#when the artist adds little white dots in the hair like it was little stars
Text
red+white, m | kth, jjk
pairing(s): taehyung x reader x jungkook
summary: On Christmas Eve, you take Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook out on a date and they’re surprised to find out that... it’s actually a real date. At least, until you decide to pull up your dress right in front of them. You are a horny little seductress after all.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language, semi-public sex in the back of a car; intense smut (fem reader, threesome, nipple play, fingering, vibrator use, f-receiving oral, multiple orgasms, overstimulation); fluff; non-idol!AU; noona!reader gets all the attention this time, so sweet of them!
other parts of this series: just kidding + part ii, car ride.
--
You massaged the base of your right thumb, sucking in a tight breath at the pain.
You shouldn’t have played so many League of Legends games last night, but there was an event pass and you had to grind games. Well, you didn’t have to, but you wanted to. League of Legends was probably your longest commitment in your entire life. And it gave you carpal tunnel.
Like all your interests, it was making your life complicated.
You pulled the sleeve of your fur coat over your wrist brace. When you played a lot, you kept it on all the time. It wasn’t the sexiest thing, but you needed your hands after all. For various reasons.
“Excuse me?”
You grinned to yourself before turning around, waving at the smooth, baritone voice of Kim Taehyung.
“Hey, Taehyung!”
Taehyung made his way through the crowd in the busy outdoor mall to stop right in front of you. It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve, when everyone was getting off work, sunny but cold. He looked you up and down, narrowing his dark brown eyes. “What is this?”
White faux fur coat that barely covered your ass, black thigh-high heeled boots, and the outfit completed with a large red fabric bow tied around your neck. You had nabbed it from a package of Christmas cookies you received earlier in the day. Your hair was pinned up, leaving a few strands framing your face. In comparison, Taehyung was wearing a biscuit-brown corduroy jacket with a forest green sweater and white dress shirt underneath, collar poking out. Dark brown hair a bit pushed back, but with most of it falling onto his forehead. Coffee-colored slacks, pointed oxfords.
“But you haven’t seen the best part, Tae!” you quipped, far too cheerful for the suspicious eye Taehyung was giving you. You unsnapped the buttons of your fur coat, revealing the tight, slinky, red silk mini-dress underneath. It clung to your every curve, molding perfectly to your breasts and hips.
Taehyung’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He grabbed the sides of your coat and yanked them shut, breath frosting in your face.
“What the FUCK?” he hissed under his breath. “You can’t wear that!”
You blinked at him. “Why not?”
“That’s the kind of clothes you would wear to a club! Not a date!”
“But I don’t go to clubs anymore. I think it’s better to wear what you already own than to buy new ones.”
The look you were giving Taehyung was innocent, but he knew better.
“At least tell me you’re wearing underwear.”
You grinned. “Maaaaaaaybe…”
“Noona,” he growled low in his throat, making you wet already.
“Alright, alright, yes I am.”
Taehyung buttoned your coat, frowning. “Just wait until Jungkook sees you. He’ll be pissed.”
“Pissed about what?”
Jeon Jungkook’s bouncy, energetic voice popped up behind you. You turned around to see him in a big black parka and black jeans with chunky black boots. He grinned, waving a hand, his long black hair half-slicked back as usual. He was wearing leather fingerless gloves. You bit your lower lip, grinning back. Jungkook’s smile faltered, suddenly apprehensive once he saw your expression.
“What’d she do?” Jungkook asked, eyes flickering to Taehyung.
“She–”
“Jungkook,” you cut Taehyung off jovially. “I wore something nice for you two!”
And you popped your coat open once again, ruining Taehyung’s good work of trying to keep you covered. Taehyung threw up his hands as Jungkook’s eyes widened, jaw dropping at the sight of your sinful body wrapped in red silk.
“Noona!” Jungkook scolded, yanking the sides of your coat closed, pressing his body against you. “You can’t wear that!”
“Why not?” you purred, licking your lips. “It’s nearly Christmas.” You pointed to the large red bow on your neck. “I’m festive!”
Jungkook looked aghast, clenching his jaw. “T-That’s not…” He hurriedly re-snapped the buttons on your white fur coat. “You’re going to be cold.”
You shook your head. “This coat is super warm. Plus, I’m wearing panties!”
Jungkook shot Taehyung a pained look. “I’m proud of you…”
“We’re going to be late! Let’s go!”
You grabbed their hands as Taehyung and Jungkook sighed at each other, smiling despite knowing they were already in big trouble.
-
“A… mug café?”
You pointed to the menu. “Not just any mug café, Jungkook. See, you pick a style of mug and then you decorate it with paint. Once you’re done, they cure it for you and then you can eat some snacks as you wait for it to be finished.”
Taehyung tilted his head, reading the instructions. “Looks like you have to make an appointment.”
“I did. It’s almost time,” you said cheerfully. “Look at all these different ceramic colors and paints. I thought it would be fun to do together.”
Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged a look. “You mean… this is an actual date, noona?”
You turned away from the window to frown at them. “Of course, it is. I booked a time and everything!”
Jungkook shifted his eyes. “Uh, well… usually you’re interested in doing other things with us…”
You blinked at them. “What?”
Taehyung clapped a hand over Jungkook’s mouth. “Never mind, never mind. Let’s go in.”
-
“Ah! I’m done!”
You turned your extra-large pale blue mug around, revealing the fluffy white Poro you painted, complete with a tasty cinnamon-bun-looking Poro-Snax biscuit in its mouth. Tiny white and yellow sparkles circled its head like a starry sky.
Taehyung smiled, shaking his head. “Your League of Legends obsession is a little extreme.”
“Oi, Poros are cute. I like cute things. That’s why I like you.”
Taehyung’s tan cheeks turned bright pink as you turned your attention to Jungkook’s masterpiece. He was painting a nighttime forest of evergreen trees on a black mug, with a small cabin and white dotted stars. He had three plates of different colored paints and at least ten small paintbrushes next to him. His pink tongue was in between his lips, holding his breath as he added small details to the trees in different shades of green.
“Wow, that’s intricate,” you admired, scooting your chair closer to him. Your sleeves were rolled up, but you were still bundled in your coat. Somehow, no paint got on the white fur. “You’re so talented, Jungkook.”
He finished the tree he was working on and pulled it back, frowning slightly. “Ah, I don’t know…”
“What are you talking about? That’s the coolest mug I’ve ever seen. I would totally buy that if I saw it at the store,” you protested.
Jungkook smiled sheepishly, picking up another paintbrush covered in white. “Really?”
“Of course. Especially since the artist is so handsome,” you added with a wink.
Jungkook’s ears turned red as you shuffled back to Taehyung to look at his mug. He was painting a small brown bear with a red Santa hat next to a wildly decorated Christmas tree on a light green mug.
“Should I add snow?” Taehyung wondered out loud.
“Maybe on the ground? But I think the tree should be the focus,” you mused. “Will the bear have a little coat?”
Taehyung puffed his cheeks. “Ah, I forgot!”
You scraped your chair back, holding your own Poro masterpiece. “I’m going to have them cure mine first. Be right back,” you chirped cheerfully, walking up to the counter where the jolly-looking man was waiting.
Jungkook watched you go, pursing his lips. “Kind of surprised she hasn’t tried to do anything crazy yet.”
Taehyung squirted out way too much red paint and made a disgruntled noise. “Well, she isn’t a horny seductress all the time. Just most of the time. Also, we’re in public.”
Jungkook went back to his mug as you chatted with the owner.
“It’s nice, just like this.”
Taehyung paused mid-stroke of red. His eyes flickered to Jungkook’s lowered head, back to being focused and working carefully. Taehyung thought about adding to the conversation, but kept his mouth shut, rubbing his chin instead. Then he went back to the bear and adding the red Santa coat.
You came back with a muffin and hot chocolate.
“Ah, the owner was so nice. He gave me the last blackberry muffin. He said they’re really popular.”
“Oh, can I try some–” Jungkook raised his head as you turned around to place your white fur jacket on your chair. His eyes widened, voice turning into a tight hiss. “Noona!”
You settled back in your seat, facing him as you popped some more muffin in your mouth. “Mmm?”
“Your dress is backless!”
“IT’S WHAT?” Taehyung whispered shrilly, nearly dropping his work of art.
You chewed. “Yeah… so?”
Jungkook jabbed his paintbrush in the air angrily. “So? SO?”
Taehyung craned his head and his jaw dropped. “That’s nearly to your ass!”
You took a sip of hot chocolate. “Yeah… so?”
Jungkook got up suddenly. “I’m going to have my mug cured.”
You blinked at him. “Are you done?”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you. “As done as I have focus for.” He walked stiffly to the counter.
You blinked. “What’s his problem?”
Taehyung scraped his chair back loudly, startling you. “I’m also finished.” He also began to shuffle awkwardly to the counter. You tilted your head and went back to your muffin, eating happily. Maybe a little too happily.
Well.
Definitely smugly, that’s for sure.
-
“Ah, should I just put them on the floor like this? Or like this?”
Jungkook and Taehyung were standing behind you as you struggled arranging the nicely wrapped, hand-painted mugs you all had made in the backseat of Taehyung’s car. Meaning that the backseat door was open and you were on your knees, bending down to the floor to arrange said boxes, your thigh-high black boots sticking out, white fur coat riding up your ass and your equally short red dress slowly hiking up your thighs.
Taehyung and Jungkook stood behind your legs, staring at your increasingly exposed butt in the parking lot and blocking the view from passersby.
“You are doing this on purpose,” Taehyung muttered.
“No, I’m not,” you shot back. “I don’t want someone to look in your car and want to steal your Christmas presents. I paid a lot for that appointment!”
You yelped and fell to your elbows, the hem of your dress shooting up your ass and popping against your waist, leaving your thin red thong out in the open.
“What the fuck?” Taehyung grumbled indignantly, stomping around to the other side of the backseat.
Jungkook rubbed his temples, already expecting it, but still unprepared.
You grinned to yourself, unsurprised as Taehyung ripped the car door open.
“You,” he growled, sliding into the seat and shutting the door sharply. “Are a horny seductress.”
You smiled innocently at him. “Who, me?”
He took the three boxes from you and placed them in the front passenger seat firmly.
“Hey, be careful with those–”
Taehyung grabbed your face and kissed you, pressing his warm lips into yours, silencing your words. You sighed happily, opening your mouth and moaning, enticing him. You felt Jungkook’s fingers on your cold, exposed skin, snapping the string of your thong into your ass and making you whine against Taehyung’s lips. Jungkook grasped your panties and pulled up hard, burying them into your rapidly dripping slit. You bucked, wiggling your hips as Taehyung rubbed his tongue against yours.
“Fuck, noona,” Jungkook breathed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
He pushed your legs in, forcing you to sit in the center seat and slipped inside, shutting the door.
It was cold outside, but inside the car was so very hot now.
Taehyung broke the kiss, glaring at you. You loved how dark his eyes became, so demanding and lustful, annoyed but also amused with your antics.
“You’re such a bad girl,” he muttered. “But you make me want to fuck you anyway.”
He pushed you into Jungkook’s waiting arms, forcefully turning your head. Your stared into Jungkook’s piercing gaze, his long black hair covering his left eye. He smirked at you, bringing you close to his face as Taehyung unsnapped your coat.
“Can’t even wait until we’re home to cause trouble, can you?” he whispered against your lips.
You tried to kiss him, but Jungkook dodged you, roguish expression on his face. You frowned and grabbed his head, crashing your lips into his as he infuriatingly smiled against them, catching your lower lip in between his teeth and sucking on it. You moaned softly as Taehyung ran his large hands up your hips, all the way up to your breasts. Jungkook’s fingers tangled into your hair, pulling your head back as a needy whine escaped your lips. He shook a finger at you, scooting his body closer, pushing you into Taehyung.
“No, no,” he chided, shushing you. “You want to be so bad and get us into trouble, then you’ll have to face the consequences.”
He placed his leather-covered palm on your cheek, forcing you to face Taehyung as he lowered the shoulders of your coat, exposing the thin straps of your silk dress. Taehyung sucked in a breath, looking down at you hungrily.
“So jealous that someone must have taken you home in this,” he murmured.
You winced a little, biting you lip. “Um… maybe many someones?”
Taehyung’s eyes flickered up to you, dark and dangerous. “You’re insatiable.”
He took one strap and Jungkook took the other, sliding them down your shoulders. Your breasts swelled against the red silk before popping out, black x-shaped pasties covering your nipples. They didn’t need to help you take them off. You reached up with some difficulty and peeled them off yourself, nipples hardening in the cold air.
A part of you was aware that some bystander might witness this and the same part was quite satisfied about that.
Jungkook leaned forward to press his lips against your ear, right hand coming up to knead your right breast. He had removed his gloves, his bare palm rubbing against your hard nipple. Shivers ran through you at his touch.
“Someone’s going to see how naughty you are, noona,” he purred, licking your earlobe. “Someone’s going to watch you get toyed with by Taehyung and I and probably jack off to it tonight.”
You exhaled deeply, feeling Taehyung’s left hand on your left breast, pinching your nipple as he shifted a little to cover your body, leaning his forehead against your temple. You should have been cold, being mostly naked, but you were scorching hot with arousal and the bodies of the two men pressed against you.
“Let them watch,” was your reply, moaning against Taehyung’s lips.
Taehyung scoffed. “Jungkook would probably fuck you out in the open like an animal.”
Jungkook grinned mischievously. “I would.” He sucked on your ear, flicking your nipple as you kissed Taehyung. “And she would be begging for it.”
You spread your legs, whimpering, but they ignored it, Taehyung working his free hand into your hair, ruining all the hairpins, kissing you hard and possessively. You inhaled his heavy, spiced cologne, intoxicated. He released your nipple and reached up to the one end of the red bow, Jungkook playing with the other end.
“I know you said the mug-painting class was our Christmas gift,” Jungkook began, twisting his fingers around the ribbon.
Taehyung broke the kiss, licking your lips lightly as he spoke into your panting mouth.
“But we would have been satisfied with unwrapping just this one.”
And then they both pulled on the red fabric ribbon, slowly untying it, ruining the perfect bow and your common sense, tipping your head as you arched your back. The ends brushed against your chest as Jungkook hooked a finger in the center, fully undoing the tie and exposing your neck. It fell against your elbows, your arms still trapped in your large fur coat.
“Fuck, noona,” Taehyung breathed against your skin. “You’re so pretty, just like this.”
He kissed down your neck, licking down your quivering throat. You had no time to watch though, because Jungkook immediately kissed you, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as Taehyung’s lips found your nipples, licking and sucking them while Jungkook sank his fingers into your thigh.
Your panties were drenched, sticking to your folds, leaking down, the strong scent of your arousal filling the car. You suddenly felt Taehyung’s long fingers grip the top of your thong and pull up. You gasped into Jungkook’s mouth and he grinned, fingers trailing up your thigh, so close but so far.
“You want to be touched?” Jungkook taunted, tapping your inner thigh.
“J-Jungkook, please…”
He hummed cheerfully. “I will if hyung lets me.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. Jungkook grinned cheekily back, dark eyes flashing, black hair obscuring his left eye. It was clear that all he wanted to do was deny you, because Jeon Jungkook was a relentless tease.
Well, you had that in common.
Your conversation with Jungkook had distracted you from the fact that Taehyung had removed himself from your chest, reaching into his coat. You jumped as you felt something cold and hard press against your clothed, but still throbbing, wet clit. You whipped your head to Taehyung, who licked his lips, devilish spark in his brown eyes.
“Present for my good girl.”
And then he turned on the bullet vibrator, assaulting your clit.
Your cried out and Jungkook slapped a hand over your mouth, grunting as he held down one leg, preventing you from squirming away as Taehyung pinned the other to the seat, sending intense vibrations straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You whined around Jungkook’s palm and he lowered his face to your right breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. Taehyung followed suit with the other.
It was a cramped space, and yet you were already in ecstasy, head forced back, both your nipples being licked and sucked as Taehyung coaxed you to orgasm. Your whole body jerked as you came quickly, unable to cope with the initial harsh, intense vibrations and the sensation of two tongues on you at the same time. Your clit flared with stimulation, thighs trembling. And still Taehyung held you there, barreling you through your first orgasm and pushing for the next, making you scream behind Jungkook’s strong hand, eyes squeezing shut as the wave crashed down again, hips shuddering and spasming with pleasure.
Taehyung removed the vibrator to press it against your wet nipple. You shuddered, clit aching, still wanting more. Jungkook removed his hand and Taehyung kissed you, breathing in your euphoric exhale. You moaned into his mouth, eyes half-lidded, staring into his beautiful lashes, his soft hair brushing against your forehead. You whined and Taehyung broke the kiss, your name floating from his lips, turning off the vibrator for a moment. You wanted to reach up and touch him, slip your hand under his sweater and shirt, but your hands were pinned in place from your jacket.
“Sorry, noona,” he purred in his soul-shakingly deep voice. “Only one of us is getting naked here, and it’s you.”
“B-but, Tae…”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest. “That’s what you get for teasing us with your sexy body.” He turned away from you, tapping Jungkook who was lazily pushing your nipple around in circles with his tongue, steady pleasure that graced you through your afterglow. Jungkook raised his eyebrows.
“Hm?”
Taehyung pointed to your thong. “Rip it off.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I still want those?” you interrupted, amused.
Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. “I have to convince you to keep clothes on in general.”
You nodded knowingly as Jungkook’s fingers danced down your stomach. “You’re right.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
Jungkook made eye contact with you, lower lip trapped in his teeth. Your lips parted, feeling his fingers close in on the top of your panties. He was smirking playfully, aware of his power over you, watching your eyes tick between his face and his hands. His nail traced your slit, smirk widening as you moaned at his light touch.
“I would let you be naked as much as you want,” Jungkook drawled, slipping a finger under the soaked red fabric, prying it out of your folds. You whimpered softly, lost in his dark brown eyes and his sinful words, his knuckles brushing against your heat as he grasped your thong with his two hands.
“And that’s why I have to wrangle you two,” Taehyung muttered, eyes flickering to the outside world, hoping the owners of the two cars next to you were not going to come back anytime soon. “Otherwise, both of you would be arrested for indecent exposure.”
Jungkook grinned. “Sorry, hyung.”
“Don’t you ‘hyung’ me.”
You gasped as Jungkook ripped your thong apart, turning it into useless scraps of wet red fabric. The strings on the sides snapped as well and it fell off your body. Jungkook swept the shreds from the seat onto the car floor.
Taehyung glared at him. “And I’m supposed to explain that to the car cleaners, how?”
Jungkook shrugged. “Tell them you had a very horny woman you needed to please.”
Taehyung looked up at the sky, exasperated, mouthing silent words before he addressed him again. “I’m first, then you. Then we’ll switch again.”
The younger man grinned. “Okay.”
You blinked as Taehyung handed Jungkook the silver bullet vibrator. “Excuse me,” you said quietly, “I would like to know exactly what you mean by–”
You were abruptly cut off by Taehyung shoving two fingers into you, your words turning into a sharp yelp as your drenched hole was suddenly filled, all the way up to his knuckles. Jungkook lifted you slightly, perching your leg on his so your hips were raised, giving Taehyung a better angle. You felt Taehyung’s lips against your ear as he slowly slid his fingers out, whispering your name.
“We’re going to make you cum so much you can’t stand,” he growled. “And then we’re going to take you home and stuff you so full of cock that you’ll think twice before teasing us like this again.”
Jungkook chuckled, appearing in your vision, speaking in Taehyung’s ear.
“She’s going to take it as encouragement to do more dangerous things.”
Taehyung sighed knowingly, forcefully jamming his fingers back into you. You gasped, pressing yourself against Jungkook’s hard body so you could raise your hips as Taehyung began to pump his fingers into your dripping pussy, wet sloppy squelches accompanying his movement. You could barely register the sound of the vibrator turning on again, but you felt it, sliding down your stomach, skin tingling as you panted.
“D-don’t…” you whimpered, already knowing it was falling onto deaf ears. You were clenching so tightly around Taehyung’s fingers that there was absolutely no way you meant it.
Taehyung smirked. “Jungkook’s allowed to do whatever he wants while I finger you.”
The pulsating vibrations attacked your clit, shooting bolts of pleasure up your torso, hips shaking as Taehyung’s fingers repeatedly rammed into you. Your eyes slid closed, a moan tearing from your lips, Jungkook’s snicker above you, his free hand pinching and rubbing your nipple as he massaged your clit with the bullet vibrator.
“Noona, you’re so fucking hot,” Jungkook praised, breath heavy against your skin. “The most perfectly fuckable body I’ve ever touched.”
You bit your lip hard, pleading noises in your throat, getting wetter at Jungkook’s words, one of your hands clutching Taehyung’s thigh, digging your nails into his pants, indicating you were close. Jungkook changed the setting, increasing the vibrations, and your hips bucked violently, burying your face into Taehyung’s shoulder as you came, screaming into his brown coat.
