soft dom!namjoon, virgin!reader, semi-public setting, fingering, edging/orgasm denial ], blackpink is featured within the fic along with jackson wang. | unedited as of sept. 13

# summary: being apart of the world’s biggest girl group had its struggles, especially when your members could barely stand the sight of you. it’s not all bad though, at least your manager, namjoon, is always available to comfort in any way you need him to.

↳ a/n. this is only part one 1 ! there will be multiple parts!

↳ m/l. fic masterlist | full masterlist

“So, that whole thing was a lie? We aren’t really getting a break?” Jisoo asks, being the first to break the silence after twenty minutes. Her eyes are still closed shut, patiently waiting for the makeup artist to add the final touches of her eyeliner.

Within this current situation, she was the one who had been least upset; maybe it was because it worked out in her favor.

You, on the other hand, were pissed.

When promised an extended break for the first time since you were a trainee, you were ecstatic to have the opportunity to rest, make time with your closest family and friends, and “enjoy the ordinary life of a young person in their 20s” as Big Hit had officially stated.

The announcement had only gone public a few days ago, and your publicist, Seokjin, already had an event scheduled for you and the rest of the group; a house party.

“You get a break from practicing and performing,” Seokjin mumbles, only slightly interested in the conversation as he flips through the tabloids in his hands, “but, we just can’t let the public forget about you five while you’re on break. We need to make sure you’re seen and out there.”

“Bullshit,” Lisa swears, standing up from the white plush couch, “after two months you think everyone is gonna forget the biggest group in the world?”

“Current,” Namjoon speaks, so quietly, you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring at him this entire time. He’d been considerably silent since the moment he entered the dorm along with Seokjin and a team of makeup artists. He hadn’t even made eye contact with anyone, not even you.

“What?” Lisa asks.

Namjoon clears his throat nervously, “You’re the current biggest group, that could easily change in a matter of time.”

“Don’t tell me you agree with Seokjin…” Jennie trails off from her spot on the couch, a hopeful expression on her face as she turns to face Namjoon. 

His energy was completely off today, and in return, it was making you feel weird. Maybe it was because he had indeed lied about your group being able to take a break. A part of you hopes it was the company’s decision and not his specifically. 

Well, with the number of times you’ve cried to him about you and the girls were constantly being overworked, you really were hoping this wasn’t his idea of a break.

“You’ll still get to rest, we just need you to do a few events here and there; little things,” Namjoon had been slowly walking towards you as he spoke, completely forgetting about the hairstylist who had been adding the finishing touches to your curls.

He stares at you, intensely, and you stare right back. His gaze his somewhat amused, and you wonder what had changed within him in the past few seconds. The discussion wasn’t going well, so there was clearly something else on his mind. But, what was it?

“Still giving me the silent treatment?” he whispers, only a few inches away from your face.

You remain quiet.

“Gonna have to open that mouth sooner or later.”

On any other day, you would’ve fallen to his commands in an instant. But, today was different. You just let his words give you goosebumps and call it a day.

You turn towards your hairstylist, who is staring at your manager with a confused expression on her face. Namjoon notices your gaze and follows it, then feels flustered that he had forgotten your hairstylist was right in front of him and had heard every word he said.

Namjoon clears his throat, standing upright, “To practice your singing, of course.”

The stylist shoots him a dirty glance but doesn’t say anything else. The scene had (thankfully) gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t involved.

“Why are we going to a house party? And, who’s throwing it?” Rosé questions, breaking her own vow of silence and letting curiosity get the best of her.

Seokjin and Namjoon exchange an amused glance that only made you and the girls worried. Even your stylists had their share of little giggles.

Your stomach was turning.

“I’m sure you all know Jackson Wang,” Seokjin says, earning a groan from the five of and an annoying smile on your publicist´s face.

Jackson Wang was a rapper, actor, and your current fake boyfriend...in a way. It was all Jin’s idea, of course; to the public, it’d look like you were only friends who were dating in secret. Doing little things like wearing one of his shirts out in public, making sure to speak at him and every public event the two of you had attended, and now, showing up to his house party where paparazzi would definitely swarm. 

It kept the paparazzi on their toes, thinking they’ve caught onto something that was supposed to be secret. So, in a way, Seokjin’s plan was working. Everyone was definitely intrigued. 

“Don’t make that face, doll.” Jin is standing in front of you now, a fake pout on his lips, “You, of all people, should be excited. Kim Taehyung will be there.”

Kim Taehyung was yet another boy who you weren’t interested in but had to maintain some type of relationship with. With you making your acting debut soon, there was a movie you had already been set to film. Some type of horror-romance movie with your co-star being none other than Kim Taehyung. You didn’t mind starring with him in the slightest bit, but there was speculation that he was interested in making your relationship more personal than professional. 

“Oh, so it’s _____’s fault we’re going to this? So she can promote her stupid movie?” Lisa barks. You weren’t exactly offended by her questions, it kinda was your fault. As the leader of your group, you had been offered more opportunities than your other members. Did you think it was fair? No, not in the slightest. But, there was nothing you could do about it except ask that the other girls get opportunities as well. In return, it made your members act cold towards you. It was ironic in a way that no one liked their leader, you don’t blame them much. In fact, you’ve accepted the fact that they don’t like you and most likely never will.

“Watch your mouth,” Namjoon says, looking out of the dorm’s window to stare at the limousine parked outside. “You don’t think we forgot about the rest of you, did you?”

Jennie sits up in excitement, now fully ready to go, “There’s gonna be stuff for the rest of us to do?”

“Of course! What kind of manager would I be the leave you guys out?”

“I dunno,” Lisa speaks up with crossed arms, “that’s the way things have been for a while now.”

As much as you hate to admit it, Lisa was right; and Namjoon knows it.

“Play nice at the party and you’ll see what Big Hit has in store for you. Deal?”

There’s a reluctant silent, then, “...Deal.”

You had never even seen Jackson Wang’s house, let alone been to it.

It was a mansion, located in the middle of nowhere. A small part of you feels he has so much money and doesn’t even know what to do with it.

The drive to his home is long and quiet, the only sound being music coming from the radio. At your every attempt to make small talk, you were shut down immediately. There was no point in even trying anymore.

Finally arriving at Jackson’s house is a relief, though you hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. But, who knows? Maybe you will have a good time, though this was simply just a promotion opportunity.

From the limo’s tinted windows, you’re able to see the luxury cars all parked around Jackson’s fountain; each vehicle owned by some sort of celebrity. Paparazzi is already here, of course, not even letting their camera flashes slow down for a second. It’s overwhelming, but it was the price of fame.

The stretch limo comes to a halt and within a few seconds, the driver has made his way over to open the door.

Being closest to the exit, you move your leg to step out until Lisa stops you by putting her own leg over yours. “You always get out first,” she says, a smile on her face so paparazzi can think the two of you are having a friendly conversation, “let someone else go for once.”

“Does the order really matter that much?” You reply, copying her smile.

“It does when you’re always first,” she adds a friendly laugh to her smile before using her leg to push you back only slightly and step out of the car. Rosé and Jennie don’t even throw a glance your way as they slide past you, and you don’t expect them to.

Jisoo is the last to leave before you, but she pauses before she steps out, “It really isn’t a big deal, but she has a point.” Jisoo chooses not to look at you when she’s done speaking, deciding to slide out of the limo with a smirk on her face as if that little exchange didn’t just happen. You remind herself that even though she was the nicest to you out of your fellow members, she still wasn’t quite fond of you. 

You take one last deep breath before stepping out.

Standing at the end of the line, next to Jisoo, you let the photographers take as many pictures as they wish. All while ignoring the questions and comments thrown at your each and every way.

Seconds pass, and Jackson has finally made his way through his crowd of guests to greet you properly. He gives a polite hug to each of your members and decides placing a kiss way too close to your lips is enough to drive the paparazzi crazy. His large hand finds the small of your back as he leans down to speak into your ear, “I’m glad you could make it.”

Looking up at him, you notice the purplish bruise on his neck. It’s faded only slightly, so you assume there was a terrible attempt to cover it with makeup, or the marking was a few days old. Either way, you definitely weren’t the one who had planted it there. And yet, everyone would think otherwise.

Fighting the urge to tell him that you didn’t have a choice to visit his party, you only smile and ask that he bring you inside.

His house is packed with people, nearly all of them being A-list celebrities; you wonder how Jackson is able to live a lifestyle like this and how different he is from you. Sure, you enjoy being famous, but not all the time. For you, it’d be nice to do something as simple as take your dog for a walk without being swarmed with cameras. Jackson, on the other hand, made sure the press knew when he was going to the grocery store.

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask out of curiosity.

“Who?!” Jackson replies, yelling over the commotion of people.

“Taehyung! Kim Taehyung! I heard he was going to be here!”

“_____, baby, you know it’s rude to ask for another man when you’re at your boyfriend’s house.”

“You’re not my--” the metaphorical jazz music in your head stops playing for a moment, “I just...he’s my future co-star.”

Jackson completely ignores you, letting the arrival of his best friend captivate his interest. The rest of HEAVEN has gone about in their own way, leaving you alone in a crowd of people you don’t know.

It’s ironic. It’s so ironic to the point where it’s almost humours. 

You vaguely remember something about Jackson saying there would be snacks in the kitchen, so you navigate yourself to where the food would be. You’ll relax after you’ve had a bite to eat, right?

Everything that had happened since the moment you entered the kitchen (exactly one hour ago) had been complete and utter shit.

To reiterate, Jackson did have snacks in the kitchen: Jello shots. Nearly every single flavor of Jello in existence had made its way into his home. You’re pressured into taking one, then another, but you stop at three because that’s when Jennie walks in.

“We leave our leader for ten minutes and she’s already getting drunk,” she snickered, “that’s not very responsible of you, now is it?”

“Ease up on ‘er, Jen,” Taehyung suddenly enters. His outfit is laid back and casual, all black except for a red bandana wrapped around his hairline. He’s even more handsome in person than he is on screen, but you still find yourself thinking of Namjoon; wondering what he was doing while you got tipsy off of Jello shots.

“The break just started, she has a right to let loose if she wants to,” Taehyung adds, now pulling you into a side-hug. “How’s my future co-star doing?”

A high-pitched, sarcastic laugh sounds through the kitchen. You immediately recognize it as Lisa’s without having to even look.

“That’s not gonna last long,” she states, hopping up on the marble kitchen counter.

“What won’t?” Jackson asks, who had only been a few steps behind her.

“The two of them being co-stars.”

You’re confused by Lisa’s words, but you don’t ask any questions. You instead wait and see where she goes with this.

“And why won’t that last long? _____ is an amazing actress,” Taehyung compliments, nudging your side slightly to earn a smile from you.

“Oh, I agree,” Lisa replies, “she is an amazing actress. But, doesn’t this movie involve a sex scene with the two of you?” Lisa shoots you a devilish glance, and it takes everything in you to not let your jaw drop to the floor.

You already know where she’s headed with this, and you can’t believe she’d even stoop to a level so low for the sole purpose of embarrassing you. 

“Yeah, so? We’re both adults.” Taehyung says with an arched brow.

“If this is about me, I honestly don’t care that there’s a sex scene,” Jackson adds, “it’s all scripted.”

Lisa waves a dismissive hand in Jackson’s face, “No one cares about you. I agree that _____ is an amazing actress. But, oh...she’s still a virgin.”

A short silence falls over the kitchen, and Lisa still looks amused. You take a second to note that even more people have entered the room.

“You don’t need to have had sex in order to film a sex scene, Lisa. As Jackson said, it’s all scripted; we’re being told what to put where and what moves to make. Even I was a virgin when I filmed my first sex scene.” Much to your surprise, Taehyung had been sticking up for you the moment he had arrived at Jackson’s home, despite it being your first time to officially meet in person. 

“Yeah, but she’s gonna have to fake an orgasm, right? You can’t fake something you’ve never had.”

There’s another silence, and even Taehyung doesn’t speak up to defend you.

Everyone is at a loss for words. Even you.

“I...that’s...wow…” Jackson sputters, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the information he was given. “You’ve never had one? Like, not even from--”

“Oh, my God,” you cut him off and realize how foreign your own voice sounds.

This entire situation was childish, you felt like you were back in high school. There are tears threatening to fall from your eyes, you’re trying to figure out if their tears from anger or sadness.

“This is just…” you began, but can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence. Your anxiety is at an all-time high, the walls feel like they’re closing in on you and every glance in your direction feels like a judgemental one.

You exit the kitchen in a rush, and without a word.

With a house as big as Jackson’s, it takes you a while to make it outside. You search for your designated limo in the darkness and finally manage to locate it.

Your steps towards the car start to feel far too slow as soon as the paparazzi from earlier see you and immediately pick up their cameras. You keep your head down and try your best to not get blinded by the camera flashes, but that doesn't stop you from hearing all the questions and comments being thrown your way.

“Hey, _____ ! Why ya leavin´ so soon, babe?¨

“_____! Are the rumors true? Does Jackson Wang have a sex dungen in his basement?¨

“Where ya headed, dollface? Off to see a secret lover?¨

The last question sticks in your mind as you enter the limo, closing the door as quickly as possible to avoid the paparazzi.

“Are the other girls coming?̈ ̈ The chauffeur asks, starting up the car ́s engine.

“No, just me wanting to go back to the dorm a little earlier than expected. You´ll have to come back for them later; I´m sorry.¨

“It's not a problem” he glances at you through the rearview mirror, “it's what I'm paid to do, remember?” He adds a comforting smile to his words before driving out of Jackson ́s parking lot.

Once you're halfway down the street, it hits you that no one had bothered to follow you out from the party, or make any attempt to comfort you when you were obviously in an uncomfortable situation.

Though Jackson was tolerable at most time, he still wasn´t someone you were close with regardless of what the media thought. You definitely hadn´t expected your members to follow you out, but, you were hoping Taehyung would be a few feet behind. Maybe he would follow you all the way to the limo and even get in with you. The photographers outside definitely would´ve made a show of it and created some other type of dating scandal. But in the brief time you had gotten to know Taehyung, you´ve already figured a dating scandal with him wouldn´t be too bad, plus, Seokjin would love it; it´d make for great promotion in your upcoming film with him.

But, alas, no one had followed you out. 

Shortly after ‘HEAVEN’ had debuted, it seemed as though the other members formed an unspoken cult to hate you. The reason being so is absurd, you try not to let it bother you.

But it’s hard putting on a ‘girl power’ persona in front of the cameras then going back to being high school enemies when no one was watching. It’s hard knowing the ones that should’ve been your best friends mentally rolled their eyes whenever you spoke yet faked a laugh on the outside.

And it’s frustrating how no one picked up on their bitter and petty actions towards you; anytime you brought up the members not liking you to someone, they always dismissed it or assumed you weren’t being serious. Essentially, you’re alone. It’s ironic and honestly a bit humorous that you were among one of the most famous people in the world and yet, there was not one person you could go to with all your problems.

But wait, there is someone: Kim Namjoon, your manager. Any problem you had could be brought to him, whether it be work-related or personal issues, he was always there.

So, you decide to call him.

Beside you is your Louis Vuitton handbag and in it is your small, pink Nokia cellphone. You scramble to get it out quickly, having to work out the numerous amount of lip gloss tubes you were able to stuff in such a tiny bag.

