#being a one hit wonder sounds better to me than the career in the spotlight that requires constant upkeep

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[chiefguideandcentre]

I want to be a one hit wonder- sing a catchy song, write a great book, find a great acting role- doesn’t matter

Bust in, blow minds, make millions, peace out

Being a one hit wonder- one and done- that’s the dream baby

[ikeromantic]

Bonding

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 1800 words. This scene takes place well after the events of the Romantic Epilogue as part of my post-route headcanon storyline.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: In the Spotlight

Mitsuhide sat on the edge of a stuffed chair, a ‘sofa’, across from his little one’s father. Minoru, for his part, didn’t look any more comfortable with the company. Neither of them said anything. Mitsuhide found that his usual silver tongue had run out of witticisms when faced with the twin challenge of a world 500 years in the future and the need to impress the father of his beloved.

In the kitchen, the chatelaine and her mother Youko were making dinner. Their lively chatter was the only sound as the two men studied each other.

Finally, Minoru cleared his throat. “So. How did you two meet?”

“The answer to that would require additional explanation. Suffice it to say, I met her in the course of my work. Initially, she was a responsibility of mine. To train her so that she knew enough to stay ali- ah, safe.” Mitsuhide smiled. “She was quite a handful.”

Minoru frowned. “Safe? Safe from what? What kind of business are you in?” He leaned forward.

“Intelligence and information gathering.” He silently thanked Sarutobi for the modern words to describe being a spy and torturer.

“You work for a government?”

Mitsuhide nodded. “That is a good way to put it. Yes. For a government.”

His little mouse poked her head through the door. “Everything going ok, you two?”

Both men cleared their expressions and smiled over at her. “Yes,” they replied, almost in unison.

Her bright smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad. I wanted you two to get along. Anyway, dinner is almost ready!” She disappeared again and the smiles the two men wore faded like snow under a noon-day sun.

Minoru turned back to Mitsuhide. “How did my daughter get tangled up with some government agent? She designs clothes. She left for a job in fashion.” His voice is strained, half a year’s worth of worry and frustration pushing at the seams of his soul.

Mitsuhide nodded. “She is amazing at making clothing. That is a career she continues to pursue. But I met her the night she pulled my superior from a burning building. Had she not arrived when she did, he would have died.”

“My baby girl . . . pulled a man from a burning building?” Minoru’s eyebrows shot up, his expression one of incredulous disbelief.

“Yes, and after, he thought she should stay with our forces. For her protection and because he believed there was something special about her.” Mitsuhide’s thin smile reappeared. “He wasn’t wrong. She is very special. A wonder.”

Minoru coughed. “Well, yes, but . . . a burning building? She isn’t, that is, she wouldn’t just -”

Mitsuhide leaned forward. “You know her from her childhood. If she knew someone was going to burn to death and she had a chance to save them, would she leave them to die? Is it so unbelievable?”

He shook his head slowly. He knew his daughter was exactly the kind of girl to put herself at risk for another. “I should not be surprised. When she was five, she ran out into the street to stop traffic for a kitten. Almost got hit by a car. And it wasn’t until after the cat was safe that she even realized how close she came to dying.”

Both men chuckled.

“That sounds exactly like something my little mouse would do.”

Minoru scowled. “Your what?”

“A nickname,” Mitsuhide waved the comment off.

And then the call came for dinner. They all sat down around the table. A spread of familiar and strange foods that piqued Mitsuhide’s curiosity. He wondered which of these his beloved had made, and which her mother. To be safe, he thought, it would be wise to compliment every dish.

“So,” her mother began after everyone was served. “My daughter tells me you’re a warlord working for Oda Nobunaga?”

Mitsuhide choked in surprise, the bite of food sticking in his throat. He glanced at his little mouse for confirmation.

“It just sort of popped out while we were talking.”

With effort and a glass of water, Mitsuhide swallowed and cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to bring this up until after dinner, but yes.”

Minoru scowled. “You’re telling me you work for a man 500 years dead?”

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty lively last time I saw him,” Mitsuhide quipped.

His little mouse grinned. “Papa, be nice! I told you, we will tell you everything.” She took a deep breath. “It started the day I arrived in Kyoto. I went sightseeing . . .”

Mitsuhide listened as attentively as her parents, this version of the tale filling in gaps and details he hadn’t known. Her timely rescue of Sasuke Sarutobi, her run-in with the forces from Kasugayama. It appeared his little one was better at keeping secrets that he’d credited.

Through the story, her mother made little sounds of agreement or surprise, but Minoru was deathly silent. His expression turned darker at every part until he couldn’t hold back anymore. “This sounds like some ridiculous cartoon! You can’t expect your mother and I to buy this. Tell the truth! What is he, some mafia? A gambler? What?”

Youko frowned at him from across the table. “Now you just hush and eat your food. If our little girl says this is what happened, I believe her. She has no reason to lie. She knows we support her no matter what. Don’t we, dear?”

Minoru’s brows lowered. “You can’t be serious. This, this man shows up with our daughter after months with no word! Not a letter! Not a post card! With this crazy story and we’re supposed to just -”

“Accept it. You know as well as I do that if our girl didn’t write or call, it’s because she couldn’t. When you think of it that way, it makes perfect sense.” Youko nodded to emphasize her point. “Besides, when have you ever known her to lie.”

“She’s terrible at that,” Mitsuhide added drily.

Minoru’s scowl deepened. “Don’t talk like you know her. Maybe you drugged her or something, and now she thinks all that is true.”

Mitsuhide sighed. He’d expected this kind of reaction after Sasuke and his little one explained what ‘meeting the parents’ entailed. He was beginning to wish he could have simply sent some gifts and a contract, or better yet, left that to Nobunaga and simply married the girl. “We did bring some proof with us today, and we have friends tomorrow who can vouch for everything.”

Youko gave Mitsuhide an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you go get it? I’m sure it will make Mino a little less grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy,” Minoru grumbled.

“You are, papa. But it’s ok. This is really all my fault. I wish I’d been able to call you both. I missed you so much.”

Her father swallowed whatever he’d planned to say, touched by his daughter’s affection.

Mitsuhide went to their bags and grabbed his sword and the clothes he’d arrived in. He carried them back to the dining area. These were unlikely to be enough, he thought, but it wasn’t as if they’d planned to be swept to this time that night.

“Our clothes -” he set them down, “and my sword.”

Minoru poked at the clothing, unimpressed. The sword, however, got his attention. “This . . . it isn’t just some decorative piece . . .” The words were quiet, said more to himself than anyone.

Still, Mitsuhide answered. “No. That blade has taken many lives.”

“And saved some too,” his little mouse added. “Mine included.”

Minoru looked between the two of them. “Maybe you’ve both lost your minds. This thing -” He pointed at the sword, “is clearly an antique, but that proves nothing.”

“You are so stubborn,” Youko huffed.

Mitsuhide was beginning to see where his little one got that quality. Sweetness from her mother, stubbornness from her father. It made him smile.

***

Miyake and Sasuke sat at a nearby bar, drinks in hand.

“So this is called karaoke?” Miyake eyed the screen with words that moved and then emptied his sake cup. “And I can sing whatever I want?”

“Not whatever. I doubt they have any songs you know on file. But I think the enjoyment quotient will still be high.” Sasuke began tapping through the song selection, his expression focused. He stopped when he came across one with the image of a pink-faced girl. “This one.”

Miyake shrugged. “Alright.”

The music started. It sounded nothing like the instruments Miyake knew, or the rhythms and beats that were familiar to him. Still, he could pick out the melody, and it was nice - if strange.

The first word on the screen lit up and Sasuke started singing. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, even though the lyrics were senseless.

Miyake joined him on the next verse, nodding to the beat. It was a cheerful tune, he thought. Perfect to drink to. He poured another glass for himself and the ninja.

They emptied that and another as the song ended. The next pick was Miyake’s. He chose one based on the picture, a cute girl in a ridiculously short skirt.

“This is the theme song for my favorite anime,” Sasuke grinned.

“Then I picked a good one?”

Sasuke patted his arm. “A great one.”

Two hours later, both of them were too drunk to walk straight. Their singing got louder as their ability to pronounce the lyrics dwindled.

“Todokete atsuku naru omi . . .” The song dissolved into drunken laughter.

Miyake threw an arm around Sasuke. “Y-you’re my besht - besht fren.”

Sasuke leaned into the hug. “N-now I have two! Two besht frienz - friends.” He grinned but the expression slid into a sad frown.

“Wha - what ish it?” Miyake peered at the ninja’s face. “Need more sake?”

“I - I wish my other fren wash here,” Sasuke hiccuped. “An Shingen. I wash goin- going to take him to a hoshpital.”

Miyake nodded, though he didn’t understand. “Maybe nexsht time?”

“If he livesh,” Sasuke sighed.

“To Shingen,” Miyake poured them another round of sake. “And nexsht time!”

They drank to the toast.

Sasuke poured another. “And to friendsh we lef-left behind.”

They drank to that too.

After several more toasts that grew further away from the original point - to short skirts and lady’s stockings, to coffee, to the karaoke bar - the two men finally paid their tab and stumbled to the hotel.

Miyake nearly puked on the elevator, as the movement made his stomach flip. He would have taken the stairs, if he thought he could find the steps. He leaned on Sasuke as they walked down the hall. It felt like their room was miles away.

Sarutobi fumbled with the lock, and when the door opened, they fell inside.

Between leaning on each other and the walls, they managed to stand again.

“I’m go-gonna shower,” Miyake mumbled.

“Me nexsht,” Sasuke agreed. He tripped toward the beds and fell into the nearest one, face first.

Miyake made it to the shower, but didn’t manage to turn it on. He slumped to the floor and leaned his head back on the cool tiles, falling into a deep sleep.

Next: Middle Ground

[manjuhitorie]

Interview with Shinoda - Guitar Magazine March 2021 - English Translation

I began to wonder "What have I been deeming as ‘good’ all along?"

-Thank you for coming all the way out here. To kick it off I’d like to ask what the story behind the title ‘REAMP’ is.

AMP is like the recording mechanism, correct. I recorded by re-amping a lot this album, after it was recommended to me by our engineer. I recreated most of the sound in an amp simulator, sampled it at home on a line-in, then brought that in to the studio. There I sent the line-in signal to the guitar amps, recorded the sound coming from the amp, and voila. This way the guitar playing and the sound engineering become two separate things. At home I focus on the recording, at the studio I focus on the mixing.

-That’s a great way to localize your focus.

Though my workload multiplies (laughs).

-Ultimately you’re spending even more time focusing (laughs).

Yep (laughs). To put a long story short, we dipped our feet into new techniques for this album. So when it came down to deciding the title, 'Restart' or 'Reload' or any words with the prefix 'RE' were among consideration, but we couldn't find a good one. When at last I remembered that I had re-amped (laugh). I proposed the idea, it clicked with everyone, and now here we are.

-A bit of a double meaning to it then. What felt the most different this time in regards to the new techniques?

Back when wowaka was with us, he was the ultimate judge over whether a take or sound was good or bad. But now I have to be the judge and the one who takes the rudder myself... The main difference is that I need to become the axis now. When I was alone at home it hit me just how little I had a sense of good and bad (laughs). I began to wonder "What have I been deeming as ‘good’ all along?”.

-I see. What do you find difficult about singing and playing Hitorie’s music?

I found that I don’t have much leadership (laughs). I’m more fit for the sidelines and such... I’ve had a long career of being the lead guitarist, wherein there’s always been another leader figure above me who’s actions I’ve responded to and taken my own approach to.... A correspondent presence in a way....

—Then the necessity for a number one in command popped up.

Yep. It was like, I was really in a pinch back there. If I was to get anywhere, before anything I needed to establish my own standards of good and bad. I looked back at the music I’ve loved throughout my life, and started from there.

-Were you able to establish your own judgment through this album then?

I did what I could do. But, I’m still missing something... I don’t think it’s something you can find through just one album. I still haven’t, and there’s parts of the album that I still feel my optimization was lacking. I feel that I want to make a more polished, less rugged around the edges, piece. I’ve only established the groundwork for now. Such as what makes good music, the rhythm, pitch and so on. The basics.

-What makes good music ‘good’ to you, Shinoda?

