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pseudowho · 24 days

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Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

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It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

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It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

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"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

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Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

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You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

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The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

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Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

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sexlapis · 6 months

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hi stella! so i remember rachel mcadams and ryan gosling winning “best kiss” at an award show bc of the notebook and when they go up stage they recreate that kiss ….. so what about actor toji and reader doing it???

OMG?? anon your mind?????????????????!!!!!!

this is the kiss btw !!!!

‘BEST KISS’

౨ৎ actor toji x actress/actor reader

kissing! kissing! kissing!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

౨ৎ

the romance film you and toji starred in exceeded everyone’s already high expectations. it became the best performing romance film of the year and one of the most successful films of that same year, period.

but was anyone surprised? not really.

people loved you. people loved toji. people loved you and toji. people loved you and toji together, especially when you were both kissing and fucking in an intense, angsty, emotional-rollercoaster of a romance film.

the public all had their speculations and assumptions about whether you and toji were really together or not, but tonight, after this award show? this very moment erased any doubts in their minds.

it was time to announce the nominees for the (only) category you and toji were nominated for, ‘Best Kiss’.

you turn around and look at toji who is seated behind you and grin toothily at him, giving small claps. he smirks, giving you a sleazy wink.

when the exaggerated, deep voice booms from the speakers, announcing you and toji as nominees and displaying the kiss scene on the vast plasma screen, the crowd grows crazy, chaotic almost - they’re screaming like they’re fucking dying. and that’s when you and toji both know you’ve got this in the bag.

you almost feel bad for the other nominees and at how the crowd essentially goes quiet at their scenes. oh well.

shoko and gojo are there to announce the winners.

“and the ‘best kiss’ goes to…” shoko trails off, building anticipation as gojo opens the card that states the award winner.

“ha! someone’s that’s gonna be cleaning up tonight.” gojo laughs “..toji fushiguro and _____!”

the audience began to shriek before they even got through toji’s whole name.

you and toji look at each other and smile, knowingly. knowing the shit you were both about to cause with what you’re about to do.

standing up languidly, toji places a hand on your back as you two stroll right up to the stage, the crowd deafening you at this point.

the steps lead to a double path in the stage and you and toji part ways temporarily, walking around to be opposite each other.

you unbutton your cardigan and let it drop to the floor, hearing whistles and cheers in the pools of crowds next to you, reaching their hands out and screaming your name.

toji begins fake stretching, jumping up and down like he is about to exercise and you giggle at his antics before making a serious face, gazing at him in mock seduction.

he begins striding towards you across the length of the stage, making a ‘come here’ with a long, thick fingers. and you’re like a magnet, rushing towards him, the audience rising in volume as you two grow closer together.

and then you’re jumping up on him, wrapping your legs around his waist as his roughly smashes his lips onto yours and shoves his tongue into your mouth. you accept it, gleeful with his actions, knowing that people will not stop talking about this moment for weeks.

your hands are tugging at his hair and his large hands cup your ass as you both make the fuck out in front of sea of people, who are now louder than you even thought was possible.

toji bites your bottom lip, sucking gently, before finally pulling away from a kiss that lasted what felt like an eternity.

realising what has just transpired, even though you both planned this, you feel embarrassed. you cover you hot face as toji carried you to the podium, your ears ringing from the nonstop echo of the crowds cheers, jeers, whistles and screams.

toji sets you down on your feet and urges you to speak in the microphone. you huff and puff, not really wanting to talk after that…stunt you just pulled.

“toji!” you growl. “get up here!”

“alright, alright..” toji sighs, picking up the trophy of popcorn and holding it up. “i would just like to say…that it was my pleasure.”

his words make the fans go insane again, some members demanding an encore of that steamy kiss.

sighing, you take you trophy and toji places a sweet kiss on your temple. you both walk away side by side, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind as you go to walk backstage. toji reaches down and swings your fallen cardigan over his shoulder, smiling, clearly smug and satisfied with himself.

he looks down at you and you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. you take in his tight, black top, shamelessly staring at his pecs and thick neck as you walk.

toji notices. and when you look him in the eye again, he winks.

a/n: anon what if i diedddd!!!!😩😩😩😩

#📫.toji #was gnna go to sleep but nah i had to do this #anon ily kisses ur brain #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji crack #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n

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bits-and-babs · 11 months

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𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒 – 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

↳ summary: miguel has an issue with the performance and comfortability of his suit. he feels he's found a suitable solution– but he can't tell you.

↳ pairing: pervy!miguel o'hara x f!reader

↳ content: 18+ MDNI. SMUT. pervy!miguel, sneaking into your home, panty stealing, miguel wears your panties, (m) masturbation, masturbating in your panties, a little dirty talk, imagines p in v sex with reader.

miguel masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Disgust coats Miguel's tongue in a kind of rancid film, his lashes fluttering closed as he tries to breathe through the turbulence of the unhinged thoughts that bounce in his skull. Of all the ideas he'd contemplated to make the suit a little easier to wear, this was by far the most demented.

The delicate, silky midnight fabric of your high-cut thong had sprung to mind late at night, sleep ebbing at the edges of his consciousness and poisoning his ethics. He'd noticed them the last time he saw you, the elasticated straps that framed your hips peeking over the denim waistband of your jeans when you bent over to collect some papers from his office floor. It's as though the image had imprinted itself on his brain's grey, swirling surface and seared into his retinas.

Friends, Miguel he had to remind himself consistently. You were his friend. Friends don't steal other friends' panties.

Frankly, this ridiculous plot had all come about thanks to the absurd skin-tight suit Miguel consistently afflicted himself with. His excuse for invading your privacy was aerodynamics. The smoother the outline of the suit, the quicker he'd swing from his webbing... Or so he told himself. It was a perfectly reasonable excuse, as far as his bias was concerned.

The temptation was intolerable. Of course, getting a thong was easy enough– Miguel could buy them from the mall with the excuse of wanting to see an imaginary girlfriend in them or order them online if it embarrassed him too much. But the debauched notion of wearing your panties, the kind you wore and smelt like you, drove him crazier than he could ever admit.

He hadn't been able to stave off the desire for very long. Some forty-eight hours later, Miguel found himself snatching the object of desire from your laundry basket, blanketed by the pitch blackness of the dead of night. Driven by this repulsive need, he'd retreated to his office almost as swiftly as he had entered your home, careful to conceal evidence of his presence. All items had been placed back neatly while Miguel scoured for your thong, and he'd pulled your bedroom window back to its original position, open just a crack.

Thoughts of your silhouette, framed only by the panties in his hand and their matching bra, had carried Miguel home. He'd been rock hard by the time he'd stumbled back into the office, practically ripping the lycra-like material from his body to slip the panties on.

So here he stood, spider-suit a crimson and midnight blue pool at his feet, naked in the mirror beside the panties that barely stretched across his ample hips. His thick, muscular thighs looked even wider when paired with the dainty lingerie and the dark trail of hair that sparsely scattered his lower abdomen looked far prettier when decorated like this.

Miguel's eyes slid over the silky fabric against his smooth, tanned skin. The silk canvas barely contained the base of his cock and his balls, straining over the ample flesh he'd managed to stuff into the already limited, thin cloth. The scalloped straps of the thongs dug into his hips, little diamonte hearts encrusted by the base of the chords– he hadn't noticed them until now, his cheeks warming as he studied them in the mirror.

The sheer mass of Miguel's frame was far too large for the undergarment, the elasticated waistband stretched across the shaft of his cock, so it rested against his stomach, erect. The ruddy tip of his swollen head leaked creamy pre-cum against his abdomen at the consistent pressure, throbbing weakly when Miguel passed his eyes over it.

"Hng-" he huffed a breath through his nostrils, the sound almost a wheeze. Fuck, he could smell you on them, the musky scent of your sex. Miguel can't contain the monster, his palm tracing over the outline of his cock. The fabric is stretched so thin against his dick that he can see it twitch, the engorged vein that extends across the arch of him evident in his reflection.

"D-Dios-" Miguel moans softly, watching precum drip from his swollen tip onto the dark fabric of your underwear. Running his thumb over the head of his cock, Miguel smears his spend over the velvety skin and watches the muscles of his abdomen spasm with the intense pleasure that spidered across his nerves.

"Oh fuck, pretty baby," he whispers, tracing the crescents arches of his nails over his clothed length, babbling to himself as he relishes your scent, imagining tasting you. "Want your pretty pussy on my face..."

Miguel's hand quickly grasps the mirror's frame, his knees threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his bliss. He's drooling precum now, steady dribbles leaking down into the elasticated waistband and trailing across his knuckles. Fuck fuck fuck– would you be as tight as your panties felt on him? Would you squeeze him like this?

Pushing his thumb beneath the seam of your thong, Miguel lifts the waist of the lingerie upwards. Shuddering breaths heaved from his ribcage, bracing as he lets the stretchy band slip from his digit.

It snaps back onto his pulsing cock with a 'crack', the stinging sensation from the impact rocking down the length of his spine as Miguel rubbed the flat of his palm across the flushed head. His jaw falls loose, vermillion irises rolling back into his skull.

"Hhah- fuuuckkk– gonna cum-" he choked out into the emptiness of his office, quickly snapping the fabric onto his length again. "Gonna fuckin' cum–"

Miguel's eyelids flutter, almost missing the lurch of his dick. Cum spurts from the tip, splattering across the reflective surface of the mirror, painting ribbons of creamy white across his bronzed skin. It seeps into the midnight blue of your panties, darker blotches oozing into the silk as he rocks his hips into his touch.

When his exceptional vision finally rights itself, Miguel notes the tearstains that streak down his cheeks, wetness clinging to the ebony eyelashes that frame his dilated pupils. He heaves a shuddering exhale, letting out a hoarse scoff at the rakish vision of himself, smeared in cum and wearing his friend's panties.

Despite the fizzling arousal that singed the edges of his nervous system, Miguel's mind continued to develop images of you. Forever unsatiated, it conjures the depiction of you sprawled across your bed with your cum stained panties balled up and stuffed in your mouth. Your jaw aching, eyebrows stitched together as Miguel's ludicrously thick cock sinks into your tight pussy. Would you tear up, back arching as you attempt to rock your hips further onto him despite the stretch?

Flopping into his desk chair, Miguel covers his eyes with his palm and feels his ravenous cock twitch under the soiled fabric once again. He was pretty confident he'd never return this thong now...

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rinbowaman · 6 months

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ROMAN HOLIDAY

Part one

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰:

Some fluff, minor comedy, slow burn type romance. Part 2 will have smut.

Had to take a break from MT's final chapter (it's almost done I promise) but I needed a break from Heedam (trust me…the man is getting juicy with his y/n.) so please enjoy this heartwarming piece based off the film with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Sorry not proofread.

"Princess Y/N of (home country) has safely arrived to Italy as part of her European tour, becoming the diplomatic voice for the troubled youths of today's generation. The heir to King (your father's name) throne has received the warmest welcomes as she is greeted by the local nationals and the royal families of Europe.

Tonight, a grand ball will be held in the Princess’s honor, attended by the most pristine global guests at the Il Colosseo Rosa, where the sole heir will personally greet and address both, the royal and political unions of the continental divide.”

You gracefully appeared before the massive audience as General Hector Lucino, head of the royal guards, escorted you to the head of the ball room. The guests sigh and gasp at the sight as you delicately take your steps, greeting them with a warm smile and gently nodding your head in modesty. The level of class and sophistication within your aura wasn’t just a part of the years of royal grooming. No, this was the natural inheritance of your pure bloodline as the sole heir of your father’s nobility.

Taking his place by your side, the general stands by amidst the colonels and high ranking officials, along with your closest staff, the Duke of Sagewick, the Marquis of Pemberton, and the Duchess de Barbarac, your personal headmistress that cared and looked after you religiously.

The national anthem was played beautifully by a live performance, followed by your formal introduction as the announcer represented you to the public. Lined up before you, was the lengthy row of ambassadors, military officials, royal members of various continental houses, and more. As the announcer formally calls out their names, you greet them with grace and a formal introduction.

The gems of your necklace, earrings, and tiara shined brightly, yet still was no match against your heavenly smile. Your eyes, glistened by the chandelier lighting, twinkled like the stars in the sky, while your gown flared your noble appeal.

Moments after greeting the first ranking official, you lost track of the time. You were quite certain it had been at least thirty minutes since the announcer called the first name, and your feet were reminding you of it. You swore, it never mattered how often you wore these low heels, your body could never adjust to the extension as the balls of your feet began to beat with a sense of soreness. You did your best to shift between each foot, uncasting them from the intrusive pressures of the silkened pumps. Back and forth, between left and right, you shifted out of the pumps and wiggled your toes, stretched the arch, and returned back to your modest posture, never letting out a clue as to what was going on beneath your dress–at least, up until you mistakenly lost your balance, a rookie move for a seasoned princess. Failing to feed your foot back into the heel, you shifted in motion, causing a slight disruption when greeting the Grand Duke Casta of DeLatitia. You remained composed; your smile stayed ever so gentle as you tried your best to not pay any attention to the sudden note of humiliation.