“A-ah, Taehyung, Jungkook!”
You gasped sharply as Taehyung removed his fingers, moaning as they touched his tongue.
“Fuck, you taste so good.”
Jungkook’s lips pressed against your ear, teasing you. “My turn.”
And then his two fingers slid in, slightly different from Taehyung’s, but just as good, filling you up. He scissored them in you and you lifted your head from Taehyung’s shoulder, panting, watching Jungkook and his sharp jawline, pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black. He seemed to feel your gaze and he turned his head to look at you, the tiny mole underneath his lips flashing as he grinned.
“Who’s a good girl?” Jungkook hummed, tilting his head, pink tongue darting out.
“I-I am…” you breathed, whimpering as you saw his tongue. “I am, Jungkook…”
He cocked his head as the vibrator sounded again, Taehyung pressing it against your swollen nipple, smearing your orgasm all over your tits. You moaned wantonly, leaning back into Taehyung as Jungkook began to finger you roughly, a bruising pace, sliding you up the seat a little with his force.
“What do you think, Taehyung?” Jungkook purred. “Do you agree with her?”
Taehyung chuckled into your hair. “Maybe if she cums for us a few more times, I’ll be convinced.”
He slid the vibrator down, down and you were there again, drowning in copious, sinful pleasure as Taehyung assaulted your sensitive bundle of nerves with relentless vibration and Jungkook fucked you hard and fast with his fingers, your juices sliding down his palm, probably sticking to the seat and your coat, but none of you cared, all three of you chasing your next orgasm, pushing you to the edge, going, going, gone.
It came fast and it came hard, ricocheting through you, so hot, so intense, clit and pussy throbbing together, sucking in Jungkook’s fingers, moaning their names deeply as you rocked your own hips through your orgasm, extending it. You shuddered when Jungkook pulled his fingers out, licking them off noisily as Taehyung pressed the bullet vibrator against your puffy, soaked pussy lips, watching your erotic expression, mouth open, tongue lolling.
“We’re not done, noona.”
Taehyung’s deep voice, warning you, but you couldn’t think, couldn’t believe there was more, more. He turned off the vibrator and switched it for his fingers again, dipping them in, the feeling of his joints and calluses rubbing against your walls, and then he added a third finger. You gasped, throat dry from all your noises as you opened your eyes to see Jungkook’s head lower, pushing your hips down so your knees hit the backs of the front seats, uncomfortably spread wide, ass half-hanging off but feeling so good that you didn’t notice. Didn’t notice until Jungkook’s tongue was on your swollen clit.
Your eyes rolled back into your head.
So fucking good.
Taehyung shoved his fingers into you, fucking you hard and deep as Jungkook lapped at your raw clit, teasing it, nipping at it. It throbbed against the tip of his soft tongue, so sensitive you were a whimpering, moaning mess, even more so as Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s free hands played with your nipples, pinching them as they drove you crazy, ruining you with fingers, lips, and tongue. Your name, coaxing you in heart-shaking baritone, telling you to come in Jungkook’s mouth and all over his hand.
“Aren’t you Taehyungie’s good girl?”
“F-fuck, yes, fuck, Tae, I’m your good girl, oh, fuck–”
Your words tumbled together in a hoarse hiss, hips rutting into Jungkook’s face as you came, liquid gushing everywhere, walls spasming and clamping around Taehyung’s fingers, one of your hands pulling out of your coat and grabbing Jungkook’s head, forcing him down as you rode your high into his mouth, messing up his long hair. Jungkook gave you a muffled groan, twisting your nipple slightly.
Your core was aching with pleasure and overstimulation, never before having been pushed this far, intoxicated by the feeling. You loved every second of Taehyung and Jungkook having their way with you, drunk on the feeling of back-to-back orgasms. Your hand slipped and Jungkook resurfaced, lips shiny with your juices, licking them off slowly as Taehyung sucked on his fingers.
Then Jungkook flexed his right hand at you, tattoos dancing as he did so.
“Round two.”
And then the positions changed, Taehyung’s lips on your inflamed clit, Jungkook’s three fingers knuckle-deep inside you, except Jungkook craned his body to place his lips on your abused right nipple, sucking on it as Taehyung pressed the slippery bullet vibrator against your other nipple, vibrations jarring you right to your heart. Taehyung’s tongue was gentle and firm, still too much as it was paired with Jungkook’s wet muscle teasing you as his fingers thrust into your pussy, slow, deep, hitting your favorite spot. You completely forgot you were in Taehyung’s car in some random parking lot, partly out in the open, lost in the ecstasy and elation.
It took them no time at all since you were already so sensitive that you were the one holding back, trying not to give in, trying to prolong the pleasure, but eventually you lost and the taut coil in your stomach snapped.
“O-oh, Jungkook, Taehyung…”
Your hips jerked into Taehyung’s face, your orgasm leaking onto the floor of his car, fingers curling into his hair, so lovely and soft, wild torrents of pleasure soaring through you. So very, very good. Dirty, deviant, and glorious. Taehyung removed the vibrator from your nipple, turning it off. You moaned softly, coming down from your high, clutching Taehyung’s head, your fingers massaging his scalp as he continued licking you gently. You gazed into Jungkook’s eyes as he slowly removed his lips from your nipple, glassy eyes locking with his.
“You taste so good,” Jungkook murmured, face centimeters from yours. “Smell so good, look so good, feel so good, sound so fucking sexy.” He kissed you, your taste still on his tongue, breathing your name like a caress.
Taehyung finally untangled his head from your hand, panting softly. He came up to your face too, and Jungkook moved to make space, tenderly kissing your cheek and ear.
“Noona,” Taehyung mumbled, smearing your own orgasm onto your chin as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips.
Your voice was raspy and gravelly from all your noises. “W-what?”
“You’re going to spend Christmas with us, right?”
Your lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Well, I was going to slide down your chimney and–”
Taehyung prodded you as Jungkook laughed heartily. “We don’t have a chimney.”
You shrugged. “Same idea, break in and fuck you both.”
He narrowed his eyes at you. “Santa doesn’t do that.”
“All I’m saying is that Mrs. Claus definitely gets some–”
Taehyung shut you up by kissing you once again.
-
part ii: gold light
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masterpost
#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#bts smut#taehyung smut#jungkook smut#kim taehyung x you#taehyung x you#kim taehyung x reader#jungkook x you#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jungkook x reader
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Hi! can I get hcs about the bucci gang having an artist s/o who likes to draw them? But its the kind of drawings where you exaggerate someone's facial features to make it comical xD who do you think would like it and who would get actually angry? Thanks uwu
Thank you for your request, my dear anon💚
Sorry, I’m far from drawing and stuff, and I don’t know much about it, so here are some things that came to my mind:
Bucci Gang x S/o that draws in a strange manner
Bruno Buccellatti
When S/o showed him their drawings he was very excited about them. It seemed like an illustrations to some book with fairy tails, all characters have some individual features and details that make them look very cool and elaborated. He’s sure that S/o spent lots of time and affords creating every one of them
When he flipped the page in their sketchbook, Bruno saw himself, sitting on the beach and fishing in some weird hat with hooks and shiny beads in it. He couldn’t hold his laughter, the way how silly and adorable the drawing of him looked, made Bruno feel happy and his lips curved into wide smile without him noticing. He muffled S/o’s hair gently and asked - “So, this is how you see me, huh?”
Leone Abbacchio
When Leone first saw S/o drawing he silently stood behind their back and watched them passionately scribbling something in their sketchbook. “Gibberish” he said softly and kept on watching S/o drawing. “Fuck ooof” they responded with a drowl and slightly poked silver-haired in a stomach with their elbow
In Abbacchio’s eyes it’s all just some kind of childish scribbles, but more detailed, S/o are just wasting their time and money. But as long as drawing keeps them busy and calm Leone is totally okay with their hobby
Guido Mista
Guido is so so far from art, especially drawing. All those styles and techniques, if it looks good - it looks good. S/o’s works look great, they’re kinda childish, like some kind of cartoon, but they have some... charm?
Guido asked S/o to draw them and when he took a look at the sheet of paper they gave him Mista was happy like a little pup. He also asked to add some fancy hat with stars and clown shoes to his look. Why? Mista doesn’t know. But it’d look great
Narancia Ghirga
Narancia is utterly excited about S/o’s drawing skills and style. When he was strolling through their sketchbook and noticed a drawing of a young guy, he took a closer look and realization hit his brain. “It’s ME!!!! You really drew me!!!” Gosh, he was so hyperactive about that, S/o wish they never shoved this drawing to him
Narancia often asks S/o to draw him something random like airplane, dragon, bird, boat or gnome. He gets so excited about it, like a little child. He asks for dinosaur daily and if S/o draw dino with the same design as they’ve already drown, Nara requires to remake it
Pannacotta Fugo
Fugo was raised in very straight family and they always told him that all arts, that don’t follow the rules of academic drawing , don’t count as art at all. So when he saw S/o’s drawings he was confused because yeah, it’s really good, but it’s not a real art, right?
When S/o showed Fugo a drawing of him, blonde was really confused about it. Yeah, he could recognize himself in this drawing, but his features was changed, the clothes were really different, he doesn’t have this t-shirt with a strawberry S/o drew him in. But, it’s still lol cute and he appreciates S/o’s work and time they spent on creating it
Giorno Giovanna
Giorno noticed S/o’s sketchbook poking out of their backpack and he asked why it was. They showed Giogio their works and blonde was really interested in them. Pretty much like Bruno, Giorno was excited about every character, every one of them made him feel different emotions - this boy is gotta be silly, and his old man looks evil etc.
He loves to watch S/o drawing, the way simple lines and dots become a whole drawing amazes Giorno. It looks so easy when they draw, blonde feels like he can do the same, but the moment when he grips pencil in his hand all confidence immediately leaves his body and he just stares at the white sheet in front of him
Masterlist | Smut Masterlist
#bruno buccellati headcanons#bruno buccellati#bruno bucciarati headcanons#bruno bucciarati#leone abbacchio#leone abbacchio headcanons#guido mista#guido mista headcanons#narancia ghirga headcanons#narancia ghirga#pannacotta fugo#pannacotta fugo headcanons#giorno giovanna headcanons#giorno giovanna#jojo’s bizarre adventure#jojo headcanons#vento aureo#vento aureo headcanons#jojo part 5#jojo#jjba#jjba headcanons#golden wind headcanons#golden wind#jojo passione#passione
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Vol1 Ch1: Lights
It was a late summer's day, the blue sky above was dotted with white cotton clouds, and Hongjoong sat peacefully on a bench watching the world around him. He watched a flock of pigeons make a fuss over a piece of bread and his eyes followed them as one bird fled with it, the others following, not far behind. He could hear the laughter of families playing with their kids in the open areas of the park. From further away a faint barking sounded from the pet-friendly zone. The air was warm but not hot. A soft little breeze blew past him and some lonely strands of his hair wavered along with it.
It was the last week before summer break ended and everyone were out and about trying to make the best of their remaining free time. The city was bustling with activity as most had already returned home from their vacations. From within the park Hongjoong could barely hear the city noise. Only vaguely if he tried hard enough. On the other hand he could definitely still see it. The city. Beyond the large trees outlining the park rose tall high rise buildings. Some would probably even be considered skyscrapers. The sun's reflection on the glass covered buildings made him squint as he looked up. He closed his eyes for a moment, observing the imprints which the bright light had left in his eyes, before opening them again.
Hongjoong got up, did a little stretch and was about to move on when he noticed something. Or was it actually someone? Crouched beside a flower bed was a young man, probably around the same age as himself. His hair was ash grey with the comma style and an undercut. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. An also black jacket was slung over his left arm.
Hongjoong approached the stranger and stood a little off to one side tilting his head slightly in attempt to see what the other was looking at. He eventually noticed Hongjoong's shadow and stood up. He was quite a bit taller than Hongjoong, but who wasn't taller than him. The eyes of the other were a beautiful smoky grey and it was obvious that his hair color had been chosen to match the eyes. The two of them stared at each other for a moment that felt too long. Hongjoong broke the slightly awkward silence first.
HJ: "Did you find anything of interest?"
???: "Not really."
The taller man glanced down at the flowers uneasily. He seemed slightly flustered by being approached so suddenly.
HJ: "My name is Hongjoong. Do you live nearby? I've not seen you around before."
Hongjoong attempted to spark a conversation between the two of them. The stranger seemed a bit hesitant before replying.
SH: "I am Seonghwa. It is my first time here, though I guess you could say I live nearby."
Seonghwa cracked a small smile. His voice was soft and slightly deep. Even though he spoke quietly, his voice did not tremble at all. It was a voice that undoubtedly held power and probably also a certain level of authority. Hongjoong could not pinpoint which type of person he might be. Could he be a CEO for some company? Maybe he was a big politician? It would definitely be some sort of leadership role though he did not know which.
Quite suddenly it felt like something had changed within Seonghwa. His eyes which had seemed somewhat distant grew warm and welcoming. It was as if they started to focus. Onto Hongjoong to be precise.
SH: "Want to join me for tea?"
Seonghwa spoke warmly and had now turned his body in the direction of a path that would lead them out of the park. Hongjoong nodded and started to walk in the direction which the other had initiated.
──── ⋅ ☾ ⋅ ────
The two of them had found a small cafe in which they were now seated by the window. Seonghwa had tea while Hongjoong had coffee. Hongjoong was slightly worried about the silence between the two of them but he also kind of enjoyed it. There was something comforting about Seonghwa's presence. He just couldn't figure out what.
SH: "Do you go to the park often? You seemed familiar with your surroundings."
Hongjoong adverted his gaze from the street outside to the man opposite of him.
HJ: "I go there when I feel in need for inspiration. I love watching the butterflies during the summer and feeling the warmth of the sun."
SH: "Inspiration?"
Seonghwa's voice was encouraging Hongjoong to continue talking. And he did.
HJ: "I'm an artist in my free time. I like to design my own clothes and accessories."
He stretched out one leg from under the table and tilted his foot to the side. On his shoes were some writing in Hangul, hand-painted onto the sides of them. Seonghwa admired the work for some time before finally looking back at Hongjoong.
SH: "They are really beautiful. You have a unique style."
HJ: "Thank you. I also designed my own phone case!"
Hongjoong could feel the happiness within him. It was so nice to have someone listen and admire something you had put a lot of care and effort into. He held out his phone to Seonghwa who gently accepted the item with his right hand. On the case were two butterflies neatly painted in turquoise. The background was a simple dark blue, nearly black sky with a few white sprinkles for stars.
SH: "Do you like the night?"
Seonghwa's admiration for Hongjoong's work was very apparent. Hongjoong couldn't help but smile proudly.
HJ: "Most butterflies go to sleep during the night. But the stars will always be beautiful. Sadly the light from the city obscures the stars most of the time."
SH: "The butterflies may go to sleep, but this makes way for the moths."
Seonghwa handed the phone back to Hongjoong. He looked as if he was going to add something else. One short thought later he continued.
SH: "I can show you the stars. If you are interested of course."
Hongjoong stared intriguingly at Seonghwa.
HJ: "You can really do that? But we would have to leave for a place outside the city. I don't think there's enough time. I have work tomorrow."
He let out a sigh of dismay. He had seen the stars before, but he did not have a lot of money and he had to work if he wanted to save up money to travel.
SH: "It is not far from here. I do not think it will interfere with any plans you might have."
Seonghwa's voice had perked up at this conversation. His emotions were not easy to read as he did not show many expressions. During the short time Hongjoong had known him, Seonghwa had only shown his resting expression and soft smiles. His composure resembled royalty a lot. At this point Hongjoong was certain that he had met a significant person. Suspicions of him being an actor arose. Of course every muscle in his face was under control if he were an actor.
SH: "Do I have something on my face?"
Hongjoong's mind jerked back into reality. He had been staring mindlessly at Seonghwa while deep in thought.
HJ: "Ah no! I'm sorry. I was thinking about something."
He laughed awkwardly feeling his cheeks heat up. Whilst watching Seonghwa pay for their drinks, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful his hands were. They were not big but they were slender and elegant. One single ring adorned the middle finger of his right hand. Hongjoong got up before Seonghwa and headed for the exit. Seonghwa followed not far behind.
──── ⋅ ☾ ⋅ ────
The sun had set not long ago. The sky was now deep orange to the west, purple above and deep blue to the east. Hongjoong was walking along the park road beside a man he had just met that same day. Why he had agreed to join Seonghwa for a walk in the middle of the night, he did not know. But Seonghwa seemed genuine and Hongjoong disliked limiting himself because of distrust. The two of them stepped off the pavement and onto a path that would lead them into the depths of the park.
HJ: "So... How will you be able to show me the stars? The park is isolated but we're still in the middle of a huge city."
SH: "Just wait."
Hongjoong was unsure if he had heard a smile in Seonghwa's voice or it was just his imagination. He discreetly searched the other's face for any clues of his intentions but did not learn anything. Had it been a bad idea to go through with this? There was still time to turn back if he wanted to. Hongjoong's doubt made the rhythm of his walking irregular for a moment. But the moment was long enough for Seonghwa to notice. He halted and looked at Hongjoong.
SH: "It is alright. We are nearly there."
He smiled and turned his gaze from Hongjoong towards a smaller path that lead off the main path and into an overgrowth of trees and bushes. Hongjoong let Seonghwa take the lead down the path and followed behind. It wasn't long before the trees had blocked out all the city lights.
HJ: "I can't see anything."
Hongjoong walked slowly and took small steps to avoid falling over when he suddenly felt a hand clasp around his left wrist. Upon instinct he tried to pull away. The hand held him firmly but not harshly.
SH: "It is not far. I will lead you."
Hongjoong heard no concern in Seonghwa's voice.
HJ: " How can you see? And how can I trust you? We're in the middle of a dark park all alone. This feels very deceptive."
Before Seonghwa could reply, they stepped out and into a clearing. It was still dark, but it was bright enough for Hongjoong to make out the contour of a lake. Seonghwa let go of Hongjoong's wrist.
SH: "We have arrived."
Hongjoong looked up at the sky but saw nothing but the crescent moon.
SH: "Try looking down."
A smirk was apparent in his voice as he spoke. Hongjoong hesitantly approached the lakeside. He felt on edge with Seonghwa behind him but as long as he could hear that Seonghwa didn't move, he felt fairly safe. As Hongjoong neared the waters edge he saw it. In the water were countless lights. He looked up at the sky then at the water and then back again. No stars were visible in the sky, yet the surface reflected a hemisphere full of stars. Hongjoong spun around to face Seonghwa expecting him to have moved. He hadn't.
HJ: "How is this possible? How can I see the reflections of stars that aren't visible?"
His voice was filled with both awe and wonder.
SH: "The lake is filled with magical creatures that light up the lake. They feast tonight and the fires of their large ovens can be seen as the brightest lights."
Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa with an expression that told him to be serious. And for the first time since they had met, Seonghwa's composure faltered and he let out a soft giggle.
SH: "I am sorry. I do not know why this lake reflects the stars even though they cannot be seen in the sky. My best guess is that there is something in the water that allows it to reflect light in a certain way. Either that or there are insects or bugs with luminescent bodies."
HJ: "The lights don't seem to move so it's probably the first option."
The two of them were quiet and Hongjoong turned back to the water to look at the lights.
HJ: "Would you not want to see it too? Come join me."
He waved his hand in a motion that invited Seonghwa to join him but Seonghwa simply shook his head and stayed back.
──── ⋅ ☾ ⋅ ────
Besides the moon, the sky was now completely dark. Seonghwa had agreed to walk Hongjoong to his exit of the park.
HJ: "Thank you for showing me that. It was really beautiful. I had no idea that lake was even there."
SH: "The path is vey hard to find. I am almost certain that no one knows about it. I accidentally stumbled upon it when looking through the park one evening."
HJ: "What were you even looking for when we met. You were almost sitting in a flower bed."
SH: "Ah. I was primarily admiring the colourful flowers but I was also searching for something. I did not find anything though."
They observed each other shortly, before Seonghwa spoke again.
SH: "It is late. You should go home and get some sleep. I remember you said you have work tomorrow."
HJ: "Yeah. Sadly. Thank you for a nice day though."
He hesitated before proceeding.
HJ: "Do you think we could exchange numbers? I'd love to see you again."
SH: "I- Yes. I would love to see you again too. Actually. I think I will be around in the park quite often from now on. Come by and we might meet again."
Hongjoong noticed how Seonghwa avoided the question but he let it pass. He was probably not comfortable enough to share his number yet. They had just met that same day after all.
HJ: "Yes. I will definitely come by. I'll see you soon."
Both men moved but neither knew what they wanted to do. They were not familiar enough for a hug but waving whilst standing face to face would be weird too. It was really awkward but Seonghwa eventually stepped back and bid the final goodbye. Hongjoong watched him walk off back into the park. And as Seonghwa walked away he could not help but notice how beautiful he looked as the moonlight lit up his tall figure.