Hmm... Phrase before sound... I think there needs to be a phrase before anything. To put it simply, the music needs to be what’s encouraging the phrases. Whatever achieves that the most effectively tends to be what I deem as good music. There’s a bunch of options when it comes to even strumming one chord. To use a single coil, a humbucker, a P-10.... Not to mention that strumming different will change how a chord resonates. Each note has its own goodness scale as well. Contemplating all that is what makes music.

-When I look at your music itself, I can see how this came into play as well. The phrases themselves have become less complex, while the riffs have become even more powerful. Especially ‘curved edge’, a killer tune even among the rest.

My bandmates and I each pitched in to write the music for REAMP, I wrote 10 while they wrote 1 each initially, basically I had to write a lot (laughs). And the last and final piece I wrote was ‘curved edge’.

-I see.

We intentionally lessened the riff-tastic music, we were eschewing following the old ‘Hitorie formula’. I made more chilled out downers. But the more I did it, the less interested I noticed my bandmates become (laughs). It didn’t click with me myself either, and it didn’t bring us together much. I thought I was doomed to never write a song that would properly fit Hitorie.. When I got the idea to write a song that mixed intense riffs and modern beats, ‘That I might be able to do’.

-In a way you wrote that song at wit’s end.

From there I drew inspiration from K-Pop. Stuff like Blackpink. Wherein you can’t discern if the climax of the song lies in the hook or the riff. I found that interesting, thus can the climax of ‘curved edge’ be found in the riff. Enough that the hook is the riff itself. When I told the members, their reaction was positive as well.

-It fits the modern Hitorie. In a previous interview Yumao (drummer), when looking back on Hitorie’s history, had mentioned that Hitorie could write music without a peep, after so many years together. Following this change to your writing formula, is that feat still possible, have your exchanges with your bandmates changed as well?

-When it comes to my written pieces, well... It depends on the song. For ‘curved edge’, ygarshy and I didn’t share a word. While we were making the demo song, I asked him to ‘Just play bass that works with this’, and with that little information he actually pulled off something incredible. I was like ‘Holy shit’ (laughs).

-The first verse alone is a stroke of talent (laughs). How about the drums?

The beat is unlike anything Yumao had played for Hitorie before. 4/4 beats were always our go-to, but we tried to venture a little into unknown territory. So I handled the  director job quite a bit, the drums may be the aspect I directed the most actually. It turns out that my concept of beat is completely different from wowaka’s.

-What do you mean exactly?

-I’m probably not... as much as wowaka.. No wait. I can’t say this for sure but, he was someone who was creative with his beats, so he tended to conjure up ones that would be virtually unplayable in context. I make up beats that are out of control sometimes too but. I stick to the rules, or, how to put it... Even when I make up a brand new beat, the voice in the back of my head will tell me ‘Wait, there’s rules’.

-I see. So wowaka wouldn’t bother with the rules much.

I haven’t put much deep thought into wowaka’s perception of beats until now though, this is only a quick assessment from my experiences. Though near the end, it seemed like his mindset changed to ‘It’s better if I let Yumao play however he desires’. Imyself haven’t reached that level yet.

“I need my love for guitar to grow even more, I say.“

-Allow me to ask you about the guitar solos. In the songs ‘Marshall A’ and ‘dirty’ are the solos in abundance and in the spotlight. What do you deem as good and bad in terms of guitar solos?

For me there’s only two types of guitar solos. You either play well, or you don’t (laughs).

-That’s a strict guideline (laughs). How do discern between the two?

It ultimately depends on the song. I like solos that are played “poorly”, such as by Momo Kazuhiro of MO’SOME TONEBENDER. I think their’s are awesome. When each and every note of a solo is poignant, it actually brings out the charm of electric guitar. So I think that solos can be wonky as hell, or precise as hell. Or in the middle is okay too. I like solos that are catchy with proper phrases to them even. Like HI-STANDARD’s ‘Fighting Fists, Angry Soul’, the solo could be a song on its own. It depends on what fits with the song. In regards to the solos of Marshall A, they fall into......

-The ‘Played well and proper’ solos.

That’s it. The song kicks off with unsteady distorted notes, but the solos are clean, it’s gap moe.

-The tone is clean as well. Did you intend for it to be gap moe?

To a degree. Like, 'is this really that kinda song' (laughs). On the other hand, when it came to 'dirty' the song has always been nothing but alternative rock style since the get-go.

-The solos are full of grunge and fuzz after all. ygarshy wrote that song, correct.

'Cause ygarshy and I are the same age from the same generation, our ideas match up as well.... For this song, it was like the Nishikawa Susumu idea- (laughs).

-I see (laughs). Back to what you said earlier, that your "optimization was lacking". How would you like to evolve as a guitarist?

I don't think I'm Hitorie's guitarist anymore. In the current world I'm in I'm not just a guitarist, I'm a singer-song writer, and that's become my primary focus. Yet despite that guitar is still absolutely a must for me. It brings the physical world and the world of music together better than anything. Thinking about it, my approach towards guitar is probably going to evolve after this as well. Up until I've played as Hitorie's guitarist, adding and adding to the sum of Hitorie's parts  (laughs). My attention was always on how to optimize to hell. Going forward my attention is probably going to shift when I play guitar. But that doesn't change the fact that guitar is essential for bands in general, and essential for Hitorie as well..... Aghh, I never thought about what it means to be a guitarist to me up until now (laughs).

-(Laughs).

I think my ideal guitarist self is still far away though. But I've grown a lot by being with my bandmates, and I can't be losing my eagerness to learn. I need my love for guitar to grow even more, I say (laughs). That's where I think I'm lacking. There's still so much about guitar I'm yet to understand, and that's my weak spot. There's a lot for me to reflect on.

Gear: Fender 1963 Jazzmaster The main guitar used in REAMP, a jazzmaster on borrow from wowaka. The serial number points to it being a 1963 issue. The saddle on the bridge has been swapped out to an Astro Notes. Shinoda selects the front for concerts/recordings, and doesn’t use preset switches. The guitar you can hear from the left channel in “High Gain” is this one. While the guitar you can from the right channel is a Tokai LP.

Fender 1965 Jaguar Also on borrow from wowaka, it was heavily used in Hitorie’s previous album ‘HOWLS’. For ‘REAMP’ it was used for the backing of ‘dirty’ and the main riff of ‘Utsutsu’. In regards to the Buzz Stop Bar, Shinoda himself prefers the musical range he can reach without it, but others oft react better when it’s on.

Pedal board: 1 WEED/GCB-95 mod wah 2 BOSS/TU-3W tuner 3 S-Distortion SASAKI 4 Prescription Electronics/Experience 5 Octave Fuzz & Swell 6 Keeley Electronics/Son of Fuzz Head 7 E.W.S./ Arion SCH-Z mod chorus 8 BOSS/PS-6 harmonizer 9 BOSS/DD-20 digital delay 10 Providence/Provolt 9 power supply

His guitar signal inputs at 1, then connects all the way to 8. He adores his 1 because there’s a gain knob on it, and as soon as he turns it on can he drive*. His main distortion pedal is number 3. His standard is to set  the volume knob at 12 o’ clock, the tone at 11, and the gain at 8. To give himself a boost in guitar solos he turns on pedal number 5, with the volume set to max. Pedal number 6 found its use in the song ‘(W)HERE’ on Hitorie’s album ‘Imaginary Monofiction’, but recently its fallen out of relevance for him. 7 was used in the song ‘Montage Girl’ on Hitorie’s ’Roomsick Girl’s Escape’, and harmonized phrases in general. He primarily uses 8 for the short delay, and it found usage in ‘curved edge’.

Amplifier: Hiwatt DR103 Custom 100 Marshall 1960 AV The number one weapon is volume. Shinoda’s main amp is this Hiwatt. The reason he started using it was because ’The only thing that could oppose the volume of wowaka’s Matchless amp was a Hiwatt’. The clean sound of it is what brings bass to Shinoda’s playing. For concerts that will be recorded, he sets the EQ bass, mid, and treble knobs all to 11 o’ clock. He sets the presence knob to about 13 o’ clock, but this gets adjusted every performance. This one stays the highest to ensure his music comes up front. He alters the high frequency and the level it pierces the ear with his pedals.  

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 4-6)

Long post because I neglected uploading for a few days. For @secrettunnelatla

It is all about fibs and careful twists. Change a few names and situations and suddenly Ozai is just a nameless man. A vague set of lyrics and verses on a page. A collection of words that shape the story of an abuser and his victim.

It is all the easier, picturing Zuko as the victim. Surely it can’t be her. Father treats her well; he has given her this recording studio. He has rewarded her for her three new singles with a newer car. He has given her nothing but praise for surprising him with so many new songs all at once.

Father buys her so many new stage outfits and lets her pierce her tongue and decorate it with genuine ruby. She has everything. He loves her. He is proud of her. It is only a hiccup, a lapse in judgment when he shows anything but affection. It is the alcohol that makes him smash the windows on her car. She doesn’t remember what he did it for but she knows that it was the alcohol because he has a brand new car waiting for her the next day.

And she drives it to Seicho’s house to deliver her birthday present. She will open the box and find a skateboard and tickets to see her show. Seicho is a delight and a somber presence all at once. In many ways, she reminds Azula of TyLee and that stings.

Sometimes she misses TyLee. Misses that sweet smile. Misses playing make believe in her backyard. Once upon a time, TyLee was going to be her drummer and they were going to tour from nation to nation in a bus with diamond studded tire caps. Once upon a time, she, Mai, and TyLee were going to be the rock trio that the world wouldn’t be able to forget.

And once upon a time, Mai decided that she liked Zuko more and TyLee decided that she liked Mai more. Zuko always had been the more lovable of the two. But Azula is the more successful. She has made a promise to herself that they would regret abandoning her for him when her faces is everywhere and Zuko is a sellout.

Seicho invites her inside, her friends are already there, a girl named Song, a girl named Jin, and a younger boy named Hide.

“Have a slice of cake or a whack at the pinata.” Seicho offers. She holds out a bat, wrapped with skull patterned duct tape and studded with nails. “You can have the first swing.”

Azula is sure that it would only take one good swing for the nails to shred the pinata. “I’ll have a slice of cake. I can’t stay for too long. I have a show.” There is a part of her, a very large part of her that wants more than a taste of this world. A simpler world where goals and aspirations aren’t make or break. “But I had to drop this off for you.”  The skateboard in the box is expensive, it is more than enough to make up for not being able to stick around for the party.

Seicho’s face falls and Azula tells herself that it is only because she hasn’t unwrapped the gift yet. She knows that the smile is forced when she replies, “thanks, Azula. Maybe you can join us next year.”

Regret doesn’t hit her in full until she has already stepped back into her car. By now it would only be rude to change her mind and ring the doorbell again. Maybe this is why it was so easy for TyLee to choose Mai and for Mai to choose Zuko; she tends to choose her career over companionship.

She promises herself that after Audio of Agni, she will make more time for social obligations.

.oOo.

The stage doesn’t quite have its thrill tonight. The energy itself is excitedly frantic, vibrant with enthusiasm but it doesn’t quite reach Azula. It doesn’t matter, she is good at pretending. She knows what she is supposed to feel like--she has felt it before when the band was brand new, when Mai and TyLee were her backup vocalists.

So she emulates the vibe she is supposed to give off. She pretends like the crowds cheers and shouts and claps mean everything. She pretends like their liveliness gives her life too. Pretends like she can feel the music in her body and soul the same way everyone else does. But she only feels empty.

Empty and alone. A disorienting feeling when she is looking upon more faces than she can count.

All the while she sings lyrics that make her stomach squirm and her heart ache. If her father knew that he is the inspiration behind them, she’d have another song to write.

She doesn’t understand why singing these songs hurts so much. She is singing about Zuko and her father, not about she and her father. Or maybe she isn’t singing about her father at all, but a nameless father and his nameless child. Hell, it can be a mother too. Just a vague musical rendition of a dreadful parent who is merely neglectful on a good day.

It dawns upon her that she is the victim that she sings of when she finds herself getting teary on that stage. They think that it is part of the act. They think that she is a stellar actress on top of a damn good lyricist.

She doesn’t correct them. The only thing that sells more than sex is sorrow.