Finally, the last member was called, and you would have felt relieved if it weren’t for the fact that your right, silk threaded pump falls over. You did your best to delicately put it back in place so that you could slip it back on, but to no avail. Between the sheer, slick material of your stockings and the smoothness of the pump’s material, you lost all will to place it back on foot. The audience all wait for you to take your seat, you nearly forgot as you remained ever so focused in getting your slipper back on, when the Duchess de Barbarac gently places a hand on your elbow, giving you a slight tug as she guides you back into your chair. Admitting defeat, you take your position and watch as everyone takes a breath and is relieved to finally sit down, only to find that laying lonesomely before you, was your abandoned slipper.

The general and royal staff members all signaled to the Duchess with a sense of urgency in their expressions. It took a few seconds for her to notice, but once she did, a frown of dismay nearly disrupted her calm look, but she caught herself and remained unperturbed, something she had mastered from years of training you.

The General whispers into the Marquis’s ear. Standing straight and tall, the man presents his hand, a formal gesture to ignite the first dance, in which you took the hint and accepted as you placed your palm in his. Taking a step down, he levels your balance as you were able to strategically hover over your slipper, and slip it back into place. All was well.

After spending the evening with the routines of royal responsibilities, it was finally time to lay the night to rest.

“Duchess?”

“Yes?”

“May I request a readjustment of my wardrobe?”

The duchess continues her tasks without pause, merely raising a brow in slight vexation. “A readjustment? What for?”

You finish brushing your long strands, placing the gold victorian brush down on your vanity. “My nightgown…I hate it.”

“You shouldn’t use the word ‘hate’ my dear, it’s very unsuitable for someone from your station.”

“But I do hate it–and I hate all of my underwear too.”

Slightly rolling her eyes, the Duchess bids you to come to bed. “Come to bed Y/N, we have crackers, and milk in a fine glass.” Tucking you in, she sets the tray table over your lap while grabbing onto her filefax, preparing to go over tomorrow’s schedule. “Now my dear, I know you dislike going over tomorrow’s events, but it must be done. Finish your milk and crackers, I will proceed.”

She places her thin glasses over the bridge of her nose, penciling her notes as she reads off the strict time hacks of all the press conferences, the visit with local orphanages, and the meeting with the Commandant of the Italian military forces.

“First thing, we have the press conference to address the rising concerns of global inequality within the woman’s workforce and illegal recruitment of children conducting factory labor.”

You sigh out as you munch on the saltine cracker. “I’ve visited this topic many times, how must I change the world when I am the sole individual addressing these concerns?”

“Oh my dear, that’s not proper language. You will have to accept and review the notes on the daily report.” Pulling out the document, the Duchess goes over the new avenues of approach to further emphasize the issue at hand, one that you had expressed on many occasions. Reading off each bullet point, you whispered out “Please…enough.”

“And statistics also show that many women have…”

“Please stop.

“Then there are the points of view of the religious community that you will have to address.”

“No thank you…”

“Furthermore, there are many cultural aspects that interfere with the viewpoints of women in the workplace that you must take into consideration as the diplomatic figure of your family’s household–.”

“STOP!!!”

The Duchess jumps at your tone, you finally snapped. It was long coming, yet the pressures of maintaining appearance and dignity only created a passive ball of depression that stormed in your chest, and tonight, it decided to burst out. “I can’t take it anymore! Just stop!”

“It’s alright Y/N, calm yourself, it's just nerves.”

“Nerves?! How dare you? Why does it always have to be this way? Why can’t I just be away from it all for once?”

“Your highness!” The Duchess raises her voice, doing her best to bring you back to a rational level, yet you continue to burst out in tears as you whimper out your absolute unhappiness with everything. The duties, the schedules, the constant controlling of your movements, the way you spoke, acted, thought, and felt–everything was too much, and you reached your breaking point.

“I will get doctor Rue.” The Duchess dismisses herself, hastily telling the guard to quickly alert the general and royal staff that their presence was urgently requested at once.

Moments later, the royal physician arrived with the royal staff following suit. You continue to cry and voice out your bitter disappointment; you certainly didn’t mean to act out, but who in the world could ever understand you? Everything was so mundane and dull, you lacked any excitement and spark in your life. WIth all the regulations and overhaul of agendas to fill your day, you barely had any time for yourself, much less to do anything memorable. The life of a princess, it was only glamorous and fashionable in the eyes of the public, but within closed walls, it was a disastrous lifestyle that you wish you could trade out in a heartbeat.

Doctor Rue fetched out a syringe and needle, his face remained poised as he presented the solution to your ‘problem’. “Your highness, here is a little something to help you rest.”

“I don't need to rest…I want out! Out! I want out of this life!”

“Now, now.” Pinching the flesh on your arm, he sticks you with the needle tip, injecting the clear fluid. “What’s that?” you asked while hiccuping your tears.

“Just a little something to help put you to sleep. By tomorrow morning, you’ll be good as new.”

After taking your vitals, he and the staff left you alone; you laid fully awake, gazing at the cathedral ceiling. From outside your window, across the river, you could hear the laughter, dancing, and musical air that flowed and graced the night. How wonderful to be that free and joyful?

“...I wish to be that happy.” you remarked to yourself, when your own mental voice presented you an ultimatum. So why don’t you?

You quickly got up and out of bed, dressing yourself in modest casual attire, if you could even label it as casual. Everything you owned was sophisticated, elegant, and lavish. The most basic pieces were still eye-catching, regarding the most high end fabric and design. But that wasn’t going to stop you, not one bit.

You peeked out through the door, to find the guards caught up in chit-chat. They stood in one end of the corridor, leaving the opposite path open, but just barely. You slipped through, hiding behind statues until the two pairs of eyes were looking away, which afforded you a chance to get by. Getting out from the inside was easy, it was the perimeter of the entire building and exiting the gate that was problematic. You were determined, which was further fueled by your success in getting out and hiding in the royal garden. Thankfully, you knew all the station points of where each guard and camera was set. The viewpoints of the camera lens were expansive, yet there were just enough blind spots for you to hide under as you swoop through, finding the organic market truck delivering fresh produce and meat for the chef and kitchen staff. Quickly, you snuck in the back of the cart, hiding behind a wooden cart of milk bottles as the driver closed up the tail, and started the vehicle.

With a left turn, and straight ahead, you took a quick peek to find that the truck left the gates behind, closing for the night as everyone contained within are left thinking you are still in your bed, when in all reality, you were finally free.

I did it…

You couldn’t believe it, this was entirely too good to be true. You finally made out and left the Colosseum. Resting your chin on the wooden crate, you watched all the happy couples taking their nightly stroll laugh and enjoy the Roman night. How dazzling it must be to be able to meet new people, go on dates, dress the way you see fit and to build companionship–a close and personal one at that. A world without having to be politically correct, not involved with the aggressive issues of world affairs and global diplomacy…just a life of chosen happiness and freedom. What a blissful and wonderful life that would be to have.

The truck finally stopped, subtly waking you as you began to drift off. It would seem that doctor Rue’s medication was starting to take effect, but you had come so far to just merely return and fall asleep. You had to see and experience more, ride a motorbike, go sightseeing and even drink real Italian soda, or eat ice cream from a cone, for once.

Walking along the sidewalk, you admired the dazzling architecture and fountains, graced by such remarkable statues.

“I can’t wait to see everything.”

…………………………………..

“Alright, show face gents.”

“I got nothing.”

“Got a straight.”

Ethan strokes his chin, leveling out his hand, revealing a full house. “Oh, a full house. Bet you were feeling lucky, eh Ethan?” Jake, Ethan’s best friend remarks with a devious tune in his voice. “Let’s have it.” Ethan mumbles out, already figuring he lost this round as he tosses the remainder of his poker chips.

“Royal flush! Go ahead and weep boys.” Jake announces delightfully as he scoops up his entire night’s winnings.

“Whatever, I’m out. I got a early morning tomorrow.”

“Ah, the press conference with Princess Y/N?”

“Yup.” Ethan lets out a tiresome sigh while placing his jacket on. “You heading out soon?” He raises a brow and extends an inquiry towards Jake. “Yeah, after a bit.”

“Cool, see ya.” At his que, Ethan leaves.

With his casual suit and tie, he takes a nightly stroll as his hands remain nestled in both pockets. What a night, another game ending with him losing a week's worth of pay, so much for a fun night out with the boys.

Up ahead, he spots a peculiar view. Drawing closer in, he notices you asleep on the bench. Odd. Why would a young lady, neatly dressed be asleep on the street.

“Miss?…Miss! Wake up.”

You mumbled as he dipped down to shake your shoulder. “Miss, you shouldn’t be sleeping here.”

“Mmm…not…not sleeping…”

“Uh huh.” Rolling his eyes, Ethan buries his hand back in the pocket before mocking your pitiful state. “You know, typically if someone can’t handle their liquor, they shouldn’t drink. Especially at this hour.”

“Mmm…” you flutter your lashes as you blink, all the while Ethan half-heartedly sits you up. “Mm…Art thou afeared to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire?” You drew out your tired voice as you reiterated your favorite verse, succeeding in impressing the rather stoic young man at your side. “Do you know who wrote that?” You questioned as your eyes go back to being shut.

“Huh…so you’re not only well dressed, but you’re also well educated.” Ethan tosses a small pebble in the air, catches it before skipping it against the placid surface of the water. “What is someone like you out here charting lines from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”?” His tone was playful and teasing, but you hardly noticed as you drifted off. A nearby taxi drives close, and Ethan waves it down. “Well, see ya chica.”

He opens the car door before taking another pitiful glance at you. Your body goes limp as you lay yourself back down, nuzzling against the backrest of the bench.

Ethan comes back and taps your arm. “Hey, you take the cab. Come on, take it and go home.”

“Mmmmmmmngh….”

“Come on…” lifting you, he rests you against his shoulder as he helps you inside the back of the taxi. “Senor, where to?”

Ethan shuts the door as he does his best to stabilize you in the back seat. No matter how he tried, you kept slouching over, mumbling out tiresome moans as you expressed may times, over and over that you merely needed to sleep.

“Senor—“

“I know, I know.” Ethan appeases the cab driver as he grips your shoulders, and inquires your home address. “Miss, where do you live?”

“Mmmmmnnnngh.”

“Miss?”

“Mmmm….the….the colosseum..”

Ethan and the cab driver both exchange looks before proceeding once more to get a legitimate answer. “Uh…miss? Miss, where do you live?”

“Mmmm.”

“야!” Growing impatient, Ethan’s Korean roots comes out as he takes a harsh tone and verbiage to you ”진지하게…“

“Signore, per favore devo andare—“

“Okay, okay.” Rubbing his temples, Ethan winces out of frustration as he reignites the question once more. “Miss, where do you live? Don’t say—“

“Mmm colosseum….”

“…the colosseum.” He whispers in defeat as faces the cab driver. “Please driver to Casa Gabriella.”

“Ah! Thank you Signore!” The cab driver enthusiastically thanks Ethan before driving to the street belonging to his own residence.

Between going back and forth with trying to get an answer out of you, and reasoning with the driver, Ethan found himself in a pickle, having no choice but to take you in for the night. “Damn…” he huffed under his breath.

He pays the driver before seeing you in through the gated entrance. Thumbing through his pocket, he fetched for his keys, yet paused upon feeling a sudden density resting against his back. He looks over his shoulder to expand his peripheral sight, catching the subtle image of you sleeping on his back and barely standing with his frame as support. Clearing his throat, he faces back forward as he unlocked the gate.

Leading you through the entrance, Ethan guides you in by the hand. You walked closely behind, practically sleep-walking with your eyes glued shut. He knew that your ‘inebriation’ was the cause in your lack of functionality, yet he couldn’t help but think of how childish you appeared as you rubbed your eyelids, tucked in your chin, and gently stomped your heels while being dragged through the outer corridor.

He proceeds to climb the staircase, when your hand began slipping through his grip. He looked back, only to find that you managed to continue forward, but on the opposite of the stair rail.

“Oh come on…” Ethan sighed tirelessly, raising your hand above head and once again, guided you all the way back around and on to the steps.

He fishes through his key ring, grabbing the one that unlocked his front door. You stood behind, eyes shut, swaying as you waited, not at all coherent. He only looked away for a second as he grabbed the house key, when he looked back just in the nick of time. Aiming for the door, you recognized the structure of the entrance to Ethan’s neighbor, even at your sleeping state, you managed to not only realize that there was a door beside you, but also decided to act brazen as you marched straight for the frame with your fist balled up, seemingly ready to knock at such a late hour.

“Shit!” Ethan harshly whispers as he leans forward and by the grace of God, was able to catch onto your wrist before you made contact with the door.

“Wheeeeeeeew….” Breathing out steadily, Ethan regains his posture, while pulling you back in and behind him. He quickly enters and drags you to his apartment, finally able to take a breath. This was much harder than he expected.

You merely stood by his bed, your chin still tucked in with your eyes closed. Now that you were in a stable environment, Ethan was able to take a breather and sipped on some scotch, trying to take the edge off from being bestowed as your babysitter.

“Mmmmmnnn…do you know my favorite Shakespeare verse?” You mumbled out, drawing your words in a somber tone.

Eyeballing you as he sips from the glass, with hand in pocket and his frame casually leaned against the wall, Ethan tucked in his lips as he relished the taste of liquor gracing his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he sets the glass down and digs through his drawers.

