#Visual Studio Charts

[gamebunny-advance]

Heaven Studio itch.io page

[felassan]

Stephen Totilo reports: 'EA CEO’s pay is up, as EA worker median income drops'

Behold, the tallest chart in Game File history. PLUS: EA execs were paid (a little) more for boosting generative AI

Excerpt:

"EA CEO Andrew Wilson received $30.5 million in cash and stock pay for the 12 months ending March 31, 2025, nearly $5 million up from the year before, according to EA’s most recent proxy filing, which was issued earlier this week. That’s a significant boost for the long-time CEO of the studio behind Battlefield, Dragon Age and Madden. It also went in the opposite direction as the EA worker pay to which the company annually compares Wilson’s take. EA reported that the median income for its full-time employees in 2024 was $117,000, down from $149,000 the year before. Note that EA’s tally for worker pay is disappointingly imprecise. It’s ostensibly based on a median average, not the mean (median = pulling the middle number from a stack of salaries; mean = adding the salary stack together, then dividing by the number of salaries in that stack). Confusingly, EA says it used “the same median employee” in 2025 that it used to compare compensation with Wilson in 2023 and 2024. It does not explain that workers’ 2025 pay drop, but says its figures for CEO and worker pay both include bonuses and stock grants, which can rise and fall in a given year. Nevertheless, Wilson’s compensation is up; EA’s chosen comparison figure for worker pay is down."

[source and full article]

edit:

For perspective as a visualization, this is a screen recording of the graph in the article linked above. [recording by Ghil Dirthalen]

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Gackt - Lust for Blood 2003

Gackt is a Japanese singer-songwriter, musician, record producer and actor. He has been active since 1993, first as the frontman of the short-lived independent band Cains:Feel, and in 1995-1998 the visual kei rockband Malice Mizer, before starting his solo career in 1999. He has released nine studio albums and, with forty-eight singles released, holds the male soloist record for most top ten consecutive singles in Japanese music history. Besides being established in the modern entertainment industry and a pop icon, Gackt's music has been used as theme songs for video games, video game films, anime series/films, and television series. In addition to his music career, Gackt has acted and voice acted, including characters inspired by him in video games like Bujingai and Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII. He also provided the voice samples for the Vocaloid software Gackpoid.

Crescent is his fourth full-length studio album, released on December 3, 2003. It is a concept album linked to its 2002 predecessor Moon and comes with booklets for both records (Moon did not originally contain one). Crescent also features a duet with L'Arc-en-Ciel vocalist Hyde for "Orenji no Taiyou" with whom Gackt co-starred in the 2003 movie Moon Child. In the third counting week of December the album reached number five on the Oricon charts, with sales of 75,561 copies. It charted for 11 weeks. Since its release the album has sold more than 250,000 copies, being not certified Gold due to change of criteria, but Platinum by the RIAJ.

"Lust for Blood" received a total of 63,1% yes votes! Previous Gackt polls: #282 "Vanilla".

[kpoplustzone]

STRETCHING KAZUHA - KAZUHA SMUT

Oc x KAZUHA

Read more unreleased stories - link

Kazuha stretched, her body a symphony of toned muscle and graceful curves accentuated by her tight, form-fitting yoga outfit. Years of rigorous ballet training had sculpted her into a vision of athletic perfection, every movement showcasing her incredible flexibility and strength.

Her abs were defined yet feminine, rippling subtly as she extended her arms overhead, her lean waist a testament to her disciplined lifestyle. Her breasts, though not overtly large, were perfectly shaped and perky, straining slightly against the fabric of her top with each movement, their nipples clearly visible beneath the thin material. Her thighs were long and muscular, leading down to delicate ankles, a dancer's physique honed to exquisite perfection.

Kazuha was a global phenomenon, a member of one of South Korea's most wildly popular girl groups. Their music dominated charts worldwide, their performances were legendary for their precision and energy, and each member was a coveted idol, adored by millions. Kazuha herself held a special place in the hearts of many fans, her elegant beauty and captivating stage presence making her a constant object of lust and admiration. Her every appearance sent ripples through social media, with fans dissecting every detail of her outfits and movements. She was aware of the intense scrutiny, and while she maintained a polished image in public, in her private moments, she embraced her sensuality with an equal fervor.

The door creaked open, and a figure filled the doorway, eclipsing the soft morning light. Kazuha’s breath hitched in her throat. It was a man, a black man, and he was built like a god carved from ebony. He wore nothing but a pair of tight-fitting athletic shorts, the fabric straining against his immense thighs with every slight movement. His muscles rippled beneath his dark skin, glistening with a light sheen of sweat that hinted at a recent workout. Kazuha had requested a personal trainer to enhance her already impressive physique for their upcoming comeback, but the agency hadn't mentioned anything about a trainer like *this*.

Her initial shock gave way to a surge of intense curiosity. She swallowed hard, her gaze involuntarily tracing the contours of his powerful body. Those thighs, thick and sculpted, looked capable of crushing walnuts. And the way his shorts clung to his groin… she could just make out the prominent bulge pressing against the fabric, a silent promise of impressive size. She was accustomed to the lean, often androgynous physiques of Korean male idols, their muscles carefully toned but rarely with this raw, untamed power. The man before her exuded a primal energy, a masculine force that both intimidated and undeniably intrigued her. Her ballet-trained body recognized the athleticism, the dedication it took to build such a physique, but a different, more visceral part of her was simply captivated by the sheer visual impact of his magnificent form.

They exchanged simple pleasantries, his deep voice a smooth rumble that resonated through the quiet studio. His name was Jeremy, he’d said, his accent carrying a hint of somewhere far away. As they began some basic stretches, a palpable awareness hung in the air, their movements mirroring each other in a silent dance of mutual appraisal.

As Kazuha bent forward, her yoga pants stretched taut across her perfectly sculpted ass, Jeremy, positioned behind her, allowed his gaze to linger. The way the fabric clung to every curve, the slight flex of her gluteal muscles as she moved – it was a sight that made his own cock stir in his shorts. Her slender back, the gentle slope of her spine leading down to that delectable ass, held an undeniable allure. He found himself subtly adjusting his stance, hoping she wouldn't notice the growing bulge in his shorts.

Kazuha, facing the mirror, was acutely aware of Jeremy’s presence behind her. While her eyes followed her own movements, her peripheral vision kept him in focus. She couldn't help but notice the way his muscles bulged with each extension, the impressive size of his thighs straining the fabric of his shorts. And then there was the unmistakable movement in his groin, the way his cock would shift and sway with his stretches. It was hard not to imagine what that felt like, pressing against her own body. A faint flush crept up her neck, a mixture of embarrassment and a burgeoning heat in her core. This was definitely a different kind of workout than she had anticipated.

As Jeremy moved behind Kazuha to adjust her posture for a deeper stretch, his hands settled firmly on her waist, his grip surprisingly strong. He pulled her gently backward, her toned ass now pressed flush against the front of his athletic shorts. The contact was immediate, electrifying. Kazuha’s breath hitched, her body going rigid for a fleeting moment. It was an unexpected intimacy, far beyond the usual boundaries of a simple trainer-client interaction.

Then, a wave of heat washed over her, and an almost unconscious impulse took over. As Jeremy corrected the angle of her spine, her задница subtly shifted, a tiny, involuntary grind against the hard ridge pressing into her. A gasp escaped her lips, though she couldn’t be sure if Jeremy had noticed. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and a thrilling sense of forbidden curiosity.

Even through the fabric of their workout clothes, she could feel the impressive size of his cock. Even in its semi-aroused state, it was substantial, a thick, heavy presence that sent a flutter of unfamiliar sensations through her core. She had been around male idols her entire career, seen their toned bodies, but there was something different about Jeremy, a raw physicality that was both intimidating and incredibly alluring. Her curiosity, which had been simmering since he walked into the room, now threatened to boil over. What would it feel like to have that massive cock inside her? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, her body already starting to get turned on with anticipation. She tried to focus on Jeremy’s instructions, on the stretch itself, but the feel of his body so close, the unmistakable pressure of his cock against her ass, made it nearly impossible to concentrate. Her senses were heightened, every point of contact sending sparks through her. This wasn’t just about improving her flexibility anymore

Despite the pretense of focusing on stretches, a palpable tension crackled between Kazuha and Jeremy. His cock, now throbbing with a fierce erection, strained visibly against the thin fabric of his shorts, the outline unmistakable with every slight movement. Kazuha, facing him in a mirroring exercise, could see it clearly in the mirror’s reflection. A deep heat pulsed between her own thighs, her yoga pants now damp against her slick pussy. She could feel the unmistakable slickness, a constant reminder of her body's eagerness for him.

Their stretches became less about fitness and more about subtle, suggestive movements. When Jeremy demonstrated a hip-opening exercise, he positioned himself close behind her, his erect cock brushing against her ass with each repetition. Kazuha would let out a small gasp with each contact, pretending it was from the intensity of the stretch, but her eyes in the mirror betrayed the truth – a mixture of shock and intense arousal.

During a hamstring stretch, when she bent low, her butt high in the air, she could feel Jeremy’s gaze burning into her through her yoga pants. She held the position a little longer than necessary, enjoying the sensation of being so exposed to his lustful gaze. When it was his turn, the way his shorts tightened around his massive erection as he leaned forward was almost a comical display of his arousal, and Kazuha couldn't suppress a small, knowing smile.

The air in the studio grew thick with unspoken desire. Their breaths were becoming more ragged, their movements less precise. They were playing a dangerous game, this charade of a training session, with their bodies screaming for something far more intimate. The question wasn't if they would fuck, but when their carefully constructed pretense would finally shatter.

“You know, Kazuha,” Jeremy said, his voice now a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down her spine, “for really effective stretching, it’s best done without any restrictions. Clothes can sometimes hinder the full range of motion.” He gave her a knowing look, his gaze lingering on her chest where her sports bra barely contained her perky breasts. “Don’t you agree?”

Kazuha met his gaze in the mirror, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. She knew exactly what he was suggesting, and the anticipation sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her thighs. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right, Jeremy-ssi,” she replied, her voice deliberately innocent. “We wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of optimal flexibility, would we?”

With a slow, deliberate motion that was pure tease, Kazuha reached behind her neck and unclasped her sports bra. She let it slide down her arms, the tight elastic briefly hugging her breasts before it fell to the floor with a soft *thump*. Her perky, round breasts were now fully exposed, their nipples hard and erect from the combined effect of the earlier friction and the building excitement. She held his gaze in the mirror, letting him feast his eyes on her naked upper body. Her toned abs rippled slightly as she took a deep breath, her slender waist curving down to her yoga pants, which still clung to her wet pussy. She ran a hand through her sweat-dampened hair, a silent invitation for him to follow suit. Now, all eyes were on Jeremy, waiting to see if he would reciprocate her daring move.

Jeremy didn't hesitate for a second. His hands went to the waistband of his shorts, and in one swift motion, he pulled them down, revealing his magnificent, fully erect cock. It sprang forth with impressive energy, a thick, long shaft of dark, ebony skin that stood out starkly against his toned body. A wide smile stretched across his face as he saw the shock and undisguised awe that spread across Kazuha’s face.

Kazuha could only gulp, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of his enormous penis. It was truly a monster, thick as her wrist and undeniably long. The rumors she’d heard about black men’s cocks suddenly seemed very real, very tangible. It was a magnificent specimen, pulsating with life and demanding attention. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt a strange mix of intimidation and intense curiosity.

Still in a daze, her gaze locked onto his impressive erection, Kazuha reached down and slowly peeled off her yoga pants. The thin fabric slid down her legs, pooling at her ankles, leaving her completely naked in front of him. Her eyes never left his cock as she stood there, vulnerable and aroused.

Jeremy’s eyes swept over her now-naked body, taking in every curve and contour. Her perky breasts, their nipples still hard from his earlier attention, her flat stomach, and the dark triangle of hair between her thighs, which was visibly влажная. He could see the heat radiating off her, the unmistakable signs of her arousal mirroring his own. His smile widened even further, a predatory glint in his eyes. He knew, in that moment, that the “training session” had officially taken a very different turn. The air in the studio crackled with anticipation, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy between them. They were both naked, both aroused, and both undeniably ready for the next step. The pretense of exercise had completely evaporated, replaced by a raw, primal desire.

Kazuha took a tentative step closer to Jeremy, her eyes still drawn to the impressive length of his dark cock. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his bicep, marveling at the hard, sculpted muscle beneath his smooth, dark skin. “My goodness, Jeremy-ssi,” she said, her voice a soft, breathy whisper, her gaze flicking up to meet his eyes. “What kind of workout do you do to get all these… muscles?”

Her hand then moved across his broad chest, feeling the rippling hardness of his pecs, before tracing the defined lines of his abs. Finally, her fingers trailed lower, her touch becoming more intimate as she gently encircled the base of his thick, erect cock. “And… especially this thing,” she added, her thumb lightly brushing against the underside of his shaft. “It’s… quite impressive.”

Jeremy watched her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He reached out, his large hands gripping her bare ass his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pulled her closer, so that her flat abs pressed against the length of his hard cock. Kazuha gasped at the direct contact, the solid pressure of his erection against her core sending a jolt of pure sensation through her.

“Well, Kazuha,” he rumbled, his voice husky with desire, “maybe after our… workout… I can show you a few things.” His grip tightened on her ass, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between their bodies from her chest down. She could feel the full length and thickness of his cock pressing into her, a tantalizing promise of the pleasure to come.

“Show me, then, Jeremy-ssi,” Kazuha whispered, her voice husky with anticipation. She lifted one leg, bending it at the knee and hooking her heel high up on his shoulder, showcasing the incredible range of motion honed by years of ballet. Her other leg remained grounded, providing a perfect counterpoint and exposing her wet pussy even more directly to his gaze.

Jeremy’s eyes widened, a primal gleam in their depths as he took in the sight. Her pose was both elegant and incredibly provocative, her bare leg a sensual invitation. He reached down, his fingers gently spreading her pussy lips, revealing the dark, throbbing clit within. “Look at you, all stretched out and ready for me,” he growled, his thumb lightly teasing her swollen nub.

Kazuha gasped, her back arching slightly as his touch ignited a fresh wave of desire. “You have no idea how ready I am, Jeremy,” she breathed, her grip tightening on his broad shoulders for balance. “Use me.”

With a knowing smile, Jeremy obliged. He lifted her other leg, guiding it to rest on his other shoulder, effectively splaying her open and presenting her juicy core directly to him. Her flexibility allowed her to hold this position with surprising ease, her toned muscles quivering slightly with the effort and the intense arousal. “Now that’s what I call a proper stretch,” he said, his voice thick with lust as he positioned himself between her outstretched thighs, his hard, black cock now perfectly aligned with her wet, waiting pussy.

With a deep, primal groan, Jeremy nudged the head of his thick, black cock against the entrance of Kazuha's wet pussy. She gasped, her hips lifting slightly in anticipation. He paused for a moment, their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed the head of his cock inside her tight folds.

The tightness of Kazuha’s pussy was almost unbelievable. Jeremy grunted with the effort, his large hands gripping her thighs as he pushed with steady force. The head of his thick cock had slid in, but the rest of it seemed determined to stay out. Kazuha gasped, her muscles clenching around him, her eyes wide with a mixture of pleasure and the slight sting of the stretch. “Oh, fuck… Jeremy…” she breathed, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Jeremy grunted with effort, his muscles straining as he slowly inched his way deeper into Kazuha's incredibly tight pussy. He could feel her slick heat gripping his shaft, each millimeter gained a victory hard-won. To create more space for his thick cock, he gently but firmly pressed down on her inner thighs, guiding her legs further apart, coaxing her into a deeper split.

"Fuck, you're so tight, Kazuha," Jeremy growled, his breath hot against her ear. "Feels like I'm breaking you open."

Kazuha gasped, her head lolling back. "Ughnn... feels so good though, doesn't it, Jeremy?" she panted, her thighs trembling slightly as she stretched further. "Like... like I was made just for your cock."

He pushed another inch, his knuckles white as he gripped her legs. "Almost there, baby girl," he grunted. "You're taking all of me."

"That's the idea, Jeremy," Kazuha whispered, her eyes locking with his. "Every single inch. I want to feel you deep inside me."

With a final surge of effort, Jeremy pushed through the last bit of resistance, his cock finally sliding all the way into Kazuha's tight, wet depths. She let out a sharp cry, a mixture of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Now fully sheathed inside her, Jeremy paused for a moment, letting Kazuha adjust to his size. Her inner muscles clenched around his shaft, a sensation so intense it almost made him buck. "Damn, Kazuha," he breathed, his forehead now beaded with sweat. "You weren't kidding about being tight."

Kazuha’s breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. "Feels... amazing... doesn't it?" she whispered, her hands gripping his hips. "Now... move, Jeremy. Fuck me."