Things change after that. There is more attention, more interviews, more magazine photoshoots, and more simmering resentment from From Ashes To Phoenix. She basks in the limelight and relishes in Zuko’s envy. And with the spotlight shining so brightly, she can no longer see the darkness that had helped put it on her.

****

Seeing her on TV is hell. Even when she isn’t right in front of him, flaunting her riches, talents, and everything he could have had, she is still able to mock him.

These days, he can’t escape her. She is everywhere; on the radio, on the magazines, on the TV, and on posters. He even sees her in the hallways of Caldera Capital High. He sees her there, though she has been pulled out months ago for a private education tailored to her personal schedule. It is just one more thing for him to envy. He has to manage his band and school, of course his progress is slower. Sometimes stunted altogether.

And for his troubles he averages C’s and D’s--B’s if he is lucky--and music that is half done and not nearly what he had imagined in his mind. He knows that he is going to have to make a choice and he thinks that he has begun to make that choice a few months back. He has lost track of how many times he has stayed after class to discuss his grades. He wonders how uncle will take to him dropping out. Should he turn in the forms that are tucked away in his backpack and seal the deal there won’t be any turning back. He will have to make it big. It will be his only chance.

A gaggle of fangirls fawning over the brooding lonewolf with the choker and black nailpolish can only take him so far. It doesn’t leave the hallways. But he does, he evades the teachers and hall monitors and climbs his way onto the roof. Mai is already there, he can see the smoke trail.

“Want one?” She offers.

“I’ll take a drag from yours.”

Mai passes the cigarette. “Have you told your uncle yet?”

He takes his drag and passes it back. “No.”

Mai gives a little hum. “Make a decision and commit, Zuko. Either you tell your uncle that you’re dropping out or start hustling to fix your grades. You have to succeed somewhere.”

He flinches. She sounds all too similar to Azula. She sighs. “Sorry. I just worry about you, Zuko. Indecisiveness is going to ruin you if you let it.”

There are a lot of things that are going to ruin him if he lets them. To some degree he thinks that he is already ruined. That he should just fester in the failure. “I could use another drag.”

“Sure.” Mai replies.

He takes his drag and watches the smoke curl up to the mid-afternoon sky. Mai leans back with her hands behind her head.

“What are you doing up here, Mai?” He asks. “You can actually pass your classes, why are you letting me drag you down?”

“Zuko, I’ve never felt more...up. Sometimes I just need to get out of there.” She spares a glance to the door. “It’s suffocating and smells like cheap perfume and testosterone. I smoke at least a cigarette a day, gym class is pointless anyways.”

He chuckles. He feels right when he is on the roof with her. When he is with her in general. Pessimistic as she nihilistic as she is, he feels the most hopeful when he is with her. Even if it is just for a moment, Azula’s shadow doesn’t envelop and shroud him. Even if it is just for a moment, he can forget about she and her antics and everything her overachieving has helped steal from him. Even if it is just for a moment he can see, truly envision and believe in a reality where he strums his guitar before an arena full of adoring, audio hungry fans.

He makes a decision, he is going tell uncle that high school isn’t for him. That he is meant for...that he deserves better things. As the sun reaches its zenith, he decides that he will truly work for his dream.

****

The darkness floods right back in when she is away from the stage. When the lyrics that echo through the venue become a reality. She doesn’t know exactly what she has done. Maybe she has done nothing at all. He very well may just be in a bad mood. She is texting Seicho when he enters. “Hello father.” She greets with a smile.

He returns it with a blank face and folded arms. “What is this?” He slaps a piece of paper onto the table. He nods for her to read it over.

“It’s a…” she knits her brows, “a printout of our ticket sales.” She looks up from the paper. “What’s wrong with it?”

“How many tickets were sold for the first show?”

“It was sold out.”

“What about all of last week’s shows and the week before that?”

“Sold out.” She says again.

He nods. “Yes, sold out. What about last night’s show?”

Azula swallows, “1,684.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

She thinks that it could be a lot of things; that night had also been the night of the high school homecoming baseball game, people might have been short on cash, the time slot had been a tad earlier than usual. All of these answers seem like excuses--she should have a performance more compelling than baseball, she should have had a performance with spending money on, she should have pushed for a more favorable time slot. “It was a smaller venue.” She says at last much.

Wrong answer.

“I was selling out all of my shows.” He slaps the page and she flinches. “These aren’t metal legend numbers, they aren’t even Audio of Agni numbers.”

She wants to point out that he probably hadn’t been selling out all of his shows when his band had been as young as hers is. Instead she very quietly promises, “I’ll do better, father.” She must and she will because he is right. Only 1,684 tickets sold in a venue that could hold 2,000 people? That is embarrassing.

“Maybe if you weren’t fooling around with that tattoo artist… you won’t be seeing her anymore”

“Wh-what?” She sputters. “No, that’s not it! Seicho isn’t a distraction!” She realizes too late that she has gotten too loud.

She closes her eyes and tenses for the strike that is sure to come. When it doesn’t she cracks an eyelid. He hasn’t even closed the distance between them. She allows herself to relax. It is only then that his hand snakes out and finds her cheek.

Reflexively her own hand comes to rub it. She bites the sides of her cheeks and swallows down the cry that is waiting to come up. More than anything she hates knowing that she has failed him. That she has disappointed him. These moments are few and far between, she makes sure of that. But they are still there and she has just given herself one more ill mark. Has put herself one step closer to ending up like Zuko. “I’ll do better.” She says again when she finds the words.

It was never like this before. She glares at the empty bottles. It was never like this--he used to love her. She used to be is gleaming little star. He would yell at her, sometimes until his face went red, but he has never hit her before. She looks at the bottles, but it might be that she has finally made enough mistakes for him to see her as a splendid failure instead of his rising rockstar.

She takes out her phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up, “see no more distractions. I deleted her number.” She forces a smile. “I needed to focus on memorizing my new material anyways.”

At last he returns the smile. The tightness in her chest slackens, giving way to an optimistic and relieved fluttering in her tummy. He ruffles her hair, “that’s my girl.” He gives her a small hug. “I should know better than to doubt you.” He smells so strongly of booze.

But she has satisfied him. She is still is gleaming little star.

[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

masterlist - AO3

With the holidays, it’s a miracle I know it’s Monday and that I should be posting. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading! 

Chapter Thirteen: These Things Are Sent to Try Us

I made the mistake of waiting until after the holidays to reach out to Lamb. I didn’t even have the chance to mention getting together before he dropped his own news on me. 

“Claire, I have the greatest news! I’ve been asked to teach a class at a prestigious arts academy! Isn’t that wonderful?” 

I congratulated him, knowing how desperately he’d been trying to find purpose in his life again. Perhaps teaching could be that for him. “That’s fantastic! Where is it? The one here in New York?” 

“Actually, no. It’s in London. The one I attended, as a matter of fact.” 

I paused for a long moment, trying to process it. Lamb had lived in New York for as long as I had been alive. Longer, even. “Wow. Alright. When do you go? How long will you be gone?” 

“I know it’s last minute, but I’ll be leaving in two days and will be there for eight weeks,” he told me. I bit my lip, trying to decide if I could wait to introduce him to Jamie until after he got back. Without a doubt in my mind, I knew he wouldn’t be open to talking about anything but this new opportunity. 

“Well that sounds wonderful,” I said, feeling a bit defeated. There was another part of me though — a dark, sick part of me — that was a bit relieved that I could put off Lamb’s inevitable judgment for a while longer. I really did want Jamie and Lamb to meet. Truly. But I knew, no matter how hard I tried, it likely wouldn’t go well. 

Jamie, thankfully, understood and we went back to our pleasant routine we’d been in before the holidays. I worked three days a week. Jamie acted every night. And together, we fell more in love. 

* * *

Jamie was drinking a cup of coffee on the couch as Claire looked through the fridge, making a list on her phone. They were running very low on groceries and didn’t need to be ordering take-out as often as they did. It was convenient, especially for keeping their relationship a secret. 

She grabbed her purse and walked over toward the couch where he sat. “Think about what you want for lunch,” she suggested before bending down for a kiss. 

“Would it not be better to eat from the groceries that ye’re already getting?” 

Claire rolled her eyes at him in the way he found both endearing and exasperating. “We’re celebrating. Don’t you remember?” 

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “Aye, I recall.” 

“Six months since your first show!” she cheered for him. 

Jamie grabbed her hand, pulling her down again. “I believe that also makes six months since something else happened…” Meeting her for a kiss, he pretended to play dumb. “But what was it?” 

Claire played along. “Yeah, something else. Hmmm. Wonder what it could be.” 

He laughed before kissing her hard. “I’ll think on it.” 

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I will too.” As she opened the door, she turned back to him. “Text me if I forgot anything.” 

Jamie nodded in reply, waving her off. He watched as she flashed him one last smile before walking out the door. 

It was all so terribly domestic, and sometimes, Jamie couldn’t really believe it was his life. He was essentially living with the woman of his dreams. How was he that lucky? 

He loved Claire with all of him, every fiber of his being. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to be with her forever. He’d pretty much been there from the moment they both confessed their feelings. Since then, his feelings had only grown deeper. 

The days where she didn’t work were his favorite. He’d never tell her that. After all, he still felt a bit guilty that she’d altered her work life to accommodate him. But those days were bliss. They’d wake up whenever they woke up instead of having a blaring alarm. Their mornings would be spent however they decided to spend it, whether it was a run (either separately or one of them in a hat that seemed to hide their face), or laying around, or not getting out of bed until they were both fully sated with the other. Those days were his favorite by far. When Claire was just Claire and he was just Jamie. 

He’d mostly moved into Claire’s home in the last couple of months. It started with some clothes and some shoes. That continued to some of his movies that he thought it was a crime she’d never seen. He brought over sheets and towels because he felt like he needed to share and not just go through hers. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d even been back to his own apartment and he didn’t care in the slightest. Jamie was happy and comfortable at Claire’s. And if she was content with it, that’s all that mattered. 

Jamie finished his coffee not long after Claire left for the store and decided to use the time while she was gone to clean up the kitchen. After scrubbing down the counters and sink —as Claire liked to do so regularly that it rubbed off on him — he sat back down on the couch and flipped on the tv. He was still scrolling for something to watch on Netflix when there was a knock at the door. 

Jumping up, Jamie opened the door, imagining Claire didn’t have a hand to get her keys out. But as the door swung open, he was stunned at the person on the other side. The legendary Lambert Beauchamp stood before him, looking thoroughly confused. 

Glancing down at his attire, Jamie regretted meeting the man in a t-shirt and sweats. He cleared his throat nervously. Lamb beat him to the punch to speak first. 

“I was looking for Claire.” 

“Ah, of course. She’s, uh, not here,” Jamie said, feeling flustered. He stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye though, I’m —”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Lamb interrupted him. “But perhaps you can illuminate me on why you’re here, so clearly in a comfortable state, at my niece’s — and more than that, your director’s — home.” 

It felt like a rock was stuck in Jamie’s throat. He knew Claire was nervous for the two of them to meet. This certainly wasn’t going to help. Jamie had no words to explain. It was clear what Lamb assumed. And it was more or less correct. Jamie stood there silently, trying desperately to find words. Lamb strode past him into the apartment, planting himself on the couch with a suspicious look. Jamie slowly closed the door behind him, wishing more than anything that it had been his turn to go get groceries. 

* * *

I reached the door —finally— and struggled to get my key in the door. Huffing out a breath, I threw open the door, not even looking around the apartment. I spotted Jamie’s red head of hair out of the corner of my eye. “I couldn’t find that coffee you asked for, so I grabbed that other brand we liked.” Slamming the reusable grocery bags down on the counter, I heard Jamie clear his throat. 

“Claire,” he said almost nervously. 

I looked up and felt my stomach drop. Jamie wasn’t alone in the apartment. “Lamb,” I said in a small voice. My eyes went wide as I glanced back at Jamie. How long ago had Lamb arrived? How long had the two of them been alone together? How had Lamb reacted to Jamie being alone in my home? Likely, not well. “When did you get back from England?” 

Lamb stayed where he was by the couch but his eyes were trained on me. “Last night. I thought I’d come by today and surprise you.” I glanced over at Jamie with an apologetic look. “But instead, it was I who was surprised.” 