Namjoon is first on your speed dial, right above your own mother, and he´s the first contact you press on before bringing the phone up to your ear.

¨_____?¨ he picks up on the fifth ring, ¨Is everything okay? Are you still at Jackson ́s?¨

¨Nope, something happened so I decided to bounce,̈ you reply. There's a lump in your throat from trying to hold in a sob, so you keep your voice as quiet as possible to avoid Namjoon from worrying. He already has enough stress on him, he won't have much time for your childish habits.

̈ ̈What happened?¨ he asks, and you immediately regret there was an event that took place that caused you to leave.

¨Uh...someone brought in coke and everyone started doing lines of it,̈ you manage to lie. Sure, you could ́ve come up with something else, but this one was believable with the amount of celebrity house parties that was surrounded by some sort of illegal substance. 

¨Oh shit, fuck,¨ Namjoon swears again under his breath, and you question if your lie was a little too believable. ¨Well it’s good that you left, but did you leave the other girls behind to? That won´t be a good image. You can´t just leave your members behind like that, it´s not a good look as the group´s leader. Next--¨

¨Namjoon, please,¨ you interrupt, because you already feel bad enough as it is, and being scolded by the only person you can trust right now isn´t how you planned for this night to go.

¨Are you…?¨ He doesn't finish his question and decides to sigh instead, and you do the same.

¨Just tell the chauffeur to bring you to the office, and let the front desk know you´re here for me, I´ll have the door unlocked for you, okay?¨

He doesn´t wait for a response from you before he hangs up, leaving you with no choice but to go see him.

You lean forward into the front seat and tell your driver that your original plans for the night had changed.

“Oh, _____! I wasn't expecting to see you here so l--”

“Tell Namjoon I'm here to see him.” You cut off the receptionists’ enthusiasm with your bratty attitude. You feel bad for so blunt with her, but you’re not in the mood to deal with anyone that wasn’t Namjoon.

Your handbag swings in the loose grip you have it in as you make your way to the elevator, and the price of it reminds you how hard you worked to be able to buy something like that with your own money. All the countless nights you spent, practicing your singing, dancing, and language skills just to make it all the way to the top, and be completely alone there.

It was so pathetic.

You call the elevator down with the press of a button as the receptionists alerts Namjoon of your arrival. The trip to his office is short, and you ignore any and everyone who had made an attempt at speaking with you.

You knock on Namjoon’s door twice, and a faint ̈come in ̈ sounds through the wood.

He's at his desk when you enter the room, slouched over, writing something down as his phone is pressed against his ear. You notice how the platinum blond of his hair makes his skin pop, as if he were a glowing. His all white outfit helps with the fact that you believe he was truly your guardian angel sent down by God himself.

Kim Namjoon was beautiful.

He looks up at you when he heard the door shut, and his eyes glimmer when you make contact. He can't help but smile at your current state, a hand on your hip with your handbag dangling in the other, pink cat eye glasses pressed up against your eyes while an evident pout was on your lips; you looked like a spoiled brat.

He beckons you over with a wave of his hand, making space for you to sit on his desk. You stomp the entire way there, Namjoon takes notice and forces himself to hold back his laughter. He's focused on this call, so you take the opportunity to lean over and see what he had been scribbling down.

Heaven cute comeback vs dark comeback ??

Contact suga regarding songs for comeback

Late fall / early spring 

Nothing written down makes any sense to you, but Namjoon seems to know what everything means as heś finishing up his call.

“Yeah, I’ll set up a meeting over lunch with Suga. Yeah...got it,” he writes something else down, “alright bye.”

He hangs up the office phone, sets his pen down, and looks straight up at you. “You don’t look so happy,” he comments.

“I’m not.”

“That's fair, but first things first,” Namjoon reaches up to carefully slide the glasses off of your face, revealing the black mascara that had been running along with the dark circles that surrounded your eyes. “Why are you crying?̈” His voice is so soft and caring when he asks, you can cry again just from how sweet he is towards you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble with a pout, staring down at your heels.

“Again, that’s fair,” he says, moving your legs slightly to access one of his desk’s drawers. From the cabinet, he pulls out a pack of facial cleansing wipes, and the fact that he has them doesn't surprise you in the slightest. It would explain his glow. “You’re gonna have to tell me at some point, though,” he takes one wet wipe from the pack before bringing up to your cheek, gently using it to caress and wipe at any leftover makeup until you were left completely barefaced.

“I’m crying because I´ve never had sex before.”

“Oh…”

“I’ve already told you a million times I want you to take my virginity.”

“_____, your virginity is a special thing.”

“Come on, Namjoon,” you groan, tossing your head back, “I’m twenty-one and you’re twenty-four; can we not talk about this as if I’m a child?”

“Then let's stop talking about it completely, babe,”  ever so gently, he pulls you down only slightly to plant a kiss on your lips. As mad at him as you were, you can't help but erase all the angry thoughts the moment his soft lips collide with yours. You force yourself to pull away.

“Are you gonna give me more context on why you’re suddenly so upset about never being fucked?” He asks casually as he boots up his bulky, beige computer. 

“No.”

“Okay then,” he smiles. You can tell he wants to know more, but doesn’t want to pry you for more information if you didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he just watches his computer load up. “Have you eaten today?” Namjoon questions.

You think back to lunch, and remember that you, “had a salad for lunch.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head, sliding you a white container that had been hidden on the other side of his computer. “Eat up,” he says as you open the box to reveal a half-eaten cheeseburger. You stare at it for a few seconds without saying anything, causing Namjoon to roll his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you care about the fact that I ate half,”he says, typing his login information into the computer.

“No! It’s just...thank you,” you say picking the sandwich up and taking a bite out of it. Namjoon looks genuinely happy that you’re eating, you can tell by the way he’s staring, as if you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Are you gonna at least tell me why you wanted to go back to the dorms so soon?” he asks after a few minutes of silence, letting you peacefully eat your meal until you’ve finished.

“I was gonna cry for an hour then make myself orgasm since everyone seems to care so much,” you say honestly. Though it would probably take some time, you just wanted to get this “never-had-an-orgasm” mess out and away.

Namjoon is smart, so it only took him a minute to piece everything together and figure out what actually happened at the party.

¨I’m sorry, baby,” he says, putting a comforting hand on your thigh.

An idea forms in your mind the moment his hand makes contact with your thigh, and you call yourself a genius. 

Placing your hand on top of Namjoon’s, you look at him for any type of response or reaction, but he doesn’t move; completely focused on his computer. Using your own hand, you move his up only slightly until his fingertips come in contact with the brim of your skirt. Still, he doesn’t react, and you grow frustrated. 

You keep moving his hand until it’s on your inner thigh, and finally he realizes what’s happening.

He looks up at you, as if he were asking “you seriously wanna do this?”. Your response would’ve been “yes”.

Namjoon glances towards his door, aware of the fact that it was unlocked and not caring in the slightest. On his own, he continues the path up your skirt until his fingernail is lightly scratching at your clothed cunt, the delicate touch giving you the familiar sensation you had longed for.

He does this only for a few more seconds, eager at the fact that a touch so simple already has you soaking through your panties. And, speaking of panties, he slides them down only slightly, just enough for him to do as he pleases.

The pad of his thumb finds your clit, you try your hardest to keep your reactions to a minimum as starts to move it in slow circles. Namjoon changes his pattern every few moments, going from circling your bud to using his thumb to stroke it in a straight line. 

His chin is resting in the palm of his free hand, and he’s watching you as if this entire situation was amusing. And, in his eyes, it really was. It was so easy for him to get you worked up; his words alone could make you wet. Namjoon wasn’t exactly the “secret lover” the paparazzi would’ve thought of (with him being your manager and all), but there really was no one else you could see yourself with.

There’s muffled talking outside of Namjoon’s door, and you’re suddenly snapped out of your daze. The talking continues on, and you’re worried whoever’s on the other side will be barging in unannounced in a matter of seconds. Even if Namjoon had completely removed himself from you in time, would you have a reasonable explanation as to why you’re sat on his desk? With your legs wide open? And panties on the floor?

Suddenly, you can’t even think straight; while you were in mild panic, Namjoon had slid a finger into you. Remembering there’s people right outside his door, you don’t allow yourself to make single sound. Namjoon is impressed with your actions, and his reward to you is a slow thrust. His long, delicate index finger does a stellar job at keeping you pleased for the time being. A second finger is added only seconds later, and you’re starting to feel stretched out.

The feeling excites you because maybe, just maybe, he was stretching you out to prepare yourself for him. His office isn’t exactly the place you imagined your virginity being taken, but you’ll settle for anything as long as it was with him. 

The muffled noises outside is office are long gone, but you still limit the amount of noise you’re making. Especially now when his thrusts had gotten faster, and the look in his eyes had turned dark and full of lust.

A feeling forms in your neck, making its way up to your cheeks. You can’t find the words to describe it: like a tingling sensation with a little extra, and it feels so good.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, noticing the change in your facial expression.

“Something feels...strange…” is all you’re able to make out.

“Where?”

Your hand taps on your abdomen, and you’re then aware of how weak your body feels. “Here,” closing your eyes, you reach up to touch the side of your neck, then your face, “and here. It feels good.”

Namjoon chuckles, automatically knowing what you’re speaking of, “It’s not a strange feeling, you’re about to have an orgasm.”

That catches your attention. “I am?!”

“Well,” he slides himself completely out of you, “you were. Not anymore.”

And, like you had felt earlier, there were no words to describe how you were feeling. Namjoon, however, seems like he just can’t stop talking.

“Remember earlier when you gave me the silent treatment? This was punishment.” He sets his attention back to his loading computer, watching the screen set up all of his important information. 

“Maybe you finally get your reward if you act nice on your break.” He slides you a folded piece of paper, and written on it is everything expected for you to do while on your break. It was long and tedious, definitely a lot more than your members would be getting.

But, if Namjoon was going to make you cum as long as you did everything with a smile, you’d do the whole list twice.

[lesbeet]

not to be a nerd but i accidentally just wrote a whole impromptu essay about editing ndjsdksksk im throwing it under a cut bc it's fucking inane and really long but honestly... i just want other people to become as passionate about editing as i am lmaooooo

i also recommend 2 books in the post so if anything at least check those out!

quality books about editing... *chef's kiss* a lot of the basic ones (including blog posts online n such) are geared towards beginners and end up repeating the same info/advice, much of it either oversimplified or misrepresented tbh. but i read one yesterday and i'm reading another one right now that really convey this passion for editing + consideration for it as its own sort of art and i just!!

it's such a weird thing to be passionate about lmao but i AM and i've spent a lot of time the past year or so consciously honing my craft (ik i mention this like 4 times a week i'm just really proud of how much i've learned and improved) and kind of like. solidifying my instincts into conscious choices i guess?

and these GOOD editing books have both a) taught me new information and/or presented familiar information through a new perspective that helped me understand something differently or in more depth, and b) validated or even just put into words certain preferences or techniques that i've developed on my own, that i don't normally see on those more basic lists i mentioned

btw the book i finished yesterday is self-editing for fiction writers: how to edit yourself into print by renni brown and dave king, and the one i'm reading currently is the artful edit: on the practice of editing yourself by susan bell.

the former was pretty sharp and straightforward. the authors demonstrated some of their points directly in the text, which was usually funny enough that i would show certain quotes to my sister without context

("Just think about how much power a single obscenity can have if it’s the only one in the whole fucking book." <- (it was)

"Frequent italics have come to signal weak writing. So you should never resort to them unless they are the only practical choice, as with the kind of self-conscious internal dialogue shown above or an occasional emphasis."

or, my favorite: "There are a few stylistic devices that are so “tacky” they should be used very sparingly, if at all. First on the list is emphasis quotes, as in the quotes around the word “tacky” in the preceding sentence. The only time you need to use them is to show you are referring to the word itself, as in the quotes around the word “tacky” in the preceding sentence. Read it again; it all makes sense.")

and like i said, i also learned some new ideas or techniques (or they articulated vague ideas i already had but struggled to put into practice), AND they mentioned some suggestions that ive literally never seen anyone else bring up (not to say no one has! just that ive never seen it, and ive seen a lot in terms of writing tips, advice, best practices, etc) that ive already sort of established in my own writing

for example they went into pretty fine detail about dialogue mechanics, more than i usually see, and in talking about the pacing and proportion of "beats" and dialogue in a given scene, they explicitly suggested that, if a character speaks more than a sentence or two and you plan on giving them some sort of dialogue tag or an action to perform as a beat, the tag or action should be placed at one of the earliest (if not the first) natural pauses in the dialogue, so as not to distance the character too far from the dialogue -- bc otherwise the reader ends up getting all of the dialogue information first, and then has to go back and retroactively insert the character, or what they're doing, or the way they look/sound while they're giving their little speech

and like this was something ive figured out on my own, mostly bc it jarred me out of something i was reading enough times (probably in fic tbh) that i started noticing it, and realized that it's something i do naturally, kind of to anchor the character to the dialogue mechanic to make sure it makes sense with the actual dialogue

so like. ok here's an example i just randomly pulled from the song of achilles (it was available on scribd so i just looked for a spot that worked to illustrate my point djsmsks)

the actual quote is written effectively, but here's a less effective version first:

“Perhaps I would, but I see no reason to kill him. He’s done nothing to me," Achilles answered coolly.

see and even with such a short snippet it's so much smoother and more vivid just by moving the dialogue tag, not adding or cutting a word:

“Perhaps I would, but I see no reason to kill him.” Achilles answered coolly. “He’s done nothing to me.”

the rhythm of it is better, and the beat that the dialogue tag creates functions as a natural dramatic pause before achilles delivers an incredibly poignant line, both within the immediate context of the scene and because we as the readers can recognize it as foreshadowing. plus, it flows smoothly because that beat was inserted where the dialogue already contained a natural pause, just bc that's how people speak. if you read both versions aloud, they both make sense, but the second version (the original used in the novel) accounts for the rhythm of dialogue, the way people tend to process information as they read, AND the greater context of the story, and as a result packs significantly more purpose, information, and effect into the same exact set of words

and THAT, folks, is the kind of editing minutia i can literally sit and hyperfocus on for hours without noticing. anyway it's a good book lmao

the one i'm reading now is a lot more about the cognitive process/es of editing, so there's less concrete and specific advice (so far, anyway) and more discussion about different mental approaches to editing, as well as tips and tools for making a firm distinction between your writer brain and your editor brain, which is something i struggle with

but there have been so many good quotes that ive highlighted! a lot of just like. reminders and things to think about, and also just lovely articulations of things id thought of or come to understand in much more vague ways.

scribd won't let me copy/paste this one bc it's a document copy and not an actual ebook, but this passage is talking about how the simple act of showing a piece of writing to someone else for the very first time can spark a sudden shift in perspective on the work, bc you'll (or at least i) frantically try to re-read it through their eyes and end up noticing a bunch of new errors -

or she talked about the perils of constant re-reading in the middle of writing a draft, which is something i struggle with a LOT, both bc i'm a perfectionist and bc i prefer editing to writing so i sit and edit when i'm procrastinating doing the actual hard work of writing lmao

it's just this side of fake deep tbh but i so rarely see editing discussed like this--as a mixture of art and science, a collaboration between instinct and technique, that really requires "both sides of the brain" to be done well.