A wide grin spread across Jeremy's face. "That's what I like to hear." He began to move slowly at first, his hips rocking back and forth, his thick cock sliding in and out of Kazuha's incredibly snug pussy. Each thrust elicited a soft moan from her, her body instinctively arching to meet his movements. The slick sounds of their bodies colliding filled the studio, a stark contrast to the peaceful silence that had reigned just moments before.

"Oh, Jeremy... fuck..." Kazuha gasped, her legs still stretched wide, allowing him deep access. She tightened her grip on his hips, pulling him closer. "Deeper... I want to feel the base of your cock."

Jeremy obliged, his thrusts becoming deeper and more forceful. He could feel her tightness easing slightly as she grew more accustomed to his size, but the friction remained incredible, every movement a source of intense pleasure for both of them. He leaned down, his lips finding hers, their tongues tangling in a passionate kiss as he continued to fuck her hard, their bodies slick with sweat and desire.

As Jeremy continued his rhythmic thrusts, his free hands found their way to Kazuha’s breasts. He squeezed and kneaded her soft flesh, his thumbs expertly teasing her already erect nipples. The combined sensations of his thick cock pounding deep inside her and his hands playing with her perky boobs sent shivers of pleasure through her entire body.

“Oh, Jeremy… fuck… feels so good…” Kazuha moaned, her head thrashing against the mat.

“You like Ajhussi’s hands on your pretty tits, huh?” Jeremy growled, his voice thick with lust as he switched his attention to her other breast, squeezing it firmly.

“Y-yes… please… don’t stop…” she gasped, her pussy clenching tightly around his cock with each thrust.

Remembering Kazuha’s incredible flexibility, Jeremy decided to experiment. He lifted one of her legs, guiding it high above her head, her ballerina training allowing her to stretch effortlessly into a modified plow position. This new angle deepened the penetration, hitting a different spot inside her, and Kazuha let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

“Oh, my God, Jeremy!” she screamed. “That feels… incredible!”

They tried another position, Jeremy lifting her onto all fours while he knelt behind her, his cock sliding deep into her from the rear. Her moans echoed through the studio as her pussy gripped his shaft with increasing intensity. Her flexibility allowed them to explore positions she never thought possible, each one bringing new sensations and intensifying her pleasure.

With each deep thrust, Kazuha felt another orgasm building within her, each one more intense than the last, all triggered by the feel of Jeremy’s thick, black cock pounding into her tight folds. She bucked her hips against him, her body trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her.

“Jeremy! Jeremy! Fuck!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with pleasure. “Your cock… it’s… it’s the best… I’ll never… I’ll never want anyone else…” The realization hit her with undeniable force: after experiencing Jeremy's impressive member and the raw, uninhibited passion they shared, she knew that no other man’s cock would ever compare. Her screams and moans filled the studio, a testament to the incredible pleasure Jeremy was giving her, pushing her body to its absolute limits.

Leaning into her roughly, Jeremy braced his hands on either side of Kazuha's head, his thick, black cock drilling into her pussy with a primal force. Each deep thrust expanded her tight walls, pushing further inside, making her gasp against his lips. He lifted her legs, guiding them to rest on his broad chest, pulling her even closer, their bodies now flush against each other from chest to thighs.

Their kiss deepened, tongues tangling and wrestling in a frenzy of lust. It was a raw, passionate exchange unlike any kiss Kazuha had experienced before, a stark contrast to the chaste pecks and carefully orchestrated intimacy she was used to. With each powerful plunge of Jeremy's cock deep inside her, Kazuha moaned into his mouth, the влажный sounds mingling with their heavy breathing and the rhythmic *thwack* of their bodies colliding. Her head thrashed against the mat with the force of his thrusts, her perky breasts bouncing wildly against his chest. She could feel the intense pressure of his cock stretching her wider with each powerful downward stroke, a sensation that was both intensely pleasurable and slightly overwhelming. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her grip tightening whenever he hit that perfect spot deep within her. The world outside, her career, her fame – all of it vanished as she was consumed by the raw, visceral pleasure of being thoroughly fucked by this magnificent black man.

Jeremy released one of Kazuha’s hands, using it to pull her torso upright. With a grunt, he guided her to sit up on his still-erect cock, positioning her carefully before letting go. Kazuha gasped as his thick shaft slid all the way back in, stretching her even wider from this new angle. Her head naturally arched back, her long hair cascading down her back as Jeremy’s hands found her hips, his thumbs pressing into her sides.

He began to bounce her on his cock, his hips thrusting upwards in a steady, rhythmic motion. Each downward slide sent her влажная pussy grinding against the full length of his member, eliciting loud moans and screams from her.

“Oh, fuck, Jeremy! That’s it!” Kazuha cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. “Ride me, baby! Ride me hard!”

Jeremy’s hips bucked with increasing intensity, meeting her downward thrusts with powerful upward ones. The thwuck thwuck sounds of their bodies slapping together filled the studio, punctuated by Kazuha’s unrestrained cries of pleasure.

“You like that, Kazuha?” Jeremy growled, his voice thick with lust. “You like the way my big black cock feels inside you?”

“Yessss! You know I do, you magnificent beast!” she screamed, throwing her head back further as she rode him harder, her perky breasts bouncing wildly with each up-and-down motion. “Fuck me like you mean it, Jeremy! Don’t stop!”

Jeremy’s fingers slipped down, finding Kazuha’s swollen, ultra-sensitive clit. He began to rub it rhythmically while his cock continued to pump deep inside her. The combination was explosive. Kazuha’s body went rigid, her back arching off the floor as another intense orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clenched down hard on his cock, milking him with frantic intensity. She screamed his name, her whole body trembling uncontrollably as she fell back onto the mat in a blissful daze, panting and gasping for air.

Jeremy stood over her, his magnificent black cock still hard and slick with her juices. He pointed it over her trembling form and began to stroke it slowly, watching her reaction, a satisfied smirk on his face. Kazuha’s eyes were glazed over, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she watched him pleasure himself above her. With a deep groan, he picked up the pace, his strokes becoming faster and more furious until, with a final shudder, he unloaded loads and loads of thick, white cum all over her body. It splattered across her face, dripped down her perky breasts, coated her long legs and thighs, and even filled her open mouth.

He looked down at her, covered in his ejaculate, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Kazuha, still catching her breath, managed a weak smile in return, feeling completely spent but utterly satisfied.

“Well, Kazuha,” Jeremy said, chuckling softly, “I’d say that was some pretty effective stretching.”

“Mmm, yeah,” she mumbled, licking some of his cum from her lips. “Definitely felt a good burn.”

“So,” he continued, winking, “when should we schedule our next… stretching session?”

[chelseaknoo]

Hiii I love ur ficsss

Can u do a 2000 Eminem x latina/singer ???

2000s Eminem x Latina singer! Reader

Note:I wanted to make this fic like the other fic that I made.

You’re in your twenties, with a few years of experience already under your belt in the music industry. It’s been a whirlwind ride of late nights in the studio, long days on tour, and the thrill of live performances that leave you breathless. Tonight, you’re preparing for another show, meticulously applying your makeup in front of a mirror. The familiar buzz of a nearby radio fills the dressing room with a mix of chart-topping hits and hip-hop beats. It’s just background noise—until a new track begins to play

She's got curves in all the right places, and a smile that can light up the night,

I'd do anything to be with her, to hold her tight.

I dream about her every night, and think about her all day,

I'd give anything to be with her, to make her mine in every way.

Hearing it, you’re momentarily stunned—this is Eminem, known for his raw candor and biting verses, rarely this personal. Fans and media latch on, fueling speculation. For you, it’s a mix of flattery and curiosity, leaving you to wonder about the intent behind his words as they echo through your world.

You were performing at a festival, a massive event where music fans gathered from all over, creating a charged atmosphere that crackled with energy. It was one of the biggest performances of your career so far, and you’d just finished checking your setlist when word came through the grapevine: Eminem was also performing. The realization sent a thrill down your spine. After his recent track where he’d dropped your name with lyrics that had set the rumor mill ablaze, you knew there was a chance you might cross paths.

During Eminem’s performance, the energy was palpable. The crowd was on fire, hanging onto every lyric he delivered with his signature intensity and precision. Midway through his set, the beat shifted, and you recognized the opening notes immediately—it was the song he’d written about you. The realization sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but feel both flattered and completely taken off guard.

As the track played, the massive screen behind him lit up with visuals. To your surprise, a snippet from one of your own music videos appeared. It was you—dancing, singing, completely in your element. The image faded in and out, perfectly synced to the lyrics he was delivering. The crowd erupted, clearly catching the connection and loving every second of it.

You felt your heart race as you stood there, unable to take your eyes off the screen or him. The mix of admiration and boldness in his performance was undeniable—he’d just laid it all out there, right in front of thousands of fans. You pressed your fingertips to your lips, feeling the heat in your face as you blushed deeply. It was surreal, having someone like Eminem make such a public declaration, and for a moment, you were overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment, pride, and something far more personal.

As you made your way backstage, the crowd’s cheers outside provided a distant, rhythmic roar. The corridors were a chaotic mix of performers, stagehands, and crew members hurrying by. Just as you reached a quieter corner, you saw him—Eminem, unmistakable in his hoodie and baseball cap, talking with his team. For a second, your heart stopped. The man behind the lyrics was just a few feet away.

He caught sight of you, paused, and then walked over, his eyes holding a glimmer of curiosity mixed with that familiar intensity. You met him halfway, every step feeling like a blend of surreal anticipation and adrenaline.

You’re in your twenties, a seasoned performer in the music industry, and tonight, you're at one of the biggest festivals of the year. The air buzzes with excitement, the ground vibrating beneath your feet as crowds scream for the next artist to take the stage. You can hear the faint pulse of the music outside as you finish your makeup in front of a backstage mirror, perfecting the final details of your look. The lights reflect off your eyes, capturing the adrenaline coursing through you.

But the excitement of the night isn't just about the performance. Earlier today, a new track dropped on the radio, and to your surprise, it featured none other than Eminem—mentioning you in his lyrics. His words have been replaying in your mind, each line burning themselves deeper with every replay:

*“She's got curves in all the right places, and a smile that can light up the night,

I'd do anything to be with her, to hold her tight.

I dream about her every night, and think about her all day,

I'd give anything to be with her, to make her mine in every way.”*

Hearing those lines for the first time left you stunned, a rush of disbelief mixed with flattery. Eminem, one of the most respected names in the game, had woven you into his story with words that were both bold and unmistakably personal.

Before long, you’re backstage at the festival, preparing to take the stage. The crew members buzz around, checking equipment and making sure everything runs smoothly. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts, and you can sense him even before you see him—Eminem is here. He walks in with a confident stride, his presence magnetic and undeniable, his signature hoodie and serious expression unmistakable.

He spots you, and for a brief moment, his gaze softens, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. He approaches, and the noise around you seems to fade away.

"Hey," he says, his voice low but carrying over the hum of the backstage commotion. "I guess you heard the track."

You smile, trying to play it cool despite your racing heart. "Kinda hard to miss when you’re broadcasting my personal life to the world, don’t you think?"

He chuckles, a genuine sound that catches you off guard. "Guilty as charged," he admits. "I meant every word, though."

There’s a beat of silence between you two, heavy with a mix of tension and curiosity. You search his eyes, trying to read the man behind the verses that caught you off guard.

"So," you say, breaking the silence and tilting your head playfully, "was that your way of asking me out, or do you just enjoy making things complicated?"

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little of both. Keeps things interesting."

Before you can respond, a stagehand interrupts, letting you know it’s almost time for you to go on. Eminem steps back but not before leaning in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.

"Break a leg out there," he murmurs, his voice just for you. "I’ll be watching."

With that, he turns away, leaving you with a pounding heart and a renewed energy. As you make your way toward the stage, you can’t help but smile, knowing that tonight's performance—and whatever happens next—just got a whole lot more interesting.

With that, you stepped onto the stage, the festival’s energy washing over you like a wave. The world might have gone wild for his lyrics, but now you had a story unfolding that was just yours—and it was only beginning.

Eminem stood backstage, his eyes locked on you as you took command of the stage. He had seen countless performers before, but there was something different about you—something captivating. The way you moved, the fluid grace with which you danced, and the effortless confidence you exuded as you sang each note—it all seemed to pull him in, leaving him momentarily spellbound.

The lights cast a glow around you, accentuating every curve of your body as you swayed in rhythm with the music. Your energy was electric, and it radiated out to the audience, who moved and sang along with you, completely entranced. Eminem found himself leaning forward, his focus narrowing to just you. Every step you took, every flick of your wrist, every note you hit—it all carried a magnetic power that he couldn't tear himself away from.

He watched the way your eyes sparkled as you connected with the crowd, how your smile lit up your entire face, adding an extra layer of vibrancy to your performance. There was a raw authenticity in how you poured yourself into every lyric, and he couldn't help but admire it. To him, it was as if you weren’t just performing—you were telling a story, one that demanded to be heard and felt.

"She's good," he muttered to himself, barely noticing the words slipping out. But it was more than just skill. There was something intangible—a spark that made you shine brighter than the stage lights themselves.

When you spun around and your gaze briefly flickered toward backstage, catching sight of him, a knowing smile played on your lips. For a heartbeat, it felt like time slowed down. He felt a rush of something unfamiliar—equal parts admiration and intrigue.

As the final beats of your song echoed and the crowd erupted in cheers, Eminem couldn't help but smile, his awe evident. You took a bow, breathing heavily but radiating pride. And as you walked off the stage, he knew one thing for certain: you weren’t just another artist on the lineup. You were someone unforgettable.

As you stepped off the stage, the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears, you felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart was pounding, and your chest rose and fell with each deep breath as you tried to ground yourself after the electrifying performance. As you made your way backstage, wiping a sheen of sweat from your forehead, your gaze fell on Eminem.

He was standing off to the side, his eyes fixed intently on you. There was no mistaking the look in them—complete awe and genuine admiration. He seemed mesmerized, as if he was replaying every moment of your performance in his head. For a second, you locked eyes, the world around you fading away. The intensity of his stare made your pulse quicken, but you managed to keep your composure.

A playful, almost shy smile curved your lips. You held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the connection linger before breaking it with a soft laugh. Then, with a casual flick of your hair, you turned and began walking toward your dressing room, your team moving around you like a wave of support. You could feel the weight of his attention, even as you walked away.

Inside the dressing room, you exhaled, your reflection in the mirror still glowing from the thrill of the stage and the encounter. As you fixed your hair and adjusted your outfit, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes on you, the way it made you feel seen—not just as a performer, but as something more. It was a moment that would linger, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed.

As you touch up your makeup in the mirror, perfecting every detail, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The adrenaline from the performance still buzzes through your veins, and the roar of the crowd echoes in your ears. Just as you pick up your brush to fix a final smudge, the door behind you opens. You barely register it, assuming it’s someone from your team.

“Nice show out there.”

The unexpected sound of his voice makes you jump. Turning quickly, you find yourself face-to-face with Marshall—Eminem. There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes as he leans casually against the doorframe. You try to steady your breath, suppressing the thrill running through you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds with a smirk. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Mission accomplished,” you reply, recovering with a smile. “But thanks. Glad you caught it.”

He walks over, closing the door behind him. The air between you grows charged. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can see the flecks of gray in his eyes.

“You’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger out there,” he says, his voice low. “Kinda impressive.”

“Is that a compliment?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Coming from you, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah? You should.” He steps even closer, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on top of the desk. You barely have time to catch your breath as he moves between your legs, his presence overwhelming, his gaze intense.

“You always surprise me,” you murmur, feeling your pulse quicken.

“Good,” he replies, his lips curving into a slow smile. “I plan to keep it that way.” He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “But you know,” he adds softly, “seeing you like this, up close? Way better than any stage.”

Before you can respond, his lips find yours. The kiss is firm and confident, with just a hint of the hunger simmering beneath the surface. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the connection, losing yourself in the moment. Time seems to slow, the world outside the door fading away until it’s just the two of you.

When he pulls back, there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that,” he admits, his voice husky.

“Were those lyrics just an elaborate setup?” you tease, still catching your breath.

“Maybe,” he says with a grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You laugh, the sound light and easy, feeling the tension melt away. “I guess it did.”

His hands linger at your waist, fingers tracing idle patterns. “I’d say we make a pretty good duet.”

“Is that your way of saying you want more?” you challenge, feeling bold.

“Definitely,” he murmurs, leaning in again. “And I’m just getting started.”

As Marshall’s lips trail down your neck, a soft sigh escapes your lips. His hands rest firmly on your waist, pulling you closer as you run your fingers through his hair. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, and every touch, every breath, feels electric. The room seems to shrink around you, narrowing your focus to just him—until the door suddenly swings open.

“Yo, Marshall, you ready for—oh, hell no.”

You both freeze. Turning your heads simultaneously, you spot Proof standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised, a mix of shock and amusement playing across his face. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene—Marshall standing between your legs, hands still on your hips, your flushed faces. There’s a beat of silence, and then Proof bursts out laughing.