I rubbed a hand across my face. “I can see that.” 

“You never mentioned you were seeing anyone,” Lamb mentioned. “If that is what this ” — he gestured between me and Jamie — “ in fact is.” 

My eyes squeezed shut, hating that this was how the two most important men in my life were meeting. “Yes, Jamie and I are dating,” I confirmed for him. “I waited to tell you until we were together for a bit. And then when I was going to tell you, you informed me with only two days notice that you were leaving the country for at least two months. So as you can imagine, I decided to wait.” 

Lamb shook his head. “You’re better than this, Claire.”

I gaped at him. “Excuse me?” 

“An actor? Claire, you know he’s only with you to advance his career. And the evidence of that is pretty damning considering he’s the lead of your last show and was formerly a no name.” 

Jamie’s eyes were closed as he stood with his back to the door. I was resisting the urge to throw the nearest object at Lamb. He had no right to be saying such things. 

“You don’t know a damn thing about Jamie or my relationship with him!” I yelled. “For your information — not that you actually asked — we weren’t together until after the show opened. He gained his role on his own. Though, thank you so much for accusing both of us of impropriety. Forget the fact that you don’t even know him, but is that really what you think I’d do?” 

Lamb still looked unimpressed. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you. I’ve seen a lot of good directors start relationships like this for the same reasons but it turned out it wasn’t quite what they thought it was. I’ve seen plenty of people get burned. I know you think you know what this is, but you’re being naive, Claire. Just open your eyes and see that he’s using you.” 

I’d hit my limit. I threw my arm out, pointing to my office. “Office. Now.” I abandoned the groceries and stalked to my office, feeling like steam must surely be coming from my ears. Lamb stepped inside and I slammed the door shut behind me. 

“I need you to listen and actually hear what I’m saying. I love this man. I am in love with him. I wanted you to meet under better circumstances, but this is where we are. I get that you're trying to protect me, and I appreciate that, but I’m not going to fucking take the way you’re treating both of us. We’re adults, for Christ’s sake. He’s not using me. We knew what we were to each other at the beginning of our relationship.” 

Lamb opened his mouth to talk but I talked over him. 

“And frankly, I wouldn’t care if he used my career and reputation to further his own career because he deserves a good career. But I know for a fact that he’s not doing that. And you know why? Because I’ve actually spent time with him and you just made assumptions. He’s a good man, better than anyone I’ve met on Broadway. And I love him. I want him in my life.” I paused, letting all that information sink in with Lamb. 

“So, here are your options: you can either walk back out there and get to know the man who is very important to me, or you can find your way out. I need him in my life. I don’t need you telling me I’m a naive child. These are your options. I’ll give you some time to think them through.” 

Without letting him speak, I strode from my office and back to the kitchen. Jamie was putting away the groceries I’d just brought home. As he closed the fridge, he turned to me, shooting me a sad look. I walked straight into his arms and held him tightly. His head leaned against mine as his hands rubbed at my back. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“Why should you be sorry? I’m sorry he was so awful.” 

“I should have looked first,” Jamie argued. “I could have spared us all this if I’d looked before just opening the door. I could have pretended no one was here.” 

I chuckled against his chest. “No, he’d probably have let himself in. That would have been even worse.” 

“I ken this wasna how ye wanted us to meet. And I’m sorry for that.” 

I pulled back and looked up at him, running a hand along his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever he thinks doesn’t matter. You know that, right?” His brow furrowed. “Of course I wanted you both to get along, but if he says he doesn’t approve, it doesn’t change anything for me. You’re too important to me.” 

A small smile crossed his face before he leaned down to place a kiss at my hairline. My eyes fluttered closed and I let him hold me again. 

I heard the door to my office open again, the sound of footsteps carrying back to the kitchen. Jamie and I both looked over just in time to watch Lamb walk right out the door of my apartment. 

My mouth fell open as tears sprang to my eyes. A pain started in my chest at the thought that he’d rather just leave. Jamie held me tighter, whispering to me in Gaelic. 

A knock at the door shook both of us. Shooting one look at Jamie, I pulled back from his embrace and walked over to the door. Lamb stood on the other side, a contrite look on his face. 

“I’d like a fresh start if you think that’s alright,” he told me. 

I shook my head, a dry laugh bubbling out of me. “You always had to be so bloody dramatic.” 

“Curse of the trade,” he said with a shrug. “I heard what you said. And I’d like to start over.” He cleared his throat, standing up a bit taller. “Claire, I’m back from England. I’d love to take this time to catch up on your life.” 

I smiled despite the lingering anger I felt. Standing out of the way, I gestured for him to enter. “Lamb, there’s someone I want you to meet,” I said, playing along. “This is Jamie, my boyfriend.” 

Jamie smiled broadly — as he did every time I broke out the title. He reached his hand out to Lamb and met him for a shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jamie,” Lamb said in a friendly tone. Much friendlier than before. 

Jamie nodded to him. “The pleasure is mine.” 

I walked over and stood next to Jamie, my arm automatically wrapping around his waist. 

“Claire, you’re right, I don’t know much, if anything, about your relationship. How long have you been together?” 

I looked up at Jamie, a fond smile crossing my face. “Today is six months, actually.” 

Lamb’s eyes went wide. “Six months? And you didn’t tell me?” 

I felt a stab of guilt. “Well honestly, I wasn’t sure how you were going to react. I rather thought it would be like this,” I said, motioning to where he’d stood before. “You can imagine why I’d want to put that off.” 

Lamb shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear. I played right into what you thought of me. I just never wanted anything bad to happen to you. I should have listened to you before I just jumped to my own conclusions. Jamie, if you would allow me, I’d love to go to lunch with both of you and get to know you better.” 

We flashed an unsure look at each other. “Well, uh, I appreciate the offer,” Jamie replied, “but you two are more than welcome to go.” 

“We don’t really go out in public together,” I explained. “Our relationship is a secret, save for Jamie’s family. We didn’t want people to accuse Jamie of...well, what you accused Jamie of.” 

I could see that Lamb was feeling guilty. I wasn’t too sure I cared all that much though. 

“We were actually going to order in it you’d like to join us,” Jamie offered. He glanced at me. “I thought about Frescos.”

“Oh I love Frescos!” Lamb cried, a smile on his face. 

Jamie grinned at the reaction. I shrugged with a smile as well. “I suppose we have a winner then.” 

* * *

We talked with Lamb for hours. He talked about teaching in England. Jamie talked about the show. I talked around my lightened workload. And together, we talked about our relationship. Once we got past the initial animosity, it was nice having the two most important people in my life in the same room. 

Eventually, Jamie walked toward our bedroom, changing so he could head to the theater. Lamb didn’t seem to feel the need to leave. I wouldn’t mind the chance to talk to him privately, so I didn’t encourage him to. 

As Jamie was putting on his jacket, Lamb walked over to him, reaching out his hand. “It was lovely meeting you, Jamie. I hope we’ll see each other again soon.” 

Jamie nodded, a pleased look on his face. “I would like that.” 

Lamb clapped him on the arm. “Break a leg tonight.” 

“Thanks.” 

Lamb and I essentially traded positions as I walked over to Jamie. He looked nervously past me, but I didn’t care. Leaning up to him, I kissed him softly. “I’ll see you later.” 

He nodded. “Aye.” 

I kissed him again, whispering to him. “I love you.” 

His lips pressed back to mine. “I love ye too.” 

With one more goodbye to the room, Jamie walked out the door. I waited for a short moment before I walked back over to Lamb. He watched me as I sat down and took a drink of my wine. 

“You were right,” he admitted, breaking the silence. “He seems like a good man.” I nodded, not really knowing how to reply. “And I can see how much he cares for you.” 

“I know he does,” I replied. “And I do too.” 

It was Lamb’s turn to nod. “I can see that. You know what else I see?” I shrugged. “I can see how happy you are. And that makes me happy as well. Even more than when you got your first show, you’re happy.” 

“I am. Truly.” 

“I’m glad.” Lamb took a drink of his wine. “I was never able to do that. To balance a relationship and work. So I just blindly pursued my work. I loved it enough. But that was my choice. And sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d tried a bit harder.” 

I took a long sip of my wine. “I wasn’t going to tell you this earlier — you know, when you thought Jamie was using me and all — but I am taking a bit of a break. Well, really, I’ve just shortened my weeks. I wanted more time to devote to building a relationship. I still work, but I’m also still able to make things work with Jamie. He was unsure about me making this choice, but it was my decision that I made on my own.” 

Lamb watched me for a moment. “It’s your career. If you needed that time, it’s yours to take. You’ve worked hard enough to build up a solid reputation. I’m sure when you have more time to give back to your career, it’ll still be there for you.” 

I nodded in agreement. “That was more or less what I thought as well.” 

* * *

Lamb and I parted on much better terms than when we met that afternoon. Later, when Jamie came home, he found me on the couch trying and failing to read my book. He grinned as he threw himself dramatically on the couch next to me. Grabbing my ankles, he pulled me toward him. I leaned into him easily. “Hi.” 

“Hello,” he replied, pulling me closer to him for a kiss. “How’s yer book?” 

“Haven’t really been able to focus on it, honestly.” 

“Thinking about today?” I nodded. “By the end, I thought it went alright.” 

I nodded again, moving so I could curl into his side. “It did. He really liked you. Once he saw you, Jamie, and not you, Actor.” 

“Well once I met him, Uncle Lamb, and not him, Director Lamb, I rather liked him as well.” 

My head leaned on his shoulder. “I’m glad. I’m sorry for all the shit at the beginning.” 

Jamie chuckled. “Ye dinna need to be. I’m just sorry we didna really get to celebrate our six months.” 

I picked my head up and looked at him. “Well I was thinking about that too. I thought of a way to celebrate.” 

Jamie’s eyebrows raised, a devious glint in his eye. “Oh?” He leaned closer to me.

I laughed, pushing his face away. “That too. But later.” 

He grabbed my hands, holding them in his. “Okay. Then what was yer thought?” 

Taking a deep breath, I watched him for a moment. “What if…” I took another breath. “What if you moved in with me?” 

Jamie’s eyes widened, seemingly trying to tell if I was serious. “Ye mean it?” 

I nodded insistently. “I do. On a logical level, it makes sense for us to have one apartment instead of two. But also, I just want you here, always. I love coming home from work and coming home to you. Even when we see each other just in passing, I know that I’ll see you as I arrive and you leave. Or knowing that if I go to bed before you get back, I’m still going to wake up next to you.” 

A broad smile spread across Jamie’s face as his hands tightened around mine. “It is rather nice.” 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “So…?” 

He pulled my hands back suddenly, bringing me against him. “Obviously, yes. I canna even remember the last night I stayed at my apartment because I havena wanted to. Because I want to be here. With you.” 

We shared a smile before his hand resting against my neck brought me down for a kiss. My hands linked behind his head as I kissed him long and deep. Neither of us really moved things forward. It was slow and sweet as we melted into each other in a haze of happiness. Six months had felt like nothing and everything at the same time.

Next chapter

[dailytomlinson]

“I probably shouldn’t be talking about this but f*** it,” he tells me now. “My point is, I clearly wasn’t in the best frame of mind, you know? And the situation definitely got out of hand and people were goading me. It wasn’t my finest hour but it was a difficult time. I was already on edge and, in that headspace, it got the better of me.”

By “that headspace”, Tomlinson means that he was grieving. The airport incident took place a few months after his mother Johannah’s death from leukaemia at 43. (In March last year, his 18-year-old sister, Félicité, died from an accidental overdose. Quite reasonably, I’ve been asked not to bring this up.) Tomlinson, who is now 28, says his experiences of grief in the public eye have been “really tough. There have been mixed emotions. I’ve hated the fact that everyone’s talking about it, but that’s the way it is. I didn’t like the idea of people feeling sorry for me. But I’ve also felt the support from fans and people reaching out on social media or whatever… and I do feel I’ve got this ability to see the glass as half full. Because what else am I going to f***ing do?”

I meet Tomlinson in an upstairs room of a pub in a residential corner of London’s Notting Hill. He is dressed in jeans, a red tracksuit top and trainers. The only visible evidence of his previous life in One Direction, the biggest boyband in pop history, is his hair, which is artfully swept sideways as if he’s standing in a wind tunnel. An old hand at winning over interviewers, he greets me with a hug before sitting down, leaning back and putting his feet up.