and because of the way my own brain works, activities that require such a balanced concentration of creativity and logic really appeal to me. even though ive seen a lot of people (even professional writers) who frame it as the creative art of writing vs the logical discipline of editing. but i think that's such a misleading way of thinking about it, because writing and editing both require creativity and logic -- just different kinds! (not to mention that the line between writing and editing, while mostly clear, can get a little blurry from up close)

but like...all stories have an inner logic to them, even if the writer hasn't explicitly or consciously planned it, and even if the logic is faulty in places in the first couple of drafts. when you're sitting and daydreaming about your story, especially if you're trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between two points or scenes (or, how to write a sequence of events that presents as a logical, inevitable progression of cause and effect), the voice in your head that evaluates an idea and decides to 1) go with it, 2) scrap it, 3) tweak it until it works, or 4) hold onto it in case you want it later? that's your logic! if an idea feels wrong, or like it just doesn't work, it's probably because some part of you is detecting a conflict between some part of the idea and the overall logic of your story. every decision you make as you write is formed by and checked against your own experiential logic, and also by the internal logic of your story, which is far less developed (or at least, one would hope), and therefore more prone to the occasional laspe

but while ive seen a number of articles that discuss the logic of writing, i don't see people gushing as much about the art of editing and it's such a shame

the inner editor is so often characterized as the responsible parent to the writer's carefree child, or a relentless critic of the writer's unselfconscious, unpolished drivel

and it's like... maybe you just hate thinking critically about your work! maybe you view it that way because you're imposing external standards too fiercely onto your writing, and it's sucked the joy out of shaping and sculpting your words until they sing. maybe you prefer to conceive of your writing as divine communication, the process of which must remain unencumbered by lessons learned through experience or the vulnerability of self-reflection, until the buzzkill inner editor shows up with all those "rules" and "conventions" that only matter if you're trying to get published

and like obviously the market doesn't dictate which conventions are worth following, but the majority of widely-agreed-upon writing standards, especially those aimed at beginners, (and most especially those regarding style, as opposed to story structure) have to do with the effectiveness and efficiency of prose, and, in addition to often serving as a shorthand for distinguishing an amateur from a pro, overall help to increase poignancy and clarity, which is crucial no matter the genre or type of writing. and even if you personally believe otherwise, it's better to understand the conventions so you can break them with real purpose.

so editing shouldn't be about trying to shove your pristine artistic masterpiece into a conventional mold, it should be about using the creative instincts of your ear and your logic and experience-based understanding of writing as a craft to hone your words until you've told your story as effectively as possible

thank u for coming to my ted talk ✌️

[boundtoyouphff]

Chapter 11: Royals Do Not...

A/N: Hello everyone! I am so sorry that I have not been as active on here. I have moved to England temporarily and its been quite the adventure! I feel inspiration here and there to write this story so I am hoping that this inspiration and I can continue to share more of this story with you. Much love xx

————————————————————————————

From the moment I was born I have lived my life in the spotlight. Many people I have met are envious of that fact, of the fame and apparent glamour that my birth right gave me. But... it is far from what they dream it as to be.

It is not all glitz and glam or dressing up in a pretty designer dress and wearing magnificent sparkling jewelry. It’s about being a public servant to the people of your country and with that, there are rules that are not meant to be broken. Rules of how I should be greeted by another, who is allowed to touch me, how I am supposed to act in every occasion you can think of.

My grandmother instilled this quote in me at a tender young age as my rebellious side craved to appear... ‘to be believed you have to be seen. You have to give the people a monarchy they desire and envy to be like and thus act like one.’

I have stopped counting the amount of times I have been lectured on what “Royals do not...” do, mainly its because I don’t want to do things the way I was taught. To show no empathy or compassion, to not embrace and hug someone or try to relate to them by putting myself down from this pedestal that I should be cemented in.

I have been told to act ‘more royal’ but what does that even mean? Does anyone really know? What really makes me different from anyone else I pass by on the street?

Nothing.

I can hear my grandmothers scolding tone invade my mind when I am on an engagement, telling me how I should be acting or the fact that I held someone’s hand was wrong. And yet, I can never learn to stop that. I cannot put on a fake smile or not feel genuine emotions that these people elicit in me.

Those three little words.

Royals do not...

They define my life. Or at least that is what they want me to believe.

—————————————

Emilia lifted her chin up in the air as her stylist and make up artist, Ella, applied a natural layer of make up to her face. Mia Deacon was rambling off in the corner about the day’s full itinerary of Harry’s tour accompanied by the princess, stressing over every single detail with little side notes of protocol reminders, no doubt her grandmother incorporated in through Mia.

Ella rolled her eyes with her lips spreading into a cheeky smile picking up on the fact that Emilia was starting to get annoyed with her private press secretary. “Just be you, Emilia.” Her stylist encouraged in a sincere tone that was matched within her eyes.

The princess closed her eyes with a slow nod and tuned out all the voices from around her to focus on calming her nerves. Emilia felt the pressure from every angle and today would only be another day that every moment would be cautiously watched and scrutinized not only by her grandmother, but also the Illyrian media.

“There how do you like this Em? I could add a bit more but felt a natural look would be perfect for today and then this evening for the state banquet we could amp it up!” Ella delightfully smiled at the finished product and grabbed a mirror to hold up in front of Emilia.

“Looks perfect like always Ella. Thank you very much.” Emilia’s lips tugged into a smile and stood up from her stool motioning for her stylist to follow her into the closet. “Now, I forgot which outfit we talked about last week for the first engagement.”

Mia’s heels clicked behind them and entered her walk in closet ready to put her opinion in. “Let’s make sure it’s elegant and regal. The style of a true princess.” Emilia’s press secretary was adamant that she would be the one to ultimately decide if her dress was suitable for the occasion, but the princess was not going to succumb to the pressures placed on her when someone else would decide every single little detail.

“I appreciate the input Mia.” Emilia sorted through her closet analyzing a few options before continuing. “But, I think this is a decision for Ella and I. Besides I am heading to a children’s hospital in a lower socioeconomic community and do not believe that is the place to be ‘regal’ as you put it, but more... relatable...” Emilia angled her head down, admiring a dress she thought would be a good fit for the event.

“Emilia… these engagements are important for you.” Mia was not backing down from the princess.

“Important for me? Or important for you so you don’t lose your job.” Emilia sassily replied and turned around to confront her private secretary with a disappointed expression morphing onto her face. With each passing day, it seemed like Mia was no longer interested in working with Emilia, rather for her grandmother. Able to keep a close watchful eye on the young royal and persuade her actions to those that would align with the Queen’s.

“Both.” Mia crossed her arms defensively and narrowed a stare towards the princess. “Your grandmother hired me to set you on a straight path and you have been making this job more than difficult because of your attitude and the need to be on the front page of the daily paper... daily.” The brunette freely spoke her mind, not holding anything back. “You need to grow up and be the princess your grandmother wants you, rather needs you to be.” Those words cut through Emilia like a knife, stinging on their way out.

Tristan had walked in mid conversation and was casually leaning up against the framed entrance watching the encounter unfold in front of his eyes. His brow furrowed in displeasure seeing how Mia was treating Emilia. He could recall all the difficulties he previously had with the princess, but he showed Emilia how they could work together and gave her the freedom she craved every once in a while in return for her cooperation and in time, built an understanding relationship. The moment he met Mia, Tristan had an inkling that she would rub Emilia the wrong way mixed with the fact that she was not the princess’s choice rather the Queen’s intention to keep a closer eye on Emilia.

Emilia’s silence was profoundly felt amongst all standing around her as the awkwardness in the room rose. The disappointment that was etched on her face provided more proof of what the silence meant as she stared down Mia

Mia had over stepped majorly and she knew it. Opening her mouth to apologize she was interrupted before she could even start.

“Mia.” Emilia spat out her name. “I need people on my team who can work with me, not work against me. There really never was a cohesive feeling when you arrived and partly for the fact that you believe my grandmother is your boss as she is the one you are required to please and not me. That was your first mistake.” The princess calmly spoke, mustering all she could within herself to not lose it. “Your second mistake is thinking you could speak to me that way and this is not the first time I have let it go unchecked.”

“Emilia, I apologize.” Mia stepped forward towards the scowling princess to beg for forgiveness, but Emilia was through with her.

“It’s your royal highness or ma’am to you.” Emilia interrupted with a clenched jaw. “Mrs. Deacon, I think this is where we say our goodbyes. Thank you for your service and I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.” The princess raised her head to look past Mia at Tristan giving him a slight nod of the head. “Tristan, please escort Mrs. Deacon out of my apartment. I am sure she will be wishing to speak with the Queen on this matter.”

“Gladly, ma’am.” Tristan stepped forward and gripped Mia’s arm tightly, giving it a tug back. “It’s time to leave here, Mia.”

Mia’s big brown eyes that were filled with regret peaked up at the blonde RPO. “You know this is ridiculous Tristan.” She was practically being pulled out of the princess’s apartment.

“What is ridiculous is how you thought you could change Emilia. Maybe she is what this family needs right now.” Tristan stood up for the young princess he had grown fond of despite her unprecedented ways. “A breath of fresh air.”

Emilia turned around being no longer able to watch Mia’s figure slowly disappear in the distance. She had to hide the tears that were threatening to over pour. Never had she felt so alone in this world before, but her mind could not stay on that thought as it brought images of articles to the forefront of her mind knowing this would have to be revealed publicly. Not to mention how her grandmother would react once she heard the news of Mia Deacon no longer being her look out for Emilia.

The princess fought back the tears and gained her composure while sorting through her dresses. “Can you pick one out Ella, I trust your judgment.” Emilia sat down on top of a white cushioned bench taking a moment to herself.

“I think this one will look fabulous on you along with these shoes and a simple pair of pearl earrings.” Emilia lifted her head and smiled weakly at a beaming Ella who was holding up a black and white simple dress with a turquoise heel to add a pop of color.

“Me too.”

————————

“Good morning.” Harry leaned in and pressed a greeting kiss on both of Emilia’s cheeks. He had been waiting for the princess to join him on their first engagement as his team waited at the convoy along the palace’s gates, but Emilia was nearly twenty minutes late. Judging by her quiet demeanour the prince guessed that something had happened.

“Morning.” Emilia spoke with a quiet voice and was visibly distracted, barely looking the prince in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry’s brow furrowed with concern while the princess peaked up at him through her dark lashes with those mesmerizing piercing blue eyes. For a brief second she allowed him into her thoughts that were painted across her face for him to clearly see, but they morphed into a fake smile that hide it all too quickly for Harry’s liking.

“Nothing.” Emilia brushed him off and stepped around him to get in the vehicle. “We better leave, Henry.”

The princess stared out the window hardly acknowledging the prince’s existence. Neither of them spoke a word to one another throughout the whole drive to the children’s hospital alerting Harry that something was definitely up with Emilia. His head lifted and locked with Tristan through the rear view mirror who was driving them to the engagement. Her RPO gave him a simple nod and pushed the button to bring up a separator between the back seat and the drivers, giving Harry and Emilia a bit of privacy.

“Talk to me, Emilia.” Harry’s soft voice was laced with genuine concern for the princess. “Please.” The prince begged of her when he was met with a silent reply.

Emilia closed her eyes and swallowed a lump in her throat. She could not bare to look at Harry so she continued to glance out the window, staring absentmindedly at the buildings they passed by while her thoughts consumed her.

All her mind was filled with was her grandmothers ridiculing voice saying...

Royals do not be irrational about their decisions.

“I am sure you will hear a few people commenting today that I fired my private secretary this morning.” Emilia sighed at the end of her sentence.

“Well, that happens.” Harry non-chalantly played it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “I am sure there are other people more capable for the job.”

“No…” Her head snapped towards Harry as he was met with a hard stare. “You don’t understand, Henry.” Emilia’s cold icy stare bore into him. “Mia was hired by my grandmother to keep a closer eye on me and change my unroyal ways. I am just waiting to hear word from her about how disappointed she is in me... again.” The princess turned away from Harry to hide her somber eyes. “Nothing I ever do is good enough. No matter how hard I try, I am not good enough.... not royal enough.”

“I am sorry, Emilia.” The prince’s heart felt for her while her words tugged at his heart strings. “But, think of this as an opportunity to find someone who you can work well with, who will be on your side now and do things the way you want to do them.” Harry shifted in his seat to move closer to Emilia. “Come here.” He whispered and gripped her arm gently to pull Emilia into him.

“Nooo.” She fought it for a second, but quickly gave into his request craving his comforting touch. Emilia wrapped her arms around Harry, releasing a deep sigh and finding comfort once again in his arms. “I feel so alone, Henry.” The princess fought back the tears, but a stray one trickled down her cheek. “Why can’t being me just be good enough for someone? Why do I have to bend to their will only because I do things a little differently?”

“You aren’t alone.” His thumb rubbed over the soft fabric of her dress on the back of her arm. “You have me.” Emilia picked her head up off his shoulder to look up into his eyes to see if the sincerity in his voice matched. “And you are good enough, Emilia. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” The kind words that rolled off his tongue made the hurt subside a little, as she found solace in them.

“Thank you for being you.” Emilia cupped his cheek and without warning, leaned in and captured Harry’s lips. The princess had no idea what had gotten over her, but having someone on her side without any ill intentions brought a sense of reassurance and security to her that had been lacking for numerous years, so she welcomed it with open arms. She realized what she had done and tore her lips off of Harry’s only to feel Harry’s hand on her neck to stop her from moving any further away.

“Don’t pull away.” His lips embraced Emilia’s again while holding her head steady. She smiled into the kiss and welcomed the feeling of Harry’s lips softly kissing her. He was gentle, but passionate as the prince continued a feverish attack, making his motives clear that he indeed wanted Emilia.

There was a piece inside of Emilia that had feelings for Harry, making it more difficult for her to ignore with each passing day as it continued to grow stronger within her. It was undeniable that there was this palpable connection they shared like an outside force was playing like a puppet with their heartstrings.

Harry tugged hard on Emilia’s lips and captured a tiny moan that escaped from them. She clutched the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulled him down, fighting for a piece of control, but the prince did not back down and fought back with soft kisses trailing down her jaw line down towards her collarbone. Emilia was breathless as her head gently tipped back, giving Harry full access to her neck.

“We should stop…” The princess forced out from a fully clouded mind with evident regret laced in her tone.

“We should…” Harry mumbled against her soft skin as he found his way back to her lips and delicately tasted them, savouring the taste.

The screams of fans muffled from outside the vehicle brought them hastily back to reality. Emilia released her grip on Harry’s shirt and immediately sat back, clearing her throat and checking to see if her dress was in proper placement.

The prince was beaming from ear to ear as he licked his lips, tasting the remnants of Emilia on them. His eyes drifted towards a half stunned princess as she stiffly sat beside him, attempting to get the moment out of her mind.

“We should not have done that before an engagement.” Emilia’s shaky voice sounded as she fidgeted nervously with the ends of her dress.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine.” The ever-assuring prince calmed her. “It’s not like they are going to ask if we locked lips, Emilia.” Harry tossed his head back in laughter after seeing her ice blue eyes wide with shock.

“You can thank the blacked out windows for that.” The princess nervously giggled.

“Just, let’s keep it professional.” The princess informed him and even shifted further away from him. “Keep a good distance away from me.”