“Oh, this is rich,” Proof says, leaning against the doorframe and shaking his head. “Am I interrupting something? Nah, scratch that. I know I’m interrupting something.”

Marshall lets out a low groan, pulling back slightly but keeping his hands firmly on you. “Man, do you ever knock?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Marshall, you ready to go out and celebrate? The night’s still young."

Marshall doesn’t even look up at him, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer. He takes a slow breath, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Celebrate, huh? Nah, I think I’ll pass on that. I’ve got better plans tonight.”

Proof raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Marshall’s lips curve into a flirtatious smile as he moves even closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "I’d rather spend the night with her, if you don’t mind." His eyes lock onto yours, a heat building between you both as his gaze lingers, making it clear he’s not just talking about any casual hangout.

You feel your heart skip a beat as Marshall leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. "She’s the one I’m celebrating with tonight," he adds, his tone rich with intent, sending a shiver down your spine.

Proof chuckles, looking between the two of you, clearly understanding what’s going on. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t keep me waiting too long." He smirks, walking toward the door. “But you owe me a drink later, man.”

Marshall barely acknowledges him, his attention fixed on you. As Proof exits, Marshall turns back, that same smirk never leaving his face. “Now, where were we?” he says, his tone both playful and hungry, eyes never leaving yours. <3

[rainystudios]

Thought I would give people a helpful visual as to how much money Studio Ghibli is valued at compared to OpenAI. It literally doesn't register on the chart it's so low. Now imagine individual artists that make like 20k a year if they're lucky. The narrative that AI companies are victims is a fucking crock of shit lmao.

[saymonsays]

Unreleased track and Secret Sessions

pairing: idol!jiyong x idol!reader

wordcount: 9k

‎2012

‎

‎Before the world knew your name, the industry already did.

‎

‎You were twenty-three and blazing through the charts with haunting vocals and visuals that made headlines every other day. A soloist without a company-crafted scandal or dating rumor, your mystique only made you more addictive to the public. You were the type to keep your head down and let the music speak, but even that couldn’t quiet the buzz. Every award stage you graced, every OST you lent your voice to—it was all becoming iconic. Quiet, elegant, untouchable.

‎

‎That’s what they thought, anyway.

‎

‎But somewhere across Seoul, in the smoke-filled dorm of BIGBANG, someone finally said your name out loud.

‎

‎“Yo, have you heard that girl’s vocals?” Daesung said, waving his phone in Jiyong’s face. “You know—what’s her name again?”

‎

‎“Y/N-ssi?” Youngbae offered, leaning back on the couch.

‎

‎“That’s the one! She's everywhere lately. It’s insane. Her visuals are next level too, like—damn.” Daesung swiped through a gallery of screenshots from your recent music show performance, pausing on a still of you with your eyes closed mid-note.

‎

‎Jiyong barely looked up from his notebook, pen scratching lyrics across the page. “Heard the name. Not the music.”

‎

‎“You’re missing out,” Daesung chimed in, half-laughing. “She’s got this song—what’s it called? ‘Only If’ or something. Gave me chills. You’d like her stuff. Real emotional.”

‎

‎That made Jiyong pause.

‎

‎Chills?

‎

‎He reached over and took Daesung’s phone, putting in one earbud. The moment your voice came through—soft, raw, heartbreak slipping into every line—he froze. His brows furrowed. The melody, the vocal control, the emotion—it was everything he admired in an artist.

‎

‎“…She wrote this?” he asked, voice low.

‎

‎Youngbae smirked. “Yeah. All of it. She’s legit.”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t answer. He just played the song again.

‎

‎Then, later that night—alone in his room, still hearing your voice in his head—he opened his notes app and started typing:

‎

‎to: Y/N

‎from: G-DRAGON

‎subject: collab?

‎

‎A week later — YG Studio A, 2012

‎

‎“Don’t freak out,” you told yourself, glancing at your reflection in the tinted glass door before pushing it open.

‎

‎You weren’t the type to get starstruck. You had worked with legends, trained under pressure, performed on stages that demanded perfection. But this was different. This was G-Dragon. The same one who had texted your manager directly after hearing your song, requesting a meeting. The same one whose name was practically carved into the walls of Korean music history.

‎

‎And now he was sitting across the studio—black beanie low on his head, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world.

‎

‎He looked up as you stepped in.

‎

‎And smiled.

‎

‎"You're even quieter than I imagined," he said, standing.

‎

‎You blinked. “And you’re less intimidating than I thought.”

‎

‎That made him laugh. It was a soft sound, surprised—like he hadn’t expected you to say that.

‎

‎“I mean that in a good way,” you added quickly, setting your lyric notebook down on the table between you.

‎

‎He tilted his head. “That’s fair. People usually expect leather jackets and sunglasses.”

‎

‎You smiled. “But you’re wearing both.”

‎

‎He glanced at his outfit, then back at you. “Touché.”

‎

‎The meeting was casual at first—small talk, compliments, the usual back-and-forth. But when the producer came in and asked about concept direction, everything shifted. You became serious. Jiyong noticed. You weren’t just a voice— you were a storyteller. You talked about wanting the album to explore duality. Beauty and bitterness. Love and loneliness. And he listened. Closely.

‎

‎Halfway through the meeting, you offered a melody idea you’d written last night at 2 a.m., and Jiyong stopped scrolling his phone. He leaned in, asking to hear it again. Then again. Then he pulled his pen out and started writing beside you.

‎

‎That was the beginning.

‎

‎Not of the album.

‎

‎Of the collaboration.

‎

‎Of the story that would span four years and seventeen unreleased tracks.

‎

‎Of the thing no one else knew.

‎

‎Of the thing that would one day haunt Track Seventeen.

‎

‎Flashback: Late 2012 — YG Studio Rooftop, 1:43 AM

‎

‎"You didn’t have to stay,” you told him, the cold air biting your cheeks as you sipped your convenience store coffee. “You could’ve gone home.”

‎

‎Jiyong shrugged beside you, hoodie pulled up, eyes squinting out at the dark city skyline. “Could say the same to you.”

‎

‎Silence settled—comfortable, stretched between the buzz of caffeine and the high from a night of recording. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him watching you.

‎

‎He said it so casually, like it wasn’t going to change everything.

‎

‎“I think I like you.”

‎

‎You turned your head, blinked. “You think?”

‎

‎He smiled, lazy and slow. “Fine. I know.”

‎

‎Flashback: Early 2013 — Jiyong’s Car, Late Night Drive

‎

‎No cameras. No stylists. No producers.

‎

‎Just you, him, and the quiet sound of your unreleased demo playing through his speakers. Your hand was in his lap, fingers interlocked, like it had always been that way.

‎

‎“We’ll keep it between us, yeah?” he said softly, almost like he was asking for permission.

‎

‎You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Not because you were ashamed—never that. But the world wasn’t kind to private things. Especially not when they bloomed between two public people.

‎

‎Flashback: Summer 2014 — Somewhere in Europe

‎

‎A getaway between tour dates. You two tucked away in a barely-used cabin in the south of France, rented under fake names.

‎

‎There were no reporters. No staff. Just wine, sunburned shoulders, your laughter echoing off stone walls, and the sound of Jiyong humming in the shower.

‎

‎That night, he wrote a song called “Sunlight Thief” after watching you dance barefoot across the wooden floor in nothing but one of his shirts.

‎

‎You kissed him before he could finish the chorus.

‎

‎Flashback: 2016 — Right Before the Breakup

‎

‎A hotel room in Tokyo. The air smelled like room service and exhaustion.

‎

‎He stood by the window, hands on his hips, head bowed.

‎

‎“You’re leaving for the US tour,” he said. “And I’ve got comeback prep.”

‎

‎“Yeah.”

‎

‎“And after that…?” he asked, voice a little too soft.

‎

‎You didn’t answer. You both knew the truth.

‎

‎It wasn’t love that was the problem.

‎

‎It was time. The lack of it. The demands that came from being artists first and lovers second.

‎

‎So you hugged him that night like it was a goodbye.

‎

‎Because it was.

‎

‎Back to Present — 2025

‎

‎Nobody ever knew.

‎

‎There were no scandals. No blurry airport photos. No soft dispatch reveals.

‎

‎Just seventeen tracks no one had ever heard.

‎

‎Until now.

‎

‎Until Track Seventeen dropped, and the world heard Kwon Jiyong moan your name like it was still stuck in his throat.

‎

‎And maybe… it was.

‎

‎The Internet Explodes

‎

‎The album drops at midnight.

‎

‎By 12:03 AM, “Track Seventeen” is trending in four countries.

‎

‎By 12:07, fans are already uploading their reactions:

‎

‎“EXCUSE ME DID HE JUST MOAN A NAME IN TRACK SEVENTEEN??”

‎“IS THAT A GIRL’S NAME OR AM I DELULU??”

‎“Bro this song is literally audio porn—what is happening???”

‎“Why is this sex song lowkey romantic? I’m gonna scream.”

‎“WAIT—IS THAT [Y/N’S STAGE NAME]??? 👀👀👀”

‎

‎And then... someone posts a side-by-side audio clip.

‎

‎Your voice in a 2014 demo run—breathy, soft, unmistakable.

‎

‎And Jiyong’s moan at the bridge of Track Seventeen.

‎

‎The tone. The syllables. The way his voice cracks just slightly.

‎

‎It matches.

‎

‎You’re trending before sunrise. Tagged in every post. Your latest Instagram photo flooded with comments like:

‎

‎“TELL US YOU WERE THE MUSE WITHOUT TELLING US 😭🔥”

‎“How do you FEEL about being immortalized in track seventeen?? 👀”

‎“Did y’all hear the lyrics? The way he said ‘lace on your spine’ and ‘arched like my prayers were answered’—ma’am.”

‎“It was NOT just a collab back in the day I fear.”

‎

‎Some fans are joking. Some are practically FBI agents. And some—some are simply streaming the song on repeat, hopelessly obsessed with the smutty, almost too intimate detail in every line.

‎

‎You — 7:22 AM

‎

‎You’re sitting in bed. Phone in your lap. Head spinning.

‎

‎You didn’t sleep. How could you?

‎

‎The moment you saw the title on the tracklist, your heart dropped. You knew.

‎

‎And when you heard it—really heard it—when his voice dropped into that soft, sultry rasp and you heard your name whispered like a secret between teeth…

‎

‎You almost dropped your phone.

‎

‎Your body remembered things your heart tried to forget.

‎

‎The lyrics?

‎

‎They weren’t metaphor. They were memory.

‎

‎The lace? That black backless dress you wore in Paris.

‎The moans? That one night in Jeju.

‎The last chorus? “Even now, I write you into every rhythm I ruin.”

‎

‎God. You were ruined.

‎

‎And now the world knew—maybe not everything. But enough.

‎

‎Enough to make you want to text him.

‎

‎Enough to make you scared that maybe… he left that track open for you.

‎

‎And worst of all—enough to make you want to reply.

‎

‎To: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 7:43 AM]

‎

‎I listened to the album.

‎I wasn’t going to say anything, honestly. I figured we were past this—past us. But then Track Seventeen played. And Jiyong… you know what you did.

‎You moaned my name.

‎You didn’t even try to hide it.

‎I know that song. Not just the lyrics. I remember it—the breathless laughter, the lace on the hotel floor, the way your voice sounded right against my ear when you said you’d write a song about that night. I thought you were joking.

‎I don’t know if I should be mad or… touched. Probably both.

‎‎But if this is your way of reaching out—if this was for me—then you should’ve just called.

‎‎Or maybe you knew I’d hear it.

‎‎You always did know how to get my attention.

‎‎– You know who

‎

‎From: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 8:11 AM]

‎

‎I wasn’t sure you’d listen.

‎‎I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it.

‎But I guess I was wrong on both.

‎‎I didn’t write Track Seventeen for the charts, or for the label. Hell, I didn’t even write it for the fans.

‎I wrote it because I couldn’t keep it in anymore. You’ve been stuck in every chord, every half-finished lyric, every rough cut I’ve made since 2016.

‎‎I didn’t say your name to start drama. I said your name because no other one fit. No other name could’ve pulled that sound out of me, or that memory out of the dark. That night—it’s ours. And the track had to be ours, too.

‎‎I wanted you to hear it and know.

‎That I still remember.

‎That I’m still haunted.

‎If you’re willing, I’d like to see you. Just talk. No pressure, no expectations. Just… two artists who know each other too well, sitting in a studio again.

‎‎But if you say no, I’ll understand.

‎‎I just needed you to know—I meant every second of that song.

‎

‎The Award Show – Present Day

‎The lights are blinding, the crowd is roaring, and your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your chest. You’re standing in the green room after your stage performance, still glowing from the adrenaline—and from the fact that he’s here tonight. Kwon Jiyong.

‎

‎You haven’t seen him in years. Not since you slipped out of his apartment in 2016 with his kiss still drying on your skin.

‎

‎You’d seen the announcement earlier—he’d be performing. You hadn’t expected him to perform that song.

‎

‎And yet, when the beat of Track Seventeen dropped halfway through his set, the entire arena stopped breathing. The sensual beat. The heavy, hungry lyrics. The way he moaned your name—drawn out and unapologetic. You felt like the whole industry just turned to you.

‎

‎Now, as you try to slip out of the venue unnoticed, a hand catches your wrist.

‎

‎You freeze.

‎

‎You already know who it is.

‎

‎“Running again?” His voice is soft, teasing—but there's a heat simmering just below it.

‎

‎You turn slowly. He looks unfairly good in his tailored black suit, shirt undone just enough to reveal the tattoo that peaks beneath his collarbone.

‎

‎You force a breath. “Didn’t think you’d catch me this time.”

‎

‎He smiles—that smile. The one that used to pull the air right out of your lungs. “You dropped a whole album and disappeared. You really thought a moaned name wouldn’t get your attention?”

‎

‎You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Subtlety was never your strong suit.”

‎

‎“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he says, stepping closer. His fingers graze your hip, light but claiming. “I wanted you to feel it.”

‎

‎“And I did,” you whisper. “I felt everything.”

—

Author's note: so yea this fic is just basically jiyong moaning your name in an unreleased track

‎

‎

‎

[arasinchahonghong]

Villain never dies|| C. SC

Pairings : idol C.Sc x idol Y/n

Please be aware that the following content contains, degradation, sexual harrasment, blame for winning by spreading legs, past trauma, Forced marriage, scoups is toxic, reader dc she knows how to put people in there places. I suggest that this is not for minors so stay away.

------------_-------------

A low growl rumbled in Seungcheol’s chest as his manager’s words registered. "Married? To her?" He stabbed a finger at the glossy photo on the table – a smiling Y/N, all doe eyes and perfectly styled hair, the epitome of Aestria's "ethereal maknae" image. His blood ran cold. The girl he'd spent years avoiding, the one whose very presence grated on his nerves, was now to be his wife.

"It's non-negotiable, Seungcheol-ah," his CEO stated, his voice devoid of sympathy. "A strategic alliance. A1 Entertainment and Pledis have come to an agreement. Think of the joint ventures, the media power…"

Seungcheol didn't care about media power. He cared about the searing resentment in his gut.

The "wedding" was a sterile affair, a hushed ceremony in a secure, undisclosed location. No adoring fans, no flashing cameras, just a handful of stony-faced company executives and bewildered family members. Y/N, looking impossibly fragile in a simple white dress, avoided his gaze. Good. He couldn't stand to look at her anyway.

Their new home was a sleek, impersonal apartment, chosen for its discretion rather than comfort. The first week was a silent war. He'd retreat to the studio, often not returning until the early hours. When he was home, he’d occupy the living room, drowning out her quiet movements with loud music or the blare of a game. He knew she was there, a constant, irritating presence in his periphery. He could smell her overly sweet perfume, hear the soft rustle of her clothes. It was maddening.

One evening, he stormed into the kitchen to grab water, finding her meticulously wiping down the counters. Her back was to him. "Do you have to be so… domestic?" he snapped, the words out before he could stop them.

She flinched, her hand freezing. Slowly, she turned, her eyes wide and unreadable. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was just… trying to keep things clean."

"Don't bother," he scoffed, "I won't be around much anyway." He watched her carefully fold the damp cloth, her movements precise. He hated the way she looked at him – with a mixture of apprehension and something he couldn't quite decipher. He hated the way she existed in his space, a constant reminder of the cage he was now in.

He hated this marriage. And most of all, he hated her. He just hadn't figured out why...

November arrived, ushering in the familiar frenetic energy of awards season. Aestria had kicked off the year with their explosive album, G1RLS, its title track "Girls" dominating charts and airwaves. Y/N, as the group's main visual and vocalist, bore a significant portion of the performance weight, spending countless hours perfecting every move, every note for the upcoming MAMA Awards.

Seungcheol, too, was caught in the whirlwind of Seventeen's demanding schedule, late-night practices and endless meetings becoming the norm. Their shared apartment felt more like a brief stopover than a home, a silent testament to their separate, yet equally grueling, lives.