Tomlinson is on the promotional trail for his debut album, Walls, which has been four years on the making. It includes “Two of Us”, a ballad which lays bare Tomlinson’s loss (“You’ll never know how much I miss you/ The day that they took you, I wish it was me instead”). In a change of mood, it also contains the Britpop-flavoured “Kill My Mind”, a throwback to his mid-teens and the indie night he’d go to with his friends in his native Doncaster.

Tomlinson grew up listening to Oasis and Arctic Monkeys, though right now he can’t get enough of Catfish and the Bottlemen: “I like anything with big guitars and a big chorus.” He reckons “Kill My Mind” will struggle to get on the radio but he doesn’t care since, musically, “I’ve often been swimming against the tide.”

He puts the album’s long gestation down to creative insecurity. “A good two years [was spent] treading water and trying to work out exactly what my sound was, and what I was capable of.” Clearly, One Direction, who sold 50 million albums, are a tough act to follow, though Tomlinson has also had to contend with his former colleagues putting out solo work before him (Harry Styles is already on his second LP, while Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne have all released debuts). But he rejects the suggestion that they are all in competition, remarking, “I don’t like to look at it that way.”

I ask if he and his ex-bandmates have a WhatsApp group. They don’t, he replies, “and we should, but we’ve never got around to it”. But he says they are frequently in touch, which must be something people ask a lot since, entirely unbidden, he gives me a breakdown of their recent activities. Let the record show that he spoke to Liam two days ago; he and Niall exchanged texts a fortnight ago; and Harry sent him a congratulatory message when he released his last single. There is no mention of Zayn.

Tomlinson says the face he presents to the public and journalists these days is fully unfiltered, a change from his One Direction days when he had to be careful not to cause inadvertent upset within the band or with fans. “No one was saying ‘Don’t do that’, but there was the [pressure] of being role models. So it took a second to understand that [as a solo artist] I could get away with completely being myself, even though I can sometimes be a bit of a dickhead.”

In fact, there are two Tomlinsons that emerge throughout our chat. There’s boyband Louis, full of sweet but bland blather about self-expression, his gratitude to fans, and the luck that he’s enjoyed as an artist. But another version of him frequently comes through who is funny, sweary and thoughtful about his decade in the limelight.

Tomlinson has had four years to digest his time in One Direction which I note, from the outside, looked a bit like being held hostage. But even with the fan fervour, the police escorts and the nonstop media glare, he says he wouldn’t change anything. “We were always in control of our destiny,” he explains. “We rose to fame pretty quick and, because of that, we had some power and some say within the record label and with management.” The sheer pace and drama of their day-to-day existence was, he says, “like a drug. It’s that feeling of heightened emotion and every day being manically busy, and the hysteria. Although you might complain about it, none of us said, ‘No we don’t wanna do that.’ We were just in it. We were f***ing loving it.”

Still, he says, the initial 18 months were hard as he struggled to see his value within the band. “I would wonder, ‘What difference would it make if I was there or if I wasn’t?’ Under the spotlight that was difficult, but that’s what gave me the fire in the belly to get right into it.” It was through songwriting that he found his place and his confidence – he has writing credits on 37 One Direction songs, more than anyone else in the band. “That’s something I’m really f***ing proud of,” he says. “Now I can say I made a difference.”

The end of One Direction was a shock to Tomlinson, even though he knew it was coming. “We’d done such a lot of work in a short space of time so a break was inevitable. But I don’t think I was necessarily ready for how long. We had a band meeting and everyone just said, ‘Maybe we’ll put it on the back burner for a bit,’ and I felt a bit petulant about that at the time. It actually hit me like a ton of bricks.” Now the band are officially on hiatus – “even though that’s a stupid f***ing word”, he says. “Truthfully, none of us truly know [if we’ll reform]. I just know what my gut says and my gut says we will get back together at some point. I think it was too magical for all of us to never do it again.”

The eldest of seven siblings, as a child Tomlinson says he was “well-mannered but a bit of a show-off. I was a lot cockier than I am now. Being in One Direction made me realise I’m not always the coolest kid in the room”.

He wasn’t good academically at school but enjoyed performing and, for a while, toyed with being an actor. Before auditioning on The X Factor, he did a string of jobs at weekends and in school holidays for some extra cash. One summer was spent as a waiter at his beloved football club, Doncaster Rovers. Another yielded a stint at a well-known cinema chain dispensing popcorn. There, he tells me unexpectedly, he was earning “an extra wage”. An extra wage? “As in taking a few quid from the till,” he says with a grin. “It all started because there was a McDonald’s over the road and I wanted money for my lunch.” His trick was to hand customers two boxes of popcorn but only put one through the system and put the money for the second in his pocket. “I didn’t want to short-change the customer,” he explains. “I’d take from the company. I’m a man of the people.”

It was his mum’s idea for him to try out for The X Factor, though it took three attempts to get through to the televised auditions. He says the experience of going on stage in front of the live audience, under the glare of the lights and with four famous judges looking back at him, remains the most terrifying of his life.

We talk for a bit about Tomlinson’s return to The X Factor in 2018 as a judge alongside Simon Cowell plus Robbie Williams and his wife Ayda Field. He asks what I made of the show so I decide to be honest and tell him that I thought the whole thing looked tired and Cowell appeared bored out of his mind. “Well I couldn’t possibly comment on [Cowell],” says Tomlinson, good-naturedly, “though I actually loved it. But yeah, I feel that, as a show, it needs a rest. There’s a place for a show like it and I’ve got my career to thank for it, but we’ve had a lot of it, so let’s just let it rest and make people want it again.”

Life has slowed down since the madness of One Direction but he still can’t find the time to read a book or watch a box set. Where, in his pre-fame days, he struggled to hold down a job, now he’s happiest when he’s busy. Should the singing career stall, he would like to run his own management company. Five years ago, he launched a record label, an imprint on Cowell’s Syco label, but life got in the way and his plans to create a girl band fell at the first hurdle. Originally he had gathered a list of 20 acts that he was keen to sign, and points out that “like, four or five of them are signed [elsewhere] now… I think I have an instinct for these things”.

I ask, rather unfairly, if the solo career of a former boyband member is ultimately a doomed endeavour – for every Robbie Williams, there’s a Howard, Jason and Mark whose careers sink without trace. For a moment Tomlinson looks stumped but then he prevaricates like a pro. “Of course, there are days where I might have unreal expectations and when I have to tell myself to stay grounded,” he says. “But I had a breakthrough moment last year about what success really means and I think I can look at it for what it is now. I have to look at how happy I am and remember that I’m lucky to be doing what I’m doing.”

[ddaenghoney]

chapter eight

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): there’s a very small (paragraph and a half) instance of some guy implied to get angry about oc turning him down, but it’s such a short moment.

Word count: 5347

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

The far wall is an expanse of window facing off on the city surrounding the top of the building, lights twinkling yet hazy. Man-made lighting out in the world creating a cast over those inside the dim party of spotlights flashing around on people that become a blur-- something unable to focus. Just Jimin returning a gaze towards you, feeling like a real luminescence even though his irises only twinkled with the passing strobes above.

How long this feeling of longing would attach itself to you whenever you catch wind of Jimin, you don’t know, but hope you are able to move beyond it soon. Whenever you feel as though you make progress, even in the form of a small step, you still find yourself latched backwards by something regarding him. Whether it is the idea of returning to as you and him were, or just the contradicting answers you’ve found about the relationship, you’re still constantly getting stuck. All because Jimin appears in ways around you like now where he reminds your psyche of his importance in your life, and how much yearning still resides in your heart to be with him again.

After realizing your doubletake turned into a present stare, you swallow thickly, and don’t return that ghosting smile of a greeting he’s sending to you, instead turning on your heel and continuing on. A need to speak to him doesn’t exist outside of the workplace any longer. He’s proven to you that nothing can spark between the two of you multiple times now. You shouldn’t dwell, you should only walk away. Like Jimin has let you.

A bartender greets you after two others, though you take a moment to realize he’s done so, particularly not noticing him until a napkin slides in front of you to house a drink when you give him the word. You think against the idea, if only because of the current state of shock you found yourself having not prepared yourself for the idea of seeing Jimin. It isn’t that big of a deal, you try reasoning, you need to settle in the fact that you’ll always run into him. That you shouldn’t be like this anymore; he isn’t, you shouldn’t.

Yoongi said it’s okay to hurt as long as you need, but you don’t want to. The feeling of longing reminds you of the loneliness. You don’t want it anymore. It makes you feel pathetic.

You want to leave, but you ask for your usual, nodding as the bartender mentions they only have Sprite then goes to make it after you tell him to give it a kick. After you drink it, Yoongi will be back, the conversation will be as short as he told you it would be, and you can both get out of there; nothing to worry about when you’re gone and away. Thanking the bartender, you’re left with a large first gulp hitting the back of your throat.  Positioning your body towards the standing bar counter in solidarity you swirl the thin, black straw around to watch the ice in your glass clatter and shake with the strong beverage within it. If you could say whom you are at least then there’d be something to discuss with the people here, maybe even discussion about collaborative work, but that’s a faraway idea. One outside the spectrum of possibility with how things are.

Then you wonder if Yoongi told Hoseok. He’d mentioned that Yoongi spoke of you to him. Unexpected as it was to hear. Though you didn’t think Yoongi is friendless, or closed-off from telling information about himself, you can’t think of an instance at SoundWave where the people around you knew much about him, and neither did you. Maybe at this company he’s decided to keep work and private life completely separate. With the headlines that ended Hoseok’s career swirling in your memory, you could understand why. But with the mutual disdain between Seulgi, someone directly involved, and Yoongi, who is only a friend of Hoseok, you can’t imagine what went wrong between Yoongi and the couple to create that.

On the second drink you are now standing with hardened eyebrows. If you relate your own situation with Yoongi to whatever happened in his past company you can conclude that there are simply things that weren’t shown. In the way that you’re marketing to the public as Yoongi’s girlfriend, his old company could’ve had their own lies that caused whatever went on. You sigh after a particularly stinging sip, then shake your head at your thoughts to dismiss them: it’s not your business. If Yoongi wants you to know, he would tell you.

Your body shifts, straightening slightly as a man never seen before steps to the bar for a drink, hip nearly bumping against your waist at the proximity. A noticeable pace to the side takes you from him as you just give a meaningfully irritated glower at him in the corner of your eye for the rude mannerism.

He catches sight of it; the smirk you didn’t catch on his face when he walked up smothering at your hardened attitude. You think he’s ready to say something, but then he’s obscured from your view. Replaced by styled, richly brown hair and erect posture clothed in a fine midnight blue blazer. Out of your sight, Jimin gives a stronger glare, wordless, but appearing immovable. The man past him doesn’t find the confrontation worth it and turns to the rest of the bar, moving down.

Your expression doesn’t shift, instead your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and you just sigh again. Because he came--eyed you beyond the silent acknowledgement and paid attention to what you would do. Keeping a protective eye on your person. You finish the latter half of your drink when Jimin’s body turns towards you. Checking.

Jimin thinks of his inability to move his eyes from your person when you walked along from him, unreturning of any greeting. Likely trying to avoid, or keep away. Maybe for the fake relationship with Yoongi’s sake, most logically for yourself to not have to deal with anything like the last interaction in the meeting room with him. Jimin planned to give you that distance; not actively trying to involve himself with you when he realizes there’s so much confusion and pain swarming your thoughts towards him right now. He knows that he should have looked away himself, but he’s always captivated by you. Years have gone by of knowing you at this point, and not a day where he’s been able to avoid letting fondness towards you grow whenever he sees you, thinks about you.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Bitter tone like the kick from the drink invaded your speech.

“I know.” He watches you place the glass on the napkin with a clack, ice inside it sliding around.

“Then why did you?” You huff, avoiding eye contact in favor of watching condensation build, waving off the bartender as he offers you another.

Jimin’s posture must show that he’s not interested in a drink as the man continues past him to other guests. His elbow rests on the counter, though his legs are still straightened in an unrelaxed way. He thinks about your question in silence, admiring the way the overhead lights dance across your dress in the passing minute, creating a shine on your dress, pronouncing the curves of your stance. His throat tightens, because he misses you but can’t. Shouldn’t.