“Here.” Presenting you with a pair of cotton, checkered seat pants and an oversized tee shirt, you lazily received them as your eyes opened just a sliver. “Pajamas?”

“Yup. The bathroom is to your right, you can change in there.” His tone expressed annoyance, watching as you half wittingly untied your neck tab. “May I have a silk nightgown with baby rose buds on the hem?”

Ethan raises a brow, tucking his hands back in his pockets. Did you seriously just request for something so lavish after all you had put him through? ‘Huh…typical rich girl.’

“Sorry princess, you’re gonna have to rough it out with these tonight.”

He turns back over to fetch his glass and finishes off his drink. “May I have some?”

Ethan nearly choked out upon hearing you request for a drink. “No! Go change and get to sleep!”

He wipes the leaked beverage from his lip and checks the time on his wrist watch. “I’m going to step out for a bit. Change over and you’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Will you assist in my undressing?”

‘What did she just ask me to do?’……

“Come again, young lady?”

“Please undo my attire so that I may retire to bed.” You expressed as you tilted your nose up into the air. Your eyes remained closed as you slightly spread your arms apart.

Peaking a perturbed brow, Ethan rolled his eyes before ‘assisting’ in undressing you. He squares up and looks down and reviews your sleepy countenance. “Uhh….um…here.” Pulling the neck sash loose from your collar, he hands it to you and watches as you barely grabbed onto it. “There. I helped.”

Turning hastily, he locks up the scotch before grabbing onto the knob. “I’m going out for a bit. Remember, you sleep on the couch, got it?”

You loosened the fabric belt and unbuttoned your skirt, turning around, you flared your wrist and delicately graced the air with a fingered motion. The moment you rotated, your skirt drapes downward and falls to the floor. “You have my permission to withdraw.”

Ethan simply rolled his eyes once more as he shuts the door. “Whatever princess, don’t touch anything.”

……………

Walking back up the stairs, Ethan rubbed his eyes. He was so tired, while he was out, he effortlessly asked around to see if he could find anyone that recognized your description, but it was futile. Guess you really had to stay over in his apartment until you sober up in the morning. Re-entering his apartment, he tosses his keys before noticing, much to his dismay, that you were nestled into his bed.

“Oh Hell no! Come on! I said couch…couch!”

He flings his jacket aside as he loosens his tie. Placing both hands on his hip, what a night this turned out to be.

He changed over to his own set of pajamas before attempting to configure a way to fit himself in the bed. Placing a row of pillows between both your bodies, he attempted to gain comfort and place head to pillow, when in a blink of an eye, his goose-feathered fortress was demolished as you turned over. Swinging your arm and leg, you rolled over in your sleep as you limbs held onto him. “What the—“

He flings your limbs away and sits upright. His full size bed was simply not large enough for you both, so he was left with only one other option.

“Move over.”

Bouldering you to the edge, he rolls you right onto the couch beside the bed and watches as you land against the stuff cushion. “So happy…” you mumbled out.

“Shut up.” Fluffing his pillows, he lays back down and finally, at precisely 3 am, he was able to get some sleep.

“….Mmm…so happy...”

“Girl, I swear to God…”

………………………..

“General, we’ve searched the entire premises. There is no sight of Princess y/n.”

“Keep each detachment commander on standby, we must handle this with the utmost discretion. Understand? The Princess is the direct heir to the throne, we must avoid any stir with the press.”

The guard snaps a salute before pivoting and taking his leave. The royal staff all sit around in complete disarray. “We will issue a public statement that the Princess is ill, that will excuse and cancel out the list of events we have coordinated.”

The general strokes his chin as he listens to the Marquis. “Well…all that’s left is to notify their majesties…”

The royal staff all stood, eyes widening as they prepare to take in whatever was coming. Your father, the King, was known to be a fair and benevolent man, but overly harsh and stern when it came to grave mistakes—in this case, losing his only child.

……………

Ethan fluttered his eyes open, harshly greeted by the sun peering through the window. What time was it? Time…the time!

Jolting up, he snags his watch from the bedside table. “Shit…the press conference with the Princess…Fuck!”

Jumping out of bed, he quickly got dressed, not at all paying attention to the abandoned ‘drunk’ he had watched over from last night. You remained heavily asleep on his couch, which was all dandy with him. He didn’t have time to arrange for your departure; right now, his job was at stake. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Running out, he catches a cab ride and proceeds to the office, unaware that various media outlets had published countless articles of your ‘illness’ and the cancellation of the arranged conference.

“Ethan! Mr. Park has been looking for you.”

“Yeah…got it.”

Taking in a breath, Ethan walks in to greet his boss. “Hey.”

“Where have you been?”

“You want the truth or a harmless lie?”

“Don’t even bother Ethan.” Jay, a longtime friend and employer of Ethan and Jake, eaves his hand as he dismisses his friends lack of responsibility. “I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. If I continued to stress over you, you would have been fired a hundred times by now.”

Ethan smirked as he issued a slight nod. “Sorry, I overslept. I had a…rather rough night.”

“What? Did boys night end so badly that it kept you from sleeping?”

“I wish.” Ethan sighed as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Anyhow, I know I’m late but I’ll head over to the press conference and see if I can catch the end of it.”

Jay perks up a brow. “The press conference?”

“Yes sir.”

Jay scoffs as he rubs his forehead. “It’s rather ironic that you were for a media outlet but you can’t keep up with current events.”

“What do you mean?” Taking a sip, Ethan stares at Jay wide eyed, completely unaware of what his friend was referring to. Tossing a bundle up newspaper article towards him. Jay snaps his fingers as he gazes at a mischievous expression. “Read it. Princess is out sick, the press conference was canceled, dummy.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together as he unraveled the paper and proceeded to read the headline, when the image header nearly caused his heart to skip a beat.

“It’s postponed until further notice, so saddle up because I have a feeling that once she’s in the clear to make public appearances, there’s going to be a riot of journalists trying to get their greedy questions answered.”

Ethan didn’t hear a single word, instead, he stared into the portrait styled photograph that graced every front page in the country.

“J-Jay…”

“What?”

“Is…this the princess?”

Jay shifts his elbow on the desk, leaning cheek to palm as he breathed out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, smart one. THAT, is the princess, y/n.”

Ethan crinkles the paper, internally giggling as he grabbed on to the fortuitous opportunity. “If I got an exclusive interview…what would that get me?”

Raising his brows, Jay slowly raises his head, his interest peaked at Ethan’s words.

“Yeah, that’s right you heard me. EXCLUSIVE…”

……………………

Building up beads of sweat, Ethan hurried back to his apartment. He couldn’t relish the details to Jay, but he only hinted enough to shake on a granted promotion and independence, should he gain an one of a kind interview with you, Princess Y/N.

He bursts through the door, and to his everlasting joy, you were still asleep. He quickly shuts the door and maneuvers the furniture in his flat, and tidies up the bed stand. Looking overhead, he made a sudden realization as it dawned on him that you were on the couch. He made you, the Princess, sleep on a couch.

“Let’s fix that real quick.”

Huffing under his breath, he lifts you up and over, placing you back on the mattress as he fixes the pillows and bed spread.

The sirens of local national security could be heard roaming the streets, he already knew the meaning behind it. Taking a final glance at the paper, he compares your face to the image. “It really is her…”

Clearing his throat, he shoved the paper behind his headboard before gently waking you. “Um…your highness?”

“Mmmm….”

Not exactly the response he was looking for. Trying once more, he issues a more authoritative tone as he lightly taps your leg. “Your royal highness…are you awake?”

“Yes, what is it?” You rolled over, refusing to open your eyes or get out of bed. You felt so exhausted. “Please close the curtains, the sun is too bright, doctor.” You softly commanded as you nuzzled your nose against the pillow.

“Ah…sure.” Ethan was ecstatic, this could practically be a route for him to take on early retirement.

“Your highness, can you sit up for a moment?”

“Mmm….doctor….I had the strangest dream.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”

Your eyes remained shut as you recounted whatever details you could vaguely recall from last nights ‘dream’. “I dreamt that I was away…and I met a man.”

“Oh?” Developing a mischievous grin, Ethan probes. “What did he look like?”

“Mmm…tall…he was so tall.”

“Yeah?”

“Tall….handsome….and he was so mean to me.” You frowned at the bitter end of your sentence, which had Ethan’s grin quickly transitioning to a somewhat guilty look.

“Is that so?….Sorry to hear that.”

You flung your arm over your eyes as you bashfully grinned out. “It was wonderful…”

Ethan’s grin reappears. “Glad to hear it.”

Basking in the warmth of the sun's rays, you slowly opened your eyes to spot the blurred silhouette of the man before you. It must be a side effect of the medication. Blinking, you cleared your vision as you re-opened your eyes one more, only to find that the clarity of your sight displayed the truth of your detailed account.

‘What…..who….where am I?’

You stared endlessly as the voice in your head questions the current nature of the setting, when Ethan’s voice shocks you. “Good morning….”

His face…this man is…

Part two coming soon…

Authors note: I promise “Devil Wears Prada” is in the works. That one has a more elaborate storyline.

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dramatic-crying · 5 months

Text

in awe of you // chris pontius x reader

^^ he is such a cutie pie :')

summary: you have a moment with Chris on the set of Wildboyz

warnings: none, just a LOT of fluff!

word count: ~600

please enjoy!

As an assistant videographer for Wildboyz, your job takes you to incredible places. From Argentina and Australia to South Africa and New Zealand, it's safe to say you never had much time to relax. However, no matter how easy it was to be homesick, it was comforting to have your friends with you the entire time. Especially Chris, but you didn't know why. Despite being so close to everyone on set, your relationship with him felt different. Of course, you'd never verbalize this.

For this particular episode of the show, the whole cast is in Brazil on their way to perform their next stunt, which just so happened to be holding a big-ass tarantula. Despite tensions being high because of the impending, probably very dangerous, stunt about to be performed by the boys, Chris was in relatively high spirits. You witness the brunette boy bounding over to you with a grin on his face stretching ear to ear. "Hey, Y/N! Are you gonna be in the stunt today?" He asks, throwing his arm atop your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes and shoved his forehead away from you playfully, causing him to drop his arm from your shoulders. "Definitely fucking not," you respond, chuckling slightly.

Chris soon gives you puppy-dog eyes and sticks out his lip slightly, and you have to catch yourself from staring too long. "Aw, come on. It's always so much more fun when you're involved in the stunts with us," he remarks, gesturing to the set around him that you were about to start filming on.

You tilt your head to the left slightly, considering the possibility that if you give in to the stunt, you'll be holding a giant fucking tarantula. "I'm really sorry, Chris," you start, beginning to twist the rings on your fingers. "I'm just too fucking terrified of spiders to be in this one."

Not long after, Chris replaces his frown with a slight mischievous smirk. He then takes a couple steps closer to you, shortening the gap between you to a meager six inches. "Well, I can always protect you," he says, licking his lips for only a second, but you had already noticed.

You sarcastically chuckle, responding with, "You can certainly try."

Suddenly, a hand lands on Chris's shoulder, turning him around to face a very nervous Steve-O. "Are you sure we have to do this, dude? Spiders freak me out a lot," he says.

"Well, it'll be funny," Chris says, shrugging his shoulders and giving Steve-O a giant grin.

"Asshole," Steve-O mutters, walking away. "We're starting in five, by the way!"

Chris soon turns back to you, looking you straight in the eyes without faltering. You bite the inside of your cheek slightly, feeling nervous about how intently the long-haired man is looking at you.

"Well," you start, looking up at Chris through your lashes, "Want a kiss for good luck?"

Chris's typical laid-back expression soon blossoms into a rosy blush on his cheeks, and he giggles. "Only if you want to give me one," he admits, his eyes widening as he seemed almost surprised at his response.

Without another word, you slowly reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. "Good luck," you quietly whisper in his ear, and give him a lingering kiss on his heated cheek. You pull back, releasing your arms. "Please don't die, dummy," you joke, walking towards Rick to signal you're ready to start filming.

What you don't see, however, is the flustered man behind you, bringing his calloused hand slowly up to where you pressed a kiss on his face while in complete awe of you.

#jackass x reader #chris pontius <3 #chris pontius x reader #chris x reader #jackass #pontius x reader #jackass <3

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kyotakumrau · 3 months

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2024.02.16-17 sukekiyo at Kyoto Gekijo

I really wanted to write about each show separately but then the 17th was filled with too many exciting things and there was no time. So I'll try about them together. And because of the setlists it also feels like they both belong together anyway.

2.16 The first day flow felt like the young idol started bright and excited, innocent, but then fell, experiencing the dirty side of love and people, but wanted to find love somehow anyway. And it finished with 呼吸・kokyuu...

As the BGM they are playing another movie (sound only).

5 minutes to and then at 6:30 the theatre buzzer sounded to signal the start of the show.

They had the usual see through screen in front of the stage (always done for the seated shows). sukekiyo and the tour name appeared as the snow was softly falling in the dark. At the same time band members walked on the stage, Takumi first, followed by Yuchi and Mika, then utA and Kyo last.

And Takumi started the piano melody of Margaret. It's so nice that they again chose to start with the last song from the previous tour, like they're creating a connection between then and now.