One particularly late evening, the chill of the Seoul night seeping into her bones, Y/N finally dragged herself back to the apartment. The city lights blurred outside the taxi window, her mind still replaying dance formations and vocal runs. The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow spilling from the living room. She slipped off her shoes, padding silently towards their shared bedroom.

Pushing the door open gently, she saw him. Seungcheol was already asleep, sprawled across his side of the bed, a stray arm flung over his head. The faint moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow on his face, softening the sharp edges she was so accustomed to seeing. He looked… exhausted. Just like her.

She moved quietly, careful not to disturb him, shedding her practice clothes and pulling on an oversized t-shirt. The silence of the room was heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the air purifier and their synchronized breaths. As she slid under the covers on her side of the bed, the familiar, yet still unsettling, reality of their arrangement settled over her. Two strangers, bound by a secret they both resented, sharing a bed in a marriage no one knew existed.

The first day of the MAMA Awards arrived, a shimmering spectacle of light and sound. Though Aestria and Seventeen were slated for Day 2, the air was thick with anticipation. Day 1 saw exhilarating performances from groups like Enhypen, BOYNEXTDOOR, RIIZE, ZEROBASEONE, IVE, tripleS, ILLIT, and HEARTS2HEARTS, culminating in the highly anticipated awards ceremony.

As the night progressed, a hushed buzz rippled through the industry executives and staff present. Aestria's name was called repeatedly. "Artist of the Year (Daesang)," "Best Female Group," "Best Dance Performance – Female Group," "Worldwide Fans' Choice Top 10" – the accolades piled up. By the end of Day 1, Y/N's group had swept a significant portion of the major awards. The groups performing on Day 2, including Seventeen, were not present at the venue, watching the broadcast from their respective holding areas or dorms.

Seungcheol watched the screen in their apartment, his jaw tightening with each announcement of Aestria's wins. The air in their shared living room grew colder with every trophy Y/N's group collected. When the broadcast finally ended, a heavy silence descended.

Y/N walked in moments later, having returned from a brief, celebratory video call with her members. She kicked off her heels, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. She didn't expect a congratulatory word, but the venom in Seungcheol’s voice still sliced through the quiet.

"How exactly did you manage to win all of that?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed, burning with a raw, unadulterated disdain. "Seriously, what did you do? Who did you sleep with to earn those awards?"

The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. For a fleeting second, a flicker of something unreadable crossed Y/N's face – perhaps surprise, perhaps hurt. But then, a slow, wry smile spread across her lips, transforming her expression into something almost predatory. A low, mocking laugh bubbled up from her throat, a sound completely devoid of mirth, echoing chillingly in the quiet apartment.

"Oh, Seungcheol-ssi," she purred, her voice dripping with an unexpected sweetness that was more unsettling than any anger. She took a slow step towards him, her eyes locking onto his, devoid of any past timidity. "At least I won, didn't I? Not like you, only managing a measly two awards last year."

The retort hit its mark, swift and precise. Seungcheol's face hardened, his jaw clenching. He hated her. He hated her laughter, her smugness, and the way she dared to look at him now, defiant. This was going to be a long, miserable marriage.Honestly," Y/N continued, her voice maintaining that unnerving, sweet tone, "I thought with all that 'leader' talk, you'd at least lead your group to more than just... participation trophies." She gestured vaguely with her hand, a dismissive flick of her wrist. "But I guess some groups are just destined to be forever bridesmaids, while others actually get to be the bride."

She paused, letting the implication hang in the air, then tilted her head, a mockingly sympathetic pout on her lips. "Must be tough, watching from the sidelines while we clean up. Don't worry, though," she added, her eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated sarcasm, "we'll leave some crumbs for you on Day 2. You know, for moral support."

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible shrug, she turned and walked towards their bedroom, leaving Seungcheol fuming in the living room, the echoes of her cutting words ringing in his ears.Seungcheol stood frozen for a moment, the silence amplifying the sting of her words. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white. The mockery in her eyes, the casual dismissal in her tone – it all grated on his last nerve. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to shatter the infuriating composure she wore like a shield.

Instead, a low, guttural growl escaped his lips, barely audible even to himself. "Bitch," he snarled, the word a raw, ugly exhalation of pure hatred, meant only for the confines of his own enraged mind. He watched the bedroom door click shut behind her, the soft sound doing nothing to quell the storm raging inside him. He was trapped, bound to a woman he loathed, and she clearly reciprocated the sentiment with a chilling precision he hadn't anticipated.

The atmosphere on Day 2 of the MAMA Awards was electric, a palpable hum of anticipation filling the Tokyo Dome. Fans, adorned in their groups' colors, cheered with a fervor that vibrated through the floor. For Seventeen and Aestria, it was their moment to shine, a chance to solidify their dominance and show the world their artistry.

Aestria took the stage first among the major groups, a stark contrast to the Day 1 victors. Their performance was a meticulously crafted journey through their hits. The opening notes of "Girls" sent a roar through the crowd, Y/N commanding the center with a fierce, almost defiant energy. They seamlessly transitioned into the dark allure of "How You Like That," then the hypnotic sensuality of "Illusion," before ending with the powerful swagger of "Pretty Savage." Every move was sharp, every vocal note precise, a testament to the countless hours of practice. Y/N, specifically, was a captivating force, her expressions shifting from playful to intense, a master of the stage.

Then came her solo stage. The lights dimmed, a single spotlight illuminating Y/N as she began the intro to her solo debut. Her voice, rich and emotive, filled the arena. She flowed into "Solo (MAMA Ver)," a revamped, more theatrical version of her popular track, showcasing her dynamic vocal range and sharp dance moves.

The tension in the air, however, truly thickened when the familiar, melancholic chords of "You & Me" began. The stage transformed, bathed in soft, ethereal blue light. The camera pulled back, revealing a male dancer joining her. He was tall, graceful, mirroring her movements with an almost poetic synchronicity. It was a proper couple dance, intimately choreographed, their bodies weaving around each other, hands clasping, gazes locked in a story of longing and connection. The chemistry was undeniable, painted across the giant screens, and the crowd collectively gasped, then erupted into a roar of appreciation. The final pose saw them leaning into each other, foreheads touching, a whisper of a breath away from a kiss, before the lights dramatically cut out.

Back in the artists' lounge, Seungcheol, watching the broadcast with his members, felt a cold knot twist in his stomach. He’d scoffed through Aestria’s group performance, muttering about their "overrated" stage presence. But when Y/N's solo started, a grudging part of him acknowledged her talent. Then "You & Me" began.

He’d seen the choreography in passing, caught snippets during their shared, silent moments at home when she'd practiced in the living room. But seeing it performed live, on that massive stage, with a professional male dancer, was different. The intimacy, the raw emotion conveyed through their movements – it was jarring.

His jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing in his temple. He felt a familiar surge of irritation, mixed with something else he couldn't quite name. It wasn't jealousy, he told himself fiercely. It was annoyance. Annoyance that she was so good, that she could portray such vulnerability, such connection, with a complete stranger on stage. Annoyance that her fame continued to soar, making their forced proximity all the more stifling. Annoyance that the world saw her as this fragile, enchanting visual, while he knew the sharp, sarcastic woman beneath the surface.

He looked away from the screen, his gaze fixed on nothing, a storm brewing in his eyes. He hated it. He hated her. He just couldn't articulate why this particular performance, this fabricated intimacy, felt like such a punch to the gut.

The awards ceremony for Day 2 began, and once again, a familiar pattern emerged. The categories flashed by, interspersed with performances, but the spotlight kept finding its way back to Aestria. "Album of the Year (Daesang)," "Best Music Video," "Best Dance Performance – Female Group," "Worldwide Icon of the Year." Each announcement was met with a roar from the crowd and a growing, palpable tension in the artists' lounge where Seventeen watched.

Then came the solo awards. Y/N's name was called for "Best Vocal Performance – Female Solo," then "Best Dance Performance – Female Solo," and finally, the coveted "Female Artist of the Year." She walked to the stage each time, her earlier stage persona replaced by a more subdued, grateful expression, her acceptance speeches short and humble. She was a phenomenon, undeniable in her talent and popularity.

In the artists' lounge, the air was thick with a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional clink of a trophy being placed on the stage. Seungcheol sat rigid, his eyes glued to the screen, his face a mask of barely contained fury. Each time Y/N's face appeared, illuminated by the stage lights, clutching yet another trophy, a muscle jumped in his jaw. His members exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the volatile storm brewing within their leader.

He had expected Aestria to win, even Y/N to take a solo award or two. But this was a complete sweep. It was humiliating. It was infuriating. Her words from the previous night, about "participation trophies" and "crumbs," echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting. She hadn't just won; she had dominated. And seeing her stand there, radiating quiet confidence, accepting the adulation of the industry, only stoked the flames of his resentment. He cursed under his breath, a low, guttural sound that no one else heard. He just wanted to leave, to escape this gilded cage of a marriage, and this constant, glaring reminder of her overwhelming, infuriating success.

The apartment was cloaked in a tense silence when Y/N finally returned. The MAMA trophies, now gleaming on the low table in the living room, seemed to mock Seungcheol's very existence. He stood by the window, his back to her, the city lights blurring outside. The air was thick with unspoken animosity, heavier than usual after the night's stark outcome.

Y/N, exhausted but with a faint, lingering glow of achievement, simply wanted to rest. She moved to walk past him, towards the bedroom, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But Seungcheol’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and laced with an icy contempt that made her flinch.

"Don't even try to pretend," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, "that this was some kind of 'talent'." He finally turned, his eyes burning with an almost feral hatred, fixed on her. "You think I'm stupid? You think everyone is? How else would you explain this, huh? Sweeping everything, winning awards meant for actual artists?"

He took a step towards her, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, Y/N. How many producers? How many executives? How many did you have to spread your legs for to get this? You're nothing but a cheap, conniving little—" he spat the next word, his lips curling in disgust— "—slut."

The insult hung in the air, a vile, choking accusation. Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, the tired triumph in her eyes shattered, replaced by a raw, naked hurt. The color drained from her face, leaving her pale and trembling. His words were like physical blows, each one designed to inflict maximum pain.

"Don't even try to look innocent," he continued, relentless, his voice rising in a crescendo of barely controlled rage. "You know it's true. That's the only way a talentless nobody like you could ever get this far. You're a disgrace. A dirty, manipulative whore."

He watched her, expecting tears, a breakdown, anything that would confirm his hateful narrative. But Y/N just stood there, her body rigid, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, battling to regain control. The pain was evident, but a flicker of something else ignited deep within her eyes – a cold, hard resolve.

Y/N's trembling finally subsided, replaced by a chilling stillness. The raw hurt in her eyes receded, hardening into an icy contempt that mirrored his own. A slow, unsettling smile stretched across her lips, devoid of any warmth, a stark contrast to the venom he’d just unleashed.

"I assume so did you, right, hubby? Hmm?" she purred, the honorific a sharp barb thrown back at him. Her gaze drifted pointedly to the MAMA trophies on the table, then back to his enraged face. "At least I left one award for you. Be happy."

She didn't wait for his reaction. Turning, she walked towards the bedroom, her shoulders back, her head held high. Just before she disappeared through the door, she paused, a final, cutting remark delivered without turning around. "No wonder you were so famous between the wives of my company's heads, then."

The door clicked shut, leaving Seungcheol alone in the living room, the weight of her parting shot settling over him. He stared at the closed door, his mind reeling from the unexpected counter-attack. The accusation, casually delivered, hit a nerve he hadn't known was exposed. His face twisted in a silent snarl, the air crackling with his barely suppressed fury.

Two weeks bled into a whirlwind of schedules, a relentless cycle of practice rooms and promotions that offered a fragile buffer between Y/N and Seungcheol's simmering animosity. The stinging echoes of their MAMA night confrontation still resonated, particularly Y/N's barbed parting shot. Seungcheol had thrown himself into work, avoiding the apartment as much as possible, the thought of facing her again a bitter pill.

Then came the news that rippled through the industry: Y/N and Jungwon of ENHYPEN were chosen as the MCs for the upcoming Melon Music Awards (MMA). The announcement wasn't entirely surprising; their easy, natural chemistry as former MCs for Music Bank had been widely praised. What was surprising, at least to the public, was the sudden popularity of their "pairing" after their dazzling performance at MAMA. Unbeknownst to most, the "Best Couple Award" presented to a fan-voted pair at the MAMA after-party – usually a lighthearted, non-televised segment for variety purposes – had gone to none other than Y/N and Jungwon, largely due to the viral impact of their "You & Me" performance.

Seungcheol had seen the headlines, the fan edits, the renewed buzz around their "chemistry." He scoffed every time, dismissing it as manufactured nonsense, yet a familiar knot tightened in his stomach. The "Best Couple Award" felt like a direct jab, a mocking echo of his own forced reality.

The day of the MMA arrived, a grand affair promising another night of dazzling performances and coveted awards. Y/N, radiant in an elegant gown, stood poised on stage with Jungwon, their rapport immediately evident as they opened the show. Their exchanges were smooth, their smiles bright, and their occasional shared glances sparked an undeniable warmth that the cameras eagerly captured.

Seungcheol watched from Seventeen's waiting room, his gaze occasionally drifting to the screen, his expression unreadable. He witnessed the ease with which Y/N commanded the stage, her voice clear and articulate as she introduced nominees. He noted the comfortable way Jungwon would lean in, or how they'd laugh at each other's jokes. The "Best Couple Award" felt less like a distant, silly thing and more like a public declaration, a stark contrast to the bitter, silent 'couple' he was forced to be.

As the evening progressed into the awards ceremony, the narrative of Aestria's dominance continued unchecked. Their name was called again and again: "Song of the Year (Daesang)" for "Girls," "Artist of the Year," "Best Female Group," "Top 10 Artist" – the major awards seemed to gravitate inevitably towards them. Y/N, after her MC duties, joined her members on stage multiple times, her smile genuine now, as she accepted the trophies alongside them.

Seungcheol watched, a burning resentment solidifying in his chest. It wasn't just the awards anymore. It was her seemingly effortless rise, her undeniable public adoration, the stark, painful contrast between her celebrated on-screen pairings and the private, toxic reality of their life together. Every trophy she held, every knowing glance between her and Jungwon, felt like a deliberate taunt, a public reminder of everything he loathed about their secret, suffocating marriage.

The moment Y/N stepped back into the apartment, the lingering celebratory hum of the MMA still in the air, she knew the fragile peace was about to shatter. Seungcheol was there, waiting, his silhouette framed by the living room window, radiating a furious energy. The trophies from MMA, now standing alongside the MAMA ones, seemed to amplify his rage.

He turned, his eyes glinting with a venomous contempt that made her stomach clench. "So," he spat, his voice low and laced with disgust, "the 'best couple' is finally home." He strode towards her, his voice rising with each step. "You really milked that, didn't you? All that innocent act on stage with that kid. Another prop in your little climb to the top, huh, you scheming—" He stopped inches from her, his words dripping with unadulterated loathing. "—you utterly disgusting whore."

His words slammed into her, harsh and cutting, accusing her of every vile thing he could conjure. "Who else did you have to pretend with tonight? What else did you do to get those awards? You’re a tramp, Y/N. A manipulative, soulless little slut who’d sell anything for a trophy." He hurled insults at her, painting her as depraved, cheap, and utterly worthless, the sheer ugliness of his words designed to break her.

He watched her face, searching for a crack, a tear, any sign of the pain he was so desperately trying to inflict. But Y/N simply stood there, a strange, almost serene smile playing on her lips. Her eyes, usually so expressive, were calm, almost unnervingly so. There was no flinch, no tremor, no flicker of the anguish he craved to see.

Instead, her smile widened, a slow, knowing curve that sent a chill down his spine. "Oh, you want to talk about disgusting things, Seungcheol-ssi?" she murmured, her voice soft, dangerously soft. "You want to talk about who sleeps with whom for what?"

She then reached into her handbag, pulling out her phone. Her thumb moved swiftly, and a moment later, a quiet audio recording started playing. It was faint, barely audible, but unmistakably his voice, the very insults he had just finished spewing, the "slut," the "whore," the accusations of her sleeping her way to the top. It was from the MAMA night, recorded without his knowledge.

She held the phone up, her eyes never leaving his, that chilling smile still fixed on her face. "You want to hear it again, hubby?" she asked, her voice laced with a terrifying sweetness. "Or do you already know exactly what you said?"

Seungcheol's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily replacing his fury. The sound of his own vile words, played back from her phone, echoed in the room, a chilling testament to his uncontrolled rage. He stared at her, then at the device, a cold dread creeping through his veins. How long had she been recording him? How much did she have?

"What... what is this?" he stammered, his voice rough, the confidence in his insults dissolving into a sudden, icy fear.