“I didn’t think about it.” Your head turns towards the candor. Finding his focused gaze, you consider the idea that Jimin didn’t mean to say that and expose affinity for you. He still feels warm to look at, like the cusp of being pulled into a hug. Knowing the thoughts will just get you hurt, you push them aside facing forwards once more. Your hands cradling the shadow of your drink are only inches from the one Jimin lays on the counter. It’d be so easy to take hold of, and it sounds nice.

But like it’s a memory. An impossibility.

“Don’t you think you should think about it a little.” You murmur in the mix of distant music. “It’s confusing.”

Jimin hears the frailty of your admission, registering that it still stings you to see him. He knows it would, because it’s the same for him, but he’s tugged towards you like he’s left the atmosphere. Floating unstably and hoping there’s a way to land on two feet. A tug-of-war between logic telling him that he should come back to the ground and emotions that say there’s a way to come out of this differently than the course he’s set the relationship too.

But that option isn’t realistic, and at the very least unfair to you because of what it means under the surface of unspoken words.

“I’m sorry.” Simple. Heavy. You hear the sound like it’s a war within himself. The logical side of your mind should also receive an apology from your emotions who don’t want Jimin to apologize at all, instead relishing in the fact that he still remains protective. Something you should do better to not be so happy about.

You blink hard a couple of times and shake your head, trying to keep reality at the forefront of your mind, and gesture a finger to your drink when the bartender from before sends a glance towards you in his rounds. “Congratulations on releasing the mini album, by the way.” Move on, even if it means forcing small talk. It’ll be easier when it drifts into something like normalcy. “The title track did well, I saw.”

Jimin’s head nods as he bites his lip to hide concern, playing along with the direction of the conversation that you’re attempting for the sake of comfort. “Yeah, it did luckily. A lot of the comments were about the lyrics on the last song.”

You can’t tell if he said that for your sake as a way to satiate your desire for ownership like Jimin used to, or if it is a mindless tidbit of information. There’s not a reason for him to feed your want for acknowledgement over the lyrics anymore, because this is the job you had before meeting him and becoming anything at all to him. Back when it didn’t feel like his compliments on the lyrics were meant to satisfy you, that they were just genuine and the grin he used to have about it was pure-hearted. But now it doesn’t give you positivity at all, instead frustration that flourishes in your rib cage.

“Yeah, I liked the way that one turned out after finishing it. I spent two weeks working on it.” When the sentences fall, they feel like an echo between you. There’s spite where you’re usually giddy to receive the feedback of public perception. You never let that sprouted seed flourish into ivy, but before you realize it the thorns slide into the air. Stabbing into Jimin’s ears like they’d cause an allergy, and he thinks back about what Yerin’s told him in the past. He swallows, both of you watching a fresh glass be placed in front of you while the old one is whisked away.

You take a sip as though it were water that would relieve the tension trying to escape in your voice.

“You should be careful how quickly you drink those, Y/N.” It irritates you that the sincere worry of Jimin’s voice is more soothing than water actually would be. The opposite effect occurs with this thought, because you’re frustrated more that he’s beside you, caring about you inexplicitly, but broke everything between you both.

And you don’t know why. It’s senseless given what he’s told you and expressed verbally about how he feels. That there’s no desire to be with you in a romantic way, yet he’s beside you looking out for your interest like a magnet. “If you don’t love me why are you acting like this?”

The glass releases from your grip on the bartop, eyes widening as you look into its fizzy clearness. A still moment passes like a year before you think to see Jimin’s reaction to your blurted question, but you don’t do it. Too afraid you’d see pity, or awkwardness that he’d have to relay the information to you again about not loving you.

Jimin watches you with his own shocked irises while you scoop the drink back up and down it in nervousness. In any other situation it would almost be comical about your method of moving beyond the question, but he recalls the one you just had before it and the worry is simmering back to mask the surprise from your call out. “You’re going to get dizzy if you drink those that fast, lovely-”

“Stop.” You bite your tongue to stop your voice from raising when you turn to face him, still upset and feeling idiotic, more so as his concerned frown registers in your vision. “I’m not that to you anymore. Don’t call me that-- it hurts, okay? It hurts a lot.”

“Wait-” Jimin’s voice isn’t loud, but its volume raises when you take the first step. Gentle hand finding your wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” You huff, tugging your arm from him and it comes easily. “Why do you care? Just let me walk away again.”

But you don’t want that.

As you continue on you think it’d be best for Jimin to follow you, because that seems right. If he cares this much to intercept you and some random guy, to speak up for your lyrics ownership in the meeting, to tell you vaguely that stopping your relationship is for the best-- if he cares about you in all those instances as much as they would entail then you’d like nothing more than for Jimin to follow and tell you why. Maybe that’s why it feels impossible for you to move on, or fake the healing that he’s already managed to go through since the beginning of the year.

Through the ballroom’s archways you turn past the elevators, unwilling to go to the ground floor because you still need to wait for Yoongi. If there was just some kind of quiet and silence away from that stuffy party than at least you could groan out loud and release the frustration that Jimin puts you into his back-handed affections.

So you try the first door you see, testing it’s handle that turns surprisingly, letting you escape into a much smaller party-space. One absent of people, music, and even decor. Just a few tables, chairs, all unclothed and dull under bulbs that aren’t on. The cityscape across the entrance is enough lighting, though its created with some shadowy lines from the downpour of rain outside.

You take it, walking in further and exhaling, happy to be separate from that party where you felt unable to relax. But your muscles tense again as the door behind you shuts with a small thump, and you turn to find Jimin once more. Your heart rate increases, surprised that he came with you. An enjoyable shocked feeling you didn’t expect.

“You came.” You can hear the relief in your own voice, where it had been frustrated seconds earlier because he never had before. Jimin’s always kept the distance, letting you metaphorically wander far from mutual understanding where he should’ve tried more. Talked to you in the ways he said he would but never did.

“Do you want me to leave?” Testing words as he steps towards you, the appearance of his downcast eyes disrupting the flow of confidence his question gives. You face him as Jimin stops just short of you, at an arm’s length, his chest inhaling air more largely like there are nerves, but his expression doesn’t give that away.

“If you don’t care about me, you should.” You continue locking eyes, unwavering in that moment to see his response; show you the honesty you deserve. That feels closer to the surface, if you could just crack through it a bit more. Maybe it could give you clarity. Jimin’s head tilts shaking gently, and his small smile looks sad,

“It’s never been a problem of not caring about you, Y/N. I do.” You bite your lip to try and hold back your confusion at the flowery voice, and how he seems to look at you like you’re sunlight in the midst of this somberly darkened room. “I care about you so much more than I’ve ever told you, lovely.”

The air you inhale feels like it breaks halfway from his unexpected softness. A frown plays at the corner of your lips at the apparent contradiction: if he cares about you then why all of this. Your mouth opens to question just that, but you stop to watch as Jimin’s eyes fall from yours glancing to the tile beneath your feet.

“It wouldn’t be good if we were a couple though.” You swallow back your nerves and feel an overcoming of frustration when he tells you that again, desperation leaking to get him to level with you as you take the step to meet Jimin. Your hand finds his forearm, jolting him in doing so to find your eyes again as you question quietly, yet firmly,

“Why?” Jimin nonsensically stutters, his whole body tensing like he didn’t think he’d actually be asked, because you hadn’t before. Just going along with his whims because you thought it stemmed from his lack of interest to become more to you due to unreturned feelings, but now that he implies that isn’t the case, how could he expect you to not want to know why. Your head shakes when Jimin bites his lip clearly undesiring to tell you. Maybe even scared. “I,” If these words leave it’d be decisive; inescapable to close a chapter though you have no idea where the next one would lead. You don’t want dwell longer. “I love you, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, arm growing limp in your grasp from the unabashed shock. Eyebrows furrow, and you can only smile sadly in response knowing this would be the outcome of unreciprocated feelings--

“You wouldn’t--shouldn’t.” His head shakes and you lock onto the tear escaping down his cheek in a path. He chuckles entirely bitter, free hand reaching up to brush back his hair. You’re silent, uncertain of how to react to this development. You expected another dismissal, not him seeming to be upset with himself for this occurring. As he shudders from his emotions you unconsciously move your hand to find his, hoping to help him calm down. Jimin’s hand wraps around yours immediately, holding it strongly, like he’d lose you to currents if he didn’t.

“Jimin,” You frown further, concern washing over you as you cup his cheek, thumb wiping the tears that flow as much as you can. He looks at you again, taking a moment to appreciate how utterly gentle you are with him despite how much crap he’s put you through. How he wishes he wasn’t an idol or you weren’t a songwriter. How he shouldn’t be selfish, and drag you back towards him time and time again. That he needs to let you walk away far so he can’t follow anymore. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Your thumb halts as a tear comes to rest on it, heartbeat thumping once in your ear like it wanted Jimin to hear. You look at him quietly, thinking that you didn’t hear him correctly, that there’s no way considering all he’s done to separate you both. Maybe he was afraid the entire time that you didn’t feel the same.

His hand releases yours as he moves it to your waist, the other mirroring the action. It feels right again; the familiarity you’re used to returning. Puzzle pieces appearing to fit again and things will be on track again. It makes sense being in his arms, Jimin is still haven for you.

You test if the situation is all a dream by means of the hand on his cheek guiding him the tiniest bit forward. If you speak you may wake up, if there’s anything to interrupt it’d fall apart, and if it was a dream you think your luck would make you wake up before he ever kisses you. But you don’t; Jimin’s motions follow the lead of your hand and his lips find yours softly, slotting to your expectant mouth perfectly.

Your arms fall around his neck, pulling Jimin closer to you while his hands rub along your sides, embrading you against his chest as the kiss remains entirely sweet and full from missing each other. In the enamor how it is to kiss Jimin while your love if mutually expressed, you disregard anything about the outside world, wishing this small room could protect you from it all. Ignore that you’re both under obligations to the company-- the thing that’s probably why Jimin was so worried. You just want to be with him like this, even if things return to a similar state of how they were before, if you’re both upfront about loving one another that’d be enough to get through it. You just want to be his, want to be a couple.

“No-” Jimin tugs back, hands releasing you quickly, though they ghost your frame until you’re steady on your feet. You gaze at him in confusion, breaths softly leaving your lips from the length of time spent kissing him. He shakes his head, stepping back one more time, further than a simple grasp forward. Your stomach knots that he may tell you to forget it all. “Lovely, I meant it; you shouldn’t love me.”

“Jimin, if it’s just about having to be a secret-”

“It’s not that, Y/N!” He cuts you off, voice picking up in his frustration. You realize then that he never asked your question of why you both can’t be together. Why you shouldn’t love him. You spine feels cold all of the sudden, worry prickling along it like Jimin is about to admit to murdering someone, but you dismiss that naivety. Watching Jimin continue biting his lip and appearing beside himself as he stares at you, trying to build up the courage to say whatever it is that’s the problem.

You almost say that anything he needs to tell you can’t be that bad, that there’s nothing he realistically could admit to you as you think it over. Perhaps it’s something self-conscious, or worry about Yerin, maybe he thinks the relationship would just be unsatisfying due to his secrecy; it’s all feasible. You could work through something together with him-- if you both handle it together it’s something that you can overcome, you try to assure yourself that positively.

“I’m on Yerin’s side about your job.” You blink. The quiet overtakes the room. The words are simple, they sound trivial on first listen, but then the depth of information takes over your senses. Your lips part, and Jimin sees your eyebrows creasing. He knows it makes sense but you’re likely blocking the meaning away. “I don’t want you to take credit for any of your songs.”

“What,” You blurt, nearly laughing because he couldn’t actually be saying this. The one reason that a relationship with him wouldn’t work out to Jimin is that it’s because he didn’t side with you. He doesn’t think you should be publicly noted as the creator of so much music that they listen to. All along, he never helped you because he actively disagreed with you. “Why?”

It’s not a small reason. The longer his words sit between you both, the implications feel like multiple daggers; how he’s watched you hurt in dissatisfaction of never receiving attention for your work, how the songs are changed and mended without caring about your consent, how difficult it is for you to appreciate any idol’s album because your name is never scribbled into their lengthy lists of credits. Watch you feel insignificant, disposable, and worried that your invisibility will leave you with nothing if there comes a day the company drops you.

