#youd just use someone's name if theyre younger than you. and youd speak informally

[uiruu]

one gripe i have with subtitles for stuff like Squid Game is that it translates some things that don't need to be, and doesn't translate some things that would be helpful. for the latter, in season 1 when Saebyeok says her name to Gihun, he says "that's a beautiful name, it doesn't really suit you though". I'm sure to many people watching, they'd just have to go ".... is it?" because they don't know that Saebyeok means dawn. her name is Dawn. i don't want them to translate that every time lol but i feel like that one scene could have had a parenthetical saying "saebyeok means dawn". Minyeo, when she says her name, says something like "yes that's my real name", i think. if the subtitles explained that she said that because Minyeo means "beautiful woman" that would have been helpful to people lol.

as for the former, ive always hated how Korean stuff translates words like oppa unnie hyung and noona in subtitles. Minyeo calls Deoksu oppa and the subtitles say "old man" but it doesn't mean that, lol. it does mean she's calling him older than her, but it's more like "big bro". but honestly it's SUCH a standard Korean thing that i kinda just wish it was left as oppa. if you watching something in the Korean language, then oppa unnie hyung and noona are just things you'll have to learn. it's not hard lol. girls call older boys who they're close to "oppa". boys call older girls who they're close to "noona". boys call older boys "hyung", girls call older girls "unnie". it's a sign of deference to an older person but also closeness. they literally mean sister and brother, but translating them as "brother" or "sister" or "old man" feel.... unnatural in English lol. the subtitles often translate them as just the character's name, like when Ali says Hyung the subtitles say Sangwoo. that's correct. but when the subtitles say big bro or old man, that's just... nobody talks like that in English lol

[angrylizardjacket]

when i said it i thought it was true [3] {Ben Hardy}

A/N: 2973 words. Fake Dating AU.

[part 1] [part 2]

Roger Taylor has barely spoken two words to you since the start of filming, and it’s caused you so much anxiety. Were you disappointing? Did you not look or act accurate enough? Sometimes you catch him watching you when you’re with Ben, the two of you in costume, and he just looks... pensive. 

Brian’s nice enough, soft spoken and always kind when he speaks to you, actually mentions that seeing you and Ben together makes him a bit nostalgic, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it. 

The day you see the real Amanda, the woman you’re playing, you feel like you’re about to pass out. It’s as if you’ve got a direct look into your future, she could be your mother, though her hair’s just a little lighter than yours, hence the wigs they keep putting you in. She’s incredibly beautiful for her age, but that’s not the most striking thing about her. She cries the first time she sees Rami in costume, and she doesn’t speak to Roger. 

The moment she meets you, she has to take almost a full minute, hand covering her mouth as she looks you over. It’s like a test, and all you can do is stand there awkwardly in full costume, watching as she tears up a little.

“What do you think?” Brian asks with a proud smile, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a little uncanny, isn’t it?” Nodding, she approaches you, smiling brightly and greeting you warmly. 

“Feels like I’ve gone back in time.” She’s surprisingly soft spoken, and she tugs at your collar, straightening it, before she rests her hands on your shoulders. “I’m flattered they’ve got you playing me, dear.” She tells you, and you think you might cry.

She only stays on set for about a week, the week you’re filming on the Garden Lodge set. The two of you are talking before filming starts for the day, you’re trying to glean any information you can that would help bring depth to your character, and Ben joins you. It’s the first time she’s seen him in full costume, and when he presses a kiss to your temple in greeting, her voice dies in her throat. Ben looks confused, concerned as she has to excuse herself.

It keeps happening, something about seeing the two of you in costume, together and sweet, it’s something she can’t stomach. She can talk to Ben normally, even when in costume, but the moment you arrive, and he smiles at you like he does, she feels her heart in her throat.

“I loved Roger, perhaps to my detriment.” She admits, taking a long sip of wine. She’d invited you out to dinner with her before she has to fly back to her family. “And I know what they’re saying in the movie, but he never really loved me.”

When you go to Ben with this information, he’s quiet, before he admits that Roger told him that when they were younger, their relationship was far from the sanitised version that was being presented in the film. 

They’d been together for years, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved him, and he took her for granted, always assumed she’d be there when he got back from trips and tours, he’d even proposed to her, and yet he’d do any pretty young girl while he was away because he knew he could get away with it. He’d cheated on her, and lied to her, and strung her along because it was easier than letting go. 

Roger Taylor can’t bring himself to speak to you; you’re the spitting image of his biggest fault. Perhaps the way they’ve got it in the movie is his attempt at an apology, not that she’d accept. 

Something about your relationship with Ben changes after that. It doesn’t feel like a performance, the way it used to, it feels more grounded. Neither of you are sure how to deal with the new information, but when the cast go out for dinner together, he’s got a hand on your knee under the table, and when you’re hanging out in his trailer between scenes, you let yourself fall asleep against him where you’re watching Netflix. The two of you go out with some of the others for the night, and he kisses you as you’re leaving the club together, his hands holding your face so softly, the kiss so surprisingly tender that you don’t even hear the click of the paparazzi’s camera from where they’re hiding around the corner of the building, and when you see the kiss on instagram the next day, you don’t think you care.