Y/N’s smile remained, a testament to her unwavering composure. "Just a little insurance, hubby," she replied, her tone as placid as still water, yet holding an undertone of steel. "You know, in case anyone ever wonders why the 'perfect' Choi Seungcheol is forced into a secret marriage with a 'talentless slut' like me. Or, more accurately, to remind me of the kind of man I'm living with, should I ever forget."

She lowered the phone, the recording ceasing, and tucked it back into her bag with deliberate slowness. "And don't worry," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "I have plenty more where that came from. Different dates, different creative insults. You've been quite prolific, actually."

His mind reeled. The sheer audacity, the cold calculation. He had always seen her as fragile, easily broken, a mere nuisance. But this... this was a dangerous game she was playing. The thought of those recordings, of his reputation, his career, everything he had built, potentially crumbling because of her, sent a jolt of raw fear through him.

"You wouldn't dare," he growled, though the conviction in his voice was noticeably weaker.

Y/N let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Oh, Seungcheol-ssi," she said, finally turning fully towards the bedroom. "You have no idea what I would dare to do. Especially when pushed." She walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by her glittering trophies, the silence in the apartment now heavy with the weight of her threat. He was no longer just dealing with a girl he hated; he was dealing with an enemy who had just revealed her weapon.

Seungcheol stood frozen, the recording of his own vitriol echoing in his mind, the implication of it being leaked a chilling reality. He watched Y/N's retreating figure, the door clicking shut with a finality that sealed his sudden dread. The air in the apartment seemed to hum with the unspoken threat she had just delivered.

What Seungcheol didn't know, couldn't have known, was that Y/N's outwardly serene composure hid a racing heart and trembling hands. The "audio" she had played was nothing more than a few garbled, distorted seconds from a random voice recording app on her phone, expertly timed to play during his shocked silence. The confident assertion of "plenty more where that came from" was a bluff, a desperate gamble fueled by exhaustion and a raw fury that finally snapped after his relentless insults.

The "Best Couple Award" and the renewed MC pairing with Jungwon were real, yes, but Y/N had weaponized his existing hatred for her. She had noticed how his disdain for her seemed to intensify with every public success, how her rising popularity grated on him. She knew that the idea of her having leverage, of her being able to expose him, would be the ultimate affront to his pride and control.

She had played him, a calculated risk born out of pure self-preservation. She was tired of the constant verbal abuse, the veiled threats, the suffocating atmosphere of their forced life together. Her goal wasn't to destroy him, not yet. It was simply to create enough fear, enough discomfort, that he would finally leave her alone within the confines of their shared misery. She just wanted peace, even if it meant a temporary, uneasy truce built on a foundation of a fake recording and a very real, very bitter hatred.

The MMA after-party, an exclusive affair thrown by A1 Entertainment for their roster of triumphant artists, was a vibrant hum of celebration. Held in a chic, upscale lounge that offered a breathtaking panorama of Seoul's glittering nightscape, the atmosphere was a mix of exhilaration and relaxed camaraderie. Aestria members, still glowing from their overwhelming wins, mingled with other talented artists from their label. Jungwon, given a special invitation as a thank-you for his impeccable MC duties and his past professional connection with Y/N, was also a welcome presence among the guests.

Y/N, having shed the formal elegance of her MC gown, had opted for a striking mini black dress for the party. The sleek, form-fitting silhouette was punctuated by a daring high slit that climbed up one thigh, revealing a flash of toned leg with each confident movement. Her hair cascaded in artfully disheveled waves, and a subtle smokey eye added a touch of alluring mystery to her gaze. She looked undeniably captivating, a magnetic blend of sophistication and an almost effortless sensuality.

Meanwhile, back at the dorm, far from the celebratory hum of the A1 after-party, Seungcheol paced restlessly. Seventeen had not been invited to this particular label-exclusive event, a fact that both rankled him and intensified his simmering resentment. He imagined Y/N there, reveling in her success, undoubtedly basking in the attention she garnered. He pictured her, especially after her "Best Couple" award and the "You & Me" performance, with that unsettlingly charming Jungwon.

The thought alone was enough to fuel his animosity. He had already seen her, just hours ago, looking undeniably stunning on stage. The idea of her now, in a revealing dress, surrounded by adulation, possibly even with Jungwon by her side, twisted something cold and bitter in his gut. For whom did she get so ready? The question, laced with venom, echoed in his mind, immediately followed by the insidious image of her and Jungwon.

Driven by a desperate need for confirmation of his own dark suspicions, and unable to be present himself, Seungcheol had already taken action. Earlier in the evening, he had sent a terse message to a contact he kept for sensitive, clandestine matters. He'd hired a discreet, secret photographer, providing specific instructions to focus on Y/N and, crucially, on her interactions with Jungwon.

"Get me photos," his message had been, blunt and demanding. "Everything. I want to catch them." He wanted undeniable proof, evidence that would justify his loathing, shatter her carefully constructed public image, and somehow, validate the deep, festering hatred he felt towards his secret wife. He waited now, phone clutched in his hand, for the first batch of illicit images to arrive, a grim anticipation settling over him.

Seungcheol's phone buzzed, a jarring sound in the quiet of the dorm. He snatched it up, his breath catching in his throat as the first batch of photos loaded. His eyes immediately locked onto the images, a cold knot tightening in his stomach with each swipe.

The pictures, taken discreetly but with sharp clarity, showed Y/N in her black dress, undeniably radiant. In one, she was caught mid-laugh, her head thrown back slightly, her hand resting lightly on Jungwon's shoulder – a casual, intimate gesture that infuriated Seungcheol. In another, she was leaning slightly towards him, their faces close, a shared smile lighting their features. And then, the next few images depicted Jungwon, with a gentle, almost tender expression, carefully placing his jacket over Y/N's bare lap, seemingly to ward off a chill or for modesty as she sat. She was looking up at him, a soft, appreciative smile on her face.

Each photo felt like a punch to the gut, a visual confirmation of the scenario he had already concocted in his mind. The relaxed posture, the natural smiles, the seemingly innocent touches – they all screamed familiarity, comfort, a level of closeness that transcended mere professionalism. It wasn't just "co-workers" or "MCs." It was too easy, too warm.

His jaw clenched so hard he could feel the muscles ache. "Laughing, huh?" he muttered to himself, his voice raw with contempt. "And his jacket? How... convenient." He scrolled through more, his fingers trembling slightly. There were no overtly scandalous shots, no kisses or embraces, but the sheer volume of candid moments, depicting their undeniable rapport and Jungwon's seemingly protective gesture, painted a damning picture in Seungcheol's twisted perception.

His earlier rage, fueled by the awards, now coalesced into a bitter cocktail of something he refused to name as jealousy, instead labeling it as righteous indignation. It was disgust, pure and simple. Disgust at her supposed brazenness, her ability to effortlessly charm, to seemingly move from one "best couple" to another, all while maintaining her innocent public facade. The more he saw, the more he convinced himself of her duplicity, further cementing the hateful narrative he had built around his secret wife.

The apartment was quiet when Y/N finally returned, the lingering scent of celebration clinging to her clothes. The euphoria of the MMA wins was fading, replaced by the familiar weariness that settled in after intense schedules. She walked into the bedroom, sighing softly as she peeled off the elegant black dress, exchanging it for a comfortable, peach-colored nightgown.

She had just stepped out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel, when the bedroom door burst open. Seungcheol stood there, his face a thundercloud, his eyes blazing with a familiar, chilling rage. He held his phone up, the screen blazing with the very images she had just seen – the candid shots from the after-party, of her laughing with Jungwon, of Jungwon's jacket draped over her lap.

"Look at this, you shameless bitch," he spat, his voice low and guttural, each word dripping with disgust. He shoved the phone closer to her face, forcing her to confront the incriminating photos. "Getting all dressed up, looking like that... for him? Was this your plan, to flaunt your little affair right after the awards? You think you're so clever, don't you?"

He scrolled through the pictures, each swipe a fresh stab of accusation. "Look at you, all smiles and touchy-feely. And him, putting his jacket on you? What kind of act are you putting on now, huh? Do you think this is what a married woman does? You're a disgrace, Y/N. A manipulative, attention-seeking slut who can't keep her hands, or her legs, to herself."

His words rained down on her, a barrage of vile insults meant to shatter her composure. His eyes raked over her, from her still-damp hair to the peach nightgown, as if scrutinizing her very being for signs of betrayal. He wanted to see her flinch, to cry, to crumble under the weight of his venom. But Y/N, still holding her towel, simply met his gaze, her expression unreadable, a quiet defiance burning in her eyes.Y/N listened to Seungcheol’s tirade, the images on his phone burning into her vision. The initial sting of his words quickly hardened into a cold anger. When he finally paused, panting slightly from his outburst, she dropped the towel from her hair onto the bed, her voice cutting through the heavy silence, calm but laced with a dangerous edge.

"Oh, really? You stalked me, huh?" she began, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "If you were that observant, that keen on 'catching' me, why didn't you see when your manager, Kim-ssi, kept touching my back at the awards? Or when your staff called me names, insulted me, right to my face, at the after-party you weren't even at, huh?"

She took a slow, deliberate step towards him, her eyes fixed on his, unblinking. "You see Jungwon? He's my childhood bestie. He knows me better than almost anyone. He's been my rock through half of my life, through everything. His jacket was a simple, kind gesture from a friend. Something you, clearly, wouldn't understand."

Her voice dropped to a near whisper, but the intensity in it vibrated in the room. "You want to talk about dirty? You want to talk about who's being inappropriate? Maybe you should worry less about my friendships and more about your own agency's staff and their wandering hands and venomous tongues. Or perhaps, closer to home, your own vile accusations." She finished, her gaze unwavering, leaving him to grapple with her counter-accusations and the stark truth of her relationship with Jungwon.The words hung in the air, a volatile mixture of her sharp retort and his seething accusations. For a moment, Seungcheol seemed caught off guard, his fury momentarily eclipsed by a flicker of surprise at her counter-attack. But it was Y/N's last words, the mention of Jungwon being her childhood best friend, that seemed to finally shatter her carefully constructed composure. The cold defiance in her eyes wavered, then cracked.

A single tear tracked a path down her cheek, quickly followed by another, and then a torrent. The raw, unfiltered pain that she had so desperately tried to suppress finally broke through. Without another word, without a glance back at Seungcheol, she turned and fled the room.

He heard the soft thud of the bedroom door closing, then the rapid footsteps receding down the hallway. He listened, his mind racing, as the distant sound of a sliding door indicated she had gone out onto the terrace.

Y/N stumbled onto the cold concrete of the terrace, the crisp night air doing little to cool the fire raging within her. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her peach nightgown, as if to ward off an invisible chill, and let the tears fall, hot and relentless. Each drop was a fresh wound, re-opening scars she thought had healed.

His words, "slut," "whore," "manipulative," echoed in her ears, intertwining with the ghosts of a past she desperately tried to outrun. The past, filled with whispers and malicious rumors that had followed her for years, ever since her trainee days, ever since a powerful figure had shown "special interest" in her, leading to vicious gossip and a sense of pervasive dirtiness that no amount of success could truly wash away. His accusations weren't just insults; they were a fresh deluge of the very trauma she had fought so hard to bury.

She sank to the ground, knees pulled to her chest, the bitter Seoul wind whipping around her. The bright city lights blurred through her tears, mocking her inner turmoil. She was a celebrated idol, a successful woman, yet here she was, reduced to a trembling mess by the man she was forced to call her husband, flung back into the darkest corners of her painful history. The feeling of being trapped, misunderstood, and utterly alone, despite her fame, was an unbearable weight.

Seungcheol stood in the bedroom, the sudden emptiness of the space echoing the shock of Y/N's raw tears. Her accusations, about his manager, about his staff, had momentarily stunned him. But it was her subsequent breakdown, her fleeing to the terrace, that truly threw him off balance. He had expected anger, defiance, even more sharp retorts. He hadn't expected tears, especially not that profound, gut-wrenching pain that had radiated from her.

He walked slowly to the open terrace door, the cool night air hitting his face. He saw her, a small, huddled figure on the ground, shaking with silent sobs. The sight twisted something in his gut – not the usual rage, but an unfamiliar discomfort. He had wanted to hurt her, yes, but not like this. Not to strip away her composure and expose such raw vulnerability. Her words, "trauma of her past," resonated, a chilling echo of something he had dismissed. He knew vaguely of the whispers, the industry gossip that had clung to her early career, but he had never truly cared to understand.

He hesitated, then took a tentative step onto the terrace. The cold air stung his skin, mirroring the chill of his own actions. He watched her for a long moment, the sounds of her choked sobs the only noise breaking the city's hum. The sheer exhaustion of his own anger, coupled with the unexpected guilt, finally weighed him down.

"Y/N," he said, his voice rough, unused to this tone with her. He cleared his throat, trying again, softer this time. "Y/N-ah."

She flinched, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, but didn't look up.

He walked closer, stopping a few feet away. The sight of her shoulders trembling, the desperate way she hugged herself, pulled at a string he hadn't known existed. He inhaled deeply, the air cold in his lungs. "I... I shouldn't have said those things," he began, the words feeling foreign and clumsy on his tongue. "I shouldn't have... accused you like that."

He swallowed, his pride a bitter taste in his mouth, but the image of her tears wouldn't leave him. "It was wrong," he admitted, the confession feeling like a heavy weight lifted from his chest. "I was out of line. I was... angry, and I took it out on you in the worst way. Calling you those names... it was disgusting. I'm sorry."

The apology was raw, unpolished, forced out by an unfamiliar surge of something that felt suspiciously like remorse. He didn't expect forgiveness, or even a response. He just needed to say it, to acknowledge the ugliness of his actions, even if only to the cold night air and the broken figure before him.Y/N didn't immediately respond, her shoulders still trembling, the apology hanging in the cold night air between them. But at the mention of Manager Kim, she slowly, painfully, lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was a flicker of something new in their depths – a hardening resolve.

"You'll... you'll inform the company?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying, as if testing the words.

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes," he said, the unfamiliar weight of responsibility settling on him. He hadn't just insulted her; he had ignored the very real harm she'd endured from his own team. "I heard what you said. About Manager Kim, about the staff. That's not acceptable. No one should be treated like that, especially not... not by people associated with my group." He hesitated, then added, "I'll ensure the company takes legal action against Manager Kim."

Y/N stared at him, her tear-filled eyes searching his. The raw apology, followed by this unexpected pledge of support, was so far removed from the man who had verbally brutalized her moments before. It was a stark contrast, a disorienting shift that she couldn't quite reconcile. The years of animosity, the bitter words, the forced proximity – they had built an impenetrable wall between them. Now, a small crack had appeared, born not of affection, but of a shared, bitter truth and an unexpected, grudging respect.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her gaze still fixed on him. The legal action, she knew, wouldn't erase the past, but it was a beginning. A fragile, tentative step towards something that wasn't outright war.The atmosphere in the apartment was thick with a suffocating tension even before the doorbell rang. Seungcheol had made the call immediately, his voice uncharacteristically grim as he relayed the information to his CEO. Within the hour, the formidable figures of A1 Entertainment's CEO, Manager Kim, and a stern-faced legal team were assembled in Seungcheol and Y/N's living room. The trophies, once symbols of triumph, now felt like silent, glittering witnesses to the impending storm.

Y/N sat beside Seungcheol on the sofa, a stark contrast to their usual avoidance. Her face was an impassive mask, utterly devoid of emotion. The earlier tears had dried, leaving her eyes shadowed but strangely resolute. She clutched a glass of water, her knuckles white. Beside her, Seungcheol sat stiffly, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed straight ahead. A silent, uneasy truce had formed between them, forged in the heat of his apology and her unexpected revelation.

Manager Kim, looking pale and visibly uncomfortable, stood awkwardly behind the CEO. The CEO, a man whose presence usually commanded immediate deference, fixed Y/N with an intense, unblinking stare.

"Y/N-ssi," the CEO began, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of steel, "Seungcheol has informed us of certain... allegations regarding Manager Kim's conduct at the MAMA after-party, and also claims of verbal abuse from some of our staff towards you."

Y/N merely nodded, her expression unwavering.

"And," the CEO continued, glancing pointedly at Manager Kim, whose eyes darted nervously, "we have also been made aware of a recording you possess."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Y/N slowly reached into her handbag and placed her phone on the coffee table, screen down, without a word. The gesture was potent, a silent declaration of her evidence.

The head of the legal team, a sharp-eyed woman in a tailored suit, spoke next. "Y/N-ssi, if these allegations are true, particularly regarding Manager Kim's physical contact and the derogatory language used by our staff, we will be taking immediate and severe disciplinary action, including potential legal proceedings if you wish to press charges. This agency does not tolerate such behavior." She paused, then added, "And we understand you may also have recordings of Seungcheol-ssi that are relevant to your wellbeing."

Y/N finally broke her silence, her voice flat, devoid of the tremor it had held hours ago. "Jungwon is my childhood best friend," she stated, looking directly at the CEO, her gaze unwavering. "His kindness is not a crime, nor is it grounds for baseless accusations." She then shifted her gaze to Manager Kim, her eyes cold. "As for Manager Kim and the staff, I expect full accountability for their actions. And for the other... recordings," she glanced briefly at Seungcheol, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, "they are for my personal security. For now."