──── ⋅ ☾ ⋅ ────
First time posting on tumblr. Let’s see how this goes XD
↓ these are the shoes Hongjoong designed. Both in this story and in real life
#ateez#ateez fantasy au#ateez fanfic#seonghwa#hongjoong#fanfic#fantasy#fantasy fanfic#writing#kim hongjoong#park seonghwa#seongjoong#new to tumblr#non romantic#wattpad#first chapter#im adding random tags#에이티즈#홍중#성화#TMY BeneathTheSurface
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postcode envy (6/24)
i am horrendously behind and catching up has been tricky with work, but i am still working on this advent fic, i promise!
read it on ao3
Okay, so maybe Kurt should have thought it through.
He’s out, Blaine is out, and they’re both in the public eye to some extent. You don’t have to give the media much before they start connecting dots... even when those dots don’t exactly connect yet.
Or at all.
But it was just supposed to be a cute photo on his Instagram feed.
Blaine, personally, is having a wonderful time with it. He had walked onto set on their first day of filming and loudly announced to the make-up artists that the world thinks he’s dating Hollywood’s Kurt Hummel, and he'd followed it up with a dramatic bow. At first, Kurt had taken it on the chin and laughed it off and chuckled whenever Blaine had made a reference to it. But they’re on their third consecutive day of filming on a farm in East Auckland and he’s had it.
As if the heat and the cow shit and his less-than-ideal costume wasn’t enough, he’s having to fend off calls from friends and family back home and deal with everyone’s questions at work. If he sees one more raised eyebrow or knowing smile from a crew member, he’s going to lose it.
“Hey, mate. You okay?”
Kurt forces a smile onto his face and turns to where Kura is standing a couple of feet away from him, “Yeah, just having a breather.” They're all on their lunch break and as much as he's been channeling some of his anger towards the farm itself, it really is beautiful and calming. Rolling hills and an incredible view of the ocean stretching out far away from them. He likes being able to see the water, and he likes that you’re never really far away from being able to in New Zealand.
Kura makes her way over to where Kurt is standing and they both look out at the sea, a nice silence settling over them. Kurt sort of hopes they can just be here and not do or say anything for a while, but then she raises her arm and points, “That’s Maraetai Beach down there.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She hums in agreement, “A couple of us are going to head down there after we wrap tonight and get some fish and chips. You should come,” and then, as a cheeky afterthought, she adds, “And you can bring that boyfriend of yours.”
Kurt manages a chuckle but it’s weak and transparent.
When Kura speaks again, it’s more serious than he’s ever heard her. “You must get pretty sick of people being all up in your business all the time, huh?”
He tears his gaze away from the view and looks at her, tries to figure out what she wants from him; the truth, or the sugarcoated answer he’s learnt to give. But there’s a softness in the way she’s waiting for his reply and so he decides to just be honest. “It can get a bit overwhelming, yeah. The fact that I can’t even post a photo with a male friend without the world planning our wedding is... tiresome.”
She grimaces slightly, guilt in her expression over the fact that she’s definitely made a couple of light jokes over the past few days. “I’m really sorry, Kurt. We shouldn’t be adding to all of that.”
He nods, smiling, accepts the apology. And then, to let her know that they’re okay, he says, “I’d love to come to the beach. And I’ll bring my boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and they laugh, and then they look back out at the ocean again.
- - - - -
Kurt’s not sure if this is exactly his ideal way of eating dinner, but there is something about the content feeling of it that is appealing.
A group of them had piled into cars after work and wound down the hill until they'd reached the water’s edge, with Kura planning to meet them there with the food. Once she'd found them and called, “Kai’s here,” everyone had gone about setting up picnic blankets on the sand and putting out bread and tomato sauce and untangling the newspaper-wrapped bundle.
And it’s not like Kurt’s never had fish and chips before, but there’s something about this meal that feels like a ritual and a tradition. There’s a certain way about it, as if feeling this airy and easy and happy whilst sharing food with friends on the ground with the waves lapping nearby is how it should always be.
“Come on, try a chip butty.”
Kurt looks at Blaine, unimpressed, “A chip what-y?”
Blaine smiles at him in such a goofy way that it makes Kurt want to shake his head in disbelief – how can this man’s silliness be so effortlessly charming? It’s infuriating. And endearing. He always comes back to endearing.
“A chip butty,” he clarifies, even though he knows just as well as Kurt that he heard him the first time. He holds out his own butty to punctuate his point.
“I have no desire to put fried potato inside of white bread and drown it in ketchup, but thank you,” and he means that, but he says it kindly.
Blaine mocks hurt, “Kurt, you’re breaking my heart.”
“Alert the media,” he mutters under his breath, a little bitterly but Blaine doesn’t seem to catch it. He says the next bit more purposefully, “Will New Zealand forgive me if I don’t indulge in its weird potato sandwich?”
“It’s actually a British thing,” he frowns, realising that the whole thing stems from colonization and he decides to stop pushing for Kurt to try it.
After all of the eating has slowed down, two of the camera boys that were sitting on the other side of the giant arrangement of picnic blankets suddenly get up and race each other into the water, splashing and yelling and laughing. One by one, everyone else follows them until it’s just Kurt, Blaine, and Kura standing over them, asking them if they’re coming in.
“I’m not really a salt water person,” Kurt says.
Blaine looks at him for a moment like he wants to question that or push for him to go in the water, but then something shifts and he turns back to Kura, “Go, have fun, Ku. We’ll look after everyone’s stuff.”
Kura doesn’t seem too bothered and heads off, striping down to her bra and shorts as she goes. Kurt laughs fondly at her carefreeness, and lays back on the blanket. It feels nice to not really care about the sand getting in his hair, and it’s his contribution to the carefreeness.
“I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting about- about the article.”
Kurt turns his head sharply, looking up at Blaine who is still sitting upright, knees pulled to his chest now, arms wrapped around them. Clearly Blaine is not participating in the carefreeness. He can only see the side of his face as he’s keeping his eyes on the sea, but it looks concerned and worried and more remorseful than is probably warranted. It's not like he wrote the article himself.
“Blaine, it’s-”
“It’s not, Kurt.” Blaine says, shaking his head slightly but not turning it, almost stubbornly. “It’s not okay. I’m sure you deal with that kind of shit all the time and I shouldn’t be trivialising it.”
Kurt takes a deep breath in and lets that sit between for a moment. “Thank you,” he says on the exhale, because that really does mean a lot. The fact that Blaine’s so self-reflective and caring doesn’t help Kurt in his effort to stop the part of him that wishes the tabloids were right. He looks at Blaine and he wonders why they’re not, what’s stopping him from turning the rumours into reality. “I guess there are worse people for the world to think I’m having a summer fling with.”
Blaine finally looks at him and there is something in his eyes for a second, and then whatever it is clears until it’s just joy and stars and ease - and Kurt realises that the ease is the reason for the not doing anything about it just yet - and he chuckles.
And then he lays down next to Kurt, mirroring his position half in the sand, and they watch the sky flick through different hues of blue until it settles on a darkness that's still kind of light enough. They talk, and sometimes they don't - just listen to the squealing still coming from their friends in the water. And it's during one of those moments when they're not talking that he wonders how long it's going to take him to figure out the ease.
He hopes it won't take too long.
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The Dragon Egg (Parts 9-13)
There is a heaviness in the air. There is always a heaviness and she thinks that she might be the only one who feels it. Things have been running smoothly since the recording studio incident, they haven’t been so short with each other recently. Maybe they had gotten it all out of their systems; they had spoken their minds, they had told her off. And she is too tired to be anything but dully passive and nonchalant about it.
She finds that she doesn’t care to converse other than to make suggestions or deliver instructions. There isn’t much to be said really. She sits still as a team of makeup artists toy with her face. The decorate it with bruises and the SFX team accents these with bleeding cuts and welts.
Whether they know it or not, they give her a look to match what she feels within. They apply a thick layer of glittering black eyeshadow and and twin curtains of blue dye to her bangs. She looks broken. Broken and beautiful. Beautiful at least for now, she can’t imagine that that will last past her third month of pregnancy.
They hold out her arm and enhance the ink on her arms and back. She isn’t sure why they bother with the dragonfly tattoos as they cover each with broken and tattered dragon wings that dangle limply where they had once spread wide and proud.
They clamp a faux iron collar around her neck and tether it’s chain to a spot on her waistband. She holds out her hands for them to slap manacles upon them. These are authentic, per her request and they are so heavy on her wrists. She supposes that it is all the better. If she is actually in pain she want have to worry about her theatrics. She can focus on lip syncing and other aspects of their music video.
A Dragon Bound has become their most popular single and she will give fans a video that lives up to the hype. Up to the darkly depressive atmosphere of the song. The video will be shot in two places; at the base of a volcano and on the inside of an old drainage pipe that they had happened upon on their way to the volcano.
She had planned on shooting in the drainage pipe first but the volcano is smoking heavily today, lending a more desirable atmosphere as well as a new sense of urgency. They will need to have their footage before the thing blows. At least now she won’t have to be the one urging them and nagging them to speed things up; Zhao, biting his nails, is already adamant that they rush through it if they absolutely needed to film here.
“You’re the best band on the label right now!” She hears him whine to Ruon, “I can’t just have you all burn alive.”
“We’ll be fine, dude.” Ruon shrugs.
She watches them paint ash and charcoal markings like tribal war paint all over his exposed chest and back. A design with many circles, dots, and swirls. Around his neck they fix a helping of carefully crafted dragon bones. Around his waist is tied a tattered skirt made of black leather. His hands and feet are dipped in soot as though he had climbed his way out of the volcano.
Chan has a similar look with the circles and swirls swapped for claw swipes and horizontal lines.
She supposes that the aesthetic fits well enough. The pair will act as prison guards in the video while Zirin acts as a dragon’s rider, heart broken and morning. Dressed in a burnt white dress with her hair done into its usual braids. A strand of polished obsidian clanks on her wrist.
And so their costuming has come together nicely, it will serve the story of their video well. If all goes as planned it will convey a dragon--once mighty and powerful--chained, broken, and beaten before the eyes of a rider who can do nothing but ache in unison.
Azula wishes that she could have someone who would ache in unison with her. Who would cry out with rage for her as her life comes undone. As she loses her friendships and wonders just how much longer she can pretend for.
They haven’t even started the shoot and she already isn’t sure that she will make it through the day. She feels nauseous on top of exhausted and stressed. She is practically squirming in her attire, it feels tight somehow. The leather seems to cut into her waist and her top is chafing against her chest, most uncomfortably. No matter which way she tugs at it or how she tires to adjust it, the discomfort remains. And she is sure that she is imagining it. A baby can’t develop that rapidly, can it?
She rubs her hands over her face.
“What’s wrong?” Chan asks, more carringly than she had expected.
“It’s too tight.”
“Well, yeah,” He laughs “isn’t that how you wanted it?” It is almost as though he hadn’t left her alone in the studio a few days prior.
She should take comfort in it, instead it only seems to add to the queasiness in her belly. She shrugs, “nevermind, it’s fine. We should probably start filming.”
She must have sounded cross because Ruon cuts in with a light, “look, things got really heated the other day. You’re allowed so feel bad about it. You’re allowed to be upset with us.”
She doesn’t think that she is. To be mad at them is to risk another fight. She can’t afford another fight. Not with her father breathing down her neck.
“It’s fine. Really. Let’s head to the volcano before Zhao loses it completely.” She forces a smile. She thinks that it would be overkill to repeat that it is fine.
.oOo.
There is something about faintly and sardonically humorous feeling nauseous with heat while dressed as a dragon. The volcano throws simmering waves upon her and the smell, that awful sulphurous smell--she doesn’t think that it was this dreadful when they had scoped out the place. She isn’t sure whether he should attribute its unbearableness to her pregnancy or its readiness to erupt. She thanks the spirits that she doesn’t have to actually sing.
And yet the heat rolling off of the volcano leaves her feeling sluggish and faint. It amplifies the vestiges of her morning sickness, bringing it back with full force. She feels sicker still thinking about how she should be having the time of her life; she is shooting what is to be their most bombastic and impactful music video yet. She is shooting it to promote success to come.
So why does she feel like she is building the scaffold to her downfall? Why does she feel like she is shooting a documentary on the fall of an empire? She is dressed in a pricey costume and decorated with the most opulent makeup but, Agni, does it feel so cheap.
The dance should be simple. Simple but efficient. It takes a slow sway of her hips, slow but powerful. Domineering. It takes a languid swivel that will, in theory, throw a glint off of her wings. And if she does it right it will further emphasize what her tight skirt does with an added hip sway for good measure.
She will let her voice do most of the work. She likes to think that most of the attention will be paid to it. But she knows better than that. She knows just as well that it is always good to keep Chan topless in the videos.
She knows that it is a damn shame that regardless of talent, they will always get more views if she pivots her body in the right ways, if she shows her face in only the most flattering light.
She can’t seem to manage it today. She feels too sickly to roll her hips correctly. It only grows worse as the day crawls on.
She feels weaker with each passing minute. She could go for some water. She has to at least make it through the rest of this scene. How humiliating it would be if she were the reason for their second take--she has never required more than one.
Mostly it is Zirin who has them going into takes in the double digits. Zirin who accounts for the most hilarious bloopers. And when she is in the mood for it, it is all in good fun.
She is in no mood for it.
Regardless, she finds herself holding her hand up and the director sharply calls for them to cut. It is only a small mercy to justify to herself that it is better to call for a cut than to force one by vomiting on camera.
“Why are we stopping?” Ruon asks.
Zhao seems to cringe, practically biting his nails. No doubt, in his mind, each wasted second is one second closer to the volcano exploding with them still in its circumference of destruction. She wonders if that would be any worse than being within her circumference of destruction. Agni, would she hate to be there and yet she can’t flee like the rest of them can.
And so she falls right into her own destruction.
There really is no good place for her to throw up and so she makes it only behind a small grove of palm trees before doubling over and heaving. By the end of it her throat is burning but not as furiously as her cheeks are. She has nothing to clean her mouth with and she very well can’t just walk back on set in such a sloppy, disgusting state.
So she doesn’t. She instead slumps against the tree opposite herself. She needs to wait for the nausea to pass, lest she find herself hustling right back here.
“Azula? Are you okay.”
She jerks as Ruon kneels down next to her. He seems to assess the situation and stands right back up. For a moment she thinks that he is to appalled to stick around but he comes back with a towel and fans her face as she dabs at the corners of her mouth with it.
“We can finish tomorrow if you’re not feeling well.”
She gives her head a furious shake.
“It could erupt at any time.” She mumbles. “I’m just a little hot.” At this point, she isn’t entirely opposed to finishing the shot with layers of body paint instead of restrictive clothing.
“I’ll tell the director that you want to finish the volcano scenes and that we can film the rest when you’re feeling better.”
There is no sense, she won’t feel any better for at least nine months. In fact, she is certain that she will feel worse with each passing day. She shakes her head. “I’m fine now. I can do this.” She has to, she has to.
She is her father’s gleaming little star.
--------
“You should get therapy or something.” Zirin laughs. “Is there a rehab for workaholics?”
She nearly slams the phone down then and there. But sometimes she thinks that it is true. She thinks that she could use it for several things. Where her dad has alcohol she has an endless list of tasks and things that need to be done. She would rather get lost in these tasks than lost in her own mind.
She tries to think things over, tries to formulate a plan; to either work up the courage and work out a plan to get an abortion without her father knowing or to figure out how she would deal with carrying to term.
Both options are ugly. Everyone already sees her as cold and pitiless but she is no mother. And maybe it would be less evil to pick this baby apart bit by bit rather than letting life slowly pick it apart the same way it is deteriorating her.
“Perhaps I should.” She mutters.
“Geez,” Zirin grumbles, “I was just joking. But I do think it would do you some good to have a break. You’ve been so tired lately.”
“What makes you say so?”
For a moment there is only a soft crackle on the other end of the line. “I don’t know, you just aren’t as alert. A few weeks ago, Chan would have never gotten away with drawing a penis on the recording equipment.”
“He did what!?” She snaps.
“Oh...you still didn’t notice it…” Zirin trails off. “Yeah, there are three of them now. If you can find all of them, I’ll wash them off for you. No hints though.”
Azula crinkles her nose, she can’t say that she shares their sense of humor. She audibly sighs, “I’ll see you at practice, Zirin. We have a show tomorrow night and, tired or not, I still expect peak performances.”
She hopes that they will go hard on her if she can’t uphold her own standards.
“See ya tonight!”
Azula ends the call, puts her phone to the side, and flops onto her bed. She drapes one hand over her forehead and the other she leaves at her side. One leg is outstretched and the other is bent at the knee. She is so, so exhausted. She hasn’t even exerted herself today and she is wholly fatigued.
If her father saw her like this he would give her a verbal lashing like no other; she should know better than to slack so close to Audio of Agni. She reminds herself that she still has several months.
Several months and she is torn between preparing for the big show and preparing to give birth.
Her mind drifts again and she wishes that she had called for an early practice. This time when it wanders, it wanders in a brand new direction and with a brand new set of what ifs; if there’s one thing that she can be thankful for, it’s that she isn’t just some girl lingering at a locker.
She can only imagine what it would be like to wander the halls with a baby bump. Can only imagine the relentless sneers and comments. The complete social death.
She knows that she won’t have to imagine for long.
If she were just some girl, she would only have a few hallways, one building of speculators.
She has, possibly, the whole world.
She has to come up with a plan.
She has to make a decision.
She has always been good at strategizing, so why is her mind failing her now?
Had she been thinking productively she might have requested the money for an abotion disguised as funds for her music video. But she would still need his signature. He would still check over all of her expenses and realize that it doesn’t quite add up.
For the first time in ages, she wishes that her mother were still alive.
---------
Ozai slaps the magazine against her head. It is just a bundle of pages, it shouldn’t hurt. Somehow he makes it hurt. He throws it at her. “What is this?” He roars.
She scans her eyes over the headline. She nearly cries with relief. Absurd and humiliating as it is, at least it isn’t the truth. But Agni if it isn’t a reminder that she can’t hide for much longer. She holds the magazine, it quivers subtly with the shaking of her hands.
It has been a long time since he has yelled at her like this, and he isn’t even drunk this time. She thinks that his sobriety somehow makes it even more terrifying. She knows that she has disappointed him and he doesn’t even know how profoundly yet.
His voice is booming. Clear.
It puts a lump in her throat and a sinking feeling in her stomach; If this is how he is reacting to a sensationalized weight gain headline, she can only imagine how he will take the truth. “Tell me how this has happened!”
Sensationalized or not, it brings color to her cheeks. True or not, she feels disgusted with herself.
He makes her feel disgusted with herself.
And somehow she thinks that he has every right to make her feel that way. It isn’t just her own reputation she is ruining, not just her own image. But his as well.
She puts all of her focus into not stuttering, neglecting to keep the shakiness to a minimum. She knows that there is no good answer and there is no time to make anything up not like there is with anything else. Even if she could come up with a sufficient lie on the spot, her delivery is never quite impeccable when it comes to speaking with father.
Or maybe it is. Maybe he just knows her well enough to see through even her finest performances. “I don’t know. It just did.” She takes a breath and repeats herself louder with more bravado. The kind that could possibly salvage her dignity.
She tries to stand tall.
Tries to pretend like she is having a discussion with Zuko or Iroh.
Ozai inhales deeply and the next time he speaks, it is much quieter. The quality of his voice is almost soothing but the content rattles her to the core, “you do realize that this is embarrassing.”
“Yes, father.” And, truly, it is. It settles upon her that this pregnancy isn’t just going to reap her energy and mood but her aesthetics and confidence. There will come a point when the weight gain headline isn’t just the product of a paparazzi making exaggerations for an income boost. It is going to take everything from her.
“You know that I only want what is best for you? I want a healthy daughter.” His voice is so soft now. He reaches a hand out and strokes her cheek. “Unfortunately, this industry puts a lot of investment into looks. An ugly face doesn’t sell records. An unhealthy body doesn’t get views on music videos.”
“I know.” He has told her this before. Has made a point of beckoning to sultry photoshoots with low cut tops and poses to emphasize with a reminder not to reveal too much. There is, apparently, a fine line between sex appeal and whoring herself out. A fine line between glamor and beauty and crass poor taste.
She can’t rely on sex appeal, but she must use it as a tool.
She likes to think that she has mastered the art. She is almost sure that she has. Sure until today with her father staring at her as though she is the most disgusting sight that he has laid his eyes upon--but his hand is still on her cheek, he is still being tender--and her pregnancy isn’t even that obvious yet. The cravings and the ravenous appetite have not even set in yet. She finds herself wrapping her arms around her middle and dreading the day that they do.
“Do you?” He withdraws his touch.
“Yes.” She insists. She yearns to tell him the truth. To tell him that she has been as careful and cautious as ever. That she can take care of herself just fine. But she isn’t sure that she believes it. If she had been taking care of herself she wouldn’t have crawled in bed with Chan.