“Have you seen my nice, black blouse?” You called, elbow deep in a pile of clean washing on a Saturday morning.

“Which one?” Ben calls back from the shower, and you frown at the clothes before you; you really had meant to fold them sooner.

“The nice nice one, the one I wear for callbacks, you know the one I’m talking about.” And you move to rifle through the closet again, glaring at each piece of clothing as you flip past it.

“You sure it’s here?” The shower shuts off while you’re eyeing off a perfectly fine cream shirt that could serve as a decent replacement if you came to it. “Are you sure it’s not at your place?” He asks, stepping out of his adjoining bathroom wearing only a towel.

“No, I’m pretty sure I came back here after my last callback.” You mused, and you could hear him getting changed behind you as you tried to recall the last time you’d found yourself in the shirt in question.

“This would be easier if you just lived here.” He muses, letting the statement hang in the air. After a beat, you turn to look at him, brow creased as you considered his words. “If you want to, you can.” He offered, standing there in just a pair of jeans, his hair still damp. It might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Are you serious?” Voice quietly hopeful, your expression brightens as he nods, grinning. Blouse forgotten, you cross the room in a few paces, throwing your arms around him. “Really really?”

“‘course I am.” He doesn’t tell you he loves you, but it’s there in the tone, in the way he kisses you, and it’s there when he spends the next twenty minutes helping you look for your shirt, though when you admit you don’t need it for a few days, he suggests breaking in the bed to fill the time.

“It’s the same bed.” You laugh as he flops back on it, coaxing you over.

“Yeah, but it’s ours.”

The wrap party for Bohemian Rhapsody is... a lot. It’s a bit overwhelming; you’re by Ben’s side and everyone wants to talk to him, congratulate him, and they want to talk to you, tell you how beautiful you look. Everyone is everywhere at all times, and the only constant is Ben. 

His arm is around your waist when the two of you are standing by the bar, he’s chatting to someone who’s name you’ve forgotten, though you’re pretty sure he’s the second assistant director or something, and you’re trying to communicate to the bartender what you want over the music, leaning over the bar. The moment the bartender finally nods in recognition and scurries off to get your drink, Ben turns, sees your eyes shining bright in the light of bar, and he forgets what he’s saying, just for a moment. The guy he’s talking to leaves, pulled away by someone in the crowd, and you turn, smiling brightly, confusion creasing your brow when you see Ben watching you.

“What?” The bar is in a terrible location, far too close to the band they’ve got set up, but Ben can read your lips well enough in the bar’s fluorescent lights. He shrugs, doesn’t even attempt to answer as the band, not ten feet away, blast their way through a guitar solo. They’re mostly playing classic rock, a few Queen songs here and there of course, and they’re not bad, they’re just loud. 

With your drink in one hand, you take his without thinking, weaving through the crowd, his fingers linked with yours. When you find the door to the courtyard, which is significantly quieter, you feel like you can breathe again. The air outside is cool, and you drop Ben’s hand now that you’re not likely to lose him in the crowd, and the two of you find seats to the side by a tall table. 

“You don’t have to stay with me all night.” You tell him, resting your head on your arms, watching as he lights up a cigarette. It was a filthy habit, but damn if it didn’t make him look a hot. Hotter. 

“I know that, dude,” he pauses, taking a draft and looking, watching all the people talking and laughing and bopping along to the music, “I like your company.” He says it easily but it still has you grinning, and when he catches sight, he grins in return.

He doesn’t leave your side. Not for the rest of the night. 

Photographs are being take all night, and when you look back on them, you see you and Ben sitting side by side, his arm around you as you lean into him, laughing, and he grins at something off camera. You see the cast together for a group shot, all smiling brightly, most a little tipsy, and you’re holding Ben’s hand, your linked fingers just visible in a gap between Allen and Lucy. You see the two of you in the background of a shot of Rami looking absolutely ecstatic; you’re fixing Ben’s hair, and he’s giving you such a soft, endeared look that you hadn’t noticed at the time. If you crop it enough to make it your phone background, you don’t feel the need to call attention to it; for reasons you can’t quite articulate, it makes your heart warm.

It’s strange, and the thing that terrifies you is that it doesn’t feel like acting. It’s that grey area you keep finding yourself in, where it feels so familiar, and it’s like swimming upstream to remember that it’s all fake. 

The two of you don’t even share a kiss, not even when you’re both tipsy, not even when you lean in to murmur something in his ear, and his answer brings his lips inches from yours. You want to kiss him, to forget that it’s all fake, but he sees you hesitate, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Lips twisting in to a sad smile, you look out at the crowd of coworkers around you, dancing where the band had been replaced with a DJ, and you take another sip of your drink.

You’ve passed tipsy and dived straight into being drunk by the time you’re ready to head home, or well, back to your hotel room, but that required a taxi. Ben’s not much better off, and when you tug him into the back seat with you, he doesn’t argue. He’s the one who tells the driver the hotel they’ve got you all set up in, and you just lean against him, eyes fluttering closed, contentment filling you as he wraps his arm around you. 