The stage was mostly their normal setting, but Kyo's stand had a dark bouquet laying in the middle of the table, I'm pretty sure it was the one with the doll in it that he shared in his Instagram story. There was also a high chair on the right side of his stand, right next to it.

And a new addition were big light bulbs hanging on wires over the stage, one over each band member hanging lower and four more a bit higher, nine in total. When グロス・Gloss started they lit up but dimmed when song got quieter.

During 愛した心臓・Aishita shinzo Kyo was dancing, he also came close the screen stretching his arm towards audience. (but I'm always unsure how much they can see from the other side because of how the light works on the screen), he crouched when dancing. Kyo was very dancey, utA as well (I was sitting on utA's side that night, aisle seat though).

They all wore outfits from their last artist photos. utA's hair was more standing, full 90s visual kei style. Kyo changed his look having a very different hairstyle. Because he shaved his head to get a new tattoo in January his hair is still very short, like in Citta he glued things on though, for sukekiyo he had two thin pink braids, one on each side, styled in a way they created two rings. And he had the porcelain doll effect make up, shiny face with drawn eyebrows, dark eye make up and full lips. The back of his dress is quite open so we could see his tattooed back. And he wore pink tabi boots to complete the look. (you can check those tweets 1️⃣ 2️⃣ to see fans drawings of him, just pls don't repost)

Both Candis and Valentina were quite fun with the pen lights. And this part had a lot of dancey songs that even come with set dance moves... But since it was a seated show it was only Kyo dancing, with other band members rocking and jumping as well, fans had to endure and stay in their seats😂

With 口に林檎・kuchi ni ringo the stage went darker and Kyo was lit up by his mic stand's pink light. aftermath followed with the soft dark mood in the venue and the video on the screen. Some of the autumn temple has been edited and changed to pink cherry blossoms with petals scattering. Kyo sang standing by his mic stand, illuminated in pink.

And after the song ended Takumi played the piano melody that starts the session. Kyo softly walked towards the chair and sat with one leg over the other, very dignified, like a film noir singer or a diva. A black clothed staff member walked on the stage from the left side holding a make up case and started to 'do' Kyo's make up. He patted Kyo's face with a towel, he then used a sponge and a brush, then 'did' Kyo's lips. I don't think he actually changed anything but it was a part of the performance. Kyo stayed seated almost motionless through the whole process.

Then Kyo softly got up and walked to his mic stand, the session continued as Kyo joined singing. The cheerful idol from the start of the concert was gone by now, the innocence lost. The want, the hurt, the darker feelings took place to create someone new.

訪問者X・HomonshaX had Kyo dancing like a bug, very different from the way he danced as a cute idol.

It felt to me that the lights towards the end of the performance were changing between red - fiery, angry and strong - and blue - calmer and sadder, to me it felt like there was a battle of various emotions inside of our heroine. I aways have a ton of respect for Mika who is creating the visualisations for the shows. Like during 変わってくれませんでしょうか・kawattekuremasendeshouka? when the front screen is very simple and the sides are dark with water falling over Kyo in the middle as the rain is supposed to wash everything away.

During 夢見ドロ・Yumemidoro Kyo was dancing more seductively, even wrapped his leg around the mic stand, baring it to the people. During Scarlet Kyo was pointing his lips with his index finger, 'I want you to kiss me'. Even broken things want to find love.

And at the end the acceptance came and resignation. Ending with 呼吸・kokyu had many people crying, if they were not crying by then anyway.

At the end Kyo slowly turned and left the stage. The end credits started on the screen, the audience was clapping as the rest of the band members slowly left as well. But many people kept crying even then (yours truly included).

But we did get the Gion Matsuri tour announced! 4 days at Kyoto MUSE! I wonder how many people will manage to hit all tickets on one account... I'll try😂

2.17

One more thing that was different was Kyo's stand, on the second day there were no flowers there. So I guess it was a present for his birthday?

The setlist flow was was different on this day. They started with 訪問者X・homonshaX and Kyo's bug dance. He was also pointing at the audience as he sang.

During グロス・Gloss the light bulbs lit up again. There was one moment when Kyo made a movement raising his arms like he wanted to catch his light bulp between his hands.

The video for The Hole had a mix of colours and Kyo was dancing. He definitely had more of a seductress in his movements on the second night. He stretched one arm and moved the other with the music and switched them. The idol songs following felt quite different because of the way they started the set and the mood.

After aftermath the staff came again to 'do' Kyo's make up and it was followed up with a session. At the end the stage was quite dark with a simple spotlight on Kyo.

With 論外な生き物として・rongaina ikimono toshite I love how the song switches from soft to heavy, from Kyo carresing the mic stand softly to him headbanging.

And the hair set he had made it kinda interesting for headbanging 😆 he had thin pink braids glued to his hair again, this time the loops were shorter so the end of the brace was behind the loops. So they bounced when Kyo moved. He wore a cropped black top with puffy sleeves and strands of pearls over it. Flowy pleated black skirt and again pink tabi boots. Make up was very similar to the first night. (fan's drawing)

The rest of the band members had different outfits too. utA again had a very classic v-kei outfit, this time his hair was styled to the right side. Takumi had a long white collar outfit. Mika I couldn't see, from my seat Mika was obstructed by Kyo's iPad stand 😅 Yuchi had a sleeveless Nike top with long gloves, he changed his hair style too to add more braids.

I can't play any instruments and I don't have especially trained ears, but I'm always impressed with the sound quality at sukekiyo shows as well. I can cearly hear all instruments and they create this amazing harmony together. And I also enjoy the fact that band members use different instruments for some songs (like aftermath). I could hear the wonderful bass promised by Yuchi, Mika's powerful drums, utA's guitar, especially during solos, Takumi's piano and guitars. And Kyo's voice. 🖤

For ただ、まだ、私。・tada, mada, watashi. there was no visualisation on the screen, so it looked like there was no screen besides a bit of a smoke by the floor. There was light coming from the back of the stage and very lightly the band members silhouettes appeared above the stage. And because of this the stage appeared to be very deep.

I liked the flow of the last part of the setlist, it didn't feel as gut wrenching as the first night.

The end credits started aready during Margaret and Kyo calmly left as soon as the song ended. The rest of the band followed as fans started to give applause.

I'm so curious what we will see in Tokyo. Only one more performance left.

#sukekiyo #京都劇場 #Kyoto Gekijo #attempt at live report #京 #kyo #漆黒の儀 #shikkoku no gi #Jet black ceremony #TOUR2024 「冷たい沈黙」

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 2 months

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can i send a tbosas request please? sejanus plinth x female reader, romantic and maybe hurt/comfort, she knows about his intentions and actually reassures him (i just want an alternative ending where he’s alive and happy pls😭)

Making peace with my inevitable death.

Sejanus Plinth x Fem! Reader (romantic fic, hurt comfort) Summary: There was only so long before you would find Sejanus, Spruce, and Billy Taupe's plan. Warning: violence, guns, death, description of blood, romantic, hurt comfort (Sejanus being comforted)(highkey sucks), nonaligned storytelling with the book or film (I forgot and was blindly going along) Author's note: this was lowkey difficult to make, I'm so sorry it took so long!!! Word count:4.2k

⋆｡°✩♬ ♪

Lucy Gray's voice carried throughout the Hob, the dancing townspeople filled the large room with repetitive tapping, all intermixed with each other.

Your hands were clasped in the hands of your love, who spun you around on the wooden floor. The dance was done by others, the citizens of District Twelve, who danced with their friends and lovers with excitement. The floral patterns of the women's dresses flashed by as you took quick steps with the music.

Sejanus’ hand was on your hip, quickly swaying you from side to side, hastily following the people around you both to not trip the rest of the dancers. He occasionally looked down at his feet, hoping he was taking the correct steps. Which, he was but he was still too nervous about messing up and flustering himself in front of you.

“You’re doing fine,” you say, loud enough for only him to hear. Sejanus smiled at your assurance and continued dancing.

You didn’t say anything to each other for several minutes, simply swaying with each other.

“After this song I have to go talk to my friend,” Sejanus whispered to you, barely audible with the loud ballad your friend sang effortlessly. You smiled at him and nodded, not fully understanding what he was saying. But you agreed nonetheless.

It was almost like he had known when the song ended because it was almost immediately after he said those words that it came to a conclusion. It ended with a bang, as one would say, ending with high notes and a final boom.

Lucy Gray had finished the upbeat song, the crowd clapping for her performance. The rest of the Covey shuffled around to get ready for the next song. “Thank you everyone,” she said happily, glancing at the rest of the Covey, who were stretching their fingers and fixing themselves, bracing for the next part of the show.

The dancers slowed to a stop, several of them leaving to get a drink. You and Sejanus did the same, leaving the dance floor to the table he occupied before you went to dance. The sound of a strumming guitar filled the room, followed by the angelic voice of Lucy Gray, singing a slow ballad.

Sejanus led you back to the table quietly, moving past the slow dancers, your hand carefully in his. You finally saw the table he had originally occupied, Coriolanus sitting at the stool, saving the spot for him.

You smiled at Coriolanus, who nodded at you before sipping from his glass again. Sitting on the stool, you took Sejanus’ glass of alcohol and drank from it with a smile. You knew he wouldn’t care that much about you taking the drink compared to other people, which you were grateful for.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Sejanus smiled and kissed your cheek lightly, setting a couple more coins for you if you wanted another drink. You nod and scoot the coins closer to you, making sure you could grab them quickly if needed. “Stay here for now.”

Your eyes trailed to Coriolanus, who drank from his glass cup that held little alcohol and watched Lucy Gray. You watched Sejanus make his way down one of the halls, the hall leading to a room containing the Covey's stuff. You sip from the glass filled with alcohol, the glass having been Sejanus’s. You didn’t care about that though, taking the alcohol in with boredom.

Coriolanus didn’t say a word as he stood from the table, leaving his almost empty glass of alcohol to follow Sejanus. You narrowed your eyes as he followed the other man down the hall. You didn’t try calling Coriolanus back to ask where he was going.

Your eyes went back to Lucy Gray, who sung a song you had heard a time or two, her having performed it to see if it was good or not. Your lips let the rest of the alcohol into your mouth, the rest of it finally leaving the glass.

Her voice carried throughout like soft rushing water, like a river truly. Soft yet prominent in its flow. Your thoughts went to what you and Sejanus could be doing if he didn’t have that odd meeting with his so-called friend. You never even met the man, only catching glimpses of him when Sejanus went to grab another drink but went along with someone else to talk.

Several minutes had passed and Sejanus was still gone, at some point you got the idea to find him. Taking the coins, you put them in your pocket, and leave the table. The ballad Lucy Gray sang slowed to an end as you made your way through the crowd. The people clapped once they came to a stop, pulling their hands from their partners.

You turned to the darkened hallway, which was only for the people who used the Hob more than anyone else. Usually for the Covey but on the occasion for religious speakers, but that was nowhere near as common as Lucy Gray appearing.

“Sejanus?” You call as you go down the hall, finding several doors on the hall's walls. The sliding doors in the hallway all led to different rooms you had never been in. Your eyes fell on the door you had been in several times, bringing in the Covey’s instruments and helping them clean up after the shows. But you heard voices coming from behind the light wood. Taking several steps away from the hallway and to the Hob’s stage, you saw nearly the entire Covey on stage. Clerk Carmine was going around the lively Hob collecting donations from the dancers and drinkers at tables. And Maude Ivory was standing at the microphone, about to sing her new sunshine song she made only days prior.

You walk back to the door, the voices having quieted. You stare at it for several seconds before going to grab the handle, forcing it open, and sliding it away from the doorframe.

“Sejanus?” Your eyes almost naturally went to the ground when you opened the door, walking in hoping to find him. Your eyes went up to the group of men standing in the room, their gaze all on you.

“(Y/n)?” Sejanus mumbled, staring at you with hesitant shock. He tried walking to you but was stopped by a man holding a rifle, which was pointed at your chest. You stiffen at the sight of the gun, raising your hands from your sides to above your head.

“Who the hell are you?” The man asked roughly, not trying to be nice about the situation.

Your mouth went dry from stress and tried speaking but nothing came out. The man sneered at the sound of silence from you. “Answer me,” he blurted into the stiffened air.

"Spruce, she's with me," Sejanus says with a smile, though it was obvious it was a nervous one. One made to appease the gun holding man. Spruce nodded slowly and turned back to Billy Taupe. It was obvious that the answer wasn’t enough for him but he was willing to take it for now.

Your mind finally recognized the name. Spruce. Billy Taupe had had relations with him while he was dating Lucy Gray, occasionally having Spruce follow him around the Hob while he wasn’t on stage with her.

"You know for a fact she won't know about us leaving for the cabin?" Spruce asks and raises his brow. You look between the men, wondering who he was talking about. Billy Taupe nodded.

"Lucy Gray? Yeah, she doesn't know a thing. I haven't spoken to her since that fight happened," Billy Taupe answered plainly. Oh, that's who he was talking about. Lucy Gray. You pressed your lips into a line.

You cross your arms and look over at Sejanus, who made a bit of a deal to not look over at you. You narrow your eyes as you pause to think about what to say, almost like a parent would a child that did something they weren’t supposed to.