He takes another sharp inhale. “You are going to remedy this before Audio of Agni, yes?”
“Yes, father.”
“Am I going to need to get you a personal trainer?” The question isn’t for her. And he answers it immediately. “I am going to get you a personal trainer and a dietician. I will contact Mai’s mother and see who has been coaching her.”
“Don’t call Michi.” Her face is burning. Spirits, the last thing she needs is for Mai to hear about this. If Mai hears about this, so will Zuko. Spirits, they have probably already read the headlines. “You don’t need to, I can manage my own diet. I’ve been doing it for…”
“You can’t even tell me how this happened and you expect me to believe that you can fix your poor eating habits on your own?” His voice comes somewhere between that cool, suave drawl and a shout. And he says it with such conviction that she almost takes it for the truth.
He has thrown her own words back at her, she can’t exactly dispute herself. She sighs, resignation begins to settle in, in the form of a endless, expansive numbness. It creeps from her mind to every inch of her body.
She is so tired.
So, so terribly drained.
“Whatever you think is best, father.”
He pulls out his phone. He doesn’t bother to spare her a look, “you’re dismissed.”
Dejection.
It is the only thing that cuts through the numbness. And it is so woefully heavy and she doesn’t have the strength to carry it. She has never learned how. She loathes that she has a reason to try to figure it out.
Somehow, even ascending the stairs seems like too much of a task. How the hell is she supposed to compete if the stairwell is too daunting, too draining? But he has to make it to the top of it. Has to get to her room. She knows that father doesn’t want to see her face. She doesn’t particularly want to see it either, she probably looks like hell.
She sure feels like it.
She thinks that she should call Seicho or Ruon, maybe Zirin or Chan. She thinks, with the last fragments of her hope, that she could call TyLee and vent like old times. That, that could rekindle an old spark.
She almost does.
Her fingers hover over a contact that she could never bring herself to delete.
She puts the phone down. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone at all anymore. Instead she sits before her desktop and checks on the reception of their new album and music video. The numbers and statistics usually cheer her up.
Their music video has a record breaking viewcount. Aside from that one magazine the rest sing their praises; commend their musical capabilities and uplift their creativity. Their newest album has sold millions--it is only right for ‘the most anticipated album of the year’.
There is nothing but applause and predictions of a strong future.
And it finally settles in that she is a failure.
------------
It is a shirt.
Just a dumb shirt.
Maybe if it were a Blue Talon shirt or a Fire’s Reign shirt it would make sense.
He would be able to justify it in his mind.
But it is just a shirt.
Just a dumb fucking t-shirt with bold lettering and a picture of two birds.
Something about, ‘professional tit spotter’ has struck a chord with him tonight.
“Take it off!” He demands of the young man. “Take it off or we won’t start the next song!” He feels jittery, twitchy. The room is too hot. His heart is too fast. “Take it the fuck off.” He feels the roar rumbling in his chest but somehow he still doesn’t feel like he is the one speaking.
“Zuko.” Mai mutters, it is cautionary. Her teeth are gritted. Brows creased and eyes stern. And yet he can’t find it in him to take the warning.
“Tell him to take that shirt off!”
TyLee is shrinking closer to the back of the stage, further from him, her arms bunched up close to her chest. Each time he speaks elicits a new flinch. Somewhere in the back of his mind he begs himself to stop. To get a grip. To let it go. But this is overpowered by a throbbing anger. A violently passionate need to get that eye-sore of a shirt out of his sight.
“Zuko, you’re scaring her.”
“He’s trying to piss me off, Mai!” Zuko throws his hands up. “He’s wearing that shirt to...to get to me!” The light is glaring in his eye. A violent red.
“He doesn’t even know you!”
The light pulses.
“Then why is he trying to make me mad?”
It flashes and blinks.
His head pounds.
His anger pounds harder.
“Zuko you aren’t making sense.” There is a hitch in her voice. That should have been enough. That should have snapped him out of his...whatever this is.
“Will someone turn that off!?”
“They’re trying,” and “Zuko, no!” become one and the same in his mind. He isn’t sure who said what. Even with the strobe lights stilled he is seeing red. In the very far reaches of his mind he is also screaming, ‘Zuko, no!’
But the drugs speak louder. Their haze occupies the forefront of his mind. And so he surges into the crowd with his guitar in hand. “Where is he!? Where the fuck is he!?” His breaths are ragged and the crowd parts. “I just want to know where he went!” His voice booms across the venue. The circumference grows wider around him. And so grows his frustration.
He slams his guitar against the floor.
Once...
Twice...
Five times maybe.
He is still going. Going until a crack forms in the wood. Going until he feels arms loop around him. “Let go!” He shouts. “You can’t do this to me!” He gives a kick and a thrash. The crowd parts further. When he looks up he meets Mai’s eyes and when he looks into them he doesn’t see anything. No anger, no sadness, no distress, not even pity. She shakes her head. He thinks that TyLee is crying.
And then he is seeing red flashes again.
This time there is blue in the mix.
And in the wail of the sirens he hears the sound of dashed ambitions.
.oOo.
‘From Ashes To Phoenix Singer Arrested: Drugs Involvement Expected.’
She should take comfort in the headline. It means that there is less competition. But what does it matter if she is no longer in the tournament herself. Somehow it only leaves her feeling hollow...guilty.
At least Zuzu can depend on Mai’s bail money.
What can she depend on?
She holds her hand to her belly.
She inhales deeply. There is one person that she can depend on and it is time for that person to stop feeling sorry for herself and maintain the success that she has set herself up for.
She rises to her feet and smooths the wrinkles out of her shirt. She pinns the article to the wall, a reminder of what she won’t become. She has a show to get to, a crowd to impress, an expectation to live up to. Albeit it will be a small crowd. Small yet esteemed; in her audience she will find the ladies and gentleman of Wan Shi Tong’s Wing, The Tui Las, and Chong & The Gang. If she can impress the renowned artists then she can eclipse her other failures.
.oOo.
There are no studs and leather tonight. It is a more formal occasion, she just hopes that Zirin will put aside her stubborn aversion to conformity and adhere to the dress code. If the punk rockers of Freedom Fighters can do so, she can’t imagine it will be too hard for the woman. If Jet can comb his mohawk down for a night, then surely she can remove her choker for a time.
She supposes that she won’t get so see what flavors they have added to their outfits until they leave their changing rooms. She can only hope that they have chosen well, or at the very least, that their mistakes will be as simple as scolding them to remove a mismatched accessory.
Azula holds her own dress up to her body, trying it in for size before actually dressing herself in it at all. The confetti dot sequined fabric is somewhat scratchy on her arms, she hopes that the inside is lined with a gentler fabric. Something less itchy.
Regardless, she is certain that she won’t find any comfort in the dress, just holding it up against her figure, it looks tight. She isn’t sure who she has to sternly lecture but she knows damn well that she had been adamant about getting something loose fitting for a change.
Her cheeks color at the private realization that it very well might have been loose fitting when her measurements had been taken and the order had been placed. She swallows, she is in for another stern lecture herself. It is just one more thing to fret over. One more thing that will make this a nerve wracking night.
She inhales deeply and pulls the dress over her head, praying that the zipper won’t catch. She doesn’t bother with the mirror once she does manage to zip it all the way up, she doesn’t have time to scrutinize herself tonight, can’t afford to study the changes and the way they make her hate herself . Instead she slips on her heels and calls for her makeup team to enter.
Azula tries to relax while the artists begin applying gold tinted mascara and a shimmery layer of red eye shadow. But she can’t seem to get comfortable in her chair, not with the dress feeling as tight as it does. Not with such a forceful reminder of the life swelling within her. She grits her teeth, she can’t think about that right now.
She isn’t sure when she can think about it.
There never seems to be a good time.
And perhaps that is why she is no closer to formulating a plan.
Himari, the sweet and quiet woman, running a brush through her hair speaks up for the first time in a long time, “are you doing alright, Azula?”
“Just fine, Himari.” She thinks to elaborate, to make some excuse for her constant shift in her chair and tugging at her dress. “I’m just fine.”
She can insist it all she’d like, no matter what sort of bravado she puts on, she is anxious. And it goes beyond the baby bump; it is harder than she anticipated to push back scenarios that her mind conjures up for her; scenarios in which her voice cracks in front of the most acclaimed rock artists. Scenarios where she slips up and makes an absolute fool of herself before the pioneers of the genre and her father.
And spirits, she can’t control her bandmates and what they do. If they flounder it is a reflection of her and her inability to manage her own band.
One of the artists takes her hand and begins applying polish, a bright red to match her dress with tiny gold pearl accents along the top. After several more minutes they withdraw their hands and makeup wands.
Himari holds up a mirror; her hair is pulled into a loose topknot with elegantly curled bangs to frame her face. They have so gracefully winged her eyeliner and with a touch of makeup glue, her lashes sparkle with faux rubies and topaz. They have carefully painted her lips a glimmering red and outlined it in a glistening gold.
She looks pretty and yet she doesn’t feel beautiful.
“Will this do?”
“Just fine, yes. Thank you.” Even if it weren’t to her liking she isn’t sure that she would be able to sit there with her discomforts for much longer. With a good twenty minutes to spare, she wanders out into the hallway where Seicho waits for her.
She clears her throat, “good evening Seicho. I trust that Zhao hasn’t been too much of a pest. He ‘doesn’t appreciate’ when I ‘invite guests backstage unannounced.’”
Seicho chuckles. “He’s been ignoring me for his sudoku puzzles.” She pulls Azula into a small hug. She steps back and seems to look her up and down. Azula finds herself absently biting the inside of her cheek while the girl makes her observations. “You look really beautiful tonight.” She finally remarks, brushing a sweep of curls behind Azula’s ear.
Her cheeks color softly and she clears her throat and holds her head high, “naturally.”
Seicho chuckles again, “you can say, ‘thanks, you too’ you know.”
Azula’s face flushes again.
“I’m teasing.” She gives her a nudge. “You earned that compliment.”
This time she does manage to muster a thank you. She thinks that she owes Seicho a second mention of gratitude for bothering to show up despite being sidelined for these very events. She clears her throat again, “thank you for being here, I’m not sure if father is…” pleased enough with her “...able to be in the audience tonight. He’s a very busy man. It’s nice to have someone.” Even still it is going to sting to pick out the familiar faces of Zirin, Chan, and Ruon’s families while viewing the empty seats reserved for her own family. Not that she expects Zuzu or Iroh to care.
“Of course!” Seicho grins. “I’ve been meaning to come see you play live again.”
Azula quirks a brow. “Are you sure that you didn’t come by just so you could meet Chong? Remind me, how many posters do you have of Chong & The Gang?”
“You’re right! What am I doing here? I gotta get by Chong!” Seicho declares. She slings her arm over Azula’s shoulder. “I can meet them later, I’m here for you.”
Azula’s heart flutters. Someone is here for her.
Someone supports her.
And that someone sneaks a little peck on her ear.
.oOo.
That kiss, however subtle, carries her to the stage. Within the dizzying kaleidoscope of her emotions, it brings her a more pleasant fluttering. And yet the dreamy haze that comes with it is dangerous. It is a distraction she can afford just as little as the insecurities that the kiss has momentarily driven out.
The stage is dark when she steps out onto it. She makes her way to the microphone and wraps one hand around the stand while the other holds the microphone in place. She fixes her eyes on the crowd. She can’t yet see them well and they can’t yet see her. She can’t see them and even if she could, she wouldn’t see her father’s face, the table reserved for her company is occupied only by Seicho.
Zirin taps out her first cymbal beats and Chan follows with his acoustic guitar before the stage lights come on. There is no frenzied applause, no whooping and hollering. The stage lights don’t pulse and flicker, don’t change colors. It is a steady stream of yellow-white and a silence with weight. This crowd requires delivery before revel.
She intends to coax the claps out of them, intends to leave them begging for the encore, for the music that they should be excited for now.
It is a ballroom event, sure, a regal affair, but a light and leisurely clap couldn’t hurt. They are a tough crowd. It is just as well.
It is a reason to do better.
To be better.
Her voice slips into the mix like windchimes amid a rustle of leaves. Soft, gentle, like a carasess. It is a very different style than she is used to, strange on her tongue despite having reversed these acoustic versions many times over.
She can’t say that it is a bad kind of strange. In fact, it feels rather nice. Somehow the quality feels richer and unstrained. She doesn’t feel like she is tearing her throat apart note by note, doesn’t feel like she will need to down a cup of slippery elm tea post performance.
But for all of the comforts smooth vocals come with, they are missing the raw power. The raw power that she needs to feel more fully confident. She wears metal music like armor and this acoustic performance is stripping her naked.
The first few songs are fine, they are older, impersonal. It is the new ones. They are the ones that pick her apart lyric by lyric. She hadn’t imagined that it would be this hard to work her way through them.Spirits, she can’t choke up now. But with a slower sound and a tweaking to minor key the song is sadder. It hits more intensely. Her own voice stabs into her hurt, her own message leaves her crumbling.
She thinks that her cheeks are growing wet. She isn’t sure why she is slipping now, it hadn’t been so unbearable during practice. She hadn’t been this weak.
She had anticipated a cracking of her voice, a snapping of a guitar string, a splintering of a drumstick, or a migraine inducing microphone feedback. Possibly even a stumbling over lyrics. She didn’t think that she would cry.
She thought that she had desensitized herself thoroughly.
She isn’t sure when her father had slipped into the venue but by the time she notices him it is too late to toughen up, too late to conceal the tears that glisten in the spotlight, brighter than the sequins on her dress.
She breaks a little more on the inside.
She keeps singing.
She always keeps singing.
And without a hitch in her voice. Her perfect, silken voice.
Chan moves closer to her. His last note fades out with the bass and the drumbeats, leaving her to finish her final acapella. Hands now free, he takes to rubbing her back in small soothing circles. She wishes that he didn’t. She wishes that he would be as stoic and uncaring as her father. Somehow his touch drives it home, whatever this thing is that she is feeling. She thinks that his touch specifically is just what she didn’t need.
The ending of her final song isn’t powerful in the slightest. It isn’t even graceful. Her last note ends in a choke.
The spotlights cut and the stage goes dark, receding back into that heavy silence. Silent except for that last choked note reverberating through the ballroom.
And then they finally clap.
She thinks that this is what the industry is; a celebration of her distress.
----------
They do her the kindness of closing the curtain before she drops to her knees. Her hair falls into her face, she stifles the more intense of her cries with her hands. “Come on.” Ruon says softly as he extends his hand. Chan helps her to her feet and Zirin helps keep her on them.
She can still hear the clapping. Apparently she has impressed the masters and yet it feels somehow hopeless, that is, if there is any emotion at all.
There has to be emotion if she is still weeping this much. Her makeup artists have only been able to cleans the makeup that had been running down her cheeks. Agni, she hopes that it is the hormones. She thinks that, that is part of pregnancy--becoming an unstable, emotional mess. Spirits, she needs to do more research.
The thought of it makes her sob harder.
“Should we let them in?” Himari asks. She hadn’t even heard the knocking.
“Depends.” She manages. “Who’s on the other side?” Agni forbid it’s her father.
Himiari peers through the peephole. “It’s a girl with lots of tattoos and a plastic cup necklace.”
“Let her in.”
Seicho practically shoves poor Himari out of the way to get to Azula. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and pulls her into a hug. A rather tight one. Azula swallows and tries to put her emotions back in check. “That’s enough Seicho…” she mutters.
“Why are you upset?”
Azula shakes her head and shrugs.
“Those songs are personal, aren’t they.”
“They might be.” She folds her arms across her chest.
One of the makeup artists coughs, “excuse us, we need to get Azula ready for tonight’s dinner party.”
“Right, I’ll let you get to that.” She jabs her thumb at the couch on the other side of the room. She rummages through her backpack and pulls out a decently worn tattoo magazine and begins flipping through the pages.
Azula leans back and lets them re-apply her makeup. They work in double to cover the tear tracks that run down her cheeks. How undignified it is to have to have her team redo everything because she can’t keep her emotions in check.
.oOo.
She thinks that Seicho is the only thing keeping her from falling apart a second time. She hasn’t felt this way since she had been pulled out of Caldera High. Since the day she had tried, painfully unsuccessfully, to flirt with Jet. Walking back into those hallways after such a showy rejection had been its own kind of hell.
Making her way back into the ballroom puts the same queasy flutters into her stomach. She rolls her shoulders and holds her head high as she finds the seat reserved for her. She offers Chan a wave as she passes his table by.
She notes that he is speaking with Chong.
At her own table, her father is already deep into some discussion with Wan Shi Tong. She pulls out her chair and quietly slips into it.
Wan Shi Tong smiles and gives a small bow, “it is a pleasure, Azula.”
“Thank you.” Azula replies. “It’s...quite starstriking to have the opportunity to speak to such a eulogized musician.”
His smile doubles in size. “I must admit that, after hearing your songs, I hadn’t expected such polite mannerisms.”
She clears her throat gently. “I suppose that music is a way to explore...less savory sides of yourself.”
This earns her a chuckle. “You should hear Raava, charming woman, but some of the things she writes for The Tui La’s...the woman has a wild side.”
Azula nods and shifts in her chair. “I would love to meet her tonight.”
“Then lets get the two of you introduced.” He waves the woman and her husband over and Azula’s stomach squirms again.
Raava is beautiful; a sweep of long and flowing white hair, shot with vivid blue highlights and an even longer white dress. It glitters in a way that makes the chandeliers hanging overhead look dull and cheap. Her elegance is such a stark contrast to the black-red of her husband. His hair is also admirably long. Long and slicked back. His suit, also a satin black, shimmers with red thread.
By the spirits, they are more stunning in person.
She bows to them and they return the gesture. “Good evening. I trust that my performance was enjoyable.”
“It was exquisite, dear.” Vaatu
“A voice like yours is a gift, truly.” Raava adds. “Not many people can go so flawlessly from smooth vocals to those rougher ones. And with such emotion. Your performance was refreshingly genuine.”
“You have a talent.” Vaatu takes a drink. “Though I’d wager you are well aware.”
Azula grins. For the first time that night she feels truly confident. Truly pleased with herself. She feels Seicho squeeze her hand under the table. For the first time in two months or so, she thinks that thing might work out just fine.
She hears her father laugh and she wonders what Wan Shi Tong had said. Regardless, her father is in a good mood tonight--she holds her free hand to her belly--maybe she can tell him. Maybe he won’t hate her if she can keep him in good spirits. If she can keep him from emptying the wind bottle sitting on the table. “Would you like a drink?” She offers to Raava and Vaatu. She eyes Vaatu’s glass, “a refill, rather.”
“I would appreciate that very much.” Vaatu replies.
“So, who is this?” Raava gestures to Seicho.
“This is Seicho, she’s my…” She is once again aware of the warmth of the girl’s hand on hers. “My friend.”
“I’m also her tattoo artist.” She adds helpfully.
Raava and Vaatu both study her arm for a moment. “It’s brilliant work.” Vaatu says at last.
“Very good attention to detail.” Raava sets her glass aside.
Azula traces her fingers over the ink. “I’ve been wanting to get a tattoo since I saw yours.” She gestures to the teal diamond on the woman’s chest. The white dot at its center seems to glow in the dark.
Raava smiles, “it is said that art births new art. Wonderful concept, don’t you think.”
“Very.” Azula agrees.
She wonders if her child will be a musician too.
.oOo.
“She’s precious, Ozai.” Raava remarks. “I’d take her as my own daughter if she weren’t already yours.”
“I wouldn’t give her away.” Ozai chuckles. “A man only gets a daughter like mine every once in a while.”
“It has been a pleasure, Ozai.” Vaatu remarks. “Perhaps one day we can do a collaboration, for old time’s sake.”
“Perhaps we can.”
The door closes behind him. Azula hopes that Seicho can put off her squealing for just a little longer. At least until after her father leaves. So far things are going smoothly, she hopes that Chan, Ruon, and Zirin have managed to impress their respective idols as well. It will be a mighty good look if they had.
Ozai puts a hand on her back, a smile brings a slight curve to his lips. “You did wonderful tonight. I admit, I was getting worried, all things considered, but you have done extraordinary well tonight.”
He is so, so proud of her.
Absently, her hand makes its way to her belly again.
It is such a good night.
She can’t ruin the mood.
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Pain(t) - Ectober 2020
Day 1 Prompt: Fog / Splatter
Word count: 903
Warning: Implied Torture
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194549
“If you put a thin layer of white paint on a toothbrush, then pull back the bristles like this really slowly, the white splatter will look like stars.”
Danny vehemently disagreed.
“It looks fake!” he said. “Just a bunch of white dots arranged randomly on a painting of the sky. Shouldn’t we at least paint …one constellation or one star system in there or something?”
The art teacher chuckled.
“To the untrained eye, it appears random enough, so that the viewer can appreciate the beauty of the painting and the skill of the artist. But if you insist, you may attempt to paint actual models of constellations on your canvas for this art project.”