“Yes, princess.” Harry tugged on the sides of his suit jacket to straighten it out as their vehicle pulled to a stop. “Let’s not forget to have a little fun too. You aren’t the only one who likes to do things a little differently so let’s show them how the Brits do it!” Henry flashed a flirtatious charming smile at Emilia before his door sprung open and exited the vehicle to hear the hundreds of screaming fans hollering their names.

But, the same voice in her head was still louder than the cheers from the people... her grandmothers scolding her, again.

Emilia, Royals do not show any displays of affection.

Emilia gracefully stepped out of the back seat of the vehicle and briefly locked eyes with Tristan who displayed a genuine smile back towards the princess. Her eyes scanned the awaiting crowd and offered them a cheerful wave as they shouted her name. The princess walked around the vehicle to see Harry waiting patiently for Emilia before they headed towards the entrance of the hospital to greet the CEO and founders of St. Thereasita’s Hospital.

Harry motioned for Emilia to step ahead of him, technically against royal protocol but he was bound to break a few rules today to show the Illyrian media that breaking protocol was not as awful as they were portraying Emilia while she did it.

“Your royal highness, it’s a pleasure to have you visit us again Princess Emilia!” The founder of St. Thereasita’s Hospital greeted the princess with a warm handshake, attempting to speak above the erupting crowd behind them.

“It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Davies. Thank you again for allowing us to visit and see the children and their families.” Emilia smiled warmly and angled her body to proceed down to the next person while the prince stepped in behind her.

Harry and Emilia walked down through the pediatric cancer ward and visited a few families along with their eager children who were so excited to meet a prince and a princess. Along they way, they were educated on the different programs offered for families in this low income community and how their out reach in their community has changed many lives for the better.

Emilia sat down on a little girls bed who was playing with a stuffed animal. She looked quite pale and ill, lacking any expression. “Hello there.” The princess quietly intruded in the little girls thoughts as she peaked up at Emilia. “My name is Emilia, what’s yours?” The girl leaned forward and tapped Emilia on the nose with her stuffed bunny.

“Charlie.” She cupped her mouth and whispered, shyly eying the hoards of cameras behind the princess.

“That is a very pretty name, Charlie. I love your bunny!” The princess tried to distract Charlie from the media quietly listening to every one of their words.

“Do you have a bunny?! Like this one?” Charlie held the ratted out stuffed bunny proudly in the air, showing it off.

“You know, I don’t but I really wish I did though!” Emilia shared a glance towards Charlie’s smiling parents and delved into a conversation with him. She listened to Charlie’s story with empathy etched on her face, learning that this little girl was indeed a fighter but her treatments had recently stopped working. This family was at a crossroads in their life, unsure whether to let Charlie enjoy the rest of the little time she had left or go on to explore treatments in other countries that would put her body through so much to extend her life only by a little.

Emilia’s eyes were brimming with tears while her heart ached. Her hand flew to her chest as she leaned in and tried to formulate a string of words that got caught up in her throat. “I can’t imagine. She is a very strong little girl.” The princess felt a stray tear trickle down her cheek that she quickly brushed away and heard an array of cameras clicking making Emilia hide her face away from them.

Royals did not show emotion. Emilia could hear those exact words in her mind being spoken by her grandmother.

Harry was leaning up against the wall, watching the whole encounter take place before his eyes. The media were practically starving for anything they could use against the princess, rather anything that would sell the papers. He felt for Emilia deeply. Even though he had an understanding of the level of scrutiny she was under, this felt more like an obsession, like she was a money target.

The prince stepped in and made a joke with Charlie to which everyone laughed. Emilia was grateful for the distraction and was able to thank the family for a visit before moving on to the next event on the agenda. Emilia felt the immediate presence of Harry beside her and silently whispered a quiet thank you. She received a small nod from the British prince before Emilia heard the shouting coming down from the hall.

“My friend! It’s my friend!” A small little girl was holding on to her IV pole as she came running down the corridor towards Harry and Emilia.

As the child came closer and closer, Emilia was both heartbroken and caught off guard to find out that she recognized the young child with her tilted purple beanie slipping off her head that revealed her hair was all gone. It was Olivia, the little sweet girl she befriended at her patronage, the Breakfast Club, a few months back. She was sitting all alone because the bullies at school did not like her shoes.

Emilia crouched down and opened her arms out to invite Olivia in for an embrace. The little girl wrapped her arms around the princess and squeezed her arms so tightly around Emilia. Closing her eyes, she heard the clicks of the cameras going off behind her capturing what should have been a private moment between them.

Emilia hugged Olivia tighter as the words crept in, blocking them out and relishing the feeling of the embrace as if she tried to convince herself it was worth the risk.

Breaking away from the embrace, Olivia stared up at the princess with her big blue eyes smiling. “Did you come here to visit me?” She innocently asked with an excited tone in her voice that made Emilia giggle.

“Yes! I did!” The princess stood up from and laid eyes on what appeared to be Olivia’s mother.

“Come sweetheart, the princess is busy at the moment. Maybe we will see her later.” Her mother reached out for her hand, but she grasped Emilia’s instead.

“But, mummy! My friend is here to see me!” She pleaded with her mother. “I have a drawing for her.”

Emilia’s head turned to see Harry smiling down at her with a fond smile plastered on his lips as he silently watched the sweet, but sincere interaction. His head lifted to stare into the depth of her blue eyed gaze that looked to him for guidance. He understood what Emilia wished for in that moment, private time away from the intrusive press, but if she asked for it there would be no doubt something written about her being difficult with them the following day.

Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes. Smile and give them what they want.

The prince stepped in and cleared his throat, approaching Mr. Davies. “Would you like to take me on more of the tour? I would love to see more of the work you are doing here and meet some more of the families and children here if possible. Emilia will join us for the story telling session later.” Mr. Davies hesitated briefly and looked beside the prince towards Emilia who subtly nodded her approval.

“This way, your highness.” He led the way as the press followed in behind them.

Emilia stood there holding Olivia’s hand loosely as she watched Harry glance back over his shoulder with a small smirk at the corner of his lips. One photographer lingered behind and snapped his lens at the princess, bringing her back to the moment.

Before Emilia could speak, Tristan stepped in front of him. “Sir, please join the rest of the media crew ahead. Princess Emilia has a privately planned meeting.” The photographer reluctantly left them and joined the rest up ahead, leaving Emilia alone with Olivia and her family.

“Hello, I am Emilia.” The princess stretched out her hand and shook the mothers hand, greeting her warmly.

“I must apologize. I have no idea why Olivia thinks you are her friend and for her barging in like that.” Her mother attempted to apologize.

“No no! Do not apologize.” Emilia was quick to re-assure her. “Actually, she is telling the truth. We are friends, aren’t we?” She glanced down at the smiling little girl. “Why don’t you take me to your room?”

“And this is for you!” Olivia handed the princess a drawing to which Emilia took in delicately in her hands to analyze it. It was a drawing of the two of them at breakfast that day, but both of them apparently had massive feet as she had show cased them both wearing her idea of replicas of the shoes she had worn. Their smiles stretched across their whole face, making Emilia’s reflect the same in that moment.

“This is so well done Olivia! Do you mind if I keep it and hang it up?” The princess gently asked. Olivia was quick nodding her head in reply.

“You can have it! It is a drawing of our friendship.” Olivia tilted her head and gave the most proudest, sweetest smile that tugged at Emilia’s heartstrings.

“I know what you are wondering.” Olivia’s mother broke the moment as she gained Emilia’s gaze upon her. “Of what happened to my little girl.”

“I do... but you don’t have to tell me.” Emilia reached out and brushed the little girls beanie gently with her hand. “In my eyes, nothing has happened. Olivia is still that sweet, adorable girl I met that day. Who is now rocking more amazing style choices just like she always has.”

Olivia’s mother, Leah, was taken back and grew into a silent demeanour while tears quietly streamed down her cheeks. It had been months since someone had looked past her daughters diagnosis and saw Olivia for who she really was and Princess Emilia did that. Wiping away her tears subtly, she watched from a close, but far enough distance to observe her daughters interaction with the royal. But, one thing her eyes could not stray from is the smile, rather the sparkle of life that had grown in Olivia’s eyes at the moment she saw Emilia.

Leah had read her fair share of the news that surrounded the Illyrian royal family, more so of the princess who was now sat in front of her. The media had been slamming her for nearly every blink of an eye, tearing her down. But, she witnessed another version of Emilia that was often not showcased in the news and the rare time it was, they ridiculed her for being too ‘common’ and ‘not enough royal.’ In reality, that made her more relatable than most people who had walked through her daughters hospital room.

————

Emilia followed the sound of laughing children with Tristan in step beside her. She could hear the sound of Harry’s laughter from down the corridor that elicited a growing smile on her lips. Her feeble attempts to mask it failed miserably, she loved his laugh. Entering the room, Emilia opted to sit back and watch Harry interact with the children. Leaning up against the frame of a door she quietly kept her eyes on him, careful not to alert the media to her presence.

Harry was sitting on the tiniest chair she had ever seen, obviously meant for a child and not a grown man. But, there he was with a book in hand reading a group of children a story. He made silly faces and gave each character a different voice. Harry had the children holding their bellies in laughter, forgetting for a few minutes why they were in this hospital to begin with. They, were just being normal children the way they were supposed to be.

She sighed a breath of relief. Some piece of Emilia knew that Harry was putting on a bit of a show to show the media that it was ok to be relatable and to have fun on engagements. She deeply appreciated what he was doing for her, but in the end she knew things would never change as that small voice in the back of her head came to the forefront.

Royals do not have fun on engagements.

————————

Harry and Emilia exited the hospital after having a lovely visit at St. Theresitas. They both thanked Mr. Davies and chatted for a few minutes longer. Emilia felt Harry’s body become tense next to her and saw his jaw clench out of the corner of her eye. But, she continued the conversation with Mr. Davies.

The princess said her goodbyes only to turn around and find a swarm of paparazzi that had not been invited to attend the event, nearly pushing some of the barriers forward. The police told them to step back raising their arms up in the arm as a line of police built a barrier with their bodies, but Emilia knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Princess Emilia, Duchess of difficult! Why did you fire your private press secretary this morning?” One of them yelled at the princess. “Or did she actually quit because you were so demanding of her?”

Of course they had found out.

A sickening feeling in the pit of Emilia’s stomach began to grow as anxiety coursed through her body.

She felt a hand being placed on her back, settling her nerves with a simple touch. “We should go.” Harry’s voice broke through the clicks of the sea of cameras, his hand riskily guiding her forward. He knew that placing his hand on Emilia would insinuate rumours, but her safety was at the forefront of her mind.

Emilia quietly nodded and turned on her heel to leave, settling into Harry’s guiding hand on the small of her back. Showing off a fake smile and waving one last goodbye to the people who were awaiting so patiently to see them. But, with this media circus, a walk about would not be possible for security reasons.

The sound of metal crashing and shouting caused the princess to glance back over her shoulder to see some of the barriers being knocked down and a flood of paparazzi breaking through past the officers. Emilia gasped in shock as they shoved a policeman to the ground just to get to her, a hoard of running determined photographers came at her.

Tristan turned around and looked directly in Harry’s eyes for a brief second. “Get Emilia in the car now and go!” He barked an order at the prince, hoping he had made the right choice in trusting Harry with Emilia’s safety. There simply was not enough security to hold them back from the group rushing at her.

Emilia felt an arm wrap around from behind her and brought her body protectively into Harry’s to shield her from them. “Emilia, run.” His voice was commanding and cold. She picked up her feet as her fear drove her to run towards the vehicle that had swiftly pulled up.

Glancing back over her shoulder she nearly stopped in her tracks to see Tristan and the rest of her security team combined with Harrys attempt to hold them back just long enough to get the royals out of what had become an unsafe situation for them. Tristan grabbed someone who lunged forward, trying to break through and shoved him to the ground.

Emilia locked eyes briefly with the man as he smiled devilishly seeing the fear in the young princess’s eyes and yelled....“Emilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?”

Those words cut deeper through her more than anything before, wounding her internally.

Harry grasped her forearm tightly and pulled her ahead with such force her arm stung with pain. “Emilia! Get in the fucking car!” He spoke to her through clenched teeth, forcefully pulling her along side of him. Not understanding why she was stalling and ultimately in fear of her safety.

He opened the back door and nearly shoved her in the back seat. “LET GO OF ME!YOU DO NOT NEED TO SHOVE ME!” She glared back at the prince who climbed in beside her and slammed the door closed in a fury of rage.

“GO!” He yelled at the driver. “I said go! Get the princess fucking out of here!”

The vehicle hastily sped off into the distance.

Emilia had not spoken a single word since they had driven away. They both sat there in silence. But, unknown to Emilia who refused to look at Harry as she looked out the window, Harry’s gaze never faltered from her.

He felt a pang of guilt when she grabbed the spot on her arm that he had gripped so tightly, wondering if he had hurt her. All he was doing was trying to protect Emilia without showing the onlookers how much he actually cared for her. He couldn’t just grab her hand and interlock their fingers in an intimate gesture for fear of reprisal.

“Are you ok?” He broke through their silence, asking a question he already knew the answer too. Harry had heard the words and accusations being tossed her way. He placed his hand on top of her knee, feeling a stiff tense body that did not reciprocate his touch.

Emilia didn’t acknowledge Harry. She sat there with her head resting on the window, absentmindedly watching the world go by as she was trapped in the depths of her mind, replaying the words of grandmother over.

Royals do not be irrational about their decisions

Royals do not show any displays of affection

Royals do not show emotion

Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes

Royals do not have fun on engagements

Royals do not cause a scene

“Emilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?”

After everything the media had bore witness to, after seeing a side of Emilia she was hesitant to even show, all that would be reported about was the scene that had unfolded while they left the hospital.

A deep sigh was released from the princess.

“No, Henry.” His head lifted, hearing his name roll of her tongue.

“I am not ok.”

[jhsbrat]

stories that never were pt.5 

i don’t play tag, bitch i’ve been it

genre: stories that never were pt. 5, idol au, lovers to enemies au

word count: 1,787

warnings: rough sex, unhealthy relationship, both oc and namjoon are idiots 

Noise. Lights. Flashes. In the midst of it all, you’re focused on the toupee of the man three rows back, synthetic brown hair laid askew on his perfectly round head. He reaches up to itch at it, knocking it even further off center, eyes still focused on his notes in front of him.

I need to give him my stylist's number, you think to yourself, taking a swig of water and swishing it around in your mouth before swallowing to aid your thirst. Then there’s a tap on your shoulder and you look up to find your manager hovering beside you.

“Are you ready?” He whispers, adjusting the mic propped on the table in front of you. “We’re about to start.”

You sigh and nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sejin straightens up and fixes you with a stare. “Remember, just like how we practiced. You’re polite and cordial. Only talk about your new album, no going off track.”

“Yeah, sure.” You wave him off.

“Listen to me, promise that-“ He’s hushed by a stagehand and pulled off to the side, behind the curtains shielding staff from the flash of the reporter's cameras. You look up and paste that soft smile your agency made you practice a hundred times in the mirror in preparation.

“Good morning, thank you all for coming,” You speak into the microphone demurely. “I would like to start taking questions now.”

The room erupts into noise after your welcome statement and you blink for a moment before pointing randomly at a woman off to the side, eagerly waving her hand.  