“Sejanus, come here please,” you said, motioning for him. Which he did willingly. You paused for several seconds, putting your hands on your hips. “What are you doing?”

Sejanus almost immediately answered you. “I’m doing a good thing,” he justified. You narrowed your eyes, which you were surprised you could do again, and you gave him a slightly angered look. With your gaze, he tried again. “I’m helping Lil get out of prison, we’re gonna take her up north and live out there for a while.”

Your eyes widen at the idea and look at the other men in the room, going to Coriolanus. “They’re all helping you?” You ask, motioning to the others in the room.

It was almost instantaneous the way he nodded but paused on Coriolanus. “Billy Taupe and Spruce are, Corio isn’t a part of this,” Sejanus answered. You raised your brow as you thought about his answer.

“Sejanus, you’re going to get killed,” you state plainly. It was true, he wouldn’t survive this at all. The peacekeepers would find him far before he could even step near Lil’s cell. They would find Spruce quickly since he wouldn’t be able to hide forever. And it wasn’t like Billy Taupe wasn’t a loud mouth in his own right, he’d probably get drunk and become too prideful in helping them and get hung.

“I won’t get killed, I promise you,” Sejanus assured and looked back at Spruce, who stared at the both of you with suspicion. “I can see if we can bring you along to the lake house.”

With that, he turned back to the others in the room. You press your lips together in silent anger. You knew it was difficult getting through to Sejanus sometimes but you never realized how difficult it truly was.

You hesitated to call him back, wondering if giving him a talking was even an option at this point. But you stayed silent.

Sejanus turned back to Spruce, reaching into his pocket and finding a large folded piece of paper in his hand. “I was able to grab one of the maps of the prison,” Sejanus said, hoping to clear the air of awkwardness.

Spruce took the map quickly, putting the gun down on one of the instrument cases in front of him. He unfolded it carefully but with an obvious intensity at the sight of the object. He grinned at the markings on the page. The thin lining of Sejanus’ pens showed where the guards would move each night, their original posts, and Lil’s prison cell.

It finally hit you how long Sejanus had been planning this escape route. It was months ago that Lil’s love died but it took only a couple months to figure out how the posts changed, where they were, and where Lil was kept.

“Billy Taupe!” A shrill voice called from the back door leading to the room, the sound of clicking heels followed quickly. “Billy Taupe, I have been calling you all day, where the hell have you been?”

You stood awkwardly in the group, watching as she went to his side, side eyeing the group. Her gaze found you but barely any malice was found behind them, at least there wasn’t as much hatred compared to how she felt about Lucy Gray.

Spruce groaned with annoyance, but didn’t decide to point the gun at her. He knew better than doing such a thing to Mayfair of all people. Everyone knew she would screech louder than a Jabberjay if someone threatened her.

Mayfair paused once she saw the group, looking them over with confused hostility. “What is going on?” She asked, looking around the room until her eyes landed on her lover.

Billy Taupe scoffed and waved her off, not saying a word to answer her. Mayfair’s mind must have gone to different ideas about what could be happening, especially with the sight of the rifle.

“I told you to stop hanging out with them,” Mayfair sneered and grabbed Billy Taupe’s hand to pull him away. He pulled away from her and gave her a dirty look.

“It doesn’t contain you,” he spat and gave her a crude look. “You shouldn’t even be here for this. This never included you.”

“What time do the peacekeepers change stations?” Billy Taupe asked Sejanus, his eyebrows knit together with annoyance originally towards Mayfair.

“They said 12:30 AM, they change officer’s every six hours,” Sejanus answered quickly, pointing down at the map with ease, motioning to a specific area of the building, a smaller cell. You could only guess it was Lil’s.

“They get to each station in five minutes each, it doesn’t take long for them since they move quickly,” Sejanus continued, moving his finger over the page, motioning the ways the peacekeepers would move along.

“Coriolanus?” Another soft voice called as the clicks of her heels gave her away. It was Lucy Gray. Spruce instantaneously pointed the gun to her chest, causing Coriolanus to step in front of her to cover her. If he hadn’t covered her, you would have pushed her out just as fast as she had gotten in.

Lucy Gray gasped at the sight of the dark barrel of the gun, stopping in her tracks, her face going pale.

“Don’t shoot her, she didn’t do anything,” Coriolanus stated, holding his arm out to stop Spruce from shooting. Lucy Gray held onto his arm with sudden anxiousness, keeping him close like he was a shield.

It was almost like the sight of possibly death made Mayfair reconsider coming to get Billy Taupe entirely, grabbing at his arm with vigor. “Billy Taupe, we have to go. Something bad is gonna happen if you don’t,” she argued, pulling at his hand. He, almost naturally, pulled away from her.

“This never contained you and I’m not leaving. Go home if you want,” he waved her off, side eyeing her before looking back at the map.

Mayfair’s face grew to a red from a mixture of embarrassment and also anger. Maybe it was from the fact Lucy Gray would have had him gone in seconds, the sight of his ex lover having gotten to her quickly.

“I’m leaving! Billy Taupe, you better come with me because I am not allowing you to go along with them of all people!” Mayfair exclaimed, staring at him, expecting him to agree to leave with her from how much she was screaming about it.

You look away quickly from the both of them, hoping Billy Taupe hadn’t seen you staring and turning his anger to you. Lucy Gray and Coriolanus didn’t do something similar, staring at them like the couple were wild animals. At this point, they might as well be.

“I ain’t leaving with you. I said go home if you want,” Billy Taupe sneered, Mayfair grew red faced, her blush almost contrasted how bright red she became. She huffed before turning away from the group and started to quickly walk -almost run- from them.

At the sight, Spruce stepped to where she stood before, waiting a couple seconds before she made it to the stairway, and pulled the trigger.

Mayfair’s body fell to the ground with a thud, making no motion to curl into herself or try screaming. It was like Spruce knew where to hit to kill her quickly.

It seemed like several minutes passed as you tried regaining your hearing, the shotgun causing your ears to ring painfully. Once you finally came back to reality, Lucy Gray had shrieked, pulling away to hide behind Coriolanus, who was nearly as shaken as her.

Sejanus stood in horror, watching the blood from Mayfair’s wound slowly spill from the shot. His fists slowly went to the sides of his head beside his temple, his breath eventually coming out in odd puffs, mimicking a sob with no tears.

“I need to go!” Lucy Gray mutters lifelessly, almost without mind. She turned away from Coriolanus, moving to run out of the room through the door leading to the lively Hob. It was almost immediately that Billy Taupe grabbed her arm, pulling her closer.

“You’ll stay since everyone else will,” Billy Taupe exclaimed, glaring down at her with a hatred you haven’t seen in years.

“Let her go,” Coriolanus blurted out at the touch between the two, turning to Spruce and taking an aggressive step closer to the gun wrangler. Billy Taupe almost immediately pulled her to him again when she tried stepping away from the blood pool growing near her foot.

“I’m not letting her go if she can sell us out!” He exclaimed. Lucy Gray pulled at her arm again, just far enough for her wrist to only be in his grasp.

At the sight, Coriolanus grabs the gun from Spruce violently, pointing it at Billy Taupe and firing a second shot of the night. Again, the ringing in your ears followed, leaving you partially deaf from the violent noise.

Lucy Gray pulled her arm away when Billy Taupe’s hand loosened, his body falling to the ground. You took several steps back, taking a step toward the door. It was almost immediately that Lucy Gray ran to Coriolanus’ arms, pulled tightly into his chest.

Spruce stared down at Billy Taupe, the deaths having been enough for him tonight to grab the guns and leave. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed the bag of artillery, turned to the stairwell's direction and ran past the blood-soaked bodies.

Coriolanus watched Spruce run out the room and out the back door. Lucy Gray tried stopping herself from sobbing from anxiety and fear, her forehead against his. He was quick to whisper something to her, barely audible over Sejanus’ sudden scream from the sight.

Whatever her love had said caused Lucy Gray to run to the door, hoping to leave. But she grabbed your hand. “(Y/n), please don’t stay here,” she whispered to you with anxious tears in her eyes. “They’ll find you if you don’t run too.”

You gazed at her for several seconds before Coriolanus grabbed her shoulder and pulled her with him, giving you one last look. It was a mix of discomfort and anger that you couldn’t understand why he felt. The second emotion is the most confusing. But nonetheless, you stay silent as the door closes behind the couple.

You take deep breaths, hoping the bloody mess and violent night wouldn’t cause you to cry so suddenly. As little as you liked Billy Taupe, part of you still felt disturbed at the sight. You knew him for so long that you couldn’t help being a little grief stricken.

You push that idea into the back of mind and turn to Sejanus, who had fallen into loud sobs from panic.

“Sejanus, listen to me,” you say suddenly, turning to the sobbing man. His breath came out in sudden coughs and hiccups, his sobs growing quick as he mumbled.

Sejanus held his balled fists against the sides of his head, muttering continuously to himself. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, no one was supposed to get hurt,” he whispered.

“It’s going to be fine; everything is fine!” You say quickly trying to calm yourself and him down. You took his hands into yours, hoping the contact would calm him. But it didn’t even help you, your hands still shook from nerves from the sudden deaths.

“No, no! They’re going to find us!” He sobbed again, trying to pull away. It was almost like your words from earlier finally struck him, the gravity of the situation setting in once Mayfair and Billy Taupe were dead.

“Sejanus, look at me,” you exclaim and turn his head to look at you. His reddened eyes looked down at you with fear, sniffles following his sobs. His lips had gone back in a grief filled sneer, showing his teeth as he tried pulling back from you.

He tried staying still and fearless for what you needed to say but his body trembling in your hands was obvious. “Everything is going to be fine,” you hesitate to speak again, and you didn’t know how much of that was true.

The peacekeepers were unnecessarily willing to become violent, the blood they were willing to stain their hands with might as well be medals in their eyes. If they found anyone that had been in the room now or earlier, who knows what could happen to anyone. Maybe their eyes would be lost first so they could never see their lovers or their teeth to never speak to them again. You pushed the idea away hastily.

The iron smell of Mayfair and Billy Taupe’s blood seemed to scare Sejanus more than anything, their bodies always there, even if he couldn’t see it. “I’ll take care of you, and we’ll leave,” you suggested. Sejanus sat on the chair at the desk behind him. Sobbing into his hands.

The way he sobbed grew painful to hear, it was like he was trying to cry hard enough his throat would never recover. And that’s what a surprising amount of people did. But you didn’t want Sejanus to be one of those people that fell into such a deep pit of despair in haste.

“We’ll leave for the lake house, and they’ll never find us,” you assure, as if it would actually happen. He hesitantly reached up to grab onto your clothes, bring you against him and resting his head against your shoulder, sobbing with surprising aggression.

You tense at the sudden touch, slowly relaxing as his cries were muffled by the cloth covering your skin. Your hands gently touched Sejanus’ upper back, feeling his shoulders rise and fall with sudden vigour every couple seconds.

“I don’t want to die,” Sejanus mumbled, his hands almost clawing at your back from grief. You nod and gently pet the back of his head.

“You won’t. We won’t,” you say again. Part of that pledge meant to keep you sane. You knew so little about things like this, events like this, and only time could tell the future.

Sejanus’ breath calmed slightly when you brought yourself to speak again.

“I can’t do much when you have to go back to base, alright?” You state and hold his head to your chest, keeping him against you. Sejanus’ hands had gone to your back, grasping the fabric of your clothes with horrid desperation. “I can take you home but you’re on your own after that.”

Sejanus’ nose peeked over your shoulder; the tip of his reddened nose was almost as bright as his teary eyes. You slowly pulled him from your shoulder, looking him in the eye. “We have to go. There’s only so much time we have until people will see us,” you whisper to him, pulling him to his feet.

He reluctantly followed you as you carefully stepped around the bloody puddles from the lovers' bodies. You held your breath as you slowly walked past them, feeling like if you left out one single breath meant they would grab you or come back to life.

Sejanus did something similar, refusing to look at the corpses. You, on the other hand, caught a glimpse of Mayfair. The skin in her hands had grown pale, the only reason the red in her cheeks hadn’t left was because of the blush put on earlier that day.

Your eyes went back to the stairway, keeping your mind on where you should be going and not what is making you leave. The aggressive scent of iron filled your nose, reminding you that they were there no matter if you didn’t think or see them. They were there no matter what.

Sejanus was the first to go up the stairs, the tapping of his shoes filled the silence as he stepped into the dark hall. You took one last look at the orange lit room, holding your friends' belongings. The long shadows of the Covey’s instrument cases reminded you they’d eventually find the bodies; Lucy Gray can only hold them away from the room for so long before they have to get their things.

“(Y/n)?” Sejanus called from the doorway. Your mind went blank and looked back up at him, the dark night outside drew his figure down the steps. You don’t say anything as you follow him up.

The deep blue night hung over you both like a satin sheet, the stars unable to be seen with the -almost orange- street lights shining down on you. Sejanus’ sniffling was still audible from him. His trembling still found in your hand holding his. You trembled too, out of fear, sadness, and hope oddly enough. You wouldn’t allow Sejanus’ spirit to follow Mayfair and Billy Taupe so soon. No, you’d find a way to take him home, no matter if that wasn’t a home he had ever been to.