And Danny rose to the challenge. Or, it was more accurate to say he attempted to. He wasn’t able to paint constellation patterns on the night sky without the white paint weirdly smearing on the dark background, and he had to start over a few times. Tucker couldn’t understand why Danny didn’t just finish the project the easy way out – more time to play Doomed, after all. Sam, on the other hand, supported Danny’s enthusiasm, even if she didn’t understand why.
In the end, Danny used the toothbrush splatter method and pretended that his scenic painting was in an alternate universe where the constellations were different.
Danny knew his grades were shit. He’d never get to visit space or even work at NASA. So this was the next best thing for him.
He genuinely liked art class though. He could paint and visit places without leaving his couch. He hated how he barely had time to do art after he got his ghost powers, and ghosts started attacking the town frequently. He was tempted to make a wish with Desiree for a week of no ghost attacks just to give him time to unwind and rest and indulge in his hobbies again, even if just a little.
When he was younger, his parents had gotten him glow in the dark stars to attach to his bedroom ceiling at night. Every month or so, he’d switch it to a different constellation, depending on what he was reading about in his constellation encyclopedia.
The Fentons liked to visit museums and laboratories during the summer, to foster an interest in science and learning in their children. For Danny, that meant he got to visit planetarium exhibits and observatories, watching presentations about telescopes that captivated him in a way that nothing in school could hold his attention.
Eventually, his friends bought him a planetarium projector as a birthday gift – it was meant to show quite a few constellations to scale, but the stars wouldn’t align correctly when the lights hit the surfaces of his desk, lamp, and closet. Cassiopeia was stretched out too fat, Aries was overlapping with Scorpius too much. Orion stretched and distorted over his dresser, but it was in the correct spot relative to other constellations. It wasn’t accurate, but… it was beautiful. When he turned off all the lights in his room and turned on the projector, he felt like he was camping under the stars.
Danny could see why the splatter paint method works so well.
He really missed his friends and family. When the GIW took Danny, they made it very clear that he would never see them again. His walls were barren and white – no windows, no nightlight. He missed his planetarium projector. He missed seeing the night sky.
But this time, the walls weren’t barren. Today’s session was particularly painful – when the needles and knives were done with and Danny was shoved back into his cell, his ectoplasm smeared against the floor and wall. A change from the barren white that he was so sick and tired of seeing.
Danny’s hands were shaking as he tried covering the long gash across his arm – but he had no cloth to soak up the ectoplasm as it seeped in between his fingers.
His eyes glazed over as he leaned against the wall, taking in the splashes of ectoplasm against the floor. Maybe he wasn’t thinking quite right, but the splattered ectoplasm against the white floor definitely looked like some abstract painting that could sell for hundreds to some eccentric collector. Would that be enough for Danny to buy his way out of this GIW facility?
It’s not easy painting when Danny only had a single color to use – a weird, bright neon green. A neon green that was flowing inside his body. Because he was a freak who didn’t bleed red like everyone else. But maybe he could dilute the ectoplasmic green with his sweat and tears, to make it a better color. If he’d reverted to his human form, maybe Danny could bleed red again and then he’d have another color to use – but for some reason, he can’t. Danny isn’t sure if it’s because he was injected with something that prevented him from changing form, or if he was hurt so much that he went from a half ghost to a full ghost at some point.
He should add some constellations to the canvas, just to be sure, Danny thought. He doesn’t have a paint brush or paint, but maybe he can improvise and use his hair. Danny isn’t sure he remembers what constellations or the clear night sky looked like anymore, but to the untrained eye, the splatter method should look just like it.
#ectoberweek2020#ectober2020#danny phantom#dp fanfic#one shot#first time trying out ectober#this ones a little short#they might all be short#actually im not sure i can even finish all the prompts but ill try my best
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art comes in many forms
whattup, its ya boi, snatching another #irrelief from @gumnut-logic‘s challenge because i literally cant write anything else it seems. @eirabach‘s prompts graced my dash and i was quite fond of “Virgil + Eos + art“ so this is for chu <3
Summary: Virgil wasn’t expecting to give EOS a lesson in human behavior. That’s usually John’s forte, though, he wouldn’t put it past the ginger to sic her on him for this one, the prick.
Virgil was not immune to someone watching him create his works of art.
If he was to be honest with himself, he actually preferred someone in the background as he did so. It gave him a sense of grounding, and it spoke to that inner part that wanted to impress the nearest human like a child would their parent. Look! Look at what I made guys!
Though, he never thought about how he would react to a literal robot being the one to watch him.
Does she even have the same standards as a human?
“Virgil... may I ask a question?”
Oh boy, “Sure?”
She cleared her nonexistent throat (which John definitely taught her that, Virgil betted his new set of brushes on it), “Why do you humans make... art?”
Huh, that wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a fair question, though, since there were a million reasons why humans gravitated toward art as a hobby, and if EOS only looked at examples people haphazardly gave on the internet she probably got overwhelmed.
Setting down his brush, Virgil placed his now-free hand on his hip, “Well, I know I personally, at least, make art as a form of stress relief. Sort of like how Gordon swims laps and John calculates problems over and over again. It gets our minds off the bad things in life that won’t leave us alone.”
The A.I. blinked her lens in contemplation, “Hmm.”
Virgil shrugged as he started painting again. If what she asked was a fair question, then that was a fair response, both from him and her. He gave his answer, and there was nothing else either of them really needed to add to it.
What she said next was also technically a fair response, even if it nearly made him snap his brush in half from shock alone.
“Can you show me how to make art?”
John, I’m going to kill you when you come down next time, just an FYI, “Um, sure, there are some digital art programs I can get John to download for you.”
That got a unique reaction out of the A.I., “There’s more than one kind?”
This was going to be a long conversation.
But a part of him was looking forward to it.
He was still going to chuck the first hard thing he could get his hands on the next time he saw his astronaut brother, however.
---
That rescue sucked ass.
Of course, they did their best and they probably prevented a lot of unnecessary deaths in the long run, but it was one of those rescues where it made them think did they really help at all? Are they actually needed when there’s practically nothing they can do?
Limping into his room, Virgil was stretching his arms over his head when he felt a shiver travel down his spine.
With his arms still in that position, Virgil slowly turned around like a cartoon scene with wide eyes to spy a familiar camera in the corner of his room.
Hopefully, she didn’t pick up on the way he nearly jumped three feet out of his pajama pants.
If she did, John taught her enough manners to not bring it up, “Welcome back. I was hoping to show you something before you went to sleep.”
Breathing heavier than he would have liked, Virgil gulped down his shock, “Oh? What would you like to show me?”
She looked around the room with her singular eye, reminding Virgil of how Gordon or Alan got when they were doing something that made them nervous, which Virgil never expected her to be of all things. Nervous. Anxious.
Eventually, she bit the bullet, “Since John did not need me as much for that last rescue, I was able to play around with that app you showed me the day before.”
Blinking once, Virgil was starting to get at what she wanted, “You wanna show me a picture you made, is that it?”
She flashed yellow for a moment, “... Yes, I would like to. If I am allowed.”
Jeez, she sounded like a kicked puppy sometimes, “Alright, then show me.”
It was another few moments of nothing before a hologram blinked into view. Once his eyes got over the brightness, Virgil looked more closely at the piece of art he was being presented.
It was, ah... it was something.
It was definitely human, that at least Virgil could tell. The lines weren’t clean at all, and while Virgil may not dabble in the digital circles of art society, he knew when someone forgot to delete a layer. Or maybe two. The eyes were noticeably two different sizes, with no whites in them at all, only filled with a weird aqua color with two black dots in the middle. Also, for some reason, this person was growing curved carrots on the top of their head--
Oh. Oh.
Rubbing his hand over his chin with a grin, Virgil gave his final opinion, “Well... your shading could use some work,” a blink of red, “But you got his face shape down okay. A little more practice and I could see you making some real masterpieces.”
She must not have been expecting that because, after a few more moments, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, “... Really?”
How old was she programmed to be again? “Yeah, EOS, I can see you being a really good artist.”
The A.I.’s lens adjusted as she accepted the answer, “Thank you, Virgil. That really means a lot,” Virgil let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before abruptly choking on it due to her next words, “I was hoping it was good. I wanted to give it to him as a gift.”
Wait-- “Ah, maybe not that, though.”
EOS froze, “Why not?”
Shit, “Well, I’m just saying, maybe we can work on something that is more, er, ‘refined’? John isn’t a vain person, so maybe we should give him a portrait of, like, stars or something, I don’t know.”
This A.I. really liked silence for some reason, which was probably why she liked following it up by abrupt words even more, “We?”
Whoops.
Well, there was no going back now, “Yeah, like I said, I may not work with digital, like, at all, but I do know art. I’m not saying they’re interchangeable interfaces, but maybe I can give you some points on how to create a piece while you simultaneously look up how to use the different types of brushes in that app?”
Virgil wasn't even aware of the fact that his voice was ever so slightly getting higher and higher pitched as he reached the end of his sentence. Apparently, neither did EOS, “Hmm, well, if anyone knows what John would be looking for, it would be you. Interchangeable interfaces, I thought I was talking to him for a second you know.
Wa-how, okay. She really was John’s creation holy fuck. Christ.
And yet, he found himself chuckling despite it, “Yeah, well, it’s not our fault TIME Magazine keeps getting our names switched around.”
Then she laughed. It was very small and short but it was genuine laughter and Virgil wondered if his helmet actually and truly absorbed everything that blow to the head he got earlier gave him.
Rubbing the back of his neck coyly, he finally meandered over to the bed and flopped down on top of it very gracefully, as in, not gracefully at all. He barely registered EOS speaking once more, “Thank you again, Virgil, for being willing to do this for me.”
The last thing Virgil could do was give a measly thumbs up before that familiar gentle blackness fully consumed him.
EOS could only watch the black-haired Tracy with one last thought. Huh, the internet was right. Artists are weird.
“Goodnight, Virgil.”
She was met by plentiful snores. Goodnight, EOS.
#irrelief2020#irrelief#thunderbirds#thunderbirds are go#virgil tracy#eos#my post#my fic#soz if this is garbage my brain is a little mushy lately
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Pestering - John Deacon
You’re ecstatic when Freddie enlists your help for organizing the Queen wardrobe. Working alongside your best friend seems like fun, especially when said best friend is in a band. Let alone in band with three other talented artists. One of which has stolen your heart.
Or the one where the whole of the band Queen gives their input, in one way or another, about the tension between you and John Deacon.
“What do you think of this?” Freddie extends his arms out, showing off the flowing blouse he was referencing. You reached out, rubbing the soft, silky material between your fingers and hummed.
“It’s thin, so the heat of stage lights wouldn’t be too much of an issue,” you wondered aloud. “Would any of the other boys wear it besides you though?”
Freddie trilled, letting out a sing-song laugh before carefully folding the shirt. His tanned hands smoothed the fabric before setting aside on a nearby table. The top of said table was already littered with a menagerie of rainbow toned jumpsuits, shirts, and velvet pants that would soon be paraded about on stage by the similarly eclectic band you worked for. Freddie took in the sight of the haul you had helped amass, grinning wickedly at the thought of wearing what you had chosen.
“Darling, I know we talk about allowances and budgets, but I say leave the math to Deacy! We are to put on a show, so we need costumes!” You couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s enthusiasm. Freddie was made for the life Queen had opened him up to; the music, the fans, the clothes and all of the accompanying glamour.
“Yes, you’re right,” you sigh, “but it is important to take utility into account, Freddie.” You quirked an almost motherly brow at the dark haired man whose mouth puckers in thought. His eyes are still glued to the clothes laid out on the table top and you know there is no changing his mind. After giving in, you and Freddie are lugging all sorts of clothes out to Brian’s van in cloth bags. Freddie jokes about how, with the growing wardrobe in the back of the vehicle, Roger won’t be able to seek any girls in for a quickie. You scowl at the thought.
“Oh like you haven’t thought about shagging in the back of a van,” Freddie chastises and you blush a posy pink. Noticing your bashful expression, your friend lets out what you could only call a cackle. “You have! My girl, I am proud. Who’s the lucky fantasy man?”
“None of your business,” you say curtly as you hop in the passenger side of the car. Freddie clambers in the driver's seat and fusses with the height of it. Once he’s settled, he turns to you and you dare to meet his curious brown eyes. You stare each other, waiting for the other break. A sense of panic floods your body when Freddie smirks devilishly.
“It’s John isn’t it?” Your jaw falls open and Freddie laughs knowingly. “Oh don’t be surprised darling,” he starts the car and the engine roars to life. The radio starts gently as Freddie begins to back out of the lot.“I see the way you look at the boy. Be careful though, he’s fragile.”
“There’s nothing I have to be careful about,” you huff, slouching in your seat as Freddie drives. “He’s too caught up in the band and he’s too young.” Freddie scoffs at your excuses as he turns down the street.
“Five years isn’t too young,” he purrs, “in fact young blood could be just what you need.” You lean over and slap his shoulder. “No distractions darling, I’m driving.”
“You’re a right tease,” you grumble as your avert your eyes to get lost in the rushing buildings outside the window. “John isn’t interested in me.”
Instead a biting back with some gossip or jab, Freddie only thrummed along to the light music on the radio. His strange silence alarmed you more than anything he could say, but you savored the quiet. Soon your ears would be assaulted by band practice and filled with the yelling complaints of Roger when Brian plays too slow. Brian always did and Roger hated it with a passion, claimed that the guitarist was ‘doing it on purpose now’. It was John that would sit beside you, add joking commentary that never failed to make you laugh. Even thinking about him, you smiled as you gazed out of the car window. Freddie spared a glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smiled too.
He continued to smile all the way to the flat Roger and Brian shared. When he pulled up, Freddie eagerly leaps from the van and unloaded all of the clothes. He picked out his favorite pieces from the back and left you to carry the rest. You sighed as you grabbed the rest of the bags and, struggling, followed Freddie inside.
Using your hip, you attempted to push open the door to the flat. You were only met with a thump of your body hitting wood. You groaned and was about to drop the bags on the floor when the door swung open. Mouth open and fuming, you were ready to berate Freddie for taking off without helping you. Only, when you looked up, your words got caught in your throat.
“Oh, here, love. Lemme help with this,” John greeted, reaching to take some of the bags from your hands. You nodded a small thanks and followed the bassist inside, unable to meet his eyes. “I see that Freddie did his best to ignore the budget,” he quipped and you smiled guiltily.
“Yeah, sorry, John. You know how hard it can be to rein him in when he has his mind set on something.” You turn your head to where Freddie is showing off the new outfits to Roger and sigh. “Or somethings, in this case.”
“It’s alright,” John murmurs and you finally met his greyish eyes. He is smiling at you kindly, crinkles by his eyes making his older in contrast to his long auburn hair. “The album is doing well so we can afford this.”
You set the bags you had been holding on the couch and John follows suit. Roger’s attention is immediately on the new arrivals and he starts to rummage through them like a child on Christmas morning. You giggle at the sight of him and John shakes his head. Hearing your laughter, Roger lifts his head to glare at you.
“What? I want to get the best ones before Brian comes in and-”
“Before I what?” The guitarist interrupts, entering the room the moment Roger speaks up. The drummer sends a pointed glance in Brian’s direction before digging back into the bag.
“Like the children,” Freddie chides, “the lot of you.” You hear John chuckle at your side and you grin at him.
“You don’t want to dive in there?” You ask teasingly and John shakes his head. “You might wish too, before Roger hogs it all.”
“I know you better than that,” John whispers, leaning a little closer to you. You feel heat rising to your cheeks when you lift your gaze to his. He is smiling at you sweetly, as if you held the keys to a castle full of treasure.
“You do,” you agree, before turning to show him the bag of clothes you had picked out with John in mind. Before he even sorts through the items, John presses his lips to your temple. The soft kiss sends a shock through your body that you try to your hardest to mask.
“Thank you, love,” he says softly.
“It’s my job,” you reply, in the hopes to downplay the effect John’s appreciation had on you. It turns out to be a hefty task.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go without a few ‘thank yous’ now and again,” John squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “You’re good at what you do, Y/N. We are grateful. Even if they’re too busy to say it.” He gestures to Roger, Brian, and Freddie; the latter of the trio is watching the two of you with a pleased visage.
You smile up at John who, despite being five years younger than you and Freddie, is much taller than yourself. He is beaming, his hands pulling a few pieces of clothing from the bag. He is quickly enamored with a silky, black shirt that was dotted with white stars. Soon he finds the matching pair of pants and clucks his tongue.
“You don’t like it?” You press, leaning over John’s shoulder to look at the outfit from the angle he was looking from. John shifts and your lips accidentally brush against his shoulder. The touch is full and you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his tight shirt. John turns his head, his nose nearly knocking against your own when he meets your eyes.
“I love it,” he murmurs, his eyes darting to your lips to your eyes in the manner of a few seconds. The look doesn’t go unnoticed and you feel your skin heat up.
“Good,” you exhale, taking a step back, “good.” Before John could speak out or, as you wished he would, pull you close to him, you were striding over to the rest of the boys. Roger was lamenting about the lack of ‘rock’n roll’ pieces while Freddie pretended to listen. Brian was still filtering through the clothes. His brows screwed together in slight confusion as he studies the white-silk blouse that Freddie had picked out.
“What exactly is this?” Brian questions, pulling at the stray flaps of fabric hanging off of the shirt. You smiled and shook your head.
“A shirt, silly,” you hum, “a styled shirt.” You took the item of clothing from the guitarist and held it against his slim chest. He looked down to take in the sight with an almost scientific sense of intrigue.
“I quite like it, I believe,” Brian mused.
“Believe? Brian, you will look ethereal on stage in this. You must wear it.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Freddie pipes up. Brian quickly takes the shirt from you and holds it close to his chest defensively. You bite back a snicker but a sound still reaches your ears. A small huff from behind you prompts you to crane you head to the side and sneak a look at John. The younger man was standing against the counter top, arms crossed against his red shirt clad chest as he watched you and the band.
Unable to pinpoint what had caused the frown on John’s lips, you offered him a half-smile. He shifted against the counter and returned the expression wordlessly. You could read each other silently, like books, in a way that the other boys could not seem to crack. Not even Freddie. The singer always had a soft-spot for the bassist, ever since John joined Queen. Freddie was happy to see that his two friends got along so well, overjoyed when he felt they got along too well. His brown eyes took in the pining pair and sighed.
“John,” he shouted, pulling the bassist’s attention away from you. “Why don’t you try that outfit on? If you don’t wholly claim it, Roger might just steal it.”
“Like you wouldn’t,” the drummer fires back, but the words are lost on Freddie.
“Um, alright then,” John agrees. He picks up the clothes and heads off the washroom to change. You watched him go before waltzing over to the other bags and picking through their contents. The soft murmurs of Brian chatting with Roger about analogous and primary color combinations filled your ears to the point where you didn’t hear Freddie come up behind you.
“He was jealous, you know,” Freddie mumbles, making you jump in shock.
“Je-What? Freddie, really?” You busy yourself with sorting the remaining clothes.
“Really, Y/N. It’s pathetic. The two of you are like baby dogs waddling about and following each other around.”
“More like baby ducks then. It’s rather adorable.” You send Brian a silencing glare. Roger laughs at your expression before stealing a pair of butterfly-patterned pants away from the guitarist.
“Really though, Y/N, you need ta do somethin’ about it,” Roger adds.
“I didn’t ask for your advice or your...” you gesture to Brian, “weird animal comparisons. Just look through the clothes!” The two of them shrug as Freddie laughs.
“Darling, he likes you, it’s obvious.”
“It’s not like that,” you grumble, “John’s jus’ nice to everyone.” Freddie rolls his eyes but gasps when he sees a white satin, button up vest.
“Isn’t this part of John’s new little number?” You looked over and nod.
“I’ll give it to him,” you say, taking it from Freddie and walking towards the washroom. You hear Roger say something along the lines of ‘yeah you will’ and Freddie’s laughter as you leave the room. Maybe it was due to the other’s words and reactions, but your heart was pounding at the thought of seeing John. If he had been jealous, why didn’t he tell you so?
As soon as the question funneled into your brain you scolded yourself. You could ask yourself the same thing. You had been jealous of the girls ogling him after shows, screaming his name until he looked in their general direction; but then he would look at you and the anger would dissipate. It was like it had never really been there at all.
Rather than entertain ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens’, you walked up to the washroom door. You took a breath to calm yourself before knocking on the door. Nervously, you curl your bottom lip between your teeth. You only breathe a sigh of relief when the door opens. Once again you find yourself at a lost for words and John Deacon standing in a door way.
“How does it look?” He sounds timid, eyes downcast and taking in how the pants look around his skinny legs. You are too, and in love what you saw. The clothes clung to his lithe figure perfectly and it sent your heart into a frenzy. Swallowing hard you lift your gaze and smile.