“Hello,” the woman coughs and glances down quickly at her notes, “First, I would like to congratulate you on all your success so far. It must have been an interesting journey for you to have started from making songs in your basement to being signed and releasing a full-length album with Big Hit Entertainment. How are you feeling right now?”

A softball, easy. You knew the answer to this off the top of your head. “It’s amazing and incredibly humbling. I’m so grateful to everyone that had a hand in supporting me to where I am today.”

Hands shoot up again and you point to toupee man now, curious to know if his voice was as thin as his hair.

“Early critiques of your new album are calling the changes to your sound “meteoric” and “exponential”,” he rattles off in a squeaky tone. “Some are going so far as to say that it’s a complete 180 to your SoundCloud days. What is your response?”

“I would say the equipment I get to work with now is a step above the trial version of Audacity, so that’s probably why.” You grin and there are soft chuckles heard throughout the room. You wait a second to let them write that down and then point to a younger guy directly in front of you. He grins politely, bunny teeth revealed, before leaning closer in his seat and looking down at his note pad as he reads off his prepared question.  

“Your collaboration with Gloss has proven to be very successful and it’s helped land you on XXL’s Freshman Class for this year. Billboard is even crediting it as one of the best songs of the year. But not everyone feels the same. How do you respond to rapper RM’s claims that you’re just ‘a singer who raps’?”

The room quiets for the first time and you blank, lost in thought, catapulted back into time at the mention of the name.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon groans, throwing his head back.

You look up at him, mouth sliding off his cock with a wet pop. “Not quite,” you reply, snarky, giving him a lick.

The man lets out a breath and looks down at your figure, kneeling on the cheap carpet of his makeshift studio, knees rubbed raw from the polyester. The tight spandex of your dress hugs your body and he has to gulp and look back up again before he comes to the sight of arched ass alone.  

“You talk too much,” he complains half-heartedly, fingers yanking hard on your hair and bringing the heat of your mouth back where he wants. You rake your teeth along his length in retaliation and it shocks him, his body spasming from the feeling before you take all of him back in your mouth in one go, wet slurping sounds quickly filling the small space.

(Neither of you would ever admit it aloud, but you’re both pain sluts, reveling in the sting of a harsh slap or ache of a hard bite. It fed a hunger both of you possessed, but could never quite fully sate in its entirety. Which is why, you suppose, the two of you kept returning to this place, finding that nothing could stoke your fire quite like pain twinged pleasure of a too hard fuck.)    

Your fingers trail up and down his torso, pink-tipped acrylics threatening to scratch at the sensitive skin of his chest, and it’s that coupled with the look you give that sends him hurtling towards a premature finish. Your eyes are stretched wide, carefully applied mascara now running in rivers down your cheeks. It makes him hot thinking you did that for him, that your hair is tied up in a ponytail so he can yank on it and your nails are manicured to prick at his skin.

(Though he knows it would be delusional to believe you would dress for any man, he still likes to indulge in this fantasy, at least temporarily, because then he could pretend at least for a little while that you were his.)

With teardrops hanging at the tips of your lashes, you give a hard suck and moan, the vibration enough to tip Namjoon over the edge. You swallow, but don’t let up quite yet, and he has to shove you off when the overstimulation becomes numbing.

“Whore,” he sighs, but his words carry no bite and he bends forward to thumb at your chin and kiss you softly. Your teeth tug at his lips as you pull away, grinning softly before you stand up to search for your panties from wherever he flung them off an hour ago.

“We can’t keep doing this, I only came to talk to you and now I’m late for a dance lesson,” you sigh, shimmying your underwear back up your thighs.

“Mhmm, but we say that every time.” Namjoon tucks himself back into his pants, watching you pull the hem of your dress back down and regrets not marking up your ass when he had the chance. “And what are you still doing those classes for?”

You fall into the chair by his keyboard, intentional in your decision to not sit next to him when you speak next. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Wait, let me guess,” he chuckles, walking closer to look down at you and wipe away the remnants of the streaked makeup around your eyes. “They finally kicked you out?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, annoyed. “No, Joon, I-“

“No, no, I got it! They kicked you out and banned you from ever coming again-“

You swat his hand away and stand up, pushing back from the chair and grabbing your bag to walk out the small room. “I’m just going to leave if you’re not going to listen.”

“Wait, wait,” he grabs your wrist, but is still chuckling softly when he pulls you closer. “Go on, tell me. But do it quick, we still gotta finish that song from last week, Yoongi is waiting for the lyrics before he can start making the-“

“I got signed,” you blurt out, frustrated with his constant interruptions. Namjoon freezes and blinks, his hand still wrapped around your own.

“You got…signed? Like, to an agency?”

Sighing, you nod, letting your hand fall from his own. “Yeah. I filled out the contracts yesterday.”

He blinks again. Then his mouth spreads into a grin. “Very funny, you had me going. Okay, I got the message, I won’t joke about those classes again.”

You stare at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

His grin widens and he turns to find his phone. “C’mon, stop kidding, let’s get started. I’m just going to call Yoongi so we can-“

“Namjoon, I’m not fucking kidding. An agency scouted me and I decided to sign with them yesterday.”

His back goes rigid from where he’s standing hunched over his bag, looking for his device. He turns around to face you, smile gone. “You-you’re serious right now?”

You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I thought you’d be more excited, I’ll get to actually perform the songs I write now-“

“Excited? Excited? For what, for you to be pranced around like a prized show dog?” He spits.

Your head jerks back, blood boiling hot at the vitriol in his voice. He doesn’t take note of your shock, continuing on his tirade instead.

“Please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me you didn’t actually willingly choose to become part of the empty machine that is that industry, to become a-a-a-“ He stutters, then looks away before turning back to you and it frightens you how his eyes go cold. “A mindless slave.”

Post-coital glow completely dissipated, you feel your skin heat up at his words and you step close enough for the tips of your noses to touch. “I make that choice and suddenly I’m nothing more than a cog in a machine? You think there’s nothing left to me?”

He stares down at you, jaw clenched. “If you decided to sell out like that without a gun to your head, then yeah. I do.”

There’s a squeeze at your heart from his words, but it doesn’t stop you from speaking next. “Then you can die mad about it.”

His teeth hurt from how hard they grind against each other as he watches you walk out the studio, choosing to forgo collecting the last of your belongings in the room in favor of having a dramatic exit. He realizes it hours later, laying on the torn up couch after he’s angrily scribbled his feelings out on ripped pages of paper. Sighing, he promises himself he’ll apologize when you eventually come back to pick them up.

You don’t.  

The sound of Sejin releasing a soft cough off to the side brings you back to the present, your gaze focusing once again on the man in front of you. The badge hanging around his neck reads Jeon Jeongguk and you drag your gaze back up to his wide eyes expecting an answer. Smiling, you lean forward into the mic to speak.

“And I still beat him on the charts, didn’t I?”

e/n: yea boiii

[docmurph12]

Ok review time. And remember, there is no war in Ba Sing Se.

My next request comes from my very good friend. The last time he and I sat down and tried to watch this was after we cleared through every episode of the animated series this movie was based on. We didnt get through ten minutes. So this was a fun, frustrating challenge. For those noticing, yes this is a retroactive review, instead of a "live" one. Reason for this is that as a fan it would be really difficult to be as objective as possible (given I already know this thing to be really bad) if I was distracted.

So what I know going in is that Shyamalan had a couple big flops and that he picked out this series to be his resurrection, thinking going the large scale epic route would be beneficial to his career. What happened was a ruthlessly infamous flop that resulted in nearly 6 years of silence, jokes, and memes prior to "Split" bringing Shyamalan back to relevance again.

First of all, this film could literally have been directed by anyone. Looking back at my review for Aladdin, I recall saying that I was shocked to find out it was directed by Guy Richey, because all of his hallmark signatures were missing. Same story here; The Last Airbender feels like a basic level cookie cutter epic filmmaking school project. Everything that makes a Shyamalan film is gone, which is crazy because the levity that makes ATLA (the acronym I'll use for the show going forward) is gone too. I have always said that as a director your job is to take what is written (which in this case was written by Shyamalan as well) and use your style to create a visual aspect that compliments the story told by the dialogue and events. Think of this writer/director relationship like one in comics between the writer and the artist. The artist is selected because stylistically he matches what is needed for the story. Great example of a good match is Sin City (picked because of loudness of its specific style). That story doesnt get told the same way or with the same impact with different color palettes, camera work, or actor direction. The Last Airbender is missing everything that gives a person a reason to select a specific director, especially one known for work in small scale supernatural thrillers.

The writing is.....super bad. There are a couple simple tools I like to use to identify if a film has scripting issues as opposed to anything else. First, is the dialogue done in a way that feels contextually natural? Do real people talk this way or is it written like shlockey, overly dramatic stage dialogue (think the Star Wars prequel trilogy)? Second, how easy is the story to follow? Are there gaping plot holes? Is it subtle with a good surprise? Does it hit you in the face with a story shovel with a handle made of heavy handed expositional dialogue?

Lastly, how hard are the actors trying to act around your script? Is it a good film where great performances outweigh poor to middling dialogue (Batman V Superman), or is it Bloodrayne? I've said enough on that, you get the point. That said, I am not sure the actors could have been saved by a better script. The cast was very poorly selected. Insensitive at worst (though I genuinely think the brown dude that insisted on the specific and coincidentally white folk he picked probably DIDN'T have a whitewashing agenda given what he said prior to release), out of touch with the source material at best, picking the virtual unknowns that he did really didnt pan out for him. The kid cast as Aang (pronounced AAng, goddamnit, not ONG, more on that later) got the role because he looks like the character, kind of, and only had a week of acting school worth of experience prior to filming the movie. Let's just say it definitely showed.

I am not sure TOTALLY crucifying the cast is entirely fair, so let's move the witch hunt to almost everything else. There is some good though, I promise so hang in there.

I really hope the editor got sent back to school. The purpose of editing is to make a cut that not only maintains but heightens interest in what you are watching. Cutting the fat in order to get to the point while not giving the movie away. Sometimes that means giving more than a 90 minute cut (which Shyamalan has taken at least partial responsibility for in this case) in order to preserve the story. There are scenes where the continuity from one cut to the next doesnt match up. Like consecutive cuts in one scene with massive distances traveled between cuts and even in at least one case a partial or complete costume change. It's extremely jarring. Something else about cuts--generally you cut to another angle or scene because the film requires you to in order to display more information that you wouldn't get in one single long cut. Usually a film has choppy cuts in it because the scene requires an character to do something the actor can't, or because the director or editor are bad at their job. The story, or sometimes in lucky cases just one scene, suffers as a result of bad or needless cuts. This is the case here. The strange thing is there are truly WONDERFUL long cuts of fight scenes that really suck you in, but the wierd juxtaposition between great non-editing and strange and bad editing really kicks you in the head. Enough on that. On to the next.

I did NOT see this movie in 3d. I understand that the conversion was really bad, but that said what I CAN speak to is the VFX. This film, with the exception of the lighting, was pretty well put together in terms of effects. There were really only a couple issues that were glaring in terms of VFX, but by and large it wasnt awful. There are definitely newer films that look worse. In standard. I dont know about 3d.

I think the thing that makes this film more frustrating than anything is that there are things about this movie I love. They are few and far between, but I really do love them. The intro was a really neat callback to the series intro to each episode. Then the movie happens. Then, the flying bison appears!! Then more movie. Then, a scene where Aang (not Awng) uses the glider in his staff. Then more movie. Then, all the practical martial arts, then, yet more movie. It's like this the entire way. Best comparison here? Green Lantern. It's like the Shyamalan said, "Hey, I like this and need a career boost.", then proceeded to cherry pick things from a beloved series and then ham and egged a movie with a confusing plot that absolutely requires you to be super familiar with the source material. There are a lot of assumptions made by characters in the movie that made sense given background provided by the show, but make absolutely none if you are going in blind. "Those are air bending tattoos, and I think he might be the avatar, despite he fact that I havent seen him bend anything and airbenders havent even been seen in over 100 years! Before my time!" Fucking come on. Throw the newcomers here a bone man.

The long story short here is I guess in spite of the casting decisions, editing, and direction, a good script could have made at least a fun movie. This movie should not have made it past script in the form we all saw it though, and it makes one wonder how much pressure was on everyone involved (almost all of it internally applied, Shyamalan did this project almost entirely on his own volition and cast a bunch of almost unknowns with the exception of maybe Cliff Curtis, so of course they said yes) to join in and take part in this without asking questions. Its upsetting to know the original showrunners were as ostracized as they were on this thing.

I dont see myself going back. Yes there were things that made me smile a little, but the film as a whole is so overwhelmingly bad in the face of those things it is just not worth it. I AM however going to go and rewatch the series with my wife and the kids for their first time, and maybe as a result of having to sit through this war crime of a film adaptation.

Final Verdict? I give it a D-. Purely out of respect for the very small handful of things I did appreciate. Next up?? The Lobster. Really looking forward to that one.

[otaviosequeira21234]

Otavio Sequeira’s (21234) Interdisciplinary Project Reflection

Intro

The interdisciplinary project was a seminal programme requiring students from faculties all across Lasalle to collaborate creatively to achieve a set of learning outcomes. The following accounts are narratives of my group’s working process and outcomes. 

Day 1 Our entry to the IDP began with a collective presentation in the SIA theatre where we received an introduction to the project lead by the president of Lasalle, followed by two guest speakers. The first of which gave us a presentation on quantum computing while the latter gave us a presentation on the role of art in the fight against climate change. The presentations helped establish a context of topical discussion for the IDP, being the issue of tackling man made environmental issues as artists with respect to an evolving state of technology. They also elaborated on the project’s moniker “How is your window to the future”, implying that, as budding artists, we needed to adapt our skills to discuss how current world issues may impact our physical future. Following the presentation, all students were sent to their respective classrooms where we were to receive a briefing on how we were to approach both the projects topics and group exercises. Our class’s instructor, Cornelia Dinu, spent the first part of our session covering the projects methodology, mainly focusing on steps 1 and 2 which were; “Identify the issues/topic” and “Clearly define the context”. In order to divide the class into groups, instead of randomization or any form of systematic selection, he initiated a class discussion based under a simple question, which was; “What do you think is going to happen within the next 100 years?”. Discussion points across the class varied and covered various possibilities including; the advancement of AI capabilities, authoritarianism, utopian societies and even developments related to the viewing of art. I suggested that, as opposed to cultural and technological advancements, humanity would succumb to the weight of its current practices and the human population would technologically revert and diminish significantly, going through a ‘reset’ period. After each person contributed, Dinu would ask the rest of the class if they agreed with the speaker and why, to which at least two people would respond and give elaborations and suggestions. He then asked everyone who agreed with any of the speakers to sit with them and form their newly appointed groups. I ended up being joined by students from; animation, fashion, product design and film. Upon our formation, our discussion for the remainder of the session was focused on continuing my original discussion point and toying with the possibilities of project proposals. During this session, we mainly fixated upon steps 1 and 2 of the step method. 