The darkness enclosed you both, the only thing bringing his figure to your eyes was the orange lamp light, shining long shadows behind you as you walked. Eventually, you sat on a nearby bench, making him sit to calm down again.

His breath slowed to a normal pace, occasionally stopped by sniffles. Your hand was still on his head, held against your shoulder. Of course, you couldn’t be sure the peacekeepers wouldn’t find you.

A final kiss was placed against Sejanus’ temple, his body loosening in your arms, but the desperation in his hold never left your arms.

⋆｡°✩♬ ♪

I'm so sorry it took so long to get back to you. I kept going back and forth on what I should have written since I couldn't think of anything. A bit OOC, again, so sorry. My tbosas masterlist

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 1 year

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flash that angle, grind a smile

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x gn!Actor!Reader

Writing Genre: story

Genres: fluff, pining, co-workers to friends to lovers

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: very brief discussion of poisoning & blood, it's my first time writing for Vil so hopefully he's not too out of character

Notes: I was listening to 'Sculptures of Anything Goes' by Arctic Monkeys and my mind started drifting to creating this fic -- so here it is! <3

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Silently sipping on your delightfully warm latte, you observed the scene being produced in front of you.

“And if the Grand Duke hears about this? What do you expect your fate to be then?” one of your co-stars voiced worriedly, trying to reason with the antagonist.

“My fate is of no concern to anyone but me.” Vil’s character Antoine glared at the man before continuing, “I’m sure there are plenty of cases for you to investigate in the city. Entertain yourself with one of them and move along now, Dorian… lest you find your destiny lying with His Highness.”

You fought back a chuckle, being mindful of the cameras still rolling.

Dorian seemed slightly dejected as he quietly left the Prince’s office – a physical foreshadowing of the character’s motives that were to be revealed later on in the series.

As the scene came to a close the floor manager called out, “And cut! Great work today everyone! Get a nice meal and a good rest – I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow!”

The formerly quiet set began bustling with various audio engineers, camera operators, runners, and assistants. Rising from your chair, you stretched before deciding to strike up a conversation with Dorian’s actor, Killian.

“Hi, Kil! Your performance was fabulous today!”

“Mine? We should be talking about yours! The dinner scene was phenomenal! The way you portray such a deceiving Marchioness is almost frightful.” he finished with a wink. Your bubbly conversation with your co-star continued for approximately fifteen minutes until you decided to bid him farewell.

—

After changing back into your everyday clothes and having your hair and makeup undone, you felt content to return to the trailer you would continue to call home for the weekend. As you finished gathering your things, you heard your favorite voice speak from behind you.

“Good evening, Y/n. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I would like to discuss our scenes for tomorrow’s filming.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Vil. Why don’t we talk in my trailer over salad?”

He looked contemplative for a moment before agreeing.

—

You had always held respect for Vil’s love of his craft, and seeing how dedicated he was to ensuring both his and your prime performances began turning that respect into admiration. Working on the newest season of Twisted Wonderland’s most popular historical drama for the last few months had brought you closer, and you felt yourself drifting nearer and nearer to the sea of love. It was always hard to decipher the blond’s feelings due to his consistent air of professionalism, and although sometimes it was irksome, at the end of the day it was yet another aspect of him to appreciate.

“Y/n? What’s got you so distracted?”

Your body jolted to attention as you focused back on your conversation, quickly sipping on a glass of lemonade you had gotten after dinner.

“Nothing, I apologize.” you laughed off lightly, “Please, continue.”

He eyed you with suspicion and knowing before clearing his throat.

“Anyways, as you know Antoine’s plan will be accelerating to prepare for the next season after the finale tomorrow, and the masquerade scene we will be filming will run the longest. Since our characters are slowly blossoming into each other’s love interests, I think the scenes of them dancing together will be the most important to master, especially since they represent the turning point in their relationship."

You nodded along to his words before asking, “Should we go over the dance one more time?”

“I would say that we could do it now, but unfortunately there is not enough space in here. We can arrive at the set earlier to rehearse, however.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Vil checked his watch before sighing, “As much as I wish to continue our meeting, I must prioritize my schedule. Tomorrow will be important, and I want to feel and look my best. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be off now. Have a great night, Y/n.”

You wished him a good night as well, before starting your own routine.

–

A huff exited the actor’s lips as he braided his hair – a pointless action as hair and makeup would style it accordingly – but alas his frazzled thoughts needed a calming activity. His brain continued pestering him by replaying your conversation last night. He knew why you were distracted, and the feelings behind it are what made him hesitate to take your offer. But upon further reflection both last night and this morning, he found that he was not entirely averse to the idea. You had become casual friends during the long period of filming, and he had to admit to himself that there were many things about you he found appealing.

A knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts.

He tied off the braid and adjusted his hair before rising from his vanity to answer it. Who else stood there but the single person who occupied his mind as of late.

“I figured now would be the perfect time to practice since it’s still early enough for the set to be empty. I also brought this for you,” you spoke, handing him a simple hot lidded cup. “It’s just green tea, as I thought that would be more your preference in comparison to coffee.”

“You would be correct.” he replied.

“Great! Now let’s go master these waltzes.” you smiled brightly, turning to the large building that was home to your ballroom.

—

The Grand Duke fell to his knees in his chambers. His muscles shook heavily and his heart tightened. Blood seeped from the corners of his lips.

A cut back to the masquerade.

When a passerby couple made eye contact with Antoine and nodded, you knew the plan was fulfilled.

The Prince chuckled as he leaned down to your ear and whispered, “Just what have you done, Marchioness?”

Your character smirked before replying, “I believe I should be asking you that question. After all, you have a reputation for being a prodigy in poisons.”

He coyly retorted, “Hm. Is that so?”

You made knowing eye contact while you continued your dance. Around and around the ballroom you spun, circling the Prince’s figure and weaving through his arms. When word of the ruler’s death made it to the grand party, the guests entered a frenzy.

The Prince and the Marchioness however, continued spinning about the floor.

“And cut!” the floor manager yelled.

You finished off your spin before steadying yourself.

Soon claps and cheers echoed across the extras, cast, and crew in celebration of the last day of filming. It was a bittersweet feeling, but knowing that you would be coming back next year helped lift the weight off of your heart.

The director made an announcement about a special event being hosted for every member of the cast, along with the stars of a new sci-fi series and an up-and-coming adaptation of a popular fantasy novel. It was to be hosted at one of Pyroxene’s most famous museums – L’histoire de la création.

Excitement bubbled around the room and as it fizzled out it was replaced by a contentedness over the crowd. After bidding your co-stars farewell, you went to your assigned room to change out of costume and put on a knitted sweater and trousers. You cleaned your face and applied simple skin care products before choosing to sit on your sofa and bask in your remaining time on the set with a book about the show’s time period.

About twenty minutes later a knock rapped on your door and you perked up upon hearing it.

Marking your place in the book, you approached and answered the door.

“Oh, hello, Vil.”

“Hello, Y/n.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You opened the door wider and stepped to the side, allowing him to enter.

For being so notoriously put together, the actor carried traces of nervousness in his gaze.

"What did you need?" you queried.

"Not much, I simply had a parting gift for you."

Surprise blossomed on your face before you spoke, “It doesn’t seem like you to give out gifts to just anyone.”

He let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh, “You’re not just anyone.”

Your heart jumped – what exactly did he mean by that?

Taking the gift with a slightly awkward thank you and opening the lavender-colored box, you were greeted by a shimmering gold bracelet. A heart embedded between daggers sat in the center, with two rows of amethyst vines leading to a clasp. It was dazzling, and seemed to carry the very essence of Vil.

“I… it’s beautiful, thank you, Vil.”

“You’re welcome, Y/n. I look forward to seeing you wear it.”

—

Completing the finishing touches on his outfit, Vil stepped gracefully into the night and to his awaiting chauffeur.

“Good evening, Francis.” he spoke, watching as the man opened his door.

“A lovely eve to you too, Mr. Schoenheit.” he replied, allowing the blond to step into the vehicle.

After Francis closed the door, the actor felt a peculiar mixture of nervousness and excitement begin bubbling inside of him. He never felt such a way at the prospect of attending events – they were simply another aspect of his work and another way for him to flaunt his efforts and attributes.

“To L’histoire de la création, correct?” his chauffeur questioned.

“Yes.” was his only reply.

When his eyes drifted from the rear view mirror and arrived at his reflection in the window, he observed his amethyst and gold earrings and came to a somewhat shocking conclusion.

He was looking forward to seeing you again – his heart was racing in fact.

It had been a month since you had last seen each other and he was ready to dismiss his feelings and get back to his former routine. But now, as old emotions dredged up, he had no choice but to reflect before coming face to face with you once more.

—

“We have arrived, sir.” the chauffeur spoke.

“Thank you, Francis.” Vil said, waiting for his door to be opened.

Reporters and the paparazzi stood along the carpet leading to the museum, and as soon as the model stepped out of the car, all of the flashing lights turned to him.

His fashion for the night consisted of his signature purple in the form of a button down, layered underneath a maroon vest with gold details. His black trousers matched with the onyx blazer he wore which ended after his torso in the front, and continued to lightly trail on the floor behind him. The coat held golden embroidery, matching with the gold jewelry he wore and the details on his sleek black heeled boots. To top it all off, his hair was tied into a braided bun with two curled stands left to frame his face.

Needless to say that he was sure to be going viral by the end of the night.

After traversing the media show with class, he finally entered the venue. Witnessing the lovely stone architecture embellished in gold after so many years made him feel a sense of nostalgia. Fellow actors and actresses cavorted across the space, looking at paintings, statues, and antiques from throughout Pyroxene’s history. A waiter came by carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres, but the model waited patiently for one to bring drinks.

“Pleasure seeing you here.” you voiced from behind him.

Vil turned and gazed upon you for the first time in thirty days. Your outfit unknowingly complimented his, and he immediately felt that rumors would be circling. A raven and violet ensemble highlighted with gold – most notably the bracelet he gifted you on the last day of filming.

“I see you’re wearing my gift tonight.” he spoke mellowly, trying to keep a somewhat low-profile among the crowd.

“I’ve worn it everyday since you gave it to me.” you whispered.

For once, Vil Schoenheit was left speechless.

Trying to recover quickly he responded and lightly teased, “It must be timeworn by now. Would you like a new one?”

You chuckled before replying, “No. What I would really like is you.”

Did… you mean what he suspected you to?

“I’ve had a lot of time to look at what exactly I feel towards you. How exactly to handle it. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I should not repress these feelings just because of my public image. While you may not feel the same way, I at least wanted you to be aware.”

You most certainly did, it seems.

He took a few moments to ponder what to say. You waited patiently, visibly anxious to hear his thoughts.

“I must admit, Y/n, that what I feel for you is the same.”

You started beaming at his admission.

“I do wish however, that we keep this relationship private for the time being. Our images require great care and I would like for this to be something that is ours – not the world’s.”

“I accept your terms, Schoenheit.” you voiced playfully.

Throughout the rest of the eventide you would sneakily link your pinky in his, cast loving and frisky glances at each other from across the room, and meet to whisper in front of the renowned art.

It seemed that Vil was incorrect in his assumption, however, as the next day only photos and articles documenting his attendance to the event circled. He laughed lightly – it seemed that at the end of the day, you truly were some of the best actors.

#coff writes for twst🍸#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst x y/n #twst x yuu #twst vil #twst vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland vil

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stewblog · 10 months

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Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

We don’t allow our heroes to age. James Bond gets recast every couple decades. Comic book heroes rarely get older in any meaningful way. Et cetera. It’s understandable that the characters we’ve immortalized into the modern canon retain an air of (variable) youthfulness, but it also means that they are all but required to have the same sorts of adventures and largely stay the same as a person.

Harrison Ford has no interest in allowing Indiana Jones to achieve immortality, as his fifth and final outing as the character proclaims loud and clear.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny never hits the highs of any of its predecessors, but I posit that it’s not necessarily trying to. Indy does plenty of Indy things (and lightly stretches audience credulity in the process), but by and large Ford and director James Mangold treat the character like he’s aged into his late 70s, both in action and in thought. This movie isn’t intended to be held up as an equal to its genre-defining predecessors. It’s a coda for an icon and in that respect it’s a fully entertaining and occasionally poignant work.

The film kicks off with an opening sequence that’s as fun and rousing as any of the preceding films. The voice modulation on Ford could have used some tweaking but the de-aging special effects are remarkable and for about 15 minutes or so, it’s easy enough to believe that we’re looking at Indy still in his prime, punching lots of Nazis and performing incredible feats of derring do.

Then we cut to the film’s present day. It’s 1969 and Henry Jones, Jr. is now a man out of time. The world around him has passed him by as men are landing on the moon (put there by Nazi scientists hired by the U.S. government). Socio-political movements are upheaving everyday life. Ironically, while he’s no longer a nigh-absent professor, none of his students have any interest in ancient history. Although even his career is leaving him behind with retirement imminent and Marion is filing for divorce.