“It’d ruin so many people’s careers, Y/N.” Timid to admit the truth that you’re aware of. You’re painfully aware of it, but always battling with yourself that you shouldn’t be held back for that calculation.

“Yours.” Your eyes narrow but your voice shakes that this is about selfishness. That Jimin’s unwilling to search for an ultimatum because it risks his security, despite the love his fans give him and the acclaim he has.

“Yeah.” Not so timid anymore, though there’s an inkling of more sadness; frustration about himself or the situation. You don’t know. Your head shakes and a scoff escapes your lips as you look away from him, unable to reason how he’s immovable on the subject. “I spent five years as a trainee, Y/N. I barely made the cut the year I did to debut. I,” Jimin sighs, fist clenching beside him as he admits the truth, “I can’t lose it all. I’m not going to be anything if I do-”

“So I’m just supposed to be nothing instead!” You spit at him, glaring with your words though the frustration is filling hot tears in your ducts. Jimin recoils in surprise from your voice’s loud volume and its hurt tone. “I’m just supposed to let you lie to the world using me for your whole fucking career? Like everyone else in the company!”

Jimin’s lip stings between his teeth, knowing that your words are exactly what he wants. There’s clear selfishness and unethical implications of everything this choice makes. How it shows that there’s a scale between you and his career, and that Jimin’s found which one weighs more in his heart. But listening to it stings like it has every right to, and he hates the fact that it’s like this, but what you say doesn’t matter because this is the reality of the situation. All depending on you are the careers of himself and every other person involved in SoundWave, and he doesn’t want to lose it more than he doesn’t want to lose you, so he’s adamant in his frustrated outburst as he bites back,

“You made that choice!”

Now you stumble in your conviction, recalling the moment of greed entirely too well. Knowing presently that in the past you should’ve thought better about that contract, or got a lawyer to look over it with you. You should’ve considered future implications, but you didn’t. This is your fault.

If you fought for rights then, you wouldn’t have problems today.

Jimin exhales, shoulders untensing as the raise of his voice resonates with how much that would’ve hurt you to hear, especially from him. His entire expression is a frown, worriedly trying to comfort, “Lovely-”

“Don’t call me that.” Defeated murmur. Jimin hears that quality, knows this is like he thought. He understands that this is where the divide exists-- knew it ever since you started going on about the idea of wanting your name to be seen after your lyrics. He watches tears drip along your cheeks in the silence, wanting nothing more than to wipe them away and fix this, but he doesn’t want what you do in order for the relationship to be fixed. He knows it’s selfish, inconsiderate, but he doesn’t alter his stance. “You let us fall in love when you knew it’d all fall apart like this, Jimin.”

He feels the cool streams on his face when you speak distantly. Hurt and appalled by his thoughts like he knew would be the case. You’re right, Jimin let this go too far when he should’ve stopped it the second the disagreement was seen. But he already loved you then.

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing else to say. You nod your head once, bitterly. Feeling abandoned by him being uncaring in the one area of the relationship you would wish for his support the most. But the fact fills you with the troublesome conflict that this is also your fault too.

All because of silence in definitive moments, veiling your feelings with bright, accepting sheer to hide words you should have said.

“I am too.” You wipe away your tears, stepping to move past him. And as you walk along Jimin knows this is the goal he wanted to lead you to no matter how much it hurts him to stand still. You’re better off without him following.

As you step out of the room, your stare is heavy towards the ground, listening to the saddening sound of the door shutting behind you. Leaving Jimin separate from you by your own accord, and you wish that you could lock it just so you’d be unable to waver and try again to find a median. One didn’t exist where you’d be happy, you have to remember that, force it into your head at every thought of Jimin from now on. Love isn’t enough.

Your shoulders tense when you catch shiny, black dress shoes at the top of your peripherals. Head rising slowly, you see Yoongi standing against the wall across from you. A frown forms on his face taking in your somber appearance as his arms uncross in front of him where he appears to have been waiting for some time. He lifts himself from the wall, stepping to you as all the emotions inside of you fill up and feel uncontrollably tear-wrenching. Your lip quivers as you duck from his sight, unable to allow him to see you cry so foolishly for what just happened, but he’s absent of a judgemental atmosphere as his hand reaches for your trembling one.

The gentle nature of his actions cause you to look back up at Yoongi, watching the tiniest curls of his empathetic smiles. Whatever happened in his conversation with Seulgi is lost to your mind, just like how you’re unable to recall that you need to keep up appearances with Yoongi at this party.

And he doesn’t bring up those things either, watching the tears spill silently from your eyes. Yoongi doesn’t ask you what happened, already having seen you walk away with Jimin earlier, he can only assume a number of ways that a conversation with him would cause this outcome. From how torn up you’ve been about the waning relationship between Jimin and you since Yoongi’s met you properly, he had a feeling more would have to happen for change to occur. For your sake, he didn’t hope it’d be this; your eyes reddened from frustration and sadness, posture hanging low from being brought down by whatever was said. Obviously broken-hearted because this seemed worse than any other time, as you’re unable to speak to him and attempt to hide away your feelings like you usually try to.

Your mouth opens, though the choppy inhale in your throat stops words from coming out, instead shoving more tears down your cheek. Yoongi shakes his head, free hand wiping them away before he realizes. “You don’t have to try to be okay right now.”

A hurt whimper leaves your lips at the tenderness he speaks with, making you feel like all of your emotions are about to dribble out of you if he continues to be this accepting of everything you are going through. You just want to thank Yoongi for this and dealing with all of the drama you cause keeping Jimin in your thoughts and making any of his stresses related to this fake relationship probably grow more, but you’re completely unable to without feeling like you’d only get out disarrayed words and tears.

While managing to only release your hand for the second to slide off his sleeve, Yoongi quietly drapes his coat jacket over your bare shoulders to cover any sight of trembling. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, coaxing your eyes to try and look up at him as he speaks with warmth you don’t feel deserving of, “Let’s go home.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi @xionysus​

[darthspideys]

all that glitters // 1

chapter 1 // once or twice was enough 

a/n : hi! welcome to another chapter of backstory/development because im gonna be honest with you I underestimated the work it was gonna take to make ten original male characters but next week you will get to meet all the guys I promise :) also from now on chapters are going to be released on Mondays at 9pm EST - as always shoot me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist

The mansion is massive. It doesn’t intimidate you in the way that you know it should, because she reminds her of home. Home is a sprawling mansion in Boston, with brick exterior that couldn’t be more different then the one in form told her with its white pillars and green plants growing over the front. You’re walking around to the back of the house, where there’s a group gathered outside. There are tiny tables put out with drinks and snacks on top of them, as the sounds of people making polite conversation fill the air. It looks torturous if you're being perfectly honest and you're happy that it seems you're moving past them.

“We’re going to go and do your intake interview just to get that out of the way,” Casey says, leading you through the courtyard. “Just like to tease the guys a little bit and see if they notice you.”

She smiles which only makes your anxiety worse, and you turn your head to the side hoping that they don’t see you just yet.

Suddenly, a loud noise cuts the air. You recognize it instantly, and you stop dead in your tracks. You're thrown back to New York, back to the overcast day, where you were so nervous about a presentation at work that you couldn’t pay attention to anything else. That’s when he ran right into you, pushing you back a ways with the force of his push.

He reaches out for you, and grabs your arm gently in a way that sends a shock through your body that you still can’t forget. “Sorry,” He says, with an accent in the voice you can’t forget, that you still haven’t forgotten after months.

“It’s fine,” You say quickly, in that way that you always do to be polite. “You’re fine.”

“You’re pretty,” He says and then shakes his head like he was enveloped in some kind of trance. “Sorry, again, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s whatever,” You tell him, holding up your hands in a way to stop him from talking.It's very awkward, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t think he was cute at that moment. He just keeps looking at you like you're a mural drawn onto the side of some building that he saw walking home from work. One second you weren’t there, and the next second you're right in front of him, all brilliant and bright and colorful. He can’t stop staring at you like he just ran into something that’s going to change his life. 

You on the other hand are just thinking about how long he’s going to keep staring at you, and how much time you have to get to work before you’re late for the biggest day of your career. Then he opens up his stupid pretty mouth, “Do you want to get a drink with me tonight?” You almost say no, you should say know because he’s a stranger, a stranger who keeps looking at you in a way that makes you feel open to the world, like he’s exposed you to the sun finally but it’s beginning to burn. 

But you give him your number, and scurry off because you have to get work. It’s only after everything that you romanticize the whole thing, probably too much. When the two of you are strangers again, you make up this whole story in your mind about this twist of fate chance meeting and how it felt to think that maybe this is the one for you. It’s a nice story, but you don’t think it’s true, until now he was just something to hold onto, not even a person, a concept, a what if to make you feel better when the world seemed so impossibly out of your control. 

Only now he’s here. Standing in a group of attractive men, ready to fight tooth and nail hoping that you'll pick him, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe this is fate. But you push it down, there’s no room or whimsy or fate or some invisible string in the midst of this fishbowl, this curated environment where nothing is real, and you can’t know if anything is genuine. 

“So just tell us your name, where you're from and what you do.” 

There is so much smiling, the person in front of you is smiling, there are people off to the sides smiling, and well there's a couple of production assistants in the back not smiling which you appreciate. After an hour of hair and makeup, they’ve sat you in a plush red chair with three spotlights and three cameras all at different angles, you assume you look good because otherwise they would’ve called the makeup and hair people back in. 

You platser on a fake smile to match theirs, “My name is y/n l/n, I was born and raised in Boston but I live in New York. I work as an associate editor at a magazine, so I organize what’s going onto my segment and then I read over everything to make sure it's good to publish.” 

“What’s your family like?” 

You’re smile dims for a moment, and you hope the camera didn’t catch it. “I’m a very family oriented person,” You lie right through your teeth, and it’s natural. “My family is a driving force in my life, I have one brother and one sister, we are all so close and they are both happily married, I just want to have what they have.” You hope that the smile sells it, because saying that out loud makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. 

“Why are you here?” 

You want to roll your eyes, isn’t that that question of the year? “I’m just ready to want someone who wants me back, it’s a little weird sure, but at least you know the people here aren’t going to play games. They’re all here for  a reason, hopefully it's the right reason, but either way it’s nice to not play the should I text them back game.”

You answer what feels like a million more questions ranging from deep to what’s your favorite animal. When it’s all done, your face hurts from smiling, and you can’t wait to get a makeup wipe. An assistant leads you to your room, and you flop down on the queen sized bed happily. You’re looking forward to getting some sleep, or at the very least some mindless scrolling through instagram time, but there’s a knock at the door as soon as you settle in. 

By this time, you’ve changed into your sweatpants, and your hair looks disheveled to say the least so of course there would be a guy at the door. Standing in the doorway when you open it, is a very tall man with windswept black hair and piercing blue eyes. “Hey,” He says looking you over and then hitting his hand against his leg a couple times absentmindedly. 

“Hi?” You say with a raised eyebrow, “What can I help you with?” 

“I just wanted to meet you before tomorrow, I’m Liam.” Well he’s definitely Canadian, that you can tell the more he talks, but there’s something else about him that you can’t quite place. 

“Liam can I ask you something?” You say. 

“Sure,” He smiles, “Whatever you want.” 

“What makes you think you’re more important than anyone else?” You ask with a sweet smile, and try to hide all of the disdain from your face and your voice, because you’re going to need this guy to like you later so let’s not burn bridges right away. He looks a little stunned, “I mean everyone’s going to have to play this game right? Why do you think you should get the head start?” 

You’re half wondering what he would say when he answered, if he was willing to give you a good answer for why he thinks he’s better than you’d probably be willing to have a conversation with him tonight. But of course, he doesn’t say anything, just stands before you dumbfounded like you’d just asked him how many cells were in the human body, like he didn’t even know where to start. “Well, good night then,” You say and slam the door in his face. 

It’s going to be a long few weeks.

taglist: 

@anikinskywalkr​ // @living-life-underoos​ // @poesflygirl​

[hidelaney]

Hi Delaney!