Optional Workshop: Devising Performance 

Honestly speaking, I did no prior research into the specifications of the workshop before selecting it. Based on its name, I discerned that it would have something to do with developing approaches to performance art mediums. Noting that I am also from a performing arts background and wanted to innovate my own approach to musical performance, I selected the workshop based on this perception. The workshop DID cover this, but used acting and dramatic performance as a medium to demonstrate this. Our instructor, Felipe Cervera, began the workshop with an acting warmup. These warmups consisted of a series of activities highlighting physical and vocal expression from participants in order to reduce inhibitions. For professional actors, these warmups would increase fluidity and realism during rehearsals. Proceeding the warmups, we were separated into randomised groups where we were given the task of improvising a performance piece based on the IDP headline. There were no restrictions regarding how this piece could be performed stylistically. My group chose to make a slightly more ambiguous dialogue piece centered around cynicism and anxiety amongst college students. The second instruction from Felipe was to construct a piece responding to a previous group’s performance. Again, there were no guidelines specifying what this response needed to entail. For our group, and most others, we would spend a few minutes before physically performing the piece discussing which part of the group’s performance we needed to respond to. Almost all groups chose to respond in the form of a parody of a particular segment or aspect of the previous piece, whether it was the piece’s theme as a whole or even just a single phrase spoken by one of the actors. Needless to say, every group’s performance was rather awkward and slightly cringeworthy, and even with groups that had full-time acting students. If i were to discuss the importance of the workshop in facilitating the IDPs learning objectives, alongside sharpening each students expression and spontaneous capabilities, I would say it would be to demonstrate to performing arts students means through which their profession and art could be used to tackle and discuss global issues and, for students in more design and illustration centred courses, to expose them to alternate mediums through which such expression could be facilitated. 

Day 2

Our group discussion was now focused on devising proposals for art pieces that could be used to express our chosen topic. Noting that grander real world solutions needed to be proposed, we decided that our art piece needed to reflect a situation in which our proposed prediction of the world’s apocalyptic future became a reality. Our proposals included; a satirical graphic novel, an audiovisual art exhibition, a holographic piece etc. After discussing each proposal with respect to the research requirements we decided that we were going to settle on a graphic novel, due to its conceptual simplicity and tangibility during a presentation. The rest of the session was focused on discussing art styles and content for the graphic novel. Eiris, the group’s animation student, had already created drafts of potential panels by the end of the session, while I had written parts of a storyboard. Examples of the draft can be seen below: 

Day 3 

On the third day, an idea was proposed by Marcus, the fashion student in our group, regarding how our product could become relevant in the event of an apocalypse. It was proposed that our product should be held within casing that could withstand the most extreme elements of an apocalyptic scenario. We spent time researching different types of materials which could hypothetically meet these requirements. Our final decision for the casing’s proposed materials included; buckypaper (known for having the strength of style but being a weak conductor of electricity) to construct the case’s outer shell and kevlar (having a higher melting and freezing point than buckypaper) to construct it’s inner shell. The nature of the graphic novel was also discussed during this period. Digital representations of the casing can be seen below: 

The graphic novel was to be a sort of ‘survival guide’, detailing different means of surviving the apocalypse. Of course, the general tone of the novel would be humorous, and the ‘survival instructions’ would mainly include puns and play-on-word jokes based on various apocalyptic scenarios. This would be to satirise the current state of environmental conservation, stating that the featured apocalyptic scenarios would be experienced by humanity if we continued to act unsustainably. To construct the book itself, our proposed materials included; tyvek for its abilities as a writing material, on top of being radiation and waterproof. Of course, for our proposal and draft products, coated paper would be used for the book and the case prototype would be constructed via a 3D printer. We spent the rest of the session working on a powerpoint presentation for friday, as-well as writing a script for each member and constructing the following“mood-board” which would represent our aesthetic inspiration: 

Day 4

For the final day of preparation, we were fully devoted to constructing the presentation. All research and material gathering had been finished at this point. Eiris had finished all panels of the graphic novel (one of which can be seen below). 

  Rahman was organising the printing of the graphic novels and gathered most of the resources and drafts we used during our planning stage. Marcus, Maximilian (Our group’s film student) and I spent the session working on the presentation slides. 

Day 5 

On our final day, our group arrived an hour and half before our class was scheduled to begin. By this stage, our powerpoint had been fully completed, we had a prototype for our casing and 5 copies of our graphic novel had been printed. We spent this period assigning sections for each group member to talk during and did 3 total run-throughs of the presentation before the class began. Our presentation went relatively well, with Dinu and the rest of the class being seemingly impressed by our prototypes and us answering any questions at the end to the best of our abilities. Future proposals and amendments we suggested to enhance our product included incorporating our previous product ideas to make the experience more immersive and using campus spaces to do so. 

Conclusion

During the project, I felt like I hadn’t contributed as much as other members. I didn’t demonstrate the leadership skills of Marcus in coordinating our group and, as a music student, I didn’t have the illustration or design skills of Rahman and Eiris which would have allowed me to construct our prototypes. Despite creating a format for our groups early vision in our first class, I ended up relegating myself to helping out with the powerpoint and writing storyboard ideas. While I initially considered this to be a shortcoming, I realised that using whatever abilities I had available to me to ensure our project went smoothly was a noble thing to do, even if I lacked some of the more outstanding skillsets of my peers. I may not be able to draw, design or command, but, being an artist, I had the ability to contribute ideas creatively and, having experience with microsoft office from working on similar projects during highschool, I was able to do a large amount of our presentation work. In the end, our group’s presentation and proposal was able to follow most of the 7 method steps and demonstrate our collaborative efforts.

(This amazing illustration was drawn by Eiris)

[angrylizardjacket]

And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch. 

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter. 

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work. 

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”. 

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now. 

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982. 

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed. 

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board. 

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage. 

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones. 

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour. 

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.” 

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything. 

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay. 

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning. 

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.

[wintaer-bear]

dancer!reader x dancer!jimin ----------------------------------------------------------

Jimin hates girls like you. Girls that look like they frolicked right out of the end of Pretty Woman without going through its whoresome beginning and were born for the sole purpose of upkeeping “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” He can’t stand a damsel in distress and he especially can’t stand to play a contributing part, so when he sees a pretty little thing like yourself in a leather miniskirt and jacket to match leaned up on his 711, he can’t help but turn and walk the other way. Cigarettes and alcohol would have to wait yet another day to unleash their wrath upon him.

“Hey, wait!” 

“Bus stop’s that way, princess.” He calls. The pink haired angel doesn’t even bother to turn back. Chances are, you’re someone else’s, and like hell was he going to get mixed up in that again. Jimin quite liked his life, although shitty and full of poor financial decisions, it was all his. He’d much rather cut off his left arm (not his right tho) before being scrutinized under a magnifying glass for helping one hot chick who waved him down at the local convenience store.

You wore a pretty jacket, tattered and grungy, but just one good look at you and Jimin could tell it was all designer - and the rich designer too, the one’s where the brandname was only on the inside lining rather than paraded on the outside like so alphabet vomit gone right. Your hair, he scoffed, was edgy, sure, but screamed high maintenance with it’s straight bangs and color. He guessed you went to your personalized stylist at least twice a month, maybe even weekly.

Jimin’s seen you before. Well, not you, exactly, but girls like you. Girls who winded up on the wrong side of town because mommy and daddy refused to get them a new nose for Christmas so now their looking for their next quick fix for a high or because the law gave them a slap on the wrist for bargaining with someone’s livelihood and now they have it out to use every poor man, woman, and child as a means to no end. Oh, yes, Jimin has seen you many times before, but most recently in the form of his just as rich ex named Bexs, which of course was short for Rebecca with two C’s because she’s proper like that.

“I wasn’t waiting for the bus,” you peep, jogging to keep up with Jimin’s pace.

“Good, because you missed it. Last one went out was ten minutes ago, guess you’re stuck in Poorville until morning miss.” Jimin emphasizes on the title and you let you slide.

“You would send me in the wrong direction for a bus that will never come?”

God, you even speak like them. You don’t conjugate your words and expel every syllable as if it were your last. Jimin rolls his eyes.

“Like you couldn’t afford a taxi to send you riding off into the sunset.” He says. “Besides if you knew it was the wrong direction, why’d you ask?”

“Jimin, right?”

The angel-boy pauses, dead in his tracks and takes a puff of fresh air. He does a small turn to meet his adversary eye to eye before regretting his next question. He hates to be at odds with a woman. 

“I was waiting for you.”

Jimin’s mind goes blank, from the rosiness that has just become apparent on your cheeks or from the anxiety your words bring him, he’s unsure, but what he does know is that he’s really hates girls like you.

“We had dance together last semester in high school? Then went to Brighton together the year after?”

Brighton. If ever there was hell on earth it would be at Brighton University. Jimin had gotten accepted off a whim, probably some demographics and status quo and diversity bullshit kind of whim. He rode his way through the rich kid’s high school off a dance scholarship and carried it over to the U, but the University was sure to drop him first upon academic investigation from the state. Turns out you’re only worth as much as your department and grades when you’re a pseudo-athlete and Jimin’s average 2.0 GPA wasn’t cutting it.

“Sounds like me.”

“What happened to you? I came back from my trip abroad and couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought surely you’d -”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin cuts you off. “But who are you?” He feels bad, really, he does, but not as bad as you’re making him feel rubbing all the accomplishments he should be living right now like salt on his wounds. Dance was supposed to be his ticket out of this hellhole, so hearing you living it up didn’t exactly set well with him, especially considering you were from the same dance troop from the exact same high school. He couldn’t say you both had been given the same opportunities, because obviously, he did not, but it didn’t leave too much room for imagination to envision how far he could have gone given the chance. If only one person had believed in him.

“Jimin,” you grab his arms, worried. “It’s me, ____.” 

Jimin takes a long hard look at you before erupting in a thunderous laugh. He laugh so hard you’re worried he’s bursted a blood vessel in his brain because his eyes look watery and his face is flushed. 

Not only did Jimin remember you, he remembered you. Yeah, you were rich. Yeah, you were talented. But damn were you... regular. And as far as rich prep schools go, that’s even worse off than being poor. You were a late bloomer and your parents were athletes, so they didn’t believe in enhancing bodies by unnatural means, the concept of body dysmorphia nonexistent, so poor little you had to grow up ugly, flat chested, and curveless. You were never tall enough to get the main role. Never thin enough to get her understudy. You simply just were. Until now apparently, Ms. Travel-the-world-for-dance.

Jimin distinctively remembers being partnered up with you for each duet. The outcasts. The scholarship boy and plain Jane. No one talked to you, no one noticed you and no one resented that more than Jimin. The two of you were good. Damn good. Put in more practice than the leads, but never allowed to outshine them.

Now here you were 23 and armed with all the artillery to break a man’s heart. 23, and finally allowed to shine. Your awkward bug eyes had grown into round, almond shapes framed by the longest lashes he has ever seen in his life. Thank God, you didn’t listen to your dance instructor in high school and starve your body from all the necessary nutrients to make your body what it is today - an athlete’s build, strong, and sturdy. You didn’t look like you were going to break in half when he huffed and puffed in your direction. 

It takes him a second to snap back into the moment. Unsure if he should return to you a smile or a glimpse of what he’s really feeling, a bit of uneasiness and jealousy. For the first time in Jimin’s life, he feels small. And it’s in front of you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dump like this?” He panics, but you don’t seem to notice if the immediate blush on your cheek is any indication.

“I - um,” you stutter. “I came to offer you a job.”

Jimin’s ear perk at the offer. 

“My coach is retiring and,” you hesitate and Jimin’s beam intensifies. 

“And you think I would be the man for the job?”

You silence is enough affirmation for Jimin. He gives you a final glare before bidding you farewell.

“Thanks but no thanks. If I wanted a hand out, I’d go back to Brighton and ask for a degree. I like my pain and suffering all things considered.”

He doesn’t know why he rejects it, rejects you. Maybe it’s the unresolved feelings he has for dance. The give and take that has always been a hell of a lot more giving that taking. Whatever the cause, Jimin refuses to spill his heart and soul into something... intangible. 

“Reconsider,” you say, reaching your arm out before Jimin can turn away. “Please.”

He shakes off your hand. “Sorry Princess, this isn’t something you can buy.”

His words cut deep like knives, like he knows they will. The unrelenting pits of him telling him this is the only way of getting you to back off. You were partners after all. Jimin knows all of you, the little weakness and inferiority complex of not being good enough, but he’d never imagine you’d do this. Change yourself to fit a role. God you were so pretty before.

Girls like you aren’t supposed to be tender. You’re supposed to be bitchy and throw a fit when you don’t get your way. Jimin was immune to it, so why did he have a sinking feeling of a hundred dreadful butterflies in his stomach when he sees the first drops of saline escape your thick lashes. God, he hated girls like you. 

[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...

[happymetalgirl]

Disturbed - Evolution

This is a tough one.

Not to write, well kind of.

Like a sucker punch to the gut after trying to quell a bar fight.

Disturbed were one of the big reasons I got into heavy music in my adolescence, and even looking back, I still enjoy a lot of my favorite deep cuts from albums like Believe and, my personal favorite, Indestructible. For a long time, Disturbed has been the bane of frustrated criticism from much of the metal community for having a rather homogeneous and formulaic writing style, which they do to some degree. But for a long time I stood my ground in my appreciation of what they did with the style they transitioned to immediately after their nu metal debut album put them on the map. Even though they did largely abide by a common formula, their music didn’t really FEEL formulaic. The band played with what seemed to be a pretty convincing vigor, with David Draiman’s strong and well-controlled singing voice a major factor of it, and the rest of the band’s crunchy riffs and respectable solos providing a certainly adequate backing to such a strong vocal presence. The band were assertive. They nailed five #1 albums in a row and they played like they had to prove they deserved it out of all the other groups in the alternative metal field in the 2000′s.

I was a little shaky when the band came back from hiatus with 2015′s Immortalized, for which they recruited Five Finger Death Punch producer Kevin Churko to manage the soundboard, and he basically copied and pasted the same bland production from Got Your Six to Disturbed’s sound. Aside from the unflattering, squeaky clean preset production, the band sounded much more micromanaged in their writing. The band were able to squeeze out a few bangers that hearkened back to albums like Ten Thousand Fists, but combined with what seemed like a bit less fire under their ass after their hiatus, Immortalized sounded like Disturbed sterilized, super clean, super textbook, no surprises... well, one surprise. What Immortalized eventually brought Disturbed was a hit cover: Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”. The band had done a lot of well-received cover songs across their catalog before “The Sound of Silence”: “Shout” by Tears for Fears, “Land of Confusion” by Genesis, “Midlife Crisis” by Faith No More, “Living After Midnight” by Judas Priest, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” by U2, and even a live rendition of Pantera’s “Walk”. But nothing brought them quite the resurgence in popularity after hiatus that “The Sound of Silence” was able to. But that clearly came with a price that the band would have to pay later, and that time is now.

Immortalized felt like executives and radio analysts had a bit too much hold on the band in the creative process, and on Evolution, it really feels like they have taken the reins completely to ensure that the band they invested in, the band that gave them their hit Simon and Garfunkel cover, would yield a similar return. And good God is it a catastrophic shame! Reshaping Disturbed’s approach and image all the way down to the album cover, the first to not feature their iconic mascot (The Guy) since his inception on the Ten Thousand Fists cover, Evolution is quite a painfully fitting title for this stifled, programmed album. For the first time, Disturbed really sound like something their longtime fans didn’t ever want them to be and everything their worst critics had always said they were. I don’t know how much of a fight the band members put up to prevent the album from sounding this way (if they even did) but they sound defeated and puppeteered. The curious part of me even wonders if Draiman’s oddly publicized decision to take out his chin piercings came as the result of label pressure to clean up the band’s image for radio/YouTube or something (if so, I’m sure they’re also trying to find a way to change that super offensive, not-radio-Disney band name without losing the recognition it comes with).