The only connection he seemingly has left to a life gone by is his goddaughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge). So when Helena shows up out of nowhere, proclaiming she knows how to find a the second half of a dial that can supposedly turn back time, he plunges head-first back into action. The search for Archimedes’ Antikythera nearly drove Helena’s father crazy, but it’s also clear that Indy sees a darker side to Helena’s search and he refuses to let her go down the darker path of seeking artifacts for “fortune and glory” as he nearly did. Throw in some Nazis seeking the dial to rectify Hitler’s megalomaniacal mistakes and you’ve got all the trappings of a classic, globetrotting Indiana Jones adventure.

So why can’t it fully capture the magic of The Man in the Hat’s previous (good) escapades? Well, for one, James Mangold is no Steven Spielberg. No one is. Not even Spielberg, at times (see: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). There’s simply a magic to the entire affair that is incapable of being replicated in full, try though Mangold does. And to his credit, there are portions of the film that have the spark and kineticism of Spielberg’s Indy films at their best. The World War 2-set opening on a Nazi transport train is simply outstanding and presents a near-perfect mini-adventure for the character. It’s got just about everything you could want from an Indy action setpiece. The car chase through Morocco is also well-staged and full of humor and thrills (even if I couldn’t stop giggling at the idea that little tuk-tuk carts characters drive are somehow capable of traveling at blazing speeds enough to keep pace with full-engine cars). But even once the film is fully rolling, it’s still centered on a character on the cusp of turning 80 years old. And while Indy’s age never fully defies believability, there’s only so much a movie can do if you want to maintain that hold.

Thankfully, the film’s best material leans into the fact that Indiana Jones is in his twilight, and that it’s impossible to defy time and that it is, in fact, essential to embrace it, to understand that some things must pass, that some things are impossible to change. But also, that living in the past (both literally and figuratively) is a fool’s errand.

Dial of Destiny is a reminder that we are more than just the best memories of our lives. Heroes age. Heroes make mistakes. Heroes go beyond what they’ve been immortalized as. That may be a slightly depressing thought, but Mangold and Ford lean into the humanity of it. This is Indiana Jones at his most vulnerable, but it becomes a story about a man finally coming to terms with the good and bad that has weaved in and out of his life as he finally realizes what’s important is what’s in front of you, not behind you.

What makes the Indiana Jones movies so special and different from so many other action adventure movies is that they obliterate cynicism. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom and Last Crusade, each of those adventures ends with Indy learning more about himself, about the world he knows and the parts of it he can’t explain. He starts each of those stories cynical about something, and ends them with his eyes opened to how he was wrong. That element, that destruction of cynicism is what drives the heart of Dial of Destiny. It may lack the dynamism of Spielberg’s entries at their best, but it retains the beating heart of the character and his evolution. It’s a touching, meaningful ending to an immortalized character who has never felt more human than he does now at the end of his adventures.

#indiana jones #dial of destiny #harrison ford

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jucyfruit · 1 month

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Lucy Dacus Brings It All Back Home

by Hilary Saunders | 9/2/16

Back in March, when Lucy Dacus and her band passed through Boise, Idaho to play the opening night of Treefort Music Festival, every single member of the group—rolling four deep—wore shirts and caps that bore a variation on their home state’s motto: “Virginia Is For (Music) Lovers.” Before their set, they had stopped in Bleubird, locally considered Boise’s best sandwich shop, and while they waited in a line that stretched out the door, Dacus and the boys chatted eagerly and earnestly with those around them—especially if they asked about their shirts.

Four months later at the Harrison Street Café, one of her favorite sandwich shops in her hometown of Richmond, Virginia, Dacus remembers the festival fondly. Her debut album No Burden had only been out for about a month at the time, courtesy of Richmond indie EggHunt Records, and Boise was the farthest west the band had ever performed.

A lot has changed since then. Dacus has toured with indie-rock darlings like The Decemberists and Lord Huron, and impressed festival audiences at South by Southwest and Lollapalooza. On September 9, Matador Records will re-release No Burden, with the hopes that its eight songs will catapult the 21-year-old further into the scene’s fickle mainstream.

Comprised of Dacus’ first recorded works, No Burden showcases the singer/songwriter at her most revealing. Her contralto, which she manipulates from a whisper to a cry, conveys both self-awareness and self-deprecation. Meanwhile, the band, comprised of a traditional guitar-bass-drums set-up, stretches its volume and dynamics to parallel extremes, allowing Dacus to transform from demure chanteuse to rock band leader—sometimes even within the same song. Case in point: on lead single “I Don’t Want To Be Funny Anymore,” Dacus laments “being the odd man out” and “being the biggest fan,” right before the song erupts into a guttural roar. The album’s seven-and-a-half-minute centerpiece, “Map On A Wall” opens with Dacus acknowledging her physical flaws and begging, “Oh please, don’t make fun of me / of my crooked smile and my crowded teeth / of my pigeon feet, of my knobby knees,” but the song eventually builds to a tense crescendo, Dacus repeating similar lyrics with more force and tenacity.

Sitting in a corner booth upstairs in the café, Dacus explains, “I make an effort to voice what I’m most sensitive about, because I know everyone else feels that way, too. The biggest hold-up, when it comes to insecurity, is when you think you’re alone in it. When you realize that you’re not, it’s easier to deal with. It’s just that somebody has to be the first person to break the ice of internal anxiety.”

Dacus grew up in Richmond’s neighboring town of Mechanicsville (its most famous export is Jason Mraz). She didn’t necessarily suffer from “extreme internal anxiety,” but she did drift in and out of the precarious social structures of the popular crowd in elementary and middle school. By the time she got to high school—the prestigious Maggie L. Walker Governor’s School, which is coincidentally located just down the street from the Harrison Street Café—she had found like-minded creative friends, and Richmond started to feel more like a home.

Although Dacus initially enrolled at Virginia Commonwealth University—also located near the café—to study film, she left after her second semester sophomore year to travel in Europe. Before leaving the country, she recorded what would become No Burden to help out now-bandmate Jacob Blizard on one of his college recording finals at Oberlin. It never occurred to either of them to release the recordings. “We were just going to put it on Bandcamp for our friends and family to see,” she says. “It’s the only accessible place for start up musicians to put their work.”

When Dacus returned, EggHunt Records’ co-founder Adam Henceroth saw her opening for his label’s own signees, Manatree. As Henceroth remembers, he only intended to watch Dacus for a few minutes.

“I sat in the front row like, ‘Hey lemme catch a few seconds of this before I meet this other guy backstage.’ Well, I forgot about whatever I was doing. Forty minutes later after being glued to her set, I was speechless,” he says. “The thing about Lucy is that, literally within 60 seconds of listening to her, you’re immediately drawn into her world. You’re caught in a tractor beam of sorts. She hits you square in the head and speaks to your heart.”

Both in person and on No Burden, Dacus radiates that emotional authenticity that Henceroth describes. Part of that stems from her Richmond upbringing—specifically, the fact that Dacus was adopted. That fact is a bit oblique on the record; she never sings about her experience directly. But the lessons she learned reveal themselves in certain places—the album title itself is a reminder that we are not a duty to those who love us. They reflect Dacus’ desire to seek meaningful connections, especially when we are at our most vulnerable.

“[Adoption has] totally impacted what I write, because one of first things I learned as a philosophy was that life is worthwhile,” She says, “So much so that a bunch of people had to sacrifice a lot so that I would have one. As a four-year-old, that’s what I already knew.”

The most impressive element of Dacus’ debut is that while so much of No Burden resulted from growing up in Richmond, its messages transcend the city that raised her and embraced her. And everyone from EggHunt to Matador to the fans she’s gained in the meteoric past nine months seem to realize it. “It’s real cool how Lucy has seemed to stay true to her roots,” says Henceroth. “She talks about Virginia a lot, and she never had any obligation to include [EggHunt] in her story, but she did. She comes across as really honest. You can hear it in her music. There’s no pretense. She’s not trying to be something she’s not. It’s all coming from her. That’s the magical part of it.”

(x)

#lucy dacus #ld #interview #bandcamp #2016 #september 2016 #archival

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citizenscreen · 2 years

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Fay Wray 'Slenderizes'

(Caption circa 1930) Hollywood film star, Fay Wray performs 'chorus routines' slimming exercises involving high kicks, stretching, and dances.

#fay wray

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pinesource · 8 months

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We've seen the versatile and charming Chris Pine take on a litany of roles over his career that have stretched him both emotionally and physically. He has been the suave space pioneer Captain James T. Kirk in the Star Trek movie franchise, the sophisticated CIA special ops man in Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, the charismatic and rakish swindler Frank in Don't Worry Darling, and most recently, the down-his-luck scoundrel in Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves. He has handled each of these characters with just the right amount of deft, nuance, and effusive energy. But the role that is without a doubt his most layered and measured is as Toby Hooper in the Taylor Sheridan-written neo-Western Hell or High Water.

While it might surprise some to learn that Pine has never even been nominated for an Academy Award, there is one singular part we think deserved not only a nomination but a straight-up Best Actor in a Motion Picture Oscar, all thanks to his elegantly rugged portrayal of Hooper. By now, he should have a little golden statuette on his mantle as we speak, and the fact that he wasn't even nominated needs to be re-examined as there are a handful of "Oscar moments" for Pine in the film.

Chris Pine has been called on to play all sorts of characters in his still very young career, but his role in the Taylor Sheridan neo-noir Western is by far his best. In Hell or High Water, Sheridan writes a part for him that really pulls out all the actor's talents as a modern-day Frank James to his brother Tanner’s wild-ass Jesse James. After a series of ham and egg bank robberies, the two main characters settle into place. Tanner is brash, irreverent, and seems okay with giving the whole world the middle finger. For Pine's Toby, it's not quite so easy. He has to be the brains and measured temperament of the outfit as they are on a mission to steal enough money to pay off the bank lien on their family ranch that sits amid the sprawling West Texas plains. Sheridan wastes little time giving Pine the emotional anchor of the misanthropic antiheroes and asks him to deliver a sympathetic felon who you somehow want to see succeed no matter how many laws he's broken or people he's harmed. It takes serious dramatic savvy to do that and be convincing to a smart audience.

As the Hooper brothers are on the run from the law played by the equally dyspeptic tandem of sheriffs named Marcus Hamilton and Alberto Parker (Jeff Bridges and Gil Birmingham, respectively), they stop at a remote convenience store in the middle of nowhere. When two punks pull up next to Tanner waiting at the gas pump in a bright neon green muscle car and start to give Tanner shit, Toby comes out of the store and sees what he perceives to be a threat to his kin (the driver brandishes a gun), and doesn't hesitate for a second. It's Chris Pine's second "Oscar moment" in Hell or High Water as he single-handedly delivers an epic beating of the driver. By the time he makes his way to the passenger side of the car, he is met with a stunned and frightened kid who doesn't want any part of the ass whipping he just witnessed. The beautiful part of the scene is watching Toby proceed calmly and get into the car and the two share a laugh as they drive away from the scene arguing the merits of Dr. Pepper verus Mr. Pibb. Pine can deliver the brawny goods if he needs to and the size and physicality combined with a protective brother bear instincts make for a stark and utterly believable outward expression of the lengths he'll go to protect who and what he loves.

We've mentioned "Oscar moments" throughout this article and there is complete validity that in order to win the little golden man, you need to have at least one remarkable and memorable moment that gives us goosebumps, warm fuzzies, sadness, fear, or any other manner of emotions. But aside from these isolated turns, there is an overall tone and mood that the character must create that permeates and sets the tone for the entire film. In Hell or High Water, Chris Pine has an unmatched reserved urgency about him that both slows down and speeds up the measured pace of the movie. There are a handful of tender moments between father and son, and the two brothers as well. He doesn't have a lot of dialogue, and that's the way we like our leading men in Westerns. In fact, Pine spends most of the film with his chin planted firmly in his upper chest peering up at his counterparts. At the same time, there is a restlessness about him that is difficult to pinpoint, but impossible not to feel — all the way to the front of your cinematic cerebral cortex in a weighty performance that is criminally unrecognized.

#chris pine #hell or high water

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divinekangaroo · 4 months

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I clipped this from your post because it’s easier than trying to inaccurately summarize! But I was wondering what you think about this dynamic. Whether you see it as a core part of his characterization and what you think it says about him, or whether you see it as kind of a visual shorthand in the series that isn’t indicative of anything about his approach to sex? It seems to me to be very consistent over the years and I’m curious about your take.

Yeah I think the repetition/consistency in how they show this makes it a super deliberate and very core part of his character, at least in how I read it – wouldn’t be nearly as fascinated with the story if it wasn’t.

And I don’t think it’s an accidental visual shorthand because of that repetition. I remember reading somewhere CM said that in S6’s TxL hotel sex scene they actually filmed two full sex scenes, one on the sofa and one in the bed – but in the end they only showed the last few seconds in the bed focused on the faces, as better articulating the purpose of that scene. I think they are very particular about how and what they show about Tommy having sex.

The particularity does add to this sense of overly-performative sex (EVERY sex scene feels performative and slightly contrived to me, even Tommy with Grace, even him using passionate sex with Grace in S3 to distract her XD, even him drunkenly/passionately sealing the ‘transaction’ with Lizzie in S5’s My Property scene) but I think they manage to stay on the side of the line that it feels like Tommy being consciously performative/contrived, rather than feeling like I can see the director’s hand. It’s the same sense when looking at Tommy’s various desks: yes his desks absolutely reek of being a contrived stage, but it’s *Tommy* being conscious about setting the stage, not the set designers/directors.