“Fantastic,” John meets your eyes gratefully, “but it’s missing one thing.” You hold out the small white vest and, excited, John takes it from you. Carefully, with the grace of a ballet dancer, John shrugs the vest over his shoulders. He extends his arms and shows off the ensemble. It’s then he takes note of your slight frown.
“What is it?”
“Let me try this,” you whisper, stepping towards him. Your hands find the ends of the vest, pulling it tighter around his slim frame to button it closed. Quickly, you reach the last button and take a step back. “I like it buttoned better.”
“Do you?” John asks, but his voice isn’t light like before. You lift your eyes to his face and find him already staring at you. The question almost sounds like a challenge. Nodding, you step forwards again, smoothing the vest material against John’s chest.
“Yeah, it shows you off, how handsome you are.” The words fall from your lips innocently, naturally, but not like a mistake. You mean what you say and John knows it. His arms fall to his sides except when one of his hands grabs your wrist. The touch is tender, just as you would have expected from him.
“I, Y/N...” he whispers, looking up from your hand to your eyes. You study his features like art, waiting for him to find the right words.
“Yes?” you breath in question and John’s cheeks turn a tad red.
“I was hoping that you-”
“Y/N! You forgot shoes!” Roger screeches, the conversation about John’s feelings for you seemingly completely, forgotten to him. You let out a groan that makes John chuckle. The sound instantly diffuses the tension mounting between your bodies.
“You better get back out there,” John mumbles.
“Do I have to? I’ve been to four different stores and it’s only eleven in the morning.” John sighs and drops your wrist. You miss his touch the second it leaves you. Freddie was right; you were pathetic.
“Well it depends,” John starts with a smile, “do you want to hear him complain in the store or when he’s drumming with bare feet.” You scrunch your face in mock thought and John chuckles again.
“I mean, Freddie performs without shoes sometimes....”
“You’re not wrong, love,” John murmurs, meeting your eyes. His pupils expand when you hold his gaze, but you must have imagined it because John tears his eyes away. You watch as he walks down the hall before falling in behind him.
“You look dashing, Deacy,” Freddie muses, taking in the new attire.
“Ya know what would pull it all together?” Roger asks, blue eyes glued on you when you enter the room. You shoot daggers at the drummer and he answers his own question. “Shoes! Shoes would do it!”
Freddie snickers while Brian shakes his head at the blond man. “Take it easy, Rog. Y/N went shopping with Freddie remember? You know how he can be.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Freddie fires back. You spare a fearful glance at John who is already shift under the rising pressure. Brian’s hazel eyes widen and before he can formulate an explanation, you step in.
“Then why don’t you and Roger come with me this time. Freddie can sort the clothes here and you two can pick out shoes.” Roger beams at the idea, that or the humorous conflict he found all too funny. Brian agrees quickly, already darting off to find his coat.
“Fine, alright,” Freddie concedes, “but you better control them. I don’t what us to look like fools on stage.” Roger snorts at this, earning him a slap on the shoulder from Freddie. While the two of them bicker, you turn your attention to John. His expression is slightly blank, but you pick up notes of annoyance in the way his jaw is set. You step towards him and rub his shoulder softly.
“Jealous you don’t get to go shopping with me?” You tease and John only gives you a saddened look that takes you aback. “Are you?”
“If I was, would it matter?” John asks, but no malice lingers in his tone. Only wonderment and thought. You nod in response before any words get out.
“Of course, you’ll always matter to me,” you say quickly. For the first time in your life you’re overjoyed that when Roger has a habit of talking, complaining, loudly.
“Then, when you come back, we go out ourselves.” The suggestion makes your mouth go dry and John seems to notice. A somewhat smug grin pulls at the corner of his lips as his confidence grows in your reactions. You meet his gaze and only see affection in his eyes.
“We wouldn’t have to shop, would we?” John grins fully then.
“No, love. Unless you wanted to.” You huff at his joking but smile nonetheless. He never failed to make your smile. Reaching up, you brush a long strand of his hair out of his face.
“Good,” you murmur, “because I won’t after dealing with them.” You crook your head to the side, gesturing towards Roger and Brian, who had finally made a reappearance.
“Late lunch then?” John asks, hooded eyes holding your gaze. You nod, leaning in to peck his cheek lightly.
“Sounds like a date,” you whisper, silently thanking your blooming courage. You knew part of it was Freddie’s doing, as he had planted the original seed of hope. You pull back and an expression you had never seen John wear before is written across his face. It was love, but you didn’t know that.
But, Freddie looked over at the two of you, he knew. The singer had seen John stare at you before with that very look. The slightly parted lips, half-closed eyes as if he were dreaming that you actually existed. And to think all it took was a little pestering to get you to see just how much John Deacon cared for you.
#john deacon#john deacon x reader#john deacon imagine#john deacon imagines#john deacon fanfic#john deacon fanfiction#john deacon x you#deaky#deacy#deaky x reader#deacy x reader#freddie mercury#brian may#roger taylor#queen#queen band#queen imagine#queen imagines#queen fanfic#queen fanfiction#queen x reader#borhap imagine#borhap#borhap imagines#borhap fanfic#borhap fanfiction#bohemian rhapsody#bohemian rhapsody imagine#bohemian rhapsody imagines#bohemian rhapsody fanfic
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The Story Behind Hamish Bowles’s Maison Margiela Artisanal by John Galliano Met Gala Look
By Hamish Bowles, published by Vogue on 08 May 2019. Photography by Mehdi Lacoste.
John Galliano was always a star. When I started on my Foundation course in the early 1980s at Saint Martin’s School of Art, as it was then known, he was already a supernova of the fashion department, his exquisite drawings setting him on a sure path to becoming an illustrator. He inspired me to decide on a career in fashion rather than costume design (I had been torn), and after the Foundation course, I stayed on at Saint Martin’s to pursue just that. As John worked on his degree collection the following year, he holed up in the college library, hidden behind stacks of reference books that served a double purpose: They defined his private work space and helped to shield his jealously guarded sketches from prying eyes. As it turned out, John had taken inspiration from the Incroyables—the male and female dandies who emerged in the wake of the French Revolution with their own exaggerated versions of revolutionary style. He even burnt the edges of his drawings and dripped candle wax over them to create the illusion that they had been salvaged from an aristocrat’s ransacked mansion.
The collection was sensational—Joan Burstein, who ran Browns, London’s most fashionable boutique, bought it in its entirety. John couldn’t afford a taxi to transport it, so he wheeled it on a dress rail all the way to South Molton Street, where Mrs. B put it in her window and Barbra Streisand and Diana Ross bought pieces right out of it: They were his very first clients. John turned down a job offer to become an illustrator in New York and instead set up his eponymous brand there and then on a wing and a prayer.
I wore pieces from that first collection—waistcoats made from patches of 18th-century-style upholstery silks and sprigged cottons, jersey long johns, and vast organza shirts tying at the throat with a huge jabot. (John has re-created one of these looks to complete an ensemble built around a coat from this collection that the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s costume department has recently acquired and that is showcased in Andrew Bolton’s brilliant “Camp: Notes on Fashion” exhibition.)
The following season, John didn’t have the money to stage a fashion show, so he did a presentation instead in an old artist’s studio off the King’s Road. This collection was based on a 1920s cartoon in the satirical British weekly Punch titled Afghanistan Repudiates Western Ideals, and it explored a collision of Occidental and Afghan dress in John’s characteristically intriguing way. One of my ensembles from this collection—including a knee-length skirt that caused a sensation in Paris when I wore it to the collections that season—is now in the Boston Museum of Fine Art’s exhibition “Gender Bending Fashion.”
As soon as I heard the theme of this year’s Costume Institute show, I thought it would be the perfect moment to work again with John, who has found expression for his unquenchable creative force once more at the Maison Margiela. John had already made me a bias-cut black satin evening suit that evoked Shalom Harlow’s look from his unforgettable Fall 1994 show in Paris socialite Sao Schlumberger’s empty Louis Seize mansion.
To my great delight, John was soon on board. I sent some inspiration images of my eclectic pantheon of camp icons, including Mrs. Slocombe, the character with the Elnett-hairspray-bottle hair in ever-changing pastel hues, from the British sitcom Are You Being Served?; Quentin Crisp; Barbara Cartland; and Jazz Age aesthete Stephen Tennant. Together with John’s partner, Alexis Roche, we looked at looks from the Martin Margiela Artisanal Men’s Spring 2019 collection and isolated some silhouettes that we thought could work for me.
Source: Maison Margiela
At Saint Martin’s, John and I shared an inspirational mutual friend in the indubitably camp form of David Harrison, who was studying in the Fine Art department, had once improbably been scouted to front a punk band to be called the Sex Pistols (Johnny Rotten got the gig), and worked a Teddy Boy look that he accessorized with white winklepicker shoes, a peroxide quiff, and a pom-pom clipped white poodle dyed shocking pink who often appeared in his artworks. John’s studio had produced a frenetic collage print that was worked not only into the clothes but the runway itself, and that incorporated an Yves Klein blue poodle in everything from jacquard to tufted embroidery. I wondered if the poodle couldn’t go pink in homage to our camp friend?
Meanwhile, John’s studio sourced a jacquard cravat in mauve from Charvet, the storied Parisian men’s outfitter, and a selection of textiles in shades of grape and wisteria. (Charvet also made the shirt, and I found some Pepto-Bismol pink cufflinks in my own closet that the sculptor Andrew Logan had made for the John Waters high-camp superstar Divine in 1987. These would be my talismans for the night.)
When I went to Paris for my first fitting, after an initial visit to take measurements, John wasn’t in town, but Raffaele Ilardo, Margiela’s inspired head fitter, and his associate Jung A. Park were there to attend to all the finer points. There was already an amazing sample of the jacquard with the electric-pink poodles, and of the ostrich trim that John had instructed be embellished with metallic lurex threads to catch the light on the red (pink) carpet. (“Invisible to the naked eye but will pop in pictures, trust me,” he said.) Ilardo apprenticed with the legendary tailor Paquito (who carved Karl Lagerfeld’s most amazing suits at Chanel Haute Couture in the ’80s and ’90s), and he had made the most beautiful toiles, with a jacket that sat perfectly on my shoulders without adjustment and had a beautifully constructed rising roll at the top of the sleeves. The cape was constructed like a Victorian visite, with openings for the arms and subtle shaping in back. It was so perfectly constructed that I could have worn the toile itself.
Raffaele Ilardo working on the toile. Photographed by Alexis Roche.
“I advise that cape is rehearsed up and down steps if you can,” said John after he reviewed the fittings videos from afar. “No angle must be left to chance but still must look spontaneous. Every swish must be ingrained in the subconscious, and always imagine that Avedon is following you. A sudden knock at the door works wonders for that frozen-eyes-to-the-left look. Never forget Avedon is your focal point.”
A little over two weeks later, with the clock ticking before the Gala, I returned to Paris for a final fitting with John in the house. To my amazement, the entire ensemble had now been made, including the wide-toed Mary Jane shoes, shown in patent but specially remade for me in violet satin. There were two options of subtly different lilac, for a sheer sock dotted with a point d’esprit effect that was faintly obfuscated by the crushed hairs on my legs and would definitely be showcased, as the short pants hovered only a little below the knee. John gave my lower calves a long, hard look. “You’ll wax them just before the gala,” he instructed firmly. (“Always better when viewed through sheer, tons of moisturizer 15 mins before socks are put on,” he advised nearer the day.)
“It’s unbelievable,” I said when I saw the cape arranged on a tailor’s dummy in John’s light-flooded Margiela atelier. “It’ll only become unbelievable when you start to wear it,” said John. And, sure enough, when I put on the cloak and began walking up and down the studio and it caught the air in its massy volumes, it lifted up like a cloud, and, despite the thick feather fronding, seemed almost as light as one. “La légèreté!” John proclaimed exultantly, “It looks like a canvas, like you’re coming out of a painting.” I used the Margiela staircase to rehearse maneuvering the cape up and down the pink carpet, and I tried to work it from every angle, thinking by turns of Dietrich and Dovima and Proust’s beloved Comtesse Greffulhe. (“I love that little coyness!” said John. “It’s a Dorian Gray moment!”)
I’d asked John’s longtime collaborator and my great friend Stephen Jones for thoughts on something for the head (he concocted the custom top knots for the “Camp” exhibition mannequins) and he designed a wonderful tiara bandeau made of Swarovski crystals that were custom-produced in the required lilac hue and, like those lurex fronds, would add some pink carpet dazzle. John pronounced it a “very cool touch” and suggested “surfer pink” hair to match.”
On the eve of the gala, I submitted to leg waxing and sundry other beautifications (“Lymphatic drainage on face the night before always refines,” John had counseled, and thank you, Tracie Martyn, skin alchemist). On the morn, I went to the Greenwich Hotel to be ministered to by the brilliant Teddy Charles and his assistant Satoshi Ikeda, alongside Amber Valletta, and then I hied up to the St. Regis in a white Maserati to meet John, Alexis, and Raffaele and practice some more swishing and strutting in the hotel’s ballroom under their watchful eyes. “The Japanese kids are going to go mental for it,” said John of my Savile Row meets School Boy meets Comtesse de Castiglione lewk. Stephen fitted the tiara, which perfectly framed those Teddy-tweaked waves.
“Command your space!” said John as I headed out, “Hamish, it will be a riot!” How right he was.
Hamish Bowles at a fitting for his first custom Margiela look in 2018, photographed by Alexis Roche.
Source: Vogue.com
#Maison Margiela#Margiela#Hamish Bowles#Maison Margiela by John Galliano#John Galliano#Galliano#fashion#Vogue#Met Gala#Met Gala 2019#Met Ball#Met Ball 2019#Camp: Notes on Fashion#atelier#behind the scenes
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summer.
The Royality sequel to fall. You don’t have to have read it to understand but here is the link anyway!
Warnings: None
Ship: Royality, background QPR!Analogical
Plot: When Virgil moves across the states to live with his partner, Roman decides to follow, hoping to start a new life. His new life is apparently called Patton.
Roman stares at the newcomer for a few minutes, it’s as though the signals between his brain and body got a little fried as he stares at the legitimate angel that stands to the side of the hugging couple. Brown curls crown his head, pinned out of his freckled face with flower hair pins as he gazes through wide circular glasses and azure eyes to smile up at Roman. “Hey!” A voice that soft could easily become lost in the busy airport, but luckily Roman’s ears only seem to tune into the sound that leaves the small man’s mouth. “I’m Patton, do you like hugs? I’m a very hug person,”
Distantly, he hears Virgil snort as his best friend nods with an awestruck expression on his face. Usually, he’d take issue at this, but his hormones appear to be doing most of the thinking at this present moment in time; it doesn’t help when the man, who is positively tiny, pulls the near-stranger into a hug, his head only coming up to Roman’s collarbone.
It doesn’t help that Roman is built like any man that spends his free hours lifting weights, making the size difference slightly more humorous.
“I’m Roman,” He finally mutters, forgetting for a second he hadn’t supplied the other man with his name, but he’s pretty sure Patton knows who he is, he’d known who Patton was. He just hadn’t expected him to be so small. And so cute.
There are little dots of paint on the white sleeve of the other’s shirt, streaks of blue and white on the sides of his hands; Virgil had mentioned the two were both artists, that Logan was more of an Illustrator and Patton more of a painter. He’d never really digested the information, but it seems important now.
Then Patton laughs and dear lord, Roman thinks he might dissolve.
They walk alongside each other as Roman gets tangled in his own hyper-romanticism, he listens to Patton talk whilst Virgil and Logan catch up. He’s always been a little self-centered, so it strikes him as odd when he doesn’t ever want Patton to stop talking, ever. He could listen to him talk about anything and be enthralled.
The summer sun painted the sidewalk in gold light, lighting up Patton’s curls like a halo, it lacked irony considering Roman is genuinely thinking he may have met an angel for the first and only time in his life. Virgil and Logan are definitely laughing at their friends’ dazed expressions for each other.
“Did we accidentally play matchmaker?” Virgil mutters as they sit by the window of the coffee shop as Patton and Roman ordered their drinks, between orders Patton, is talking excitedly and the taller is staring at him as though he’s the sun and stars.
“I believe we did,”
--
For the next month, Roman tries to find a flat whilst living out of Virgil and Logan’s spare room, before Logan (not so subtly, I might add) suggests to Patton that he could offer the spare room of his two bedroomed flat up, he had after all been looking for a roommate.
Patton is made up of kindness and love and not much else, so he eagerly agrees. That’s really where their story starts, unpacking hundreds of boxes and popping the bubbles on bubblewrap before sharing a movie marathon on Roman’s TV.
Roman falls in love very easily and very quickly, it isn’t something he can control. Patton falls in love without really knowing it, he has a heart for everyone and everything so it takes a while for him to realize the difference between romantic love and platonic love. It was for once a pleasant surprise when he realized, his hand pausing his brush on a canvas before he drops it and grins.
He’s eager to tell Roman and Roman is eager to find out.
But neither are good with words and whatever it is that Patton’s saying is just a string of descriptions that end with “I love you,” so he kisses him instead, soft and gentle and full of care. There’s paint on his hands that’s now on Roman’s face and there’s a smile that they’re both sharing as their faces flush red and they giggle together.
“I love you too,”
The flowers on the windowsill open up to the sunlight streaming in through the window, highlighting two men who are holding each other in the middle of their flat.
@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten //@theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife// @heck-im-lost // @k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad //@sanderssideslibrary // @max-is-tired//@therealmoshar// @punsterterry //@trashypansexual //@miserykillme//@demigodnamedathena //@sevencrashing //@misunderstood-shadow//@aphriteblack // @jemthebookworm// @sandersandthesides //@penguinkool
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I’m your ID
Pairing: (Stray Kids) Hyunjin x (Female) Reader
Genre: Idol au (Like real life), Fluff,
Warnings: Small anxiety but nothing big I promise, One (1) curse word, Lots of heart melting fluff
Word Count: 1,441 [Masterlist]
Summary: "But one stage caught your eye. There were 9 people but you could only follow one. It was the same guy who let you in, the same eye smile and the same small dot. You point to the screen and ask your boss for his name, to which she replies: “Hyunjin from Stray Kids, I think Sanha might be friends with them.”
A/N: Im trying to brand out and write for all the groups I stan before I go into longer stories/series so I decided to write some for my friends to cheer them up while I fill this blog up! Sorry if you're not cool with that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 💕💕💕💕 @heartskun This ones for you bby, ily and have a good rest of your day life. Also I thought this fit you well because queen of makeup? Yes. Names??? Are hard to come up with.
Also, this is currently !UNEDITED! for now
You're rushing down the streets of Seoul, you may look unhinged to others but you don't care. You're late to the stage show and you're 100% sure that your boss is going to scold you for not getting this makeup there sooner. You're turning the last corner, and your phone's gps tells you the back entrance is on this street.
You glance from it and sure enough the location is obvious. Security and small barricades set up around the doors to keep the wards of fans and paparazzi from going any further.
You waddle up to the entrance line through security in your puffy marshmallow jacket and colorfully designed scarf. Your giant tote bag is in hand, you know security will check it, like always, only to find pallets of eyeshadow and giant amounts of lip tint. You stay glancing down at your phone, texting your superior that your outside the entrance and that she should stick to clothes before she tries anything with your expensive foundations.
The security guard recites a large yell of “next!” Which makes you jump and look up to see youre the next he's referring to. You allow him to check your tote, praying that he doesn't break or open any product that could spill everywhere, as you go to reach for your company provided ID. When you feel it missing, a tidal wave of worry and anxiety falls over you, climbing into your heart as it speeds up to an erratic beat. The Security guard looks through the tote once again when he sees the uneasiness present on your face, but ultimately finds nothing.
“I'm sorry miss, but I can't allow anyone in without an ID. It's protocol, again I'm really sorry. But if you could call someone to get you from the inside.” You nod in understanding and step slightly to side to let others in. ‘He's just doing his job,' you tell yourself as you text your boss (that is really more of a friend to you).
You retrace your steps in your head,leading you to remember dropping your ID on your apartments wooden floor as you swung your jacket on. ‘Fuck, I hate winter,,,’ you try to keep your tears from forming. It's a dumb reason to cry but you've had a rough day and this could be the final crack.
The text from your boss tells you to stay put as she comes to take you in, so that's what you do. You stay put while wiping some fallen tears. Until an arm wraps around your shoulder gently and a pair of lips softly talks into the shell of your ear, the yelling of the fans is extremely loud and the snaps of camera shots are headache inducing, but it's all a white noise as you process what you heard.
“What are you here for? I mean, what's your job?”
You look up and see the person attached to the voice, he's very attractive. He's wearing a black wool coat with a light brown turtleneck underneath to shield him from the cold and a black bucket hat pushes his messy black hair into his face. You don't fail to notice the face mask that is pulled under his chin or the little dot that is present under his eye. But you quickly end your starring when he tilts his head a bit to hurry your thinking.