Cynicism about the context of the album aside, Evolution is a tough pill to swallow. Producer Kevin Churko is back to fuck up a good thing and choke the band’s otherwise lion-like roar into the wheeze of an asthmatic cat (appreciate the Sufjan Stevens reference). The album kicks off with the fan-chosen lead single, “Are You Ready”, an adequate, but still kind of safe channeling of classic Disturbed. On any other album from them, this would be an enjoyable, but lower-tier track in the bag. The fact that it’s a highlight here speaks to the tremendous drop in quality on this album. Things go south quickly with the second track, “No More”. The song builds its foundation on a butt rock drum beat throughout the verses and minimal riffage. The chorus is a bit better, but those verses are just unbearable. And then we get the first of several of the album’s soulless, transparently label-pushed ballads: “A Reason to Fight”. The lyrically vague, overproduced acoustic piece is such an obvious attempt at a semi-“The Sound of Silence” original that the label wouldn’t have to split royalties for. And this applies pretty much exactly to the nauseatingly cheesy inspiration of “Hold on to Memories”, the artificially orchestral “Lift You Up”, and the melodramatic acoustic closer, “Already Gone”.

As for the more rock-oriented material, the kids-on-their-damn-phones anthem “In Another Time” sounds again like an overproduced Asylum-esque banger that would almost definitely have sounded better on that album’s production (and with less surface-y topical lyrics). The chuggy, mid-paced guitar riff on “Stronger on Your Own” also really highlights how shitty the production on this album is, with Dan Donegan sounding like he’s playing through a fucking practice amp. Again, it sounds like something that could have had potential to be passable in an earlier studio session, but instead got snuffed out here. “Savior of Nothing” features some refreshingly present cool guitar harmonics, even though Donegan is still far too muffled in the mix. The chorus is pretty lifeless, however, and the momentarily exciting drum fills at the bridge are quickly ruined by a corny electronic dubstep-ish drop, in current year, after all the failed experimentation we saw with dubstep in the early 2010's! God, just give me the cancer now. Perhaps the laziest display of the band’s usual hard rock and alternative metal blend comes in the elementary schooler swearing technique on the drama-critique of “The Best Ones Lie”, which just sounds awkward and forced.

The bonus tracks on the “deluxe” version of the album features a recycled suspiciously titled original alt. metal cut called “This Venom”...like that shit movie needs more shitty music commissioned for it to stain this year. And of course, there’s another acoustic ballad with Draiman seriously crooning in falsetto at some points like a fucking wannabe Adam Levine.

The band expressed that they wanted this album to be like their “black album” and represent a stylistic evolution for them, which is such an odd thing to hear from a band that has clearly taken so much influence from the “black album” they’re referring to. And I feel like a broken record this year with bands stating they want to “evolve” or “progress” as an excuse for an unwelcome diverting into the fleeting promises of career revival and job security that radio-friendliness advertises, but Disturbed’s case is different. They aren’t some B-list group from the 2000′s metalcore movement jumping aboard the Oli Sykes bandwagon. Disturbed are big, and they didn’t need to sell their souls to maintain their status after the success of “The Sound of Silence”, which is why I get the feeling that this was the product of too many hands of boardroom members on the creative wheel. Although, it’s still entirely possible that this really was the direction Disturbed wanted to go. They said they were inspired by the classic rock of their youth, which could be an excuse to appeal to that hotbed of radio boredom, but I can believe it given the more rock-oriented cuts on this album.

Either way, this is bay far Disturbed’s worst album to date, and one that ended their five-record streak of #1 albums. Not that I would revel in a band’s failure (besides, it debuted at #4, which is undoubtedly still a win for the band, and moreso a symbolic stumble for the label), but I hope that such a “slump” either helps guide the band back on track to doing what they have done well, or gives them leverage to get their label the fuck off their backs so that they can get back to doing what they do well without the hindrance of outside influence only seeking to pimp their artistry, seeing that the label probably isn’t going to be getting a hit like the “The Sound of Silence” this time around anyway.

In the end, perhaps the album cover (as boring as it is) without The Guy is better. It certainly represents something. If The Guy is the spirit of the band and their hunger, then it’s fitting that he’s not here on Evolution's cover. Replaced by the image of electrified DNA bases with chains serving as the sugar-phosphate backbone, the Guy-less cover kind of does express the chaining of the band’s fiery nature across this album, something I hope they can break free from on their next project.

[alishbakhanus]

Yellow Wedding: Organize a sunny vacation

Yellow is associated with sunlight, it can give bright warm feelings, improve mood. If you want an unusual holiday that all guests will remember for a long time, then read our article and create your yellow wedding.

Choose a shade of yellow

Psychologists say that if you choose yellow as your wedding decoration, it speaks to your creativity, wanting to translate unusual ideas into reality. You are good with other people, and also know how to make the right and logical decision. As a rule, yellow weddings are not big and sad. These chamber events, lots of warmth and invitations – are just people nearby.

Choose a shade of yellow

Which one you choose depends on the mood and the concept of celebration, so let’s do it on purpose. What is the ray of the sun?

Canary yellow is the brightest and most positive tone. It’s very cold, but it’s important not to overdo it. Mix with white or beige.

Corn-yellow. Tears delight with its deep and rich. Incorporating pastel colors like green and beige will soften the composition, but in the classic duo of yellow and blue these colors will reinforce each other and create a truly amazing effect.

The pale yellow looks soft and gentle. If in design you use it together with soft natural tones, the wedding atmosphere will move to be gentle and romantic.

The maintenance shade is perfect for autumn weddings. It’s unusual and “intense”. Add it to the chocolate brown and wine.

Error in yellow wedding design

The color yellow is very intense, its use can be strictly erased. Don’t try for a monochrome wedding, the guests were there immediately and stopped to focus.

The combination of yellow and black, as well as yellow with intense pink of the wedding is best, you risk a stupid and motley picture.

Yellow wedding decorations

Typically, yellow is widely used in spring wedding designs, when the abundance of light enhances the color effect. Small roses are suitable for flowers and decorations in combination with mills and greens. Boutonniere will help in the buttonhole of the bride and jewelry to support the color, the bride’s sun-yellow dress. For the banquet it is better to choose a ceiling or bandana, yellow floral compositions will be complemented by the color of the tree, and white fabrics will be an excellent background.

Let’s look at a yellow wedding in a sufficiently “yellow” style. The main tone can be cleanliness, which can be easily combined with brown and sand. For brides and witness roses, as well as compositions on the table, sunflowers and field flowers will be suitable.

Looks like a wedding in the style of Sunny and Passionate 50s. The main transport is a white “bug” decorated with ribbons. Girl-friends – in pasta yellow dresses and brides – a slender dress for the knees and bright accessories. Romantic Details – Daffodil colored cakes and smoky puddles.

Wedding dress

The bride in a yellow wedding dress is a real incense. For every taste, there are many styles of yellow fabrics for extreme tastes, from classical (“Princess”, “Mermaid”, “A-shape”). It seems to us that shorter models with lush tulle skirts are more successful in sun, lemon and canary colors. They bring to the image of the bride abusive and harsh notes.

Experiment with details if you want to leave white: a yellow belt, a flower in your hair, a hat or a veil will make you unique. The incense tone in the dress can be maintained with a rose or a donkey or bridal dress. Here you have unlimited space for use, however, please note that the oil polo yellow is ideal for Tulu Valentine, and the gold one goes perfectly with everyone.

Wedding bouquet

The main flowers for the yellow married rose: sunflower, eucalyptus, gabber, facial, lily, tulips, callus, snapdragon, orchids, etc. The choice depends on your style. Classical composition – lemon and white rose. Often these roses are ball-shaped. The extravagant and easy feel is given by the tulips. Try a combination of yellow with yellow. If the bride values ​​are simplicity, then attention should be paid to the stench, and the girls, who live forever and in everything – kales.

Sunflowers have received special attention. Such a sweet looks like a little sun and beautifully gives a white color to the chest.

Particularly popular are the unusual bright color combinations: yellow, yellow and orange.

For the autumn festivities, create a composition that includes maid, steal and brown.

Bridal dress

Some communists will eliminate the risk of wearing canary clothes. This often happens in thematic and stylistic marriages. It is complemented by a white or beige shirt. A bright shirt is more common. There may be a good additional suspension.

But when choosing yellow accessories you can spend a lot: from classic monophonic neck scarves to butterfly white and yellow peas or flowers.

History of the wedding gate

In our time, such details can be found, probably only in wedding ceremonies. And in the meantime, this element of the wardrobe once played a very important role. In ancient times, long before the invention of the wheel, people wore high leather shoes. As a rule, socks were specially tied, so they did not fit their feet.

Knitted in place of leather shoes, which did not have the necessary elasticity and slipped constantly, folding at the knees. Gates came to the rescue. It is worth noting that when such details entered the wardrobe of women’s employment, it began to serve as a kind of decoration. Paying attention to the practical function, this element of the fabric has been transformed into a decorative detail of the picture. Garters began decorating in all sorts of ways – they ranged from expensive materials, complete with loose, bold, stone, embroidery and other elements.

Sometime later, the gate belt was replaced by a belt for the desert, and later the socks became so elastic that they simply sat to support.

Why did the bride get the gate at her feet?

In our time, you can find such unusual details in many marriages. At the wedding ceremony, Gates plays a symbolic role and attends a famous ceremony, when Dilma throws the details to a group of unmarried men. This culture was not born in our country, but came from the West in the 90’s. So, most brides consider the essential part of their wedding toilet.

Initially, in the West, there was a friendly, according to which guests came home from the celebration, to bring at least a small scrap of young clothes. In this regard, after the end of the celebration, each invitee would try to throw a piece of cloth from the young dress or from the dress of loyalty. Naturally, such a deceptive tradition did not last forever, and more civilized rituals replaced it. Since then, it is believed that the gate from the girl’s feet is good luck and well-being, and it is only fortunate for the fortune that it is to hold it from the hands of the bride.

In some states, the girl is not one, but two quarters. One of them is yellow on the far right, part of which is placed at the level of the third species. The other gate is worn on the left leg a little less than before. The husband removes the assistant from the right side of his young wife and throws out the unmarried friends and sits the second part.

Courtesy: best garden venues for weddings

[perfumestorero507-blog]

How to Explain perfume store to Your Mom

Apart from it, fragrances are likewise one of the most caring gift items that individuals buy for their loved ones. Considering this, the bottle which contains the fragrance and the external cover is of utmost significance.

Needless to state; an individual would open a bottle to smell the scent only if he is attracted by the outer look of the perfume. The packaging is really substantial in the fragrance industry. Let's have an in-depth understanding of the significance of packaging for perfumes:

1. Draws in Buyers:

You may have noticed extremely innovative and gorgeous bottles in the fragrance area of the store. Yes, the need for creative packaging is more in the scent market as compared to other sectors. The reason is that perfume is a high-end product; it's not a basic requirement.

Due to this, the scent brands have to in fact lure the people so that they can't withstand purchasing it. The packaging is a strong tool that can captivate those individuals.

Obviously, everyone likes browsing. Individuals go to stores and see things which they don't even prepare to purchase. This is the opportunity where unique fragrance bottles and terrific outer product packaging enchant the buyers to include it in their shopping baskets.

2. Safeguard the Delicate Bottles:

Most of the perfumes are packed in glass containers or bottles to enhance their aesthetic appeal. These bottles are rather fragile and prone to breakage and damage. The external packaging protects the delicate fragrance bottles from that damage.

From the manufacturing place to the racks of retail stores and lastly in the hands of the purchasers, these fragrances take a trip securely due to the fact that of this outer packaging. Only the buyer gets the benefit https://sykscents.com/shop/ of unwrapping the pack and lastly touching the intricately developed glass bottle of that fragrance.

3. Establish a Glamorous Image:

The container or product packaging establishes a luxurious picture of the perfume. On seeing an exquisitely beautiful fragrance bottle, the first ideas of anybody would be "this must be expensive". And it is the intrinsic nature of people to adore and desire a thing, a lot more, when it appears out of their reach. So, most of the people will definitely go for a close appearance.

It implies that fancy product packaging can win the heart of spectators in the first glance. Most of the buyers will inquire about its cost or smell it. Now, if the perfume is not that much pricey as they believed, then they will definitely buy it.

Why; because it looks damn costly and it can leave an excellent impression if they will gift it to someone or show it on their dressing table. Fragrance manufactures style stunning bottles to use this mind of consumers for their profits.

4. Suggest Towards its Fragrance:

Have you ever seen a fragrance business using the same product packaging for various fragrances of one fragrance? This happens seldom in the perfume industry.

A perfume with increased smell would be packed in a rose shape bottle, or the product packaging will include gorgeous visuals related to roses and its petals. This technique helps individuals in getting the fundamental idea about the aroma without even reading the labels.

5. Influence the Decision of Buyers:

Makers and business focus more on the packaging than the original product in the perfume market. They do so mainly because of the behaviour of the possible purchasers. They understand that selling an average fragrance crammed in a gorgeous bottle is much easier than offering a fantastic scent crammed in a typical bottle. This holds true mostly with the new or least recognized business.

People prefer purchasing perfumes of established brand names more than the new ones. But by using the strategy of exceptional packaging, even the new brand names can make their area in the fragrance market. The decision of buying a particular fragrance relies more on its packaging and less on its scent for the majority of the purchasers. That's why every other business concentrate on developments in perfume packaging.

6. Fulfils the Gifting Purposes:

As we have pointed previously, perfumes are glamorous products which individuals frequently purchase to gift their loved ones and buddies on special celebrations like festivals, anniversaries, birthdays etc. Numerous business are taking this point into factor to consider while creating the bottle and outer product packaging of their fragrances.

Individuals search for the most stunning looking fragrance bottle and most creative product packaging when they buy it for gifting functions. Of course, the appearance of the present matters as much as its function. Glass bottles with gorgeous gems and other elegant products are utilized by perfume companies to attract buyers who buy perfumes for gifting functions.

7. A Strong Communicational Tool

The product packaging is a very strong communicational tool as it presents all the appropriate details about the perfume in a crisp way. Individuals who are not a fan of T.V. and do not utilize social media too much can be influenced through the product packaging of the perfume.

Majority of the fragrances include main info about the item, the ingredients used, and the approach of applying along with catchy headings. All this information is enough to gain fundamental knowledge about a product. So, the packaging is extremely important as it speaks in favour of the item.

If you wish to have smooth, smooth, shiny hair every day and wish to do it at your home without spending a great deal of time for it, then, Baby Bliss Straightener is just the best item for you. It is easy to use and leaves your hair with a stunning appearance each time you use it.

Unique Functions of the Item:

Usage of Titanium plates:

The titanium plates ensure simple gliding of the straightener through your hair without much trouble since of its ultra-smooth surface area. It will not damage the ends of your hair as well, which is a prime location of issue in case of lots of straighteners readily available today.

It also utilizes the latest technology to make sure that your hair does not get harmed after using it for numerous days.