My reading / what I think the sex says about his character:

his ‘thinking mind’ constantly tries to frame sex as a transaction because he sees himself/his labour/his work/doing killings/offering sex – basically any act of his body as the fundamentality/essentiality of labour – as a unit he can trade for something else he wants. There’s some kind of less thought-out complex/trauma background thing here, where he believes that his worth is only what he can bring in and do for the family – labour, killing, smarts, sex, whatever. Mostly that’s his intelligence/schemes/business smarts, or his ability to push through risk/stress for high stake outcomes (stretching to do things they won’t out of fear), but sometimes that’s also his body (if combined with intelligence - trade your goods smartly, not stupidly, for advantage worth more than the momentary loss of bodily boundaries).

his ‘unthinking mind’ does actually want sex physically because it feels good. Physical release/oxytocin/endorphins etc? libido? I assume this, because otherwise they just wouldn’t bother showing him seeking out prostitutes; he’s not doing that for ego because he was satisfied in S1 that people thought he wasn’t having sex even though he was. But he is also sort of scared of sex because it leads to an intimacy that he can be used or hurt through it, hence why he defaults to prostitutes (S1, S2, S4 - or even the Zelda fling/no possible relationship) when he’s most wounded. Could theorise this is due to actual sexual abuse, but seems more like it’s because he hurts so deeply every time he’s connected deeply with someone – he loved Greta and was broken when she died, he loved Grace and was broken when she died - so, this supports his transactional approach because transactions are conditional, negotiated up front, well defined and ‘safe,’ they can’t get intimate or personal. He can use the transactional approach to justify himself seeking sex, while at the same time netting him something which feels good.

But whatever’s in the middle of the above two, is actually madly desperate for personal connection and intimacy. Despite him trying to apply sex transactionally or as a feel-good-only thing, he falls into some kind of intimacy and connection with the people he has transactional sex with, so frequently it’s a definite pattern. (I could write absolute buckets about May right here)

Even when he tries to avoid intimacy/connection – prostitution - returning from war, he sticks with one prostitute and has a very intimate connection with her? All right that's not typical?? And between S3 and S4 when the family’s shunning him, instead of just being promiscuous and anonymous, instead he has a relatively small rotation of regular prostitutes, knowing their names by preference to anonymity? Even the scene we see where he insists on someone new that he doesn’t know, this sparks from Lizzie pushing him about family/intimacy/connection. I read that almost as a “look at me Lizzie I don’t NEED connection stop pushing me” in front of her to try to make a point (to her, who used to be his intimate sexual connection, in a way that hurts her too to put her in her place? to himself?), immediately followed by him handing Lizzie cash/emphasising transactional approaches. And this is then followed by that absolutely hysterical fail of a sex scene with the ‘someone new’ prostitute, which I swear is filmed to show Tommy did not, in fact, have any sex, or if he did, it was so lame they didn’t even muss the bed.

Even S6 and the prostitute in America, it’s fascinating they make the effort of showing that having happened, but then focus so much on all the intimacy/connection in the phone call with Lizzie/kids. He needs sex but he's hungry for connection and made vulnerable by intimacy.

(And I could go on about the number of ‘woman on top’ scenes and why that particular position, or specifically the filming/dialogue with May which is one of the more fascinatingly filmed and verbalised transactional relationships because of her class, or why I think Lizzie, the actual prostitute, has the least amount of flesh/nudity showing at all from all his women while he's often MORE naked/exposed in their scenes -- I’ve only been able to watch properly the once through, but had so many thoughts on how they dealt with the framing/camerawork.)

But all up, it feels like it’s trying to show him as a character who performs sex to get something out of it that’s not sex (transaction/treats self as a fundamental labour unit of exchange), but still needing/wanting/enjoying sex (because otherwise why would he pay for prostitutes/why even put sex on the negotiating table men don't do this??), but also constantly he cannot shut down this tendency/urge of his to more softly want/need personal connection almost more than the sex.

It’s just not a common way to portray a guy ruthlessly heading a gang, and that’s why I think it’s so deliberate. They take the expected image of how a guy heading a gang would approach sex (prostitutes, seduction, sexual prowess etc) but it feels like they’ve turned that expected image/action well on its head (cares for prostitute/s, suffers the Mosley-threat and Diana-rape, sexual prowess is mostly in service of women, attempts to depersonalise himself to a unit of trade), and then they use camerawork and the pre-post conversations to show this intriguing drive for intimacy instead of sex.

I hope that’s answered the question? It’s tricky; some of these thoughts more suited to a conversation/branching dialogue than a single post or I get repetitive XD

Tangentially, there’s more thoughts too on how they weave prostitution through as a theme, or the way he’s often in conflict between those motivators of ‘transaction/physical/intimacy’ -- he trips himself up; he gets hurt by trying to lean into one or two of those, and forgetting the other/s, and can’t really ever get them in balance.

#honestly this is why i looooove your omegaverse because replacing questions of sexuality.gender.libido with 'male presenting omega'--#--it becomes a question/exploration about what drives him more personally XD #i find the canon arc about his sex/sexuality interesting because the approach feels more like a woman if not quite a femme fatale #there's just something about him as a gang leader being so up front about considering himself as part of an offer in a negotiation #then fucking it up *for himself* by liking women too much #i reckon this is why he gets so hurt by alfie too -- for all it's not sex he's just desperate for connection and connects with alfie #the s3 warehouse scene just drips chemistry/connection/hurt/relationship; and then alfie goes and hurts him too #fascinating he then runs from that and a breakdown and all s3/s4's trauma into a marriage #my meta suffers from my inability to sit down and rewatch the series so plsforgive that most is intuitive first reactions --#--and notes-based than than double-checked/substantiated XD

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waitmyturtles · 4 months

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As this film will be getting much more coverage during awards season, I thought that this analysis and reflection of Leonard Bernstein's queer sexuality, and how it was rendered in the film, was worth reading.

Certain emphases in the article below are mine. As an East-Coast American, in many ways, I feel like Leonard Bernstein is musical family; that a Hollywood-driven film about him would leave out important details of the context of his sexual and emotional life is... to be expected in the Hollywood West.

****

The film celebrates Leonard Bernstein’s musical duality, but fails to seriously engage with his bisexuality.

By Jennie Livingston

There’s a heartbreaking scene in Bradley Cooper’s “Maestro,” about the marriage of the composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein (Cooper) to the actress Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan), in which, as the couple argue in the bedroom of their Upper West Side apartment, Macy’s parade inflatables glide past the windows. A giant Snoopy echoes a Snoopy we saw in a family scene; it also gestures at the awkward gulf between Bernstein’s private and public lives, as if the musician himself were yet another helium-propelled icon from the Thanksgiving pantheon. Montealegre’s accusation, “Your truth is a [expletive] lie!” nails Bernstein’s privilege, condemning the habits and appetites he expects his family to tolerate and support.

The film gets right so much of who Bernstein was, allowing us to take in how he was, all at once, ahead of his time, a victim of his time, a gay man, a bisexual, a father, a nonconformist, a narcissist. “Maestro” is full of heart and craft, with riveting lead performances. It’s a film about a musician that doesn’t exaggerate or glorify the creative process, or suggest artists are either superhuman or subhuman.

The film drops you into the heart of creation so that you feel the excitement of the new, particularly in eras (the 1940s through the ’70s) in which Leonard Bernstein revolutionized how the public experienced classical music. As the decades shift, so does what we see: Early scenes use an aspect ratio (4:3) and color world (black and white) from the ’40s; then the film almost imperceptibly brings in color, before finally stretching the frame out to widescreen — all without banging you over the head with its cinematic cleverness. The cinematographer, Matthew Libatique, deserves special applause for his command of light, space and movement. An opening scene in which the young Bernstein leaps onto a bed, slaps his partner’s butt like a timpani, then runs right into Carnegie Hall in his bathrobe and boxers, is as thrilling as any time-compression or dream sequence I can name.

Although it’s clear that Cooper’s directorial hand is nothing less than breathtaking, the film becomes increasingly disquieting. In the first third of the film, the script sets up an intoxicating premise: a queer Jewish man inhabiting the already-antisemitic world of classical music falls in love with a woman. It can happen. It particularly could happen in a world in which gay artists were always in danger of being exposed and ejected from the institutions they depended on. In the ’40s and ’50s, when Bernstein and Montealegre met and married, psychiatry still considered homosexuality a disorder to be treated or cured. (A note on my language describing Bernstein’s sexuality: In an early letter, Montealegre tells Bernstein “you are a homosexual and may never change.” More recently, his daughter Jamie has referred to him alternately as gay and bisexual.)

Early on, the script follows Bernstein from dating the clarinetist David Oppenheim (the man in bed in that opening scene, played by Matt Bomer) to his courtship with Montealegre, an actress with high cheekbones and an intelligence and warmth that are just as sharply defined. One day Lenny’s walking alone in Central Park and runs into Oppenheim, who’s strolling with his wife, Ellen Adler (Kate Eastman), and baby in tow. By now Bernstein’s also married. Addressing the child, Bernstein jokes that he has slept with both of her parents! And adds with a kind of wild glee, “but I’m reining it in.” The mother and child go one way; Bernstein and Oppenheim head downtown. Soon Oppenheim is clasping Bernstein’s face, and they are both feeling, regretting, reliving what couldn’t have been.

If only the film itself weren’t an exercise in “reining in” Bernstein’s sexuality. Granted, the movie primarily concerns the relationship between Montealegre and Bernstein. It’s about two people creating a family, a family that has issues, partly because the wife spends years tolerating, resisting, commenting on, accepting and suffering from her husband’s dualities. But about a third of the way in, the queer characters all but fade out. They’re there as a light visual presence, but not as people with stories and interior lives.

After Oppenheim and Bernstein’s intimate stroll, Lenny and his lovers are reduced (in Montealegre’s eyes) to a series of obstacles to respectability, and (in the audience’s eyes) to a series of outfits, mannerisms and even clichés, like a coke-fueled party during which Bernstein talks on the phone to his daughter Jamie. Did some gay men in the ’70s skate on the surface of drugs and anonymous sex? Yes, and if the film tells me Bernstein was there to witness and experience it, I believe it. What I don’t believe is that he never experienced relationships with men built on conversation, intellectual intimacies and sustained physical contact. It wouldn’t have taken much — one or two scenes — to suggest that the gay relationships that Bernstein cultivated were in fact love affairs. That may have been worth noting, including in the service of telling the story of the marriage.

“Heterosexuals have never known what to do with queer people, if they think of their existence at all,” Carmen Maria Machado writes, in a memoir tracing the invisibility of certain narratives. I don’t want to believe that the director and his co-writer are incapable of writing well-rounded gay characters, but paradoxically, the failure to render Bernstein’s male lovers as three-dimensional people distracts from the central couple’s romance. I longed for more insight into the nuances of Bernstein and Montealegre’s conundrum, and details of his queer life could have provided it. Flattening Bernstein’s gay relationships to a series of knowing glances and brief encounters seemed to underline the main couple’s essential heterosexuality, rather than emphasizing their relationship’s complexity.

Because, in life, Bernstein kept seeing men — and not only at the events the film allows us to briefly glimpse. Ultimately, he left Montealegre for a younger man, Tom Cothran (Gideon Glick), who worked in classical radio. If included, this risky decision could have been a great turning point in the film. Scenes of Bernstein attending the dying Montealegre are moving; they could have been more meaningful if we had understood the drama and sacrifice behind his loving presence at her bedside. He didn’t just drop out of one or two coke-fueled soirees; he left a relationship.

The film ends with Montealegre’s death and suggests Bernstein never recovered from the loss. In life, after his wife’s death, Bernstein reconnected with Cothran, as a friend. Soon after, Cothran himself died, of AIDS, the plague that claimed the lives of so many men of his and Bernstein’s generations. It must have been a cavalcade of griefs for Bernstein; it must have been so complex for this artist to have struggled — with his desire to honor his desires, with his realization that the world was becoming increasingly open to “out” queer artists as viable public figures — and with the divisions between his queer worlds and his family. I wonder if Bernstein longed for Montealegre more acutely in the 1980s. Perhaps, together, they could have absorbed the horror of the AIDS pandemic.

The decision to leave out AIDS feels as if the filmmakers simply don’t know, or mark as significant, what happened in the world during the years between Montealegre’s death in 1978 and Bernstein’s own death in 1990. What viewers get instead is a near-final sequence of Bernstein grinding with his young conducting student to Tears for Fears’s “Shout,” then wildly dancing on his own. That these flashes of ecstasy occur in a room full of other young men, many of whom will die soon, is an odd understatement from a film obsessed with the passage of time.

Jennie Livingston directed and produced the award-winning documentary “Paris Is Burning,” and the shorts “Who’s the Top?” “Through the Ice” and “Hotheads.” Other work includes directing for the TV series “Pose” and creating an original projection for Elton John’s show. Livingston is currently at work on a nonfiction feature film, “Earth Camp One.”

#maestro #maestro the movie #bradley cooper #carey mulligan #2024 movies #leonard bernstein

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