You turn as pink as the blushes in your bag as you utter a small, “Oh, I, well, I'm here for Astro, Im their makeup artist,,,, but I dropped my ID at home and they won't let me in,” shameful of your own clumsiness. You fidget as he pulls you with him towards the security guard, “Yeah, I figured that last bit.” He sends you a small smile, mostly in the eyes, as he turns back to the sentinel.
“She's with us. She's our makeup artist, she just got here a little early. She's always so forgetful and clumsy, right?”
You nod even though you aren't really listening to what he said, lost in your own sea of thoughts. 'He's an idol… I mean of course he's an idol dummy, look at him! But why would an idol help me? Who is this guy???’ Your thoughts are cut short when he continues to guide you past security to the door, which he opens for you.
“Any friend of Astro is a friend of Stray Kids,” He bows slightly at you and you give a small bow and wave in return. He turns around and leaves to find his group, but he also leaves you dumbfounded. Your brain is complete mush as your boss shakes your shoulder and drags you to Astros dressing room, asking about how and when you got in backstage.
But ultimately those questions are put aside as you are brought back to reality of your job. You enter and greet the 6 members you had known for years now (with the needed honorifics) before starting on their makeup and eventually sending them to the stage with wishes of good luck and thumbs up.
You sit down, exhausted after both the rush to get here and the rush of your heart. You've cleaned up all your supplies and are watching the broadcasted music show on the t.v. in the dressing room while drinking some coffee. You're proud to see your boys perform as you high five your boss for a job well done and you even belt out some Chungha lyrics, ignoring the laughing of your friend, by the end of it.
But one stage caught your eye. There were 9 people but you could only follow one. It was the same guy who let you in, the same eye smile and the same small dot. You point to the screen and ask your boss for his name, to which she replies: “Hyunjin from Stray Kids, I think Sanha might be friends with them.”
You nod and take another sip of your coffee as the show continues. 'Yeah that makes sense,,,’ you think as you recap to what he said at the door, 'Hyunjin, huh?’
Once all the performances and awards and speeches came to a close, Astro shuffled back into the room looking tired and ready to go home. You two offered them their hoodies and water as you went to work brushing out their hair and removing their stage makeup. Telling them how well they did and how cool they looked.
You wrapped it all up with a shut of one of your cases and gave your farewells for the day, most of them gave you a small hug or ruffling your hair before throwing on their coats and leaving with their manager. Before Sanha left he handed you a small note before giggling a bit mischievously and bolting out of the room to mess with Jinjin.
The note in your hand seemed kind of random and you glanced at it peculiarly before opening it up to reveal a small letter addressed to you in messy, rushed handwriting. It read:
-
Here's my number y/n-ssi (Rocky told me your name)
02-***-**56
Just in case you need someone to remind you to get your ID or get you past security again ;) Text whenever if you need me to be your ID instead
-
You smiled, putting the new number into your contacts before searching Stray Kids into your spotify. Plugging in your headphones and saying your goodbye to your boss as you walk out that same door into the cold seoul night. A small giddy smile on your face as a catchy beat resonates in your ears.
Bonus scene
Hyunjin smiled at his phone, the light illuminating his face in the darkness of the car, when he saw the notification telling him you had added him on Kakao talk. 'Even your profile picture is super cute,,,’ He thought to himself, clicking the add back button.
Chan took a small look at Hyunjins phone and then his smile, concluding to everyone in the car that “She added him guys!! There's hope for our Hyunjin!” Everyone began teasing him for his move on the girl that was Astros makeup artist, but he ignored them.
He was in too fond of a mood to acknowledge Jeongins bad imitation of him, the sarcastic “She's with us!” followed by a chorus of laughs fell deaf to his ears. He sent you a small text of 'Hope you got home safe y/n-ssi,’ before turning around to pinch Jeongin and pull his ears. Laughing along with the rest of the boys in the car.
#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids hyunjin#stray kids soft hours#content: gaegurikyu#gaegurikyu#kpop fluff#soft#stray kids jeongin#stray kids woojin
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How to Write a Novel: Tips For Visual Thinkers.
1. Plotting is your friend.
This is basically a must for all writers (or at least, it makes our job significantly easier/less time consuming/less likely to make us want to rip our hair out by the roots), but visual thinkers tend to be great at plotting. There’s something about a visible outline that can be inexplicably pleasing to us, and there are so many great ways to go about it. Here are a few examples:
The Three-Act Structure
This one is one of the simplest: it’s divided into the tried-and-true three acts, or parts, a la William Shakespeare, and includes a basic synopsis of what happens in each. It’s simple, it’s familiar, it’s easy to add to, and it get’s the job done.
It starts with Act I -- i.e. the set-up, or establishing the status quo -- which is usually best if it’s the shortest act, as it tends to bore audiences quickly. This leads to Act II, typically the longest, which introduces the disruptor and shows how characters deal with it, and is sandwiched by Act III (the resolution.)
The Chapter-by-Chapter
This is the one I use the most. It allows you to elucidate on the goings on of your novel in greater detail than the quintessential three act synopsis generally could, fully mapping out your manuscript one chapter at a time. The descriptions can be as simple or as elaborate as you need them to be, and can be added to or edited throughout the progression of your novel.
Can easily be added to/combined with the three-act structure.
The Character Arc(s)
This isn’t one that I’ve used a lot, but it can be a lot of fun, particularly for voice-driven/literary works: instead on focusing on the events of the plot, this one centralizes predominantly around the arc of your main character/characters. As with its plot-driven predecessors, it can be in point-by-point/chapter-by-chapter format, and is a great way to map out character development.
The Tent Moments
By “tent moments,” I mean the moments that hold up the foundation (i.e. the plot) of the novel, in the way that poles and wires hold up a tent. This one builds off of the most prevalent moments of the novel -- the one’s you’re righting the story around -- and is great for writers that want to cut straight to the action. Write them out in bullet points, and plan the rest of the novel around them.
The Mind Map
This one’s a lot of fun, and as an artist, I should probably start to use it more. It allows you to plot out your novel the way you would a family tree, using doodles, illustrations, and symbols to your heart’s content. Here’s a link to how to create basic mind maps on YouTube.
2. “Show don’t tell” is probably your strong suit.
If you’re a visual thinker, your scenes are probably at least partially originally construed as movie scenes in your head. This can be a good thing, so long as you can harness a little of that mental cinematography and make your readers visualize the scenes the way you do.
A lot of published authors have a real big problem with giving laundry lists of character traits rather than allowing me to just see for myself. Maybe I’m spoiled by the admittedly copious amounts of fanfiction I indulge in, where the writer blissfully assumes that I know the characters already and let’s the personalities and visuals do the talking. Either way, the pervasive “telling” approach does get tedious.
Here’s a hypothetical example. Let’s say you wanted to describe a big, tough, scary guy, who your main character is afraid of. The “tell” approach might go something like this:
Tommy was walking along when he was approached by a big, tough, scary guy who looked sort of angry.
“Hey, kid,” said the guy. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to a friend’s house,” Tommy replied.
I know, right? This is Boring with a capital ‘B.’
On the other hand, let’s check out the “show” approach:
The man lumbered towards Tommy, shaved head pink and glistening in the late afternoon sun. His beady eyes glinted predatorily beneath the thick, angry bushes of his brows.
“Hey, kid,” the man grunted, beefy arms folded over his pot belly. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to a friend’s house,” Tommy replied, hoping the man didn’t know that he was ditching school.
See how much better that is? We don’t need to be told the man is big, tough, and scary looking because the narrative shows us, and draws the reader a lot more in the process.
This goes for scene building, too. For example:
Exhibit A:
Tyrone stepped out onto his balcony. It was a beautiful night.
Lame.
Exhibit B:
Tyrone stepped out onto his balcony, looking up at the inky abyss of the night sky, dotted with countless stars and illuminated by the buttery white glow of the full moon.
Much better.
3. But conversely, know when to tell.
A book without any atmosphere or vivid, transformative descriptors tends to be, by and large, a dry and boring hunk of paper. That said, know when you’re showing the reader a little too much.
Too many descriptors will make your book overflow with purple prose, and likely become a pretentious read that no one wants to bother with.
So when do you “tell” instead of “show?” Well, for starters, when you’re transitioning from one scene to the next.
For example:
As the second hand of the clock sluggishly ticked along, the sky ever-so-slowly transitioning from cerulean, to lilac, to peachy sunset. Finally, it became inky black, the moon rising above the horizon and stars appearing by the time Lakisha got home.
These kind of transitions should be generally pretty immemorable, so if yours look like this you may want to revise.
Day turned into evening by the time Lakisha got home.
See? It’s that simple.
Another example is redundant descriptions: if you show the fudge out of a character when he/she/they are first introduced and create an impression that sticks with the reader, you probably don’t have to do it again.
You can emphasize features that stand out about the character (i.e. Milo’s huge, owline eyes illuminated eerily in the dark) but the reader probably doesn’t need a laundry list of the character’s physical attributes every other sentence. Just call the character by name, and for God’s sake, stay away from epithets: the blond man. The taller woman. The angel. Just, no. If the reader is aware of the character’s name, just say it, or rework the sentence.
All that said, it is important to instill a good mental image of your characters right off the bat.
Which brings us to my next point...
4. Master the art of character descriptions.
Visual thinkers tend to have a difficult time with character descriptions, because most of the time, they tend to envision their characters as played their favorite actors, or as looking like characters from their favorite movies or TV shows.
That’s why you’ll occasionally see characters popping up who are described as looking like, say, Chris Evans.
It’s a personal pet peeve of mine, because A) what if the reader has never seen Chris Evans? Granted, they’d probably have to be living on Mars, but you get the picture: you don’t want your readers to have to Google the celebrity you’re thirsting after in order for them to envision your character. B) It’s just plain lazy, and C) virtually everyone will know that the reason you made this character look like Chris Evans is because you want to bang Chris Evans.
Not that that’s bad or anything, but is that really what you want to be remembered for?
Now, I’m not saying don’t envision your characters as famous attractive people -- hell, that’s one of the paramount joys of being a writer. But so’s describing people! Describing characters is a lot of fun, draws in the reader, and really brings your character to life.
So what’s the solution? If you want your character to look like Chris Evans, describe Chris Evans.
Here’s an example of what I’m talking about:
Exhibit A:
The guy got out of the car to make sure Carlos was alright, and holy cow, he looked just like Dean Winchester!
No bueno. Besides the fact that I’m channeling the writing style of 50 Shades of Grey a little here, everyone who reads this is going to process that you’re basically writing Supernatural fanfiction. That, or they’ll have to Google who Dean Winchester is, which, again, is no good.
Exhibit B:
The guy got out of the car to make sure Carlos was alright, his short, caramel blond hair stirring in the chilly wind and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes were wide with concern, and as he approached, Carlos could see that they were gold-tinged, peridot green in the late afternoon sun.
Also note that I’m keeping the description a little vague here; I’m doing this for two reasons, the first of which being that, in general, you’re not going to want to describe your characters down to the last detail. Trust me. It’s boring, and your readers are much more likely to become enamored with a well-written personality than they are a vacant sex doll. Next, by keeping the description a little vague, I effectively manage to channel a Dean Winchester-esque character without literally writing about Dean Winchester.
Let’s try another example:
Exhibit A:
Charlotte’s boyfriend looked just like Idris Elba.
Exhibit B:
Charlotte’s boyfriend was a stunning man, eyes pensive pools of dark brown amber and a smile so perfect that it could make you think he was deliciously prejudiced in your favor. His skin was dark copper, textured black hair gray at the temples, and he filled out a suit like no other.
Okay, that one may have been because I just really wanted to describe Idris Elba, but you get the point: it’s more engaging for the reader to be able to imagine your character instead of mentally inserting some sexy fictional character or actor, however beloved they may be.
So don’t skimp on the descriptions!
5. Don’t be afraid to find inspiration in other media!
A lot of older people recommend ditching TV completely in order to improve creativity and become a better writer. Personally, if you’ll pardon my French, I think this is bombastic horseshit.
TV and cinema are artistic mediums the same way anything else is. Moreover, the sheer amount of fanart and fanfiction -- some of which is legitimately better than most published content -- is proof to me that you can derive inspiration from these mediums as much as anything else.
The trick is to watch media that inspires you. I’m not going to say “good media” because that, in and of itself, is subjective. I, for example, think Supernatural is a fucking masterpiece of intertextual postmodernism and amazing characterization, whereas someone else might think it’s a hot mess of campy special effects and rambling plotlines. Conversely, one of my best friends loves Twilight, both the movies and the books, which, I’m going to confess, I don’t get at all. But it doesn’t matter that it isn’t good to me so long as it’s good to her.
So watch what inspires you. Consume any whatever movies, books, and shows you’re enthusiastic about, figure out what you love most about them, and apply that to your writing. Chances are, readers will find your enthusiasm infectious.
As a disclaimer, this is not to say you get a free pass from reading: I’ve never met a good writer who didn’t read voraciously. If you’re concerned that you can’t fall in love with books the way you used to (which, sadly, is a common phenomenon) fear not: I grappled with that problem after I started college, and I’ll be posting an article shortly on how to fall back in love reading.
So in the meanwhile, be sure to follow my blog, and stay tuned for future content!
(This one goes out to my friend, beta reader, and fellow writer @megpieeee, who is a tremendous visual thinker and whose books will make amazing movies someday.)
#the author speaks#writing tips#writing#reference#plotting#outlining#character description#characters#show vs tell#description#inspiration
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Patrick Seymour
Patrick Seymour is a Canadian artist who mainly works with fine art illusion of people’s faces or animal faces, he is also an art director and illustrator based in Montreal.
His art style looks very complicated and detailed, but the process itself is quite easy, you just need to focus very well on what you are doing. I like his illustrations because barely no one does this type of art and it’s quite nice to see something different from paintings and other illustrations. His illustrations could really work with a small animation from the lines having a wave effect.
Analysis
I liked this Illustration of this because there are a lot of curvatures and a lot of shadow work which compliments with the rhino itself, the rhino’s horn seems like it is about to hit me from the illusion effect it created, I also liked the thick outer layer because it looks more compact than the other illustrations he has done.
Although, he could’ve made the rhino into a dark purple colour, other than it being white to mix things up a bit. I didn’t like like that I keep mixing it up between a zebra to a rhino, I keep getting a picture in my head that it’s a zebra but I guess the illusion is just making my head dizy.
For this Illustration, I liked the creativity of parting a human and a skull with his illusion based work, and I liked how the skull part is smaller than the human face because it reality skull is much more smaller. This particular Illustration is possibly from a movie that I am not aware of but it could’ve been showing the main character and its possible emotions, I’m guessing from the colour red, that the skull part is the evil side of the character. The hair details of the human part is quite satisfying because Seymour didn’t add a stroke where it looks like the hair is free.
There some parts I didn’t like, for example the chin and the lips looks too long and large, I’m not sure if the actual character had that large chin and long lips but it somehow puts me to the edge a little bit.
I personally liked this Illustration better from the top two because there are more colours involved and how Seymour created the character to look evil and scary matches it characteristics from the movie. I also loved how there are mixtures of thin and thick lines and also mixing up lines with curvatures. The curved lines created illusions of the smile gap and the eyelash, tiny details like that can create such a strong outcome. In addition, the shadow work on the face looks incredible because it looks like she is fading away slowly, and we can tell she’s evil because of the fierce eye from creating it to be a simple dot, they say that if the pupils get bigger that means they’re attracted to you; looking from this Illustration, we can tell that she is possibly hating us and it’s creating a discomfort environment. Where it could possibly be the artist’s intention to do so.
This Illustration reminds me of Astrology, Leo the star sign. Leo the star sign colours I would imagine it to be are red, orange and yellow because it’s between the hottest days of summer. Leos are more fierce and sometimes self-centered than others which truly depicts a Lion’s behaviour. Leos are also compassionate and warm, seeing from the colours used it is mostly warm colours and leos tend to be brave where lions are also brave.
This Illustration perfectly matches a Leo’s behaviour and its emotions. As me being a Leo, I believed this is a perfect match for all the leos and astrology is also part of the universe (multiverse), I have some ideas in mind when my project comes where I could link astrology with posters or animations or anything that I’m capable to do.
Patrick Seymour could create his Illustrations in real life by creating art paper like the one at the bottom, this could very well be a complicated idea but the result could be amazing, it perfectly fits into the category because Seymour uses lines and colours to create his Illustrations. I believe putting them together can make a very intricate and detailed art pieces that can be sold or used as wall art.
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Play it again, Jack III: MFMM fics you love to reread
“I just need to read it one more time, Dot.”
Finally I have cut-and-mixed a new installment of fics about the Miss Fisher world that you love to go back to and read! Again, thank you so much to all who sent me fic recommendations, and people that hasn’t -- yes, I have one more post to come, so there is still some room for more!
Earlier posts:
Play it again, Jack I (letter from @quiltingmom)
Play it again, Jack II (mixed recommendations)
The original ask
mokuyoubi, “The Heart Grows Fonder". Reread by @rubycaspar
When I first discovered MFMM and felt the need to go through every T-rated and higher fic on AO3 to combat the ridiculous UST of the show, this fic was the one I went searching for again when I was done. There are so many things I love about it -- the tension, the playfulness, the dream-like quality of the setup (especially if you read the preceding story, “In-Between Days”, first). And it's everything that I personally was imagining for a smutty Phrack reunion -- quick, passionate, desperate, steamy and loving -- and so it was exactly what I wanted to read having just finished the series. I absolutely love it and re-read it all the time.
CollingwoodGirl/ @jeneenp, “Sweltering”. Reread by @omgimsarahtoo
I love @jeneenp's stories in general, but this one sticks in my head. I love the pure sensory overload of it -- the descriptions of the summer heat wave, and Jack sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves, and the wild heat that rises up between them... and that's just in the first chapter! Chapter 2 has sassy Jack and humor and seduction, and chapter 3... well, I'll just say the heat isn't only in the temperature. Have your fans ready! This was written before series 3 aired, so it picks up where “Unnatural Habits” and “Murder Under the Mistletoe” leave off, with the aborted kiss (thanks, Aunt P) and "If I lock my door, no one could get in" and all of the tension that has built up between our two detectives. This story takes that tension and ratchets it up even higher, deftly weaving in Phrack's care and cameraderie even as it brings them to a rather explosive peak. It's just, in my opinion, divine.
mardia, “a lack of pretense”. Reread by @rithebard
I really like how this ends. I won't say but Jack is drugged and Phryne finds him and takes him home. You have to read the story to understand.
“500 Words: 60. Caustic” by @firesign23. Reread by @kanste
This is another one that hurts soooo good. The whole fight feels so real and leaves me in tears every single time. If you need a pic up, there are also two fix fics for this one: “Balm” by @edeainfj/deedeeinfj and “Ask me again” by YouKnowMeAsJ.
The dress that needed to come back.
@omgimsarahtoo, “A More Lethal Dress". Reread by @kanste
I think we all remember that beautiful dress Phryne wears to her first dinner with Lin. Sarah did all Lin not-fans a favour to make her wear it for Jack instead. The result is gorgeous, smutty gold. Like always the Sarah's smut is wonderful. The seduction atmosphere is spot on and sets you in the mood perfectly. I also love the image of past weeks of their relationship, think dinner with kisses and cuddling.
@scruggzi, “The Long Road to Patagonia”. Reread by @zannadubs23
Crossover fic with Doctor Who. I’ve been a big Doctor Who fan for most of my life, so I probably enjoyed this more than is reasonable. Maybe not. It’s really well done with the two story bases perfectly merged. Scruggzi has a great feel for both universes and her Doctor felt genuine and perfectly suited to traveling with our favorite Lady Detective.
@firesign23, “A Glass Splinter”. Reread by @bumblemama
A fic I reread semi-regularly is “A Glass Splinter”. Last night I read it again, straight through. It's such a gorgeous story arc, full of the characters we all know and love but with a different starting point. The AU is fully as compelling; but I think because we all know the cases, there is more scope to explore the relationship. It's a salient reminder of how much they each hold themselves back in the series. And while we are all wishing they hadn't, there could be truly sad outcomes if they weren't so reserved.
@edeainfj/ deedeeinfj , “The Fixed Foot”. Reread by @omgimsarahtoo
This story, when it came out, was controversial -- it might still be, but I don't even care. I love it with unrestrained madness, and I go back to it regularly. In it, Jack has agreed that he is willing to have an open relationship with Phryne, and it opens with her taking advantage of that for the first time. It's painful as he goes through the terror that she won't really come back to him, that he isn't enough for her, that the fact that she wants other men means that she doesn't love him -- but it's redeemed as he begins to understand what those others do for her and how they aren't a commentary on how he pleases her or how much she loves him. It's incredibly affirming of their differences and their relationship, and add to that it's gorgeously written.
Gingham, “Repentance”. Reread by @whopooh
This story envisions a version of their reunion that is in equal measure beautiful and sad. Phryne comes back to Melbourne, not understanding why Jack never came or wrote her while she was in England, just to find out he’s in a very bad spot after a case that went wrong. It is heartbreaking and hopeful, and in a way that makes me want to go back there now and then. One of my favourite scenes is when Phryne finds out that Jack had in fact bought a ticket to England, and that he still carries it around with him in his pocket.