Heating Capability:

It has a maximum heating capacity approximately 450F which is quite sufficient for practically all usages. It takes simply a couple of seconds time to warm up completely and for this reason minimizes the waiting part that is the most annoying part while aligning the hair. That is you have to wait for the straightener to warm up correctly so that you can start, which is not the case with this item.

Additional Features:

Total Review:

It is the very best hair straightener that one will definitely wish to have for a carefree styling of hair. It appropriates for all types of hair such as long, thick, coarse, curly. It will make your hair look healthier than it was before. As it does not take much time to warm up, you need not have to spend hours of time to get straight and gorgeous hair. With this, you can conserve a lot of your cash as you need not go to http://edition.cnn.com/search/?text=Frangence a salon to get that salon style look. You can just purchase it as soon as and take pleasure in hair salon style quality each time you utilize it. If you wish to use it to curl your hair, because case also you will not be disappointed with the results that you will get.

It is not only the best item for home usage only, however also a really good item that can be utilized by expert hair stylists. Your consumers will be truly impressed with the very best quality hair that they will enjoy since of it.

Simply one thing you have to take care about is that, use the heat level depending upon your hair type and that quantity which is necessary for the appearance that you want so that your hair stay healthier after frequent use of it.

[cryptoriawebb]

Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol.2 Review

Confession: I was hesitant going into this film.

I know I’m probably in the minority there, but it’s seemed to me, over the last couple of years, that Marvel has been trying and failing with their sequels (or threequels) to outdo their predecessors. I first noticed it with Thor 2; a cycle of unbalanced/inappropriate tone and only partially resonating character arcs. Don’t get me wrong, each movie is entertaining in its own way, but much like Pixar’s long-standing record for fresh and original, Marvel has this knack for presenting comic book movies in unusual ways. However, it’s been running for so long and so frequent now their ‘unusual’ has become ‘expected’ and it’s rare I’ve gone into one of their movies lately with more than half-hearted enthusiasm. Doctor Strange was the exception, but that’s purely because I’m partial to his character. And I did enjoy that movie, even if I would have liked a little more ground and a little less quirky. For me, personally, Guardians of the Galaxy 2 raised the bar again, and that’s not something I’ve really felt in a sequel since seeing Winter Soldier.

The beginning of the film felt a little disjointed, in both tone and scene transition. I’ll say right now I’ve never read a Guardians comic, I knew nothing about them before going to see the first film so I went into each one, blind. The tonal shift wasn’t as smooth as I personally would have liked between the flashback sequence and the fast-forward. Admittedly, the film as was such a ride as a whole that I’ve forgotten the exact details but: that first sequence with the Guardians began with an urgency that felt a little forced, even with the abrupt ‘time-transition’ card or whatever it’s called. It transitioned into something more humorous and light-hearted which did better match the opening scene, but for a little while there, I worried I was in for another Thor 2.

Speaking of the opening, I loved the decision to show the sequence from Groot’s point of view. Another unusual approach, just like the first film, and like the first film I think it did a pretty decent job (I say decent because again, they opened its predecessor with a similar stylistic approach.) Plus, who doesn’t love a pint-sized Groot?

From an aesthetic perspective, the Sovereign race fascinated me. So simple, yet I was completely drawn into their golden look. Made me think back to James Bond and an old story I heard about one of their movies (which in turn left me wondering what kind of makeup was used.) Speaking of makeup, I’m almost always more impressed by the practical vs computer generated ratio. Being a fan, as I am, of the old Hollywood era, I’m in awe of the sort of creatures artists can create with their own two hands. It’s literally giving life to a fantasy. Computers produce a cleaner effect but I don’t know…it just isn’t the same.  

Also, and more from a nerd than critical perspective: I couldn’t take their battle methods entirely seriously, and I’m not sure I was supposed to. The set-up, the way they crowded around the one Sovereign pilot, even the battle sequence itself reminded me of an old-school arcade. I loved that. Strange, but it worked because it wasn’t overly emphasized.

Jumping ahead a bit (because it’s late and I can’t remember every detail) the only casting I found questionable was Stallone. I hate to say that because I grew up watching Rocky, I still go see Rocky movies, I love Stallone as an actor but I just don’t know if I was really feeling anything from him. I’m sure he tried, but that spark I saw in so many other character’s eyes wasn’t in his. His lines didn’t register deep within his character’s heart, because they were just that, lines. I haven’t seen Stallone in really anything else other than the Rocky movies, but I’m wondering now if he’s the kind of actor who’s good at one thing (the underdog athlete, the soldier) and nothing else. I hope that’s not the case. His appearance was a nice, nostalgic little surprise. I’d like to see more, but I want to feel it, too. So here’s hoping.

Now let’s talk about Kurt Russell. Damn, where’s he been hiding? That’s how you deliver a performance. I love loved his character, it’s so rare these days to find villains who not only don’t believe they’re villains but genuinely think they’re in the right. I guess X-men’s Apocalypse was a little like that, but his presentation came off more sinister, as opposed to Ego’s sincerity. I was discussing this with my family: Ego never lied to Quill, not once. He merely chose to partly answer and explain things. At least, that’s what I think. Unlike Apocalypse, or even Thor 2’s Malekith, Ego didn’t spend thousands of years in suspended sleep: he lived it. His age and disconnect mesh so well with his not-villain villainous plans, and Russell was so honest and genuine he captured that perfectly.

Yandu was actually my favorite surprise. From his killer montage-escape sequence to his heart-breaking confession at end, he definitely wins as the award for best highlight in my opinion. I can’t remember much of what he did in the first film, minus the backstory but I thought that carried over well to where we see him, when he’s first introduced in this one. We also, at least, I also, saw a little more, that defeat and stubborn streak when confronted. I always had this feeling, even in the first film, that he sort of saw Quill as his son, but it was so subtle before I wasn’t actually sure they were going to go that route. As the plot progressed and Yandu’s role increased I thought back on an earlier conversation between the Guardians of the Galaxy, and how Drax thought Yandu was Quill’s father earlier on. That’s definitely foreshadowing at its finest, yet I didn’t find it too obvious and I think that’s because of what I remembered of Yandu’s relationship with Quill from the last movie. That, and Drax tends to be the outrageous one used for outrageous humor; that little moment could have easily been used to capitalize on that, taken as a way to highlight Quill’s leftover rage towards Yandu for kidnapping and ‘ruining’ his childhood.

I actually cried when he died, which I never would have expected from a Guardians movie. The bond between him and Quill, as well as Chris Pratt’s ability to channel emotion through his eyes (a feat I’ve only seen a couple actors do with such intensity) made for a heartbreaking send-off, yet satisfying, at the same time. From a viewer perspective, I would have liked him to live, but looking critically, his character arc was complete by the end of the film; there wasn’t anywhere else to go that felt deserved. If anything (because I’ve seen this happen before) further development might have hindered his progress and tarnished this performance going forward, so I think, overall, death suited him.

What a death it was…I’m reminded, loosely, of It’s a Wonderful Life: there are glacier-wide differences between Yandu and George Bailey but they’re the same in that they’re the one man kicked around most of their life, forced to make the tough decisions despite the consequences, but in the end they’ve touched the lives of more people than they’ll ever know. I think Kraglin’s reaction to the funeral sums up Yandu better than I could. Side note though, I felt his relationship with Rocket definitely helped both characters.

Rocket on his own, though, I almost felt he backtracked from where we left him at the end of the first film. It could be that I’m misremembering but I felt like his gruff attitude (and likewise reception to it) didn’t feel as natural as it did the first go-round. I liked that characters weren’t just okay with it, because even close-knit families have limited tolerance towards insult. It just needed a bit of refining, or perhaps more build-up in order to really appreciate his character evolution. I do like that there was, and as the movie progressed, how he seemed to gradually accept that he cared about this group, and that was okay. I did think, those few “asshole” encounters aside, Rocket maintained a balance between that exasperated sarcasm and earnestness. Especially with Groot.

Backing up for a second, I’d just like to note I was pleasantly surprised by Kraglin’s character as well. I do want to go back and rewatch the first movie; when I do, I’ll look for his character. I wasn’t expecting someone with so minor a role to play such a large part in this film. I’m really glad he did. That doesn’t happen as nearly as often as I wish it did—it reminded me very vaguely of Galaxy Quest, and the “red shirt” character, there (because it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen that movie as well.) Minor characters experience their own share conflict: it’s nice we got to see that. I hope Kraglin sticks around for a third film.

Other character notes: Mantis was adorable. Her innocence and relationship with Drax, however strange, was touching in its own way. Loud and clunky Drax is the one the delicate Mantis bonds with and chooses to trust her secrets to I loved that. It’s unexpected, in true Guardian fashion. Nebula, too, I felt for much more in this movie. I’ve seen so many violent, angry characters claiming/with tragic backstories over the years, especially when it comes to the super-hero genre, it gets a little tiresome. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to be said for that and I understand why the way they are (Magneto is one of my favorite characters) it’s just I’m usually more interested in the characters who appear more put together but who you can tell have suffered as well, even if they choose not to outwardly display it. That’s in part because I can relate to that but also because it’s almost more interesting to me. That said…I really felt for Nebula. Hearing what Thanos did to her, there’s no way I can ignore that and seeing her come undone was hard to watch. Maybe her confrontation and turnaround happened a bit quickly but she was forced along with them for most of the movie at different points. I suppose that would chip away at her rage eventually. That, and a crumbling god-planet. I’ll also say that, as opposed to Erik Lehnsherr, who I wish would just stay with the X-men, I’m glad Nebula wasn’t dissuaded from killing her father. She turned around, but not completely, and felt fitting for her state of mind. All that rage directed at Thanos now, it’ll be interesting to see when she next appears.

Gamora too, I’m glad had a lot more development, and I’m equally glad she expressed it indirectly, with the exception of her confrontation with Nebula. There was so much pain between them, so much shared pain despite coming from different sides. The scene itself was a bit expected, even Nebula’s confession she only wanted a sister; it worked for them, though. Without it, I don’t think there could have been any headway, especially because their entire arc is a very relied-on trope for siblings in conflict. On another note I’m so relieved to see an organic, slow-building romance in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It’s there, it’s real but it’s not the most important part of their relationship. Family first, everything else comes with time. I’m so tired of people thinking one needs a romantic-interest in order to better sell a movie. I’ve seen so many super hero films bogged down by forced sub-plots and no chemistry, Gamora and Quill are a breath of fresh air.

I haven’t mentioned Peter Quill yet because, as the main character there’s a lot to say, and a lot that’s already seen on screen. As one of the most expressive characters you know and hear a lot of what he’s thinking as the story goes, more than anyone else, I’d say. His familial conflicts weren’t the most original, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it approached in a way that didn’t feel cliché or undeserved. Even his rage upon learning Ego killed his mother—which I’ve seen before (Anakin in Star Wars, Magneto in First Class, even Sasuke in the Naruto franchise—it felt so raw, but not the ‘bordering-on-villianous-transformation’ raw. Maybe that’s why it left a different impact. As I said before, Chris Pratt is incredibly gifted at displaying his emotion through his eyes. You really felt Quill explode inside, and because, maybe, he was the hero, you cheered a little when he charged at Ego. The same can be said for later in the film, when he tapped into his godly abilities. Yandu’s “I don’t control the arrow with my head” advice. That also made me think of First Class (the point between rage and serenity.) It didn’t matter though, because at this point, at least I think, you care enough about these characters and their bonds that you want Quill to win, even if he’s going to do it through a recycled trope. You want this human to pummel his all-powerful father, a father who’s caused so much death and destruction and you want this family to remain intact because dammit, they aren’t perfect, they aren’t all the best people but they deserve to belong.

Stepping away from the characters for a moment, my favorite sequence by far was Yandu and company’s escape. I’ve never seen so much death in a Marvel Studios movie. Maybe Age of Ultron, but nothing explicitly shown, and while that led to Civil War, no one died in that movie either. I’m not saying I want to see a death count, because I don’t, but you can’t call a movie Civil WAR and have no one die. The stakes were just so sub-par in that movie. So when Yandu killed what, two-hundred people with a single arrow, I was shocked. I’d gotten so used to the Cinematic Universe’s quirky humor buddy-buddy ‘let’s-sell-merchandise’ mantra I never would have expected that. Or the cavern of skeletons. This movie felt far more like a legitimate science fiction film than it did a super hero one, and I suppose in many ways, it is. I would like to mention though that this scene did not earn a favorite’s declaration because of the death. I don’t go see a film to watch characters die, as I said. The way this montage was shot and edited convinced me to hope for the rest of the film, that maybe it would be more than ‘trying too hard.’ I mean I enjoyed it, but that sequence made me believe this movie could stand on its own. I’d like to go back and see this movie again so I can better describe it. I will say I remember not only being entertained by the off-beat choices, but impressed by how seamless transitions were, how on par with the music; it was a montage, but it was a slightly manic montage, and those tend to succeed, or come across far too chaotic and messy. Or again, trying too hard.

I’d like to make one small note at the end of the film, and it is a small thing. There are a couple of tonal shifts in this movie that don’t work as well as they could (such as Mantis falling unconscious during the climactic battle—I appreciate what they were trying to do and I know I can be a sucker for the traditional that way but I just felt like it dampened the seriousness when you needed to feel it.) The ending of this movie, the jump from Yandu’s death to the credits, felt the same way. It was very abrupt, and really each time it happened felt as though the creative visionaries weren’t respecting the characters, or rather, downplaying their emotional significance. I’d have to see the movie again to say for sure, but I remember feeling as though not enough time was given to appreciate Yandu’s impact.

There were a lot of post-credit scenes as well. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a movie, especially a super hero one, where the post-credit scenes don’t take away from the movie’s tonal impact. Doctor Strange, for example; both scenes felt far too rushed, I would have liked to see them at the end of another movie, despite how little time there is until Ragnarok. I don’t particularly like feeling as though I MUST BE EXCITED RIGHT NOW, when I already was for this origin movie. I digress, all of Guardians’ scenes felt appropriate, and the easter eggs blended in. Even the ones I didn’t personally understand (simply for not having read the comics) I was able to figure out—from Stallone’s original Guardians to Adam’s loose introduction. I guess Marvel has plans beyond Infinity war after all. Oh, and teenage Groot! Totally unnecessary, but a lot of fun. I wonder how long it takes tree-creatures to grow up. Will we see Groot at that age when the Guardians return? Or perhaps he’ll finally be an adult again…I rather liked small Groot. Humorous, adorable, but not at all over the top. And the small and different ways the Guardians ‘parented’ him.

If I have anything left to say, I suppose it’s about Mister Stan Lee. Only in a Guardians movie could they get away with such an outrageous cameo, and I loved it. Fourth-wall-breaking seems to be a building trend; let’s hope no one gets carried away with it, however well it worked here. I do think the second appearance at the end was a little slow-moving, and that, hm…I’m not sure it worked as well as it could have, but is it really my place to critically analyze a Stan Lee cameo? The man’s ninety-four, and there to entertain us fans. I wanted to mention it but I’m fine with the way it turned out.

So yeah, I think that’s it, over all. If I see the movie again, I may write a follow-up, but for now, this sums up my thoughts pretty well. I do need to watch the original again, but as it is now I think I prefer this one.  Don’t go in expecting the same thing, though, to anyone who hasn’t yet seen it; there’s more heart than humor, and it helps the movie stand out on its own.