“I don’t have any makeup wipes!” You gasp into the silence of the hotel elevator. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to head to his room, your arm tucked into his to keep you from swaying in place in the elevator. It might also be that Ben refused to let you be by yourself after you almost face planted getting out of the taxi.

“I’ve got some in case of emergencies.” He assured, fidgeting with his key card before the elevator comes to a stop.

“See, this is why I love you.” The words come so easily that neither of even catch at first as you make your way down the hall. Ben slows once your words have sunk in, and you both realise what you’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Voice quiet, there’s a sudden sinking sensation in your chest that dampens the whole night for you, but he doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and starts rummaging through his suitcase for the wipes once he’s inside. Once he tosses them to you, he follows it quickly with an oversized shirt to sleep in. 

There’s a solid five minute argument about who would sleep on the sofa, both of you trying to give the other one the bed. It takes you yanking a pillow from the bed, laying on the sofa and refusing to move for Ben to concede defeat. The sofa, however, is the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture you’ve ever had the misfortune of trying to sleep on. Sucking up your pride, you clutch the pillow to your chest as you make your way to the edge of the bed. He’s turned away from you, engrossed in his phone.

“Ben?” You ask, and he looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in question. “The sofa is really uncomfy.” You pouted. With a grin, he shifted, making room for you.

“Holy shit.” Ben looks like he’s just seen a ghost. The two of you are in a nice restaurant in the city, it’s not five stars or anything like that, actually it happened to be your favourite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with surprisingly good food and excellent service, and you were treating yourselves to a night out before Ben had to step outside to take a call. You didn’t begrudge him, that’s just how life was for the two of you. “Holy shit.” He repeated, and you looked up from your meal with raised eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” You ask, and to see the smile spreading slowly over his face has your heart warming. When he meets your eyes, he’s beaming.

“I think I’m going to be in X-Men.” He said quietly, and your fork fell from your hand, clattering against your plate.

“Holy shit.” You echoed, and he laughed a little, taking your hand when you offered it to him, squeezing gently. 

The stars seem to shine a little brighter as Ben beams up at them, your hand in his as the two of you walk home. Sure, there’s paperwork, nondisclosure agreements, rehearsals, and a few months until filming actually begins, but Ben’s landed a role in a high-budget action movie, and you’ve never been prouder. 

He spends the next few weeks in countless meetings, almost constantly in and out of phone calls with his manager and various producers, and when he’s not filming with Eastenders, he was usually training. He’s barely home, though neither of you are home a lot, you’re busy with your own projects, but when you see each other, he’s elated. You haven’t seen him this excited or motivated about a project before. 

Sometimes you miss him. Of course you miss him, you love him after all, he’s your boyfriend and your housemate, and you tell him all of this over dinner and he looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to freeze this moment in time forever, to bottle it up if he could.  You’re so proud, and you love him so much, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to watch those two parts of you coming together over a microwave dinner.

In the weeks leading up to filming, things change, and you feel like you never see him anymore. It’s not like before, then you were just busy, now he’s all over the country, in meetings and fittings and workshops. He calls, but your bed is so empty and sometimes you just want to come home to him and he’s not there, and he won’t be home until the end of the week. Things are still good and bright when you see each other - he’s always eager to make up for lost time - and you never once doubt how much he cares about you, but you feel... out of sync. 

The two of you had fallen asleep not facing each other, but you wake with his arm draped across you, and it feels so familiar, so right, that it stings when you actually come to and realise where you are. 

It’s been years since you’d woken up next to him, and you’d forgotten how pretty he is in his sleep. Part of you thinks that’s a good thing, that if you start to remember now you might keep dwelling. Another part of you urges you to go back to sleep; pretend or not, you should savour this moment you’ve missed so dearly. That’s the part that wins.

You expect when you wake again, for him to already be up and moving, as far away from you as possible, but instead you hear a sleep-rough greeting in your ear, and feel his chest firm against your back, his arm still around you where you’ve tucked yourself against him.

It’s not pretend, it feels like history repeating itself, and so you let yourself forget it’s fake for the moment, lean into him just a little and give a sleepy greeting back. Your heart already aches knowing how lonely you’ll feel once either of you move.

“I forgot how nice you smell.” He murmured, and that’s when you feel your heart already beginning to break. Instead of letting yourself crumble, your link your fingers with his hand where it’s slung over your waist.

“I forgot how warm you are; you’re like a furnace.” And you hear him laugh at that as he leans into you too, and let yourself bask in the moment.

the rat pack: @hotspacedeacon @strangeandwonderfulconcepts @itssaje @d-r-e-a-m-catchme ​ @callumidiot @rockandrollandshit @bohorap @pietrorunsforme @sweetfierceimagines @itsjackothy @mhftrs @sherlockiantheatrenerd @softbenhardy @multifandomgirlrandomstuff @virtualsheepeat @smile-nine @i-padfootblack-things @deaconsroger @spookyfrances @holyurlbatman @your-idiotic-excellency

(crossed out means it wouldn’t tag; i’ll try again for the next part, lemme know if you wanna be tagged xx)