The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Seungcheol felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He had opened a Pandora's Box, and now they were both exposed, albeit for different reasons. The CEO nodded slowly, his expression grim, fully understanding the delicate balance of power that had just shifted within his own company, and within this forced, secret marriage.

"It's false! This bitch is lying!" Manager Kim shrieked, his face contorted in a desperate, furious mask. He lunged forward, his hand raising as if to strike Y/N, his eyes wild with rage.

Seungcheol, who had been sitting rigidly beside Y/N, instinctively started to rise, but Y/N's hand shot out, a swift, firm gesture that stopped him mid-motion. Her eyes, still cold and determined, were fixed solely on Manager Kim.

Before anyone could react, before the legal team or even the CEO could intervene, Y/N moved. With a lightning-fast, almost imperceptible shift of weight, she executed a precise, powerful kick directly to Manager Kim's crotch. The sickening thud echoed through the silent room, and Manager Kim let out a strangled gasp, his face contorting in agony as he crumpled to the floor, clutching himself, whimpering.

Y/N stood over him, breathing heavily but steadily, her gaze unwavering. "Oh, Choi Y/N, you only provoke people by wearing your slutty outfits!" Manager Kim choked out from the floor, his voice hoarse with pain and undimmed hatred.

The CEO and the legal team stared, aghast. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Manager Kim's pained groans. Y/N simply looked down at him, her expression a chilling blend of exhaustion and righteous fury.

Y/N's eyes, blazing with a cold fire, fixed on Manager Kim writhing on the floor. "I know how many women he assaulted," she stated, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. "Some didn't tell anyone because of shame, and some... some killed themselves. He needs to get punished." Her gaze swept to the CEO and the legal team, who watched in stunned silence.

Manager Kim, clutching himself, lifted his head, his face a mask of agony and pure malice. "You were the one who told me to touch you!" he croaked, his voice raspy with pain and desperation, trying to turn the accusation back on her.

The air in the room grew heavy, a palpable tension as a new, horrifying layer was peeled back from Y/N's past. Her eyes, filled with a sudden, devastating pain, darted to Seungcheol, then back to Manager Kim, her voice dropping to a raw, barely audible whisper. "Never. Really? You didn't even leave my mom alone? When she got pregnant, you left her, huh?"

The bombshell landed with the force of a physical blow. The CEO's eyes widened in shock, and the legal team exchanged incredulous glances. Manager Kim, for the first time, looked genuinely terrified, his face paling even further.

Y/N, tears streaming down her face once more, but now fueled by a deeper, more profound anguish, pointed a trembling finger at Manager Kim. Her voice, though broken, carried the weight of years of unspoken torment. "Now you didn't even leave your daughter, Appa!"

The revelation hung in the air, a devastating silence broken only by the ragged gasps of those present. Seungcheol stared at Y/N, his entire world tilting on its axis. His daughter? Manager Kim's daughter? The pieces of a dark, horrific puzzle began to click into place, painting a picture of betrayal, cruelty, and a secret that had festered for decades. The contempt he felt for Y/N was instantly overshadowed by a chilling, horrifying realization.

Y/N’s voice, though raw and broken, resonated with an unbearable accusation that shattered the fragile silence in the room. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at Manager Kim, her eyes wide with a pain so profound it seemed to pull the air from the room.

"When you left her," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper, yet piercingly clear, "you knew that I was your daughter. Then why... why didn't you do anything when those guys assaulted me when I was just 8 years old?" Her gaze flickered to Seungcheol, then back to the man cowering on the floor, the truth ripping through her with every word. "You were there. You watched them. But you never did anything. Why?"

The words hung heavy, a horrific confession echoing through the room. The CEO stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and dawning horror. The legal team exchanged stunned, incredulous glances. Manager Kim, still clutching his groin, now looked utterly defeated, his face a ghastly shade of white as the monstrous secret of his past, and his daughter's trauma, was laid bare for all to witness. The air crackled with the unbearable weight of Y/N's unveiled torment, and the chilling realization of the monstrous betrayal she had endured.

Manager Kim, despite his pain, lifted his head again, his eyes filled with a vile, desperate malice as he tried to deflect the monstrous accusation. "I knew you were a wh*re since you were a kid! You provoked them, didn't you?!" he shrieked, his voice raw and filled with a chilling self-preservation.

Y/N stumbled back a step, as if physically struck, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. The sheer depravity of his words, blaming his own child for the assault, was an unbearable weight. Her eyes, swimming with tears, stared at him in horrified disbelief.

"Appa!" she cried out, the word tearing from her throat, a desperate plea for a father who had never been there. "I was just 8 years old! I didn't even know there was something like this!" Her voice cracked on the last words, dissolving into heart-wrenching sobs. The revelation of his betrayal, the cruel silence he had maintained for years, coupled with this final, abhorrent accusation, broke her. She crumbled to the floor, her body wracked with agonizing sobs, the years of suppressed trauma finally unleashed.

The CEO and the legal team watched, utterly aghast, the horror of the scene unfolding before them. Seungcheol, who had been standing frozen, felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The true depths of Y/N's past, and the depravity of the man he had blindly called his manager, were laid bare. His hatred for her, once so fierce, now felt insignificant, swallowed by a profound, chilling realization of the monstrous injustice she had endured. He could only stare at her, a broken heap on the floor, his mind reeling from the unspeakable evil he had just witnessed.

Y/N, still on the floor, her voice choked with tears, slowly lifted her head. Her gaze, now burning with a desperate, protective fire, fixed on Manager Kim, then swept to the stunned faces of the CEO and the legal team.

"The man my mom married," she began, her voice gaining strength, "he is my father. The one who used to support me, who is supporting me, who never, ever made me feel that I was not his real daughter." Her eyes flashed with fierce loyalty. "And don't you forget that."

A new, chilling authority entered her voice as she continued, her gaze sweeping over every person in the room. "My dad is the chairman of the most famous law firm in Korea. He can destroy your life in just one second." Her finger pointed directly at Manager Kim, then swept to encompass the CEO and even the legal team. "He can destroy all of you!"

The threat hung heavy in the air, undeniable and potent. The CEO's face, already pale, visibly blanched. The legal team, previously composed, now looked genuinely alarmed. The weight of her words, backed by the undeniable power of her stepfather's position, was a stark revelation.

Having delivered her devastating declaration, Y/N slowly pushed herself up. Her body still trembled, but her eyes held a steely resolve. Without another word, she turned and walked, with as much dignity as she could muster, back into her bedroom, the door closing softly behind her, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. Seungcheol stood frozen, grappling with the seismic shift in his understanding of Y/N and the dangerous web they were now all caught in.

The aftermath of that horrifying night saw swift and decisive action. With Y/N’s testimony, the undeniable evidence of Manager Kim’s past, and the chilling revelation of her true family connections, A1 Entertainment moved with unprecedented speed. Manager Kim was arrested that very night, his career, reputation, and freedom utterly shattered. The agency launched a full internal investigation, and several staff members, implicated by Y/N’s account, were quietly dismissed. The scandal was contained to the higher echelons of the industry, a testament to both companies' damage control and Y/N's powerful backing.

In the quiet of their shared apartment, the air slowly, almost imperceptibly, began to shift. The raw hostility that had defined their existence for so long started to dissipate. The direct venom from Seungcheol ceased entirely. He no longer hurled insults, no longer stalked away in a furious silence.

Days bled into weeks, marked by an unsettling, then cautiously hopeful, change. They began to speak in full sentences, beyond the clipped necessities of shared living. "Did you eat?" "Your practice was late tonight." "That stage was good." Simple, almost mundane exchanges, but each one a fragile bridge being built over the chasm of their past animosity.

Seungcheol found himself observing Y/N more closely, no longer through a lens of hatred, but with a newfound, complicated curiosity. He saw the genuine exhaustion in her eyes after a long day, the meticulous way she organized her studio space, the quiet focus she brought to her work. And she, in turn, no longer flinched when he entered a room. She met his gaze, not with defiance, but with a cautious openness.

They navigated shared meals with fewer awkward silences, sometimes even a quiet hum of the television filling the space. The arguments, once an inevitable part of their interaction, were now conspicuously absent. They could sense it, a fragile, budding possibility that this forced proximity, this secret marriage, could somehow, against all odds, evolve into something unexpectedly, genuinely happy. The path was long, paved with the debris of their past, but for the first time, a faint flicker of light appeared at the end of it.

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Jamie Beck

Jamie Beck is a photographer residing in Provence, France. Her Tumblr blog, From Me To You, became immensely successful shortly after launching in 2009. Soon after, Jamie, along with her partner Kevin Burg, pioneered the use of Cinemagraphs in creative storytelling for brands. Since then, she has produced marketing and advertising campaigns for companies like Google, Samsung, Netflix, Disney, Microsoft, Nike, Volvo, and MTV, and was included in Adweek Magazine’s “Creative 100” among the industry’s top Visual Artists. In 2022, she released her first book, An American in Provence, which became a NYT Bestseller and Amazon #1 book in multiple categories, and featured in publications such as Vogue, goop, Who What Wear, and Forbes. Flowers of Provence is Jamie’s second book.

Can you tell us about how The Flowers of Provence came to be?

I refer to Provence often as ‘The Garden of Eden’ for her harmonious seasons that bring an ever-changing floral bounty through the landscape. My greatest joy in life is telling her story of flowers through photography so that we may all enjoy them, their beauty, their symbolism, and their contribution to the harmony of this land just a bit longer. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do your photography and writing work together? Do you write as part of your practice?

I constantly write small notations, which usually occur when I am alone in nature with the intention of creating a photograph or in my studio working alone on a still life. I write as I think in my head, so I have made it a very strict practice that when a thought or idea comes up, I stop and quickly write the text in the notes app on my phone or in a pocket journal I keep with me most of the time. If I don’t stop and write it down at that moment, I find it is gone forever. It is also the same practice for shooting flowers, especially in a place as seasonal as Provence. If I see something, I must capture it right away because it could be gone tomorrow. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

You got your start in commercial photography. What’s something you learned in those fields that has served you well in your current creative direction?

I think my understanding of bridging art and commerce came from my commercial photography background. I can make beautiful photographs of flowers all day long, but how to make a living off your art is a completely different skill that I am fortunate enough to have learned by working with so many different creative brands and products in the past. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

Do you remember your first photograph?

Absolutely! I was 13 years old. My mother gave me her old Pentax 35mm film camera to play with. When I looked through the viewfinder, it was as if the imaginary world in my head could finally come to life! I gave my best friend a makeover, put her in an evening gown in the backyard of my parents’ house in Texas, and made my first photograph, which I thought was so glamorous! So Vogue!

You situate your photographic work with an introduction that charts the seasons in Provence through flowers. Are there any authors from the fields of nature writing and writing place that inspire you?

I absolutely adore Monty Don! His writing, his shoes, and his ease with nature and flowers—that’s a world in which I want to live. I also love Floret Flowers, especially on social media, as a way to learn the science behind flowers and how to grow them. 

How did you decide on the order of the images within The Flowers of Provence?

Something I didn’t anticipate with a book deal is that I would actually be the one doing the layouts! I assumed I would hand over a folder of images, and an art director would decide the order. At first, it was overwhelming to sort through it all because the work is so personal, and I’m so visual. But in the end, it had to be me. It had to be my story and flow to be truly authentic. I tried to move through the seasons and colors of the landscape in a harmonious way that felt a bit magical, just as discovering Provence has felt to me. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do you practice self-care when juggling work and life commitments alongside the creative process?

The creative process is typically a result that comes out of taking time for self-care. I get some of my best ideas for photographic projects or writing when I am in a bath or shower or go for a long (and restorative) walk in nature. Doing things for myself, such as how I dress or do my hair and makeup, is another form of creative expression that is satisfying. 

What’s a place or motif you’d like to photograph that you haven’t had a chance to yet?

I am really interested in discovering more formal gardens in France. I like the idea of garden portraiture, trying to really capture the essence and spirit of places where man and nature intertwine. 

Which artists do you return to for inspiration?

I’m absolutely obsessed with Édouard Manet—his color pallet and subject matter. 

What are three things you can’t live without as an artist?

My camera, the French light, and flowers, of course. 

What’s your favorite flower to photograph, and why?

I love roses. They remind me of my grandmother, who always grew roses and was my first teacher of nature. The perfume of roses and the vast variety of colors, names, and styles all make me totally crazy. I just love them. They simply bring me joy the same way seeing a rainbow in the sky does. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

[weaselbeaselpants]

Abbreviated Film list of "Disturbing Animated films"

--CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR LATER FILMS: nudity, SA, CSA, violence, fetuses, child mortality, racial violence and hate-crimes, misogyny, gore and blood, body horror, war crimes, animal ab*se, poop eating, elder ab*se, s3lf harm, inc3st --

Because commenting was taking to long on Reddit, here's my complete list of the Version 3. iceberg chart I made for 'disturbing animated feature (40-60 min) films. --No shorts, tv or mini series-- Films/franchise titles are in italics as in the actual chart. Horror (or what I personally deem as horror for whatever reason) are highlighted in red, non-horror are left white. Movies that 'aren't fully' or 'aren't really' animation are marked in blue.

An entire creator/studio's work being condensed into a single ranking on the chart for convenience are marked with yellow, THO films in these catalogues that deserved their own ranking elsewhere on the chart mean that next to the studio/creator's name is a '*'. My personal condensed reviewratings are marked in this post with a "bad", "mid", "good", "great!" or "FAVORITE" rating at the end.

Let's get right into it:

Disney (any Walt Disney Studios and Disney Toons studios feature films) and Pixar. My FAVORITEs are Beauty and the Beast, Fantasia, Great Mouse Detective, Finding Nemo and Monsters Inc personally. For all the horror the donkey-changing scene in Pinocchio struck us with it alone does not make it a horror film) Image Movers (Polar Express, Beowulf Mars needs Moms and Christmas Carol 2009.) *Nickelodeon movies (Jimmy Neutron, Barnyard, The Rugrats and Spongebob movies obv. Exception listed below is Rango) *Cartoon Saloon. (Irish 2D animation studio. My FAVORITEs of theirs are Wolfwalkers and Song of the Sea. Exception listed is The Breadwinner in the reblogs) Bluesky (Nimona, Ice Age, Robots) Aardman. Chicken Run which is a FAVORITE, Wallace and Gromit) Illumination (Minions and Sing) and Dreamworks (Ogrelord and Dreamworks Face) Sony (Spiderverse, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs) **Studio Ghibli (exceptions listed are Princess Mononoke and Grave of the Fireflies in the reblogs) Soyuzmotefilm. Artsy Russian animation studio (The Snow Queen, The Humpbacked Horse). Prolific handrawn movies that inspired Miyazaki. Rankin/Bass, aka the makers of Rudolph and Frostie and the other staples of 60s-70s holiday programming. Don Bluth (specifically his older work like All Dogs go to Heaven, Land Before Time and Secret of NIMH. I know the man is iconic in the 90s childhood trauma scene but I had to make space and it was easier to put all of his work together like this) Momoru Hosada (director of Boy and the Beast, Mirai, The Girl who Leapt through Time, Wolfchildren, Belle, Summerwars) The Pokemon films The Casper films The Hotel Transylvania films The Monster High films *The Scooby Doo films (exception listed being Scooby Doo on Zombie Island, considering it's infamy) [not properly highlighted in the image] The Unico films. The Howard Lovecraft films. Garbage but are MY garbage.

Standalone films:

Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night and Happily Ever After. Mid. Filmation movies made in the 80s to capitalize on Disney film rereleases and act as unofficial sequels. They get kind of dark at parts, especially Pinocchio.

The Last Unicorn. Great! Absolute classic. It is for kids but mature kids and despite that rating there are harpy titties.

Comet Quest/Adventures of Mark Twain. Great! Everyone else on the internet will know this as being the Will Vinton film from which "The scariest scene in animation"/"Mysterious Stranger" scene comes from.

James and the Giant Peach. FAVORITE. Love this movie though I didn't as a little kid on account of thinking it looked freaky. Lots of 80s-90s kids movies are like that so up it goes. While it and Comet Quest were never intended to truly scare anybody they are visually intense movies for little kids and children/people who don't know what to make of em. I get it, considering that's how I feel about 80s fantasy puppet movies.

Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure. Mid. Richard Williams animation is wonderful and Andy and Anne are adorbs, but also intense and frightening to young children. Gooseworx loves it tho.

A Mouse and his Child. Good. Sweet but intense animated film about a father/son windup toy. Apparently it's based on a story that's not for kids??? Shown alongside 'Ringing Bell' mentioned below.

The Brave Little Toaster. Great! Childhood fav, but still very intense and almost needlessly cruel at time.