Ah, yes the quarantine. It’s getting to me. Definitely. Suddenly I have no office to go to. But it’s good, I think. Make the CEO realize the upper management has no literal reasons to keep us in the office. Like at all. Seriously, everyone from my team is working from home and the level of productivity is actually better. Because guess what? Not having people breathing down our necks is SUPER helpful. So HA!

Okay, about Larry Stylinson. You’re right, I did fall into YouTube Blackhole. And Twitter. And I just watched 1D San Siro concert. By watching, I mean I actually paused the work I’m doing and looked at the screen while it played. Admittedly I was also doing chores but! It wasn’t just background music! It counted!

When I said I could put Larry Stylinson in a microwave and be done with it, I mean the theories and compilation videos are so readily available and easy to digest like, comparable to instant meals.

It’s so neatly packaged, too. Like, I was introduced to Larry Stylinson basically yesterday. Now I could recite the storyline in my head whenever I please. Or when I want to please you, in this case.

Let’s see if I can get it all summarized down here. FYI, I’m borrowing your assumption that Taylor was in on it the whole time. And Eleanor, too. Because I actually know of her existence now! Character discovery! Except they’re real people so I feel the need to point out that I’m making all the assumptions all over the place. I’m doing this for you, my dear Delaney.

Keep in mind that we all need character growths and personal developments when I make non-flattering assumptions toward your favorite people here, ok?

First up! HS & TL met in a toilet.

Now it’s debatable whether it was during an X-Factor audition or Battle of the Bands. For the sake’s of my next argument, I’m going with they knew each other before X-Factor. Likely during their time in White Eskimo and The Rogue, respectively. Their (unconfirmed?) first words to each other were ‘Oops!’ & ‘Hi’

Up next, the X-Factor audition and getting put together in a band.

So here is where I kind of needed my first assumption for this to work. Their chemistry was so obviously through the roof. It made so much sense if they were already sort-of friends and then got put together in a band. Plus, I don’t think the way Louis jumped into Harry’s arms is something a relative stranger would do. And if they only knew each other out of everyone there, it’s no wonder they were both so apparently clingy and codependent. It’s like a situation where both of them went ‘I have no idea what’s gonna happen next, but at least I know you and you know me. So we’re bestie now. No take back!”

And then there’re video diaries, twitter cams, radio interviews, and other broadcasting media they appeared in. These need no explanation because you’ve probably seen all of them and I have functioning ears and eyes. So, yes, I saw videos of them being all disgustingly cute all over the place. During the so-called ‘Fetus’ phase (a wording which I personally find rather disturbing, no offense to your anatomy textbooks or anything.) They’re so sweet. Especially whenever there’s a mention of how they moved in and lived together. Their interactions must’ve been responsible for so many tooth cavities. So many aww-worthy moments. On stage, on screen, behind the scenes, potato cams. Basically everywhere in front of everyone.

Then 1D blew up and were well on their way to become their label’s biggest and brightest BCG-metrix star. It’s not hard to see why investors’d be invested (lol) in employing every marketing strategy possible to keep 1D in the spotlight.

There’s a twofold marketing exploitation to Larry Stylinson that I see from miles away.

Hard sell the heteronormative version of the boys. (To capture major market shares)

Never had Harry or Louis explicitly confirm nor deny their relationship status. (To capture additional market shares with queerbaiting)

But let’s say Harry and Louis were actually together and making 1) too difficult to achieve. Otherwise this whole thing falls apart like a wet house of cards.

Thus, here came what I’d like to call ‘dousing a fire with gasoline’. This is where there’s a sudden drop of their interactions in public and Larry Stylinson isn’t a cutesy smashup name of two boys who got along like a house on fire anymore. This is the part where a ship turned into a full fledged conspiracy theory. And it’s MEGA COOL WICKED awesome.

I say this in the nicest way possible. A tragedy is the grandest form of entertainments. Misery loves having friends.

Also, I’d like to say this. I’m having fun thinking of this as a fictional arc. Because I still feel like it will shatter my heart in to a million pieces if anything resembling what I write next was true.

Since breaking into US market was the Kickstarter into a global one, to the US 1D went.

This was where the heavy closeting got way more difficult to handle. Elounor had the excuse of Eleanor being a private citizen and therefore should be left alone for the most part. Haylor was the complete opposite. Taylor Swift was and still is an American Sweetheart. Harry Styles might have been the most famous British Harry if it weren’t for a (former?) prince and a wizard. (Seriously, we should not call any of our hypothetical future children ‘Harry’ unless you thought ‘Albus Severus Potter’ was a good idea. Poor kiddo.)

The saddest part about Harry Styles public image was how reminiscent of Emma Watson it felt. The minute they turned eighteen, their media portrayals immediately became hyper-sexualized. Suddenly, they left the human zoo into an open hunting game. Famous lives are terrifying.

Anyhow, say, Taylor Swift knew what the US music industry was like. She’s been playing the long game for quite some time. She got to know Harry and then became rather protective of him. Her conclusion was that ‘hyping up Haylor’ would: 1) increase media exposure for both Taylor and 1D which would translate to bigger channels of revenue for all involved, 2) hold the speculation about Harry’s sexual orientation at bay because, as horrible as it sounds, gays don’t sell in America.

This one fit nicely with your ‘Out of the Woods’ interpretation. Taylor wasn’t just spending time with Harry. She was actively enforcing the lock on the closet. Which explains why Louis seemed to resent Taylor quite obviously and quite a lot. His own heteronormative scripts with Eleanor had been relatively tame. Harry’s whirlwind series of romances in public had only just begun.

As Harry started gaining a womanizer reputation in earnest, so did the Almost-Subtle Couple Tattoo Sprees.

If ‘Always in my heart @Harry_Styles . Yours sincerely, Louis’ tweet was a sign that circumstances were about to go south for them. The tattoos were signs that the circumstances had already gone to shit. The tragic package had been shipped, signed, and delivered.

This is where non-flattering assumptions rise to the surface. I think 1D had been overworked past the point of exhaustion. Self-destruction as a coping mechanism became rather prevalent and pervasive within the band. The boys gleefully collected regrets as a new favorite pastime, some more than others. Consequences were nipping at their heels.

Then Zayn left right in the middle of a world tour and all hell broke loose.

Here comes the biggest Assumption Affair!

Louis and Liam, the last to release their solo debut albums, were the most prominent songwriters for the band. I’m not going to go on about Liam because I’m here to give you Larry Stylinson. And this is already way too long as it is. But, needless to say, the first discussion of a prospective solo career probably hit them the hardest.

If each song they wrote was a battle scar, Louis was still bleeding for the band when Harry, of all people, brought up the idea of a hiatus and solo careers. Realizing how many songs Harry already had waiting in the back catalogue must’ve felt like a slap in the face. Or a punch in the gut. Whichever you think is worse/more dramatic. I’m not picky.

Remember self-destruction as coping mechanism? What about relationship-destruction as coping mechanism? Louis cheated and had a baby with someone else. Infidelity at its finest.

ALERT! THIS IS A NEON SIGN OF ASSUMPTION AFFAIR! Please don’t kill me. I told you I was gonna make unflattering assumptions toward your favorite people. I just did as I promised!!! *run for cover*

Anyway...

I’m gonna take you back a little. I mentioned earlier how Eleanor was a private citizen and therefore should be left alone. At times when Louis desperately needed to be left alone, Elounor makes so much sense. If she’s a PR-only girlfriend, she’s a stellar employee. If it’s not just a PR thing, she’s as forgiving as a saint. Just, if it’s Harry and Louis, they likely both messed up and hurt each other badly. If it’s Louis and Eleanor,... I mean... Have you seen a meme where you misspell a word so badly that the autocorrect goes, ‘I don’t know what to tell you, man’?... Louis would be that misspelled word and Eleanor would be the very best autocorrect that practically brute force through every word in the Oxford AND Urban dictionary to find out what that word was. If that’s who she is, then bless her soul. However, for the sake of this argument, we will proceed with the assumption that she’s the star employee of the decade.

Losing loved ones and grieving for them are inevitable parts of human lives. Nothing put more things into perspectives than losing someone so fundamentally dear to you. When I heard Louis Tomlinson’s ‘Two of Us’ for the first time, I remembered walking through an actual forest my grandpa planted for us because he wanted to make sure his great grandkids would have a nice home to grow up in. Do you remember when you called and told me that he died the night I got on my first solo international flight ten months after the fact? I wanted to hate you for keeping something this big a secret from me. I wanted to hate everybody at home for that. But then you told me that it was what my grandpa had wanted. That he didn’t want me to be a sad sack of an exchange student. That you decided to not listen to my parents and call to tell me just before I was due home. So that I’d have time to feel hurt about being lied to. So that I could get all the angry words out. So that I wouldn’t scream at my parents when I got home and learnt the truth. So that you could take the brunt of my grief instead.

I just took a break to have a little cry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. You did the best you could for me when I lost my grandpa. I still managed to effectively shut you out for months. Just because you were the messenger of the bad news. What I’m trying to say is that grief changes people. It changed me. For the worst for a bit. And then for the better once I came to term with what it means to me. There’s a quote from Rosamund Lupton that sums it up neatly.

“Grief is love turned into an eternal missing.”

I guess this is the part where I connected the dots back to Harry and Louis. Well, their music definitely give grief different names. Both albums talk about coming to term with it and moving forward. Every songs they wrote could be woven to fit the narrative of Larry Stylinson and events surrounding them. If you buy the theory, then the good news is both Fine Line & Walls seemed to have a positive ending. One thing I know for sure, though, is that no matter how convincing a conspiracy theory maybe, it could all be built upon a faulty assumption. I’d probably have a way easier time disregarding Elouner if I didn’t have you as a solid proof in my life that, yes, people like the best autocorrect exists. It’s funny how I feel no hesitation at all in categorizing Haylor as a calculated move. Because in my head that’s just par for the course in business. And it genuinely terrifies me in a way. Who the hell I could’ve become if it weren’t for you knocking me off the ground and pouring kindness on me.

I know I skipped a lot of stuff. Missing names like Caroline, Danielle, Kendall, Freddie, Camille, Xander, etc. But HS and LT have a decade of history on public record and, frankly, my interest ran out four paragraphs ago. So just let me conclude this.

I think it’s tiring, spending this much time speculating on someone else’s relationship history. I must admit that I had to get it out of my chest because it was way too interesting to let go off. But now, I feel like I’m just going to stream Heartbreak Weather and listen to ‘No Judgement’ on repeat. Nile is my favorite non-problematic celebrity. I could spell his name so wrong and it probably won’t be an issue as long as I politely say, “Sorry, Mr Niall Horan”

This quarantine clearly leaves me with too much time on my hands.

Virtual hugs and kisses

Your Incredible Sasha 😘

[goldenmusicmoments]

Shawn Mendes - Wonder (Album Review):

Intro - The album starts with a piano opening on this short intro that sets the scene and mood for the rest of the album. There are a few lyrics here that Shawn sings as he introduces us to this new chapter. Near the closing the production picks up and heads into chaos providing an interesting transition to the next track.

Wonder - This title track served as the lead single to the album and it really allowed the build of anticipation for the album. Giving a taster of the growth in the music Shawn was about to release, allowing everyone to see that he intended on delivering something more refined and artistic. The opening to the track has a vibe that seems to be inspired by the type of production and sounds heard on Kanye West’s album ‘My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’. The track starts on a chaotic note, but immediately finds calmness just as the vocal kicks in. The pulsating baseline compliments the vocal delivery of the lyrics in the verses. The build in the chorus is smooth till it reaches its peak in which that chaos at the start re-emerges. The lyrics are beautiful as they not only have you wondering those things alongside him, however they also speak to many of our questions when it comes to insecurities or sense of self. The bridge really encapsulates you in which you seem to get lost in. The final chorus hits you giving you this feeling of standing in the sea when the waves are raging. The sense of urgency behind his wonder is really heightened by his vocal in the final chorus. Then the track comes to an abrupt end.

Higher - Here there is an immediate start to the track in which the vocal begins as soon as the track starts. It also changes the tone and mood from the previous tracks, Shawn gives a more fun, sensual and upbeat energy to us here. Not only through the production, but also the vocal delivery which gives off some Justin Timberlake vibes. Instrumentation wise it flows from the previous, although not used in the