Modern Phryne. Equally discombobulated Jack.
@aljwritesphryne, “The YACI-verse”. Reread by @kanste
The fic series YACI really made me love modern AU's and it is another feel good fic for me. I love that Phryne is not only a PI but also a social media personality. The use of Twitter/Facebook is fantastic as is the slow development of Phryne's and Jack's relationship. There are so many little add-ons to the main story from @aljwritesphryne that give us glimpses into the Phrack life. She did such a fantastic job with the characterisation! In my opinion this is exactly like those two would be if they would live today.
Xfphiles, “Devil in the Light”. Reread by @rithebard
Jack and Phryne are not talking after the death in the race car episode. Phryne is hunting for a missing heiress and finds a white slavery ring. She gets kidnapped and Jack has only one thought in mind. Find her. He almost loses himself doing it. This story really captured me for so many reasons. The loneliness of both of them missing the other. And what Jack went through and would do for Phryne, because he loved her so much. Beautiful. (I love this whole series.)
LemmingDancer, “Perchance to Dream”. Reread by @rithebard
Once again, Jack and Phryne are not talking after the death in the race car episode. This time Jack kidnapped and this time Phryne is desperately hunting for him and realizing just how much she loves him. This is a top favorite of mine. I go back to it again and again. It really gives you how both Jack and Phryne are feeling throughout the story. How they are both dealing with this situation and you feel like you are with them.
@mercurialbianca, “I Ask No Man Pardon”. Reread by @kanste
This one is not a Phrack story but Rosie's story with a little bit of Phrack. I love the way Bianca wrote Rosie. I have a soft spot for Rosie in the show and I love that EC didn't go the "nasty Ex" route. The friendship and later sexual attraction between Rosie and Phryne is very well written. I'm not a writer myself but I can imagine it is difficult to write a threesome and make it sexy and loving at the same time. I love the Phrack relationship Bianca wrote (as usual) but by the end Rosie is my star and I'm rooting for her and her new life. (The smut is very hot too).
Soupsouffle, “The Scent of a Lady (Detective)". Reread by @kanste
Phryne is out of town with Mac and leaves something for Jack to remember her. This is pure Phrack Porn. If you are cold this will make you hot. Soupsouffle manages to create so many wonderful images of our favourite couple and I never looked at tissues the same way again.
Man just having had an Art Experience.
CollingwoodGirl/ @jeneenp, “The Artist and The Muse”. Reread by @kanste
Phryne finds out that Jack sat down for a painting while she was in England. I love the visuals that CollingwoodGirl creates in this one. The trust they are giving each other is very hot for me.
CollingwoodGirl/ @jeneenp, “The Artist and The Muse”. Reread by @geenee27
The first time I read this story it left me stunned, it was that good. The prose is exquisite -- my words would just not do it justice. Suffice it to say, the writer paints (pun intended) such a beautiful, erotic and intimate portrait of every inch of Jack (effing) Robinson I am drawn to this work again and again. I love Phryne's initial reaction to the whole scenario, her curiosity, her doubt, her little jealousy about this other women. And her reaction when she finally finds out the truth:
“Oh Jack.” Her voice sounds faraway with her hand covering her mouth – like she’s caught up in a dream.
Drinking in the eloquence of the charcoal lines, the finesse of the chalk as it casts a glow over the lithe nude figure, her fingers dart forward. She wants to see him through the eyes of this artist, to trace that familiar landscape in a completely unfamiliar way, to imagine herself as the one who rendered the very essence of him.
And Jack's feelings concerning all that follows.
He can’t possibly hope to do anything but grin. This is what he loves most about her, he thinks. That he can surprise her – even shock her – without fear of judgment or the reprisal of stony silence.
(...)
He fists his free hand into her hair and kisses her, making silent promises with his mouth. In her open-armed acceptance, he has found freedom.
And if the story wasn't fantastic enough, Collingwoodgirl gives us the gift of finding the actual picture and it is glorious.
@missingmissfisher, “Never expected”. Reread by @rithebard
Once again I love so many of @missingmissfisher‘s tales but I chose this one. Phryne and Jack go undercover as a married couple, Fern and Archie Jones. They are in England, Jack is there to see Phryne but also to help a friend from Scotland Yard. This is just such a delightful story. Not only do they have fun of being undercover but they get to finally explore their relationship. Love!
Lenore, “New Mutiny”. Reread by @kanste
After an explosion Jack loses is memory and can't remember anything that happened after the War. I love how the writer manages to keep the characters and the UST of the series while doing a very believable amnesia.
Lenore, “New Mutiny”. Reread by @rithebard
Jack has amnesia he can't remember anything since the war. Not where he lives, or what he now does, not Hugh Collins and of course not Phryne Fisher. But because of all the horrors he saw in hospitals during the war he does nothing. Just uses his will to make everyone including Phryne think he is fine. Love this story. This is also a favorite. I go back to it over and over. Just to see how Jack's mind works, how he figures things out and what he really feels toward Phryne. Beautiful.
Lenore, “New Mutiny” (and the podfic of the same) and @rubycaspar, “And you yourself shall keep the key of it”. Reread by @whopooh
I too adore Lenore’s fic and have gone back to it several times. There is something utterly delicious in Jack trying to figure out his relatonship to this strange woman that seems to commandeer his life. Like here:
She leans in closer. "Jack."
Maybe this is what they are to each other. Maybe all he needs to do is—he reaches for her before the thought has a chance to fully form. He rests his hand against her cheek, just like in the dream, his thumb stroking along her jaw as he presses their mouths together. She comes easily with a soft pleased sound, her body swaying in toward his. But it's after just the slightest stutter of surprise. He might not even have noticed that if he weren't so attuned to her.
He draws back in confusion. "I—" It's clear now that this isn't how they are, and he has no notion of how to explain himself, apart from offering a confession he has no intention of making.
I also love @rubycaspar‘s take on the amnesia trope, “And you yourself shall keep the key of it”, and even though it isn’t finished yet, I have already found myself rereading it for the tension of Jack trying to figure things out. It has a much sadder lining, as Phryne is aware of what is happening, and it’s beautiful both in the fun and the sad parts.
That’s all for today. And anyone feeling the urge, I’m happy to receive more recommendations!
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Kiana Ledé is one of the best up-and-coming artists in the music industry right now. In every song despite the angelic, sugary sweet element to her vocals, when she sings her way down to her lower range, her powerful and fierce person is unleashed. She’s a girl don’t want to mess with. She became well-known amongst cover-lovers on YouTube for her mash-ups of her favourite songs but now she’s making her own music. At just 21 years old, she’s had many amazing singles and has already released her debut album, Selfless.
I’ve been a big fan of Kiana Ledé’s for a long time and have never been able to help myself but sing along to her music. Old and new. Below, is one of the first songs I heard that she had actually made herself. Have a listen to this one, it’s an acoustic cover of her song, I Choose You.
youtube
She’s got such a stunning voice which is perfect for both pop and R&B. This chick from Phoneix also features on the Fifty Shades Freed soundtrack. You’ve got to give that a listen too. Now you’ve heard her beautiful voice, let’s take a look at something else she’s got a talent for. And that is: have a next-level fashion sense. Whilst on tour for the release of her new album, she wore so many amazing pieces. Of course, she probably has the help of a super cool stylist, but this girl really knows how to express herself through what she wears.
Kiana Ledé: The Fashion Icon
First up is this gorgeous sultry cranberry moment. This Bardot style mini dress with gorgeous feather-like trimmings is incredible. Kiana Ledé also loves to pair her outfits with a pair of western cowgirl boots. Now if this isn’t a vibe, I don’t know what is.
Hail the feather boa. Or wait, could it be that it’s a cardigan? Whatever, it is Kiana Ledé looks enchanting as always. The colours of her outfit look delicious too, there’s just something about pink and orange that screams summer. Don’t you think?
Yesss! A flower moment. The print on this one-piece is incredibly unique with the contrasts of black, white, stripes, florals and polka dots. Totally different and unlike anything we usually see. Kiana Ledé has got that cool girl meets cutie pie vibe going on and we’re here for it.
Spicy redness come through! She looks like a classic ’90s diva in this get-up, what a rock star! I think it’s safe to say that Kiana Ledé loves a good chunk of texture incorporated into her outfits. We do too. It totally suits her and it adds to what makes her such a fashion icon. If only we could all look this cool in an outfit like this, right?
Finally, my personal favourite. This beautiful, boho, fringe outfit is such a vibe. The circle loop belt looks amazing with her rings, piercings and hair clip. Can we also just take a moment to appreciate her gorgeous hair too. Extensions or not, it’s beguiling. Kiana Ledé is a golden goddess.
More, did you say?
After an extensive browse of Kiana Ledé’s insta, we came across even more mesmerising outfits. It feels as though she really has nailed her own personal style down to a T over the past couple of years. And I think we can all agree that this is actually pretty hard to do. There are so many people and designers to be inspired by, it’s hard to know how to define your own tastes. But ladies and gents, all it takes is a little (or a lot) of time experimenting. Play with different, colours and textures until you find a combo perfect for you.
What are some outfits you’re feeling inspired by? Don’t forget to vote at the top of this article.
Cr: Instagram @kianalede
Kiana Ledé: A Young Queen With Killer Tour Outfits Kiana Ledé is one of the best up-and-coming artists in the music industry right now. In every song despite the angelic, sugary sweet element to her vocals, when she sings her way down to her lower range, her powerful and fierce person is unleashed.
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MAKING LIGHTED VANITY MIRROR UNIT
New Post has been published on http://wonderfulhomedecorations.com/bedroom-designs/making-lighted-vanity-mirror-unit.html
MAKING LIGHTED VANITY MIRROR UNIT
A lighted vanity mirror table is on every girl’s wish list. It is usually seen on fashion television shows where a makeup artist works with models in front of mirrors surrounded by light bulbs.
It’s the fantasy of every want-to-be starlet or diva (even if only in your imagination): applying luscious make-up, styling voluminous hair, and spritzing with flowery perfume while gazing at yourself in the mirror of a gorgeous, functional, and comfortable dressing table vanity.
Source: House of Joy
Böyle lüks bir mobilya, eski Hollywood’un göz kamaştıran yıldızlarını aklınızdan çıkarmaz; çünkü o muhteşem saçlarınızı kıvırarak burnunuzu tozlar ve iç Marilyn’ınızı canlandırır. Evinize böyle harika bir katkı, bir makyaj makyajı güzellik ve işlevsellik içine sarılır.
Bu makyajınızı tuvalet tezgahında yapmaktan çok daha anlamlı ve yerine getiriyor.
Büyük ekranda (veya küçük ekranda) asla görülemeyebilirsiniz, ancak siz de gün ya da gece etkinliklerinize hazırlanmak için böyle bir yere sahip olmaktan cömert hoşgörüyü yaşayabilirsiniz.
Kaynak: Diamond X Collection Ltd
Çok çalışıyorsun ve çok çalışıyorsun. İçinizdeyken kendinizi şımartıp kendinizi dışarıdaki güzel gibi hissetmenizi sağlayacak lüks bir alanı hak ediyorsunuz.
Kaynak: Versa Ürünleri
A Little Bit of Vanity History
You might be surprised to know that the fascination with the vanity didn’t begin with the Hollywood of old. It actually made its appearance near the close of the 17th century as a venue for apply blush (known then as rouge) and donning beloved pieces of jewelry.
Known throughout its history as the vanity (no explanation needed there), the dressing table, and the poudreuse—from the French word for powder—these lovely pieces are often seen in bathrooms as an extension, lowered, or even separate section of the bathroom countertop with a mirror of its own.
However, some designers are actually keeping with the more traditional look by utilizing furniture pieces as the vanity. These furniture-inspired dressing vanities also lend themselves to having a special place in bedrooms, where they can be in close proximity to clothing and other accessories. In addition to the great beauty they add to those spaces, vanities also offer many functional aspects.
Yes, your dressing table vanity can be practical, as well as beautiful! Just like you. So much more than just a table, today’s dressing vanities offer such amenities like drawers, adjustable mirrors, comfortable chairs, and counter surfaces that—while looking rich and gorgeous—can be easily wiped clean of stains and spills. Many vanity enthusiasts adorn their dressing table counters with lovely framed photos of loved ones and fresh, fragrant flowers to inspire them as they dress.
Building your Own Vanity from Scratch
First, we’ll take a look at building your own vanity mirror with lights from raw materials, then in the next section, we’ll start with an existing piece of furniture.
Materials
28×34 inch plywood sheet
2 pieces 32-inch board pieces
Undercoat/primer
Paint brush
Paint
18×30 inch mirror
Pencil
6 pieces lamp sockets with plug-in cords
Drill
Screwdriver
Construction adhesive
3-inch screws
2-inch screws
Zip ties
Light bulbs
Power strips
Procedure
Apply two coats of primer to the surface and sides of your 28×34 inch plywood sheet and the 2 pieces 32-inch board. Leave to dry for 2 hours.
Apply the colored paint evenly. You can choose any color for your lighted vanity table.
Lay the plywood piece on an even surface like your floor or a wide table. Make sure that it is positioned in the center. Mark the outline with a pencil. Set the mirror aside in a safe place before continuing your work.
Position the 6 lamp sockets onto the plywood piece. Place 3 pieces to each side, making sure that the space between them is even. Mark their outline with a pencil.
Make a ¼-inch hole on the center of each circle using your drill.
Hold the plywood sheet against the spot where you wish to place the vanity mirror. With a pencil, trace each side of the sheet.
Insert the cords through the holes then screw the sockets to the plywood sheet.
Apply the adhesive to the back of the mirror then press it in place on the plywood.
Attach the electrical power strip under the mirror using the mounting screws.
Drill three 1/16 holes through each wood board. Screw them to the wall using your 3-inch screws. Make sure the painted parts are facing away from the center.
Drill four holes through the wood towards the wall boards. Secure using the 2-inch screws.
Connect the six electrical plugs to the power strip. With its switch turned off, connect the strip’s cord into an electrical outlet.
Attach the light bulbs into the 6 sockets. Turn on the power strip switch to light up your vanity mirror.
The ample lighting from your lighted vanity table makes the application of makeup easier. This DIY project will not dig a hole in your pocket, unlike designer-made vanity tables.
Making a Vanity from an old Dresser
Little girls who love imitating their mom will enjoy having their own vanity table. It is a great place to display their favorite things like hair accessories, jewelry, and other important items. They will have fun prepping up every day in front of a table with a mirror especially if it is beautifully decorated.
Vanity tables can be placed in bedrooms or bathrooms to provide beauty and convenience. With a mirror placed on top, girls can have fun applying makeup, styling their hair, or dressing up for an occasion.
Vanity tables are not only for grown-up women. If decorated with cute little accessories, a vanity table can surely become a little girl’s own prized possession. Make your little girl feel like a star by helping her decorate her own vanity using some items that may just be lying around in your home.
Rather than throwing away an old dresser, why not turn it into a vanity for you or your daughter? Recycling an old furniture piece is a noble thing to do for the environment. So, here are few ideas to help you out in this project.
Cut It.
To create enough space for you or your girl’s legs, cut out the middle section of the dresser. Attach thin boards to create walls. You might need to remove the bottom drawers to create space for the chair.
Paint It.
Does the dresser look worn out? Don’t fret. All you need is paint in your girl’s favorite color.
First, sand the dresser then apply primer and paint. You can use either a plastic or latex primer.
Pink is usually the favorite color of little girls. This color is perfect for their vanity table especially if the room already has a pink color theme. If your daughter’s room has patterned wallpaper, paint the vanity with a plain but beautiful matching color. If her walls are bland, you can get creative on the vanity by creating stripes or polka dots. You can also create a lacy effect using doilies that you can purchase from arts and crafts stores.
You can also turn it into shabby chic furniture which is perfect for a girl’s bedroom. You can do this by painting with a pastel base color then adding a little white paint over it. Decorate the vanity table with trimmings and accents.
Also, Washi tapes have been popular for a while now. They are tapes in decorative patterns and are often used when wrapping gifts, working on arts and crafts and creating décor wherever possible. You can use the washi tape to cover the entire vanity except for the mirror. You can also do the same with colored papers dipped in glue to create a decoupage.
Add a Mirror
What differentiates a vanity from a desk is the presence of a mirror. You can find mirrors from yard sales, flea market, and thrift shops. Decorate them accordingly to fit the personality of your daughter. If you don’t find anything you like in those places, you can look around home improvement stores for a wall-mounted mirror. See below about choosing a mirror…
Replace the hardware.
Some kid’s vanity tables look a little boring. To make them look more interesting, you can remove the old drawer handles and replace them with knobs in interesting shapes like flowers, butterflies, or cute animals. Paint them in a color that goes well with the whole vanity table.
Add a Chair
To complete a girls vanity set, create a dainty vanity seat from a piano bench. For the upholstery, choose a fabric that matches the vanity or just let your daughter pick.
Decorate it.
So what can you do to dress up your girl’s vanity table? Collect stickers, keepsakes, and postcards can serve as additional decor for your girl’s new vanity table.
You can place a glass on top of the vanity table and arrange stickers or birthday cards under it.
Remember that you can only place flat items under the glass. The vanity table will turn into some sort of mood board for your little girl to keep her inspired.
Love It.
While your girl may still be too young for make-up and the likes, it does not mean that she will not enjoy having her own vanity like moms. This can be a great gift for her birthday. She can use this when she is playing Barbie with her friends. It is easy to turn a dresser into girls vanity with just a little creativity and patience on your side. Don’t settle for store-bought vanities that may be identical to your neighbor’s. Your effort in making this project will surely not be forgotten by your girl. She will talk about it when she grows up.
Choosing a Vanity Mirror
If you want to own a vanity table with lighted mirror, you need to determine your most pressing needs before picking one from the store. Lighted vanity tables have many uses. Most women use it when applying makeup every day and for special occasions. Others need it when doing their morning and evening beauty regimen. A lighted vanity mirror makes a huge contribution to a woman’s appearance so it is necessary that you know how to pick the perfect one.
There are two types of mirrors used in a vanity table.
Single-sided mirrors are just regular
Double-sided mirrors have two sides: a regular mirror on one side and the special mirror which provides a magnified look on the other side.
When choosing a double-sided mirror, you need to determine how magnified the special mirror should be to make your beauty routines more comfortable.
Mirrorvana Vanity 8-Inch Double-Sided 1X and 10X Magnifying Makeup Mirror
Another desirable feature is the mirror’s rotating ability. This will help you get into a comfortable position when you need to check every single part of your face in your vanity mirror.
Size can also play a big role in the appeal of a vanity table. You will be more comfortable working on your face in front of a mirror that is big enough for your frame but does not take up too much space in your room.
Here are some great mirrors you can pick up on Amazon:
Source: ReignCharm Hollywood Vanity Mirror Bluetooth Audio-Enabled LED Light Bulbs
simplehuman Wide View Sensor Mirror
Hollywood D-luxe Vanity Mirror With Drawers by Impressions Vanity White
Hollywood Glow Vanity Mirror By Impressions Vanity Large
Starlet Lighted Vanity Mirror
Rucci LED Lighted Movable Vanity Mirror
LED Lighted 18 X 30 Wall Mount Vanity Bathroom Mirror with Defogger
Danielle Revolving Wall-Mounted Lighted Mirror
Horizontal LED Bathroom Silvered Mirror with Touch Button
Round 22 LED Lighted Wall Mount Bathroom Mirror Sol with Defogger
Source: Impressions
Impressions Vanity Hollywood Studio Lighted Make-Up Vanity Back Stage Mirror
Vanity Mirrors with Lights
When applying makeup, you need the correct amount of lighting so you don’t end up looking like a joke when you go out. It is best to use a vanity table with a lighted makeup mirror whether you like putting makeup on in your bathroom or your bedroom. A mirror with lights will help you apply the right amount of makeup in the right areas of your face.
You don’t want bulbs that do not illuminate enough. But bulbs that are too bright aren’t very desirable either. Top bright of bulbs will distort the view of your natural look.
With that problem in mind, it would be best if you choose a lighting that has a dimming switch. That way you can adjust the light according to your preferences.
For instance, you need the bulbs to give off some sort of natural light when you are applying makeup, but you will need it to shine brighter while you are plucking your eyebrows or flossing your teeth.
Final Thoughts
The best part of having a dressing table vanity is that you can customize it to be exactly what you want it to be—antique, shabby-chic, modern, vintage, and retro. With the right vanity, chair, and mirror, you can create any look your desire to compliment or offset the décor of your bathroom or bedroom.
You can be whomever you want to be—the sensible one… the glamorous one… the wild one… the ingenious one. And your dressing table vanity can go right along with you on the journey of self-discovery and be whatever you envision it to be, as well. The only limits are your unique imagination and your enduring style.
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