The Transformers Movie. Good. As a non fan of the franchise it is shocking seeing these made-for-little boy's amusement characters die so horrifically.

Leafie, a Hen into the Wild. Good. Intense and sad 2011 family movie from South Korea. It's grim and has a bummer ending, but not the extent of the movies in the tier under the iceberg I don't think.

The King and the Mockingbird. Great! One of the mandatory viewings of 2D animation. IT'S SO GOOD, but the fluidity might offput some people ala JatGP or RaAAMA.

Ringing Bell. Great! Sanrio (yes THAT Sanrio) animated film about a baby sheep who looses his mother than goes to get revenge on the wolf who killed her. Very sad. Very beuatiful. Technically only 40 minutes but damn.

The Iron Giant. Great! As a kid the moments with the bomb at the end, agent Mansly and even the moment where Hogarth first meets the Giant were pretty scary.

-Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Great! Technically only half animated but it was wrong not to include it mostly for the sake of Judge Do-"WHEN I KILLED YOUR BROTHER?! I TALKED JUST LIKE THIIIIIIIIS!!!"

Fantastic Mr. Fox. Great! Met some people and families who were disturbed by the style of the Wes Anderson film. Another case of "people are scared of stop-motion and so find anything other than Aardman freaky".

Kubo and the Two Strings. Great! One of the best Laika films. Not horror but does get horrific with Kubo's grandfather and Aunties.

Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart. Mid. A steampunk gothic kids??? (lots of sex references; maybe in France it's made for teens and adults) film about a boy who can never fall in love or his clock heart will give out. It's sad and the style may upset people.

Rango. FAVORITE! Trippy lil older teen movie especially with it's style. I don't know how much bits like the dream sequence or Rattlesnake Jake scared kids but they probably did.

Yellow Submarine. Great! Despite not actually being a film for kids a lot of kids can watch it and have and find the psychedelic designs and art creepy.

Nutcracker Fantasy. Great! See Benett the Sage's video on it and the hidden Japanese history of Rankin/Bass.

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. Great! Another part-animated film but one which is beautiful, sweet and solemn. Not a movie made for kids but one that they could watch and cry with their hipster parents over.

Mad Monster Party. Good. Rankin/Bass Halloween film made with MAD Magazine. Commonly expected monster-puns but also a lot more references to sex, drinking and death in this flick than you'd expect of Rankin/Bass. It slaps.

The Nightmare Before Christmas. FAVORITE! Prolly favorite film ever. I'm still so shocked by people who say the visuals alone make it not a kids film. It is for kids. Kids like dark stuff.

Frankenweenie. Mid but also FAVORITE! I stan despite it's problematicisms (coughcoughToshiakicough) but I still think it's better than Corpse Bride. The grizzliest thing is the method in which some of the monster-pets die.

Corpse Bride. Good. Even as a kid this movie never scared me besides Victor's initial meeting of Emily.

The Book of Life. Mid. I WANT TO LIKE IT MORE! George's Day of the Dead film with some more dashes of death-talk and frights than Coco. George is GOAT and I just wanna like his work more but can't and I hate it.

La Petite Vampire. Mid. ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE if not flawed film based on a French webseries. Cutsey monster-goodness with monster-appropriate references to death and afterlife.

The Halloween Tree. It's over an hour so it counts as a movie. As expected for a Ray Bradbury story about Halloween it has some frights to it.

Igor. Mid. Not that bad. I guess if lesser-grade CGI is 'disturbing' to you somehow it might freak kids out.

Zombrilenium. Bad. Wanted to like this french film more but it's really not very good.

Scooby Doo on Zombie Island. Good. The OG 'Scooby Doo but darker' flick. Good children's horror fun.

Osmosis Jones. Good. It's a gross out buddy comedy with genuine horror happening to the anthro-cels. With or without Thrax it's pretty horrifying at parts. Had to go somewhere in this tier for sure.

Ana y Bruno. Mid. A Mexican animated film with a twist I think everyone but me saw coming. Feels very Bluesky-ish despite being about a child who can see other people's hallucinations.

Alice. Great! A mandatory viewing especially for stop-motion fans. In the words of Kyle Kallgreen, what makes this film so unsettling is that it wasn't just made for art; it was legit made for children and not intended as a horror film. Svankmajer made this movie for kids. Tho I do unironically find it less scary than the 55' Disney film.

Paranorman. Good but not my fav. The bit with Agatha and the zombies (even if it's played for laughs) are pretty creepy and also the harassment Norman gets may be disturbing.

Coraline. FAVORITE! "SHE'S A PEACH, SHE'S A DOLL, SHE'S A PAL OF MINE!" Neil Gaiman's crimes will never take this brilliance away from me.

Monster House. Good. Noice solid children's-horror flick which also has no fatalities say for the villain but still manages to be scary. The best ImageMovers film.

Wendell and Wild. Mid. Flawed and badly paced but y'know still about demons, death, possession and prison abuse of the system and made by Selick and Jordan Peele so really how could this not go on here.

Tito and the Birds. Mid. Found it's overall story an execution of said story lacking but the build up and dread the film has does feel appropriate.

Guillermo Del Toro's Pinocchio. Great! LOVED IT. A movie made for people that kids can watch and not be too disturbed by but still- with or without Del Toro, it IS Pinocchio and a lot of the things that happens in it are messed up.

-The Dark Crystal. Good. Not technically an animated film but I had to mention because there aren't any humans on screen. Messed up, mythological and grim like Oz and Henson wanted. Is there anything to be said that hasn't been said already? Dark is literally in the title.

[almostyours]

★   .   LUCKY ME is the debut studio album by japanese singer and hiraeth leader,  hiiragi kaia.  released in both digital and physical formats under the first full moon of summer 2025,  the trilingual album was supported by the pre-release derré,  the album’s beloved title track,  read your mind,  and the japanese promotional song miss u which further contributed to its success.  the latter became a favorite globally,  achieving significant chart success and solidifying kaia’s position as a global pop sensation.  additionally,  although not officially promoted,  sugar rush gained remarkable popularity among social media,  further cementing the album’s impact.

“   [...]   with the success of her sun-kissed debut,  we just became the lucky ones.   ”   —-   ROLLINGSTONE.COM  “LUCKY ME, LUCKY US:  KAIA'S SUN-KISSED AND ROMANTIC SEASON!”

featured  oc’s.  @hearthr0b’s  zion,  @saenbit’s  jc.  @astraism’s  saehyeon.  @hjnxx’s  ahyeon.

a  month before the album’s release,  LUCKY ONE,  a limited-time milkshake diner inspired by kaia’s sweet and vibrant energy,  opened in gangnam-gu,  seoul.  designed as a summer pop-up store,  the diner featured pastel interiors,  exclusive menu drinks and merchandise,  and playful nods to LUCKY ME,  offering angels and anyone curious a chance to indulge in themed treats while immersing themselves in the world of kaia’s rose colored and highly anticipated debut.

visually,  LUCKY ME’s era was just as captivating as its sound.  the pre-release derré played out like a cat-and-mouse chase,  except kaia isn’t the one running.  she’s the one orchestrating it all,  a quiet force looming above,  subtly shifting the world beneath her love interest’s feet.  the masked figure,  elusive and drawn in,  thinks they’re chasing her,  trying to get closer,  but every step they take is just another move kaia has already placed on the board.  each scene flows seamlessly as the love interest moves through surreal,  shifting spaces,  unknowingly playing into kaia’s hands.  but the real kaia,  the one peering through the dollhouse’s windows,  watches with something akin to amusement,  adjusting tiny details like pieces in a dollhouse,  making it seem as if fate itself is pulling them together.  the cat-and-mouse dynamic plays out in tension-filled glances,  exaggerated moments,  and quick cuts that build the illusion of pursuit. the mix of dreamy nostalgia and quiet manipulation turns the video into something more than just a game of chase.  this is kaia’s world!  it’s her story and she’s already decided how it will end.  the thrill isn’t in being caught.  it’s in making them fall,  believing it was their idea all along!

for the title track read your mind,  the visuals perfectly capture a dreamy retro vibe with a touch of playful chaos.  kaia takes on the role of a laid-back but mischievous cupid,  trying to help a bunny-masked character win over their fox-masked crush with her wit and arrows.  unfortunately,  the arrows never seem to hit the mark,  sparking many unexpected love stories along the way until the fox-masked individual finally locked eyes with the bunny-mask.  by the end of the video,  kaia can be found lounging on a cloud,  sipping a milkshake that resembles the favorite rosy swirl from her pop-up store,  completely unbothered by the love chaos she’s created.  "the end?"  flickers in neon,  leaving the whole scene suspended in the kind of carefree summer magic that you wish could last forever.

miss u leaned into a charming and effortlessly cute aesthetic,  crafted to resonate with japanese audiences.  styled like an endearing yet polished love letter to fans,  the video featured kaia in hot pink settings,  playfully interacting with the camera,  all while wearing cat ears that started a new trend for everyone to follow.  the setting had a nostalgic,  almost cinematic glow,  with intimate framing that made it feel like a cherished memory unfolding in real-time.  with subtle nods to her group woven into the visuals,  it served as both a solo showcase and a heartfelt reminder of the collective artistry she’s a part of.

upon release,  LUCKY ME was met with overwhelmingly positive reviews,  praised for its playful yet cohesive theme that perfectly captured the carefree essence of summer.  the album’s infectious melodies and bright,  nostalgic aesthetic made it an instant favorite,  with critics calling it  "a taste of fun in the sun"  and  "one of the most refreshing pop releases of the year."  with derré winning seven music shows,  read your mind taking eleven,  and miss u dominating with sixteen wins,  kaia became the hiraeth member with the most wins,  further cementing her status as a breakout solo star.  with such a momentum,  she’s expected to sweep year-end awards,  likely taking home best female solo and even daesangs!

the success of the album’s japanese promotional track,  miss u,  was particularly notable,  nearly surpassing hiraeth’s angel theory in perfect all-kills.  despite initial skepticism from critics and the industry,  who doubted kaia’s potential as a soloist,  LUCKY ME shattered expectations,  proving her undeniable star power both as a group leader and an artist in her own.

through the rest of the summer,  kaia embarked on a small but highly anticipated world tour,  LUCKY US,  which primarily focused on the asian market.  despite its limited scope,  the tour became one of the most sought-after solo events of the year,  with tickets selling out within minutes and venues packed with eager fans.  praised for its immersive production,  stunning outfits and performances,  and kaia’s energetic stage presence,  LUCKY US set a new standard for solo performances,  making it the most successful tours by an individual member of hiraeth. 

DERRÉ.   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  poppy.          “   i have my ways.   ”

READ  YOUR  MIND.   

co-written  with  astraism’s  saehyeon,  prod.  by  poppy.          “   if i could,  i would.  but i can’t.  so i won’t!   ”

LIKE  MAGIC.   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  yvan.          “   my spells don’t wear out so watch out.   ”

ABC.   

collaboration  with  guitarist  ███         “   this is educational!  kind of.   ”

LAZY  BABY.   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  ███         “   not worth a second thought or a text back.   ”

KA-CHING!   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  vivi.          “   retail therapy is real therapy.   ”

WEATHER.   

written  and  prod.  by  kaia.         “   cloudy with a chance of whatever this is.   ”

YOUR  LOVE.   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  arm  candy’s  zion.         “   my loves’ loves.   ”

OFF  THE  RECORD.   

written  by  kaia,  prod.  by  hijinxx’s  ahyeon.  “   don’t tell anyone i said this.   ”

HANGOVER.   

written  by  kaia,  produced  by  the  rabbits’  jc.         “   might regret this one in the morning.   ”

SUGAR  RUSH.   

written  by  kaia,  produced  by  poppy.          “   hehe.   ”

GIRLS.   

co-written  and  co-prod.  with  poppy.        “   the truth was boring.   ”

TWIN.   

written  and  prod.  by  kaia.          “   it’s like i’m writing a letter but i’m writing a song.   ”

BEST  EVER.   

written  by  kaia,  produced  by  vivi  and  ███         “   painfully unforgettable.   ”

MISS  U.   

co-written and prod.  by  kaia  and poppy.         “   for the late overthinkers.   ”

SCRAMBLE.   

featuring  japanese  rock  band  ███         “   i used to listen to them when i was a kid.   ”

MEMORIES  OF  YOU.   

feature  with  atlus’  persona  3  reload.         “   best experience ever.   ”

★   .   NOTES.

she deserves this 

i wasn’t going to wait until summer to drop this so let’s pretend we are in summer 25

no features in the album if we exclude her collaboration in abc,  but since ███ doesn’t sing it doesn’t count so pretend those irl features aren’t real

miss u is basically apt because if a song made by zionists can be that big a japanese song done by the face of babygirlism kaia and her best friend poppy can do the same

she did super good in japan that’s their princess after all 

she did veeeeery good but i’m not mentioning sales charts or views because i don’t care that much about all that

kaia wrote every single track and collaborated with multiple producers from her company ███ and some outside it,  including her fellow member and the album’s most credited producer and composer,  poppy. 

there was some curiosity about the absence of the group’s main producer ███ from her tracklist,  but no one really dug too deep into it  ^___^  (yes. something happened.)

she was everywhere.  billboards,  magazines,  variety shows,  social media…  yea. she liked it, but at the same time she didn't.

kaia brought back the cat ears because she wore them in the miss u music video.  ariana grande’s my everything era who? 

the two last songs,  scramble and memories of u,  are already released and known songs but ofc she had to include them in her album.  

yes hiraeth are persona darlings just like they are demon slayer sonic sailor moon etc etc darlings because i think it’s funny and because kaia is a big fan actually 

kaia admitted she enjoyed going solo but that her heart was in hiraeth forever and that she was missing and waiting for her friends to come back to her 

yvan and poppy forced everyone in the cast of their respective shows to stream the album it’s true i was there 

nothing bad really happened aside from the usual random hating and people bringing up old scandals and rumors about her and her group.  it was a very happy and fun time for her but she probably ended up very sick when promotions finally ended because of stress and exhaustion and paranoia because she wasn't hiding behind her member's shadows anymore and she was yk everywhere lol

just ask if u r curious abt something :)

she deserves this idc that she did #that

[oacest]

did you see the new jill book

WE SURE DID

Coming this September: ‘OASIS: Trying to Find a Way Out of Nowhere’ by Jill Furmanovsky and Noel Gallagher. Iconic photos by Jill Furmanovsky chart the dramatic career of Oasis – on stage, backstage and in the studio – paired with exclusive commentary by Noel Gallagher. Jill Furmanovsky’s unparalleled work with Oasis stretches from the end of 1994 to their last shows in 2009. Jill was given unprecedented access to countless worldwide performances and many recording sessions. In this beautiful volume, overseen and edited by Noel Gallagher, award-winner Furmanovsky presents classic highlights and unseen images from her complete Oasis archive, which she describes as her best body of work, as well as insightful observations taken from notes she made at the time. Organized chronologically, the book depicts more than 500 photographs, contact sheets and sequenced film strips of the band on stage, backstage, on the road, in the studio and behind the scenes. Jill captured the drama of the band’s lifestyle during the 1990s when, as she said, ‘they were on a comet, hanging on for dear life’. The access she was given allowed closeness, and she was able to document the competitive and at times volatile relationship between Noel and Liam Gallagher up to their split in 2009, creating a poignant visual diary that is more than the sum of its parts. In this book she extends the visual story to 2025*, capturing the band in rehearsal for the upcoming reunion tour. Accompanying the images is illuminating commentary by Noel Gallagher, who relates the inside stories of the events pictured in many of the shoots and demonstrates an honest and touching relationship between band and photographer. Three essays by music journalists provide context to the band’s story, and an introduction by Jill celebrates the supreme significance of Oasis in her 50+ years photographing musicians. *Definitely…Maybe ‘OASIS: Trying to Find a Way Out of Nowhere’ by Jill Furmanovsky and Noel Gallagher publishes in the UK on 23rd September and in the US on 14th October.

===

More Jill photos with commentary from Noel, including 2025 stuff?? will be spending money we don't have come October...

[toeridiaorbust]

I Just Realized the Paper in the Radial Charts Are Visually Unique Too

All images belong to Red Spring Studio.

Mhin:

Theirs looks the 'cleanest', relatively speaking. Possible scribbled notes in the margins, there?

✒️✒️✒️✒️✒️

[More under the cut]

Vere:

There's, uh, a lot of blood. Fits the 5 rank of his 'Wanton Violence', doesn't it?

✒️✒️✒️✒️✒️

Kuras:

I know we haven't seen Kuras eat/drink anything in both the demo and other official art by RSS, but I know the stain of an overfilled coffee mug on a paper when I see one! [It's even referenced in the LI quiz the devs put out ages ago, the French press coffee!]

✒️✒️✒️✒️✒️

Ais:

While everyone's blue paper note is ripped at the top and bottom, Ais's has the addition of being crinkled up and torn!

As others noted in reblogs/tag/comments on the official RSS post for Ais, the Animal Handling rank is in allusion to his control of all the Soulless at the Seaspring.

However, there's the tear that cuts through it too. Ocudeus is the something Ais cannot control. [This is also noted by others in the fandom!]

[This also completely terrifies be because oh no! Ais is losing himself!]

The crumbled paper could be similar to how a student carelessly jams their homework/notes/etc. into their backpack and turns it in that way to the teacher. Ais is trying to keep Ocudeus in check/suppress it/them/him(?), but it isn't working anymore.

All in all, I cannot wait to see what the devs have in store for Leander's.

[applelune]

──★ ˙ 🍎 ̟ !! Elliot Pierce - the lyrical genius

‎ ‎⋆✴︎ star apple biodata ✴︎⋆

❝ i've been writing ballads all my life, my muse. it's no wonder that songs flow to me like water. ❞

gender : male

age : 31

ethnicity : american

occupation: singer

☆ about Elliot 。 。 。

When anyone thinks of the name Elliot Pierce, they think of the heartthrob superstar who write ballads that speak to the soul. All of his albums always make it to the top of the charts and songs win world class awards with critical acclaim. Ladies fall to his feet, begging to be his muse for the next lyrical masterpieces he's going to write. Known as the singer who ran away from an abusive home and won a historical court battle against his predatory company, Elliot has become a role model representing resilience and success. However, deep down, Elliot struggles with his own battles. Despite appearing confident and put together, Elliot suffers from intense self-loathing, abandonment issues, and addiction. Substance abuse is a long battle he's fighting against to escape his issues into another reality and to deal with the anxiety of never being enough. Being Elliot's lover means constantly making promises of forever. Elliot needs to know that you'll stay with him for the rest of your lives; extending even in death when you both eventually pass away. He'll make sure to whisper images of your future together when he holds you at night, he'll attempt to get better just so he could make that distant reality come true. He'll do anything to make sure that you'll stay. He'll dedicate the rest of his life to writing songs for you, providing you with the best, and guaranteeing your safety. All you need to do is just say that you'll never leave him alone with his thoughts. If Elliot ever senses you thinking of leaving him, he won't be afraid to break down in front of you. He can't take another person taking away the sliver of happiness in his life; the only person who he trusts with this broken part of him. He'll turn into a self-destructing mess and threaten to go back to his old habits. You don't want your poor Elliot to hurt himself anymore, would you? Not when he's doing so well trying to make himself into a better man, just for you. And once he manages to make you promise him once again that you'll stay, he'll be making sure to hide you away from the things that even made you consider leaving him. If necessary, he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty to make sure your future and emotions are back under his control.

☆ the visuals 。 。 。

Silky golden blond hair that he always tousled in the most perfect way. He has a very specific way of styling his hair and hates it when it looks any other way. Do note that a bad hair day will automatically ruin the rest of his day (unless you assure him that he still looks good either way; maybe the mood will improve a little bit)

Cold silver eyes. His eyesight is terrible due to countless hours staring at a screen. He doesn't wear his glasses in public spaces since he thinks he looks bad in them. So, he always has clear contact lenses in case he needs to put away his glasses.

Pale skin, sickly pale actually. Due to being holed up in his studios a lot when he doesn't need to make a public appearance, his already pale skin developed a sickly pale shade. That's why it's a must that he wears makeup to cover his prominent eyebags to maintain the flawless image to the public.

Stands at a comfortable 168 cm. His figure is lean and with a little bit of muscle. Elliot wants to gain more muscle but it's a struggle for him to even maintain the ones he already has from disappearing. He will never go shirtless in public due to the fact that he thinks that his chest needs more mass to look good and because he has countless old scars from depressive and self-hate episodes he used to have before meeting you.

Both of his ears are pierced as is looking to get more piercings, but is still unsure on where he should get it next.

He has a silver chain necklace he wears wherever he goes. Other than because he thinks that it looks cool, it was the first ever fashion accessory he bought with his own money after being able to support himself with his musical career.

Elliot cares very much about what he wears. He loves wearing tailored and high fashion suits to award shows and interviews. A big fan of wearing leather gloves. When he's alone and chilling with you, he's much more casual and loves to layer clothes with a pair of baggy jeans.

❝ you don't understand... being with you makes me feel human. without you i am a monster, i am nothing. ❞

You wondered how you got yourself into this situation in the first place. It all started with one night of busking at a high-end bar. You've been doing that almost every day of the week to try and make a name for yourself while getting pretty good pay on the side. On that same night, somehow you ended up coming across a dangerously drunk Elliot Pierce and helping him back to his penthouse before any cameras see his messy state. You thought it was only going to be a one-time thing; a fever dream of a night and a crazy story you were gonna tell your friends sometime in the future.

So, what were you doing in his penthouse again?

It wasn't the first time you came over. On that crazy night, Elliot wouldn't allow you to leave. As soon as you dropped him off on his bed, he made you climb in by crying and begging you to not leave him alone. So, seeing how broken he looked, you did. Ever since then, the blond superstar has been calling you whenever he wanted company and you've, for some reason, been agreeing.

You coming to his penthouse started with pity. Drunk Elliot clung onto you onto the night while he sobbed and vented about multiple things; about his life, his career, and how alone he felt due to the lack of genuine human contact. You tried to slip out of his hold but, every time you did, he'd let out a sad cry and you ended up staying.

You expected to be kicked out the next day, but you were met with an embarrassed yet thankful Elliot. Despite the unconventional introduction, Elliot liked how you didn't take advantage of his drunk state and listened to him. So, you both exchanged numbers for when Elliot needs a drinking buddy and when he feels the need for human interaction.

You can't tell if it was just you, but you the more time the two of you spent together the more domestic your interactions felt.

"I made pasta today. I had some seafood left over and I thought I'd add them in too," Elliot casually said as he made you wait over at the dining table. He brought over two plates of delicious smelling pasta over and put it in front of you.

"Thanks," you awkwardly said as the two of you began eating.

The routine of when Elliot called you has always been the same. He'd have food ready when you arrive. Then, you'd both eat before making your way over to the couch to drink; well more like take sips while Elliot downs bottles by himself. While that happens, you both would talk and, then, the night would end with the both of you cuddling in bed.

"I have a surprise for you after this," Elliot announced when the two of you finally finished eating. You had just finished washing the dishes and were drying your hands.

"Oh, what is it?" You asked curiously. Elliot gave you a cheeky smile in response as he took one of your hands.

"You'll like it, trust me," he simply said as he lead you into one of the rooms in his fancy and very expensive penthouse. The room looked like a home studio filled with a couple of monitors, musical instruments, and vibey mood lighting. He made you sit down on one of the office chairs by the monitor as he opened a music file.

The song he played had beautiful instrumentals and lyrics. You could tell that the emotions the song was trying to portray sounded raw, yet beautiful. You paid attention to the lyrics and noticed how it sang of forever and the feeling of longing. As a whole, the song sounded perfect and you were sure that it was going to win awards if it gets released.

"What do you think?" Elliot eagerly asked when the song finished.

"Yeah, it's really good! It sound's really romantic though. Is this song about someone?" You asked as you turned to look at him. You could see that his eyes light up when you said that you liked it.

"I'm glad you like it! After all, this is a song I wrote for you," Elliot chuckled as he leaned back on his chair. Your own eyes widened, not expecting the singer to give out that answer.

"What? What do you mean that this is a song about me?" You didn't understand why he wrote you this song. This whole time, you've been under the pretense that you both have just been hanging out casually with no feelings involved.

"Of course it's about you!" Elliot exclaimed as he took both of your hands into his, his eyes filled with so much love that you didn't expect to see from him, "Spending time with you has made me realize what it means to be human, to be seen as the true me."

You were trying to process everything and listening intently at where the conversation was going.

"I didn't think spending time with someone could ever make me feel whole you know? My whole life has just been filled with people who criticize me or people who were just there for the fame," as he said all this, his grip stayed strong on your hands as if he was afraid that you wouldn't hear him out until the end, "But spending time with you has made me realize that I've just hadn't met the right person. Now I can't even imagine what it would be like if you decided to stop coming over."

Your breath hitched as he confessed about his thoughts.

"I have more songs written about you, you know? But, they're not done yet and I only want to show you the best of me so you won't leave," he said with a chuckle before continuing, "I can show you all of them if you want. Just... promise me that you'll continue to stay with me or I don't know what I would do to myself without you."

You looked at Elliot as he said that, his body language seeming confident and charming as if he's giving you a choice. However, the desperation in his silver eyes and the tight grip he had on your hands made you scared of what he'd do if you decided to walk away from him.

[thesimstree]

Save your sims' love story: photo frames, templates, and couple questionnaires 🧡💛❤️

Relationships are full of warm moments that you want to cherish forever. The first meeting, funny conversations, shared photos – all of these become part of your story. And if traditional albums and posts feel too ordinary, templates are here to help! They allow you to beautifully preserve memories, share your couple’s journey, and even plan special events. Choose the one that best represents your story and create something truly meaningful!

Most of these templates are available only in English. For convenience, you can upload the image to Google Translate. You can also edit any template by covering the original English text and adapting it to any language that suits you and your audience.

Meet My Couple by @misspepeshi

This challenge was created for Valentine's Day and quickly gained a lot of participants. After all, who doesn’t love sharing stories about their favorite couples? But there’s nothing stopping you from using these wonderful templates anytime! With 10 different color options and plenty of ways to customize them – stickers, text, decorations – you can make each one uniquely yours. Above, you can see an example of a template designed by the author.

Download here

Sims Templates for Photoshop by @areleksiyamoonlight

These Photoshop templates are a perfect way to capture your special day in style. Polaroid shots, film strips, and other creative designs will make your photos look even more special. It’s not just a collage – it’s a visual story of your relationship. Add some sweet details and heartfelt words, and you’ll have a stylish poster or a beautiful page for your album.

Download here

Photomatic (Self Photo Studio) Template by @simmanhi

Photo booths at festivals and fairs always create a fun atmosphere. Why not bring that energy into your couple’s photos? This template helps turn your playful snapshots into a stylish retro photo booth strip.

Download here

Valentine's Dump by @playwithsyd

"Will you be my Valentine?" Of course, yes! And now it’s time to decorate your home with beautiful memories. This template is designed as a digital photo frame, where images change in a slideshow format. A perfect way to preserve your sweetest moments.

Download here

Crush chart by @00-v2

Love stories begin in different ways, and this template is a great way to capture that. It’s an unusual choice for this collection, but why only talk about established couples? A crush template can be the starting point of your sims' love story. Fill it out from each sim’s perspective to see how it all began and what they were looking for in a future partner.

Download here

Compact Ship Template for Photoshop by @marissources

Love interactive designs? This template is perfect for those who want flexibility in their layouts. It consists of multiple modules that can be customized however you like. Want to focus on photos? Easy. Need more space for text? That works too. Be sure to check the link to see a video showcasing the different module options.

Download here

Get to know my OTP by @oakwolves

This template requires no Photoshop skills at all! Simplicity and romance are its biggest strengths. There’s no need to write long descriptions, just add symbols of your love, such as a shared song, special dates, or your favorite photos.

On the left is the original template, and on the right is a simple example of how you can fill it out. Don’t limit yourself to a white background or pre-written prompts: let the blank template inspire you to create something uniquely yours. It has a transparent background, so you can experiment with colors and layouts, easily removing or rearranging elements.

Download here

Ship aesthetics by @dacquoisettes

This is the fastest way to introduce your couple, because it’s almost entirely made of pictures! You can create a ship in not just five minutes, but in a single minute. We’ve shown you an example of how to make it cute and vibrant: just pick fun images to represent your sims and, of course, don’t forget to add their photos! You can easily find images and decorate your couple’s profile in Canva or similar apps.

Download here

Wedding Ship Meme by @heyneon

Planning a wedding? Then this template is for you! It helps you beautifully share the details of your upcoming celebration, and its transparent background makes it easy to customize. There are versions not just for couples, but also for groups of three or four people. In fact, you can use it for any event – friend gatherings, family celebrations, and other meaningful occasions.

Download here

Other couple templates

Sometimes, you just want to share fun details about your relationship by filling out a simple questionnaire. Who said "I love you" first? How did you meet? What are your favorite traditions? Below, you’ll find several more couple-themed templates that let you highlight key moments and fun facts about your relationship.

Understand my ship template by @gibbarts

Download here

My ship in 5 minutes by @moontruffles

Download here

Relationship in 5 minutes by @snowwoofxd

Download here

Your [ Them <3 ] Ship by @causticflower

As the creator mentions, the template comes in two versions: one is visually detailed, while the other is simpler and easier to read. Pick the one that suits your style best!

Download here

🌱 TheSimsTree

❓ Support 🌸 Our Blog

[roukabi]

My objectively correct opinions on a hadestown adaptation

(Explanation under the cut)

For the purposes of this chart, the hypothetical Hadestown adaptation would follow the original Broadway production (2019).

Lawful Good: Out of all animated possibilites, this would be the medium I'd want to see a HT adaptation in purely for its tangibility and underground atmosphere. Stopmo is considered inherently kitsch and a less 'pretty' animation medium in the eyes of the public. Critics only recognize it if a big name is attached (see Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio, which won the Golden Globe for its running year). Therefore, there's no real fear of an adaptation like this getting too popular, and a smart director would use this tactile medium to restore the scrappy, raw feel of the Vermont production. Even if the conditions aren't perfect, as long as a studio that isn't Laika or Aardman takes the helm, there's a good chance the average stopmo director can be trusted with the show. Overall, this is my pie-in-the-sky option, though it'll probably never happen.

Neutral Good: The next best thing, and hopefully what we will get. Personal preference would leave lyrics the way they were in the original Broadway version, but I can't always get what I want.

Chaotic Good: A stage puppet version of Hadestown gets created and posted for free on YouTube and it gets, like, 100,000 views. The puppets are wonderful, the stage is great, and the actors are... good. Lots of exciting staging options to be had here. Gets as creatively interesting as possible without losing anything to the scope of a screen or animated fluff. Not really an official adaptation but still pretty cool, right?

Lawful Neutral: Look, I love 2D as much as the next guy, but anything could happen. 2D is functionally limitless in what you can do with it, which sets it apart from other mediums... for better or worse. I fear a lot of directors would go crazy with the visuals and forget to ground Hadestown in its emotional core. I think Cartoon Saloon would get it, though. While not the most top-tier team of directors, their eye for visual storytelling is unmatched. Just look at Screecher's Reach if you don't believe me. If they can bring the same amount of writing prowess to Hadestown as they did The Breadwinner, it could work. 2D is also in high demand from certain audiences (though not all), so it could run the risk of getting dangerously generic to appeal to everybody. To quote Chris Sanders, who'd just finished up work on The Lion King when he said this: "This is either gonna be huge, or it's not gonna work at all."

True Neutral: Sometimes it's best to let some shows stay as they are. Hadestown is one of those shows.

Chaotic Neutral: "indie" has become a subjective term I think, because "indie" ranges from "two people with a string" to "Amazon Prime/Netflix-funded, B-list actor, industry-standard tech with a slightly smaller fanbase". That was definitely not a slight at anyone in particular. There's already some college theatre-esque medleys on YouTube, but those aren't really full adaptations. While there'd be a lot of heart and passion in this project, the limited budget/opportunities would detract from the show's scale, and be a little embarrassing to watch tbh.

Lawful Evil: The Wicked treatment. Or maybe the Illumination treatment? Oh, no. Ew. Don't wanna think about that. 3D appeals to general audiences and gets used by the big companies more, so by that association it gets lumped in with the rest of Hollywood. Not great, overproduced, weird casting choices (related snide: in a show that's cultivated a diverse range of vocals, why on earth were Betty Who and Jordan Fisher casted on Broadway? Besides stuntcasting, of course...). A dishonest portrayal of an honest show. Could be worse, though. I can only see a 3D animated adaptation working if some smaller, non-US studio goes absolutely batshit during visdev. Other than that, 3D is too polished and techy to fit the needs of the show.

Neutral Evil: The only good thing that comes out of this is that most people see AI as a cheap scammy tool, so whatever HT-ness comes out of it will not tarnish Hadestown's name too much. I doubt it'd be taken seriously at all, if anyone would even care to look at it. I don't even think AI bros would touch the anticapitalist 'woke' themes with a ten-foot pole.

Chaotic Evil: remember what I said during the Chaotic Neutral bloc? That was about Viv. I don't care that she technically falls into Lawful Neutral, this is its own circle of hell. It's worse than AI because unlike AI, which is forgettable, Viv's understandings of mythology, gender, and politics are actively, stupidly shallow. Can you imagine what would happen to Eurydice and Persephone? Or the Fates? Could you imagine the sexism? The stereotyping? The song 'Flowers' might as well not exist. Persephone would be painted as a crazy drunk abuser. The negative cultural impact + Viv's rabid fanbase would ruin me forever. This idea has cursed me the moment it popped into my head and if I have to think about it, you do, too. Let's hope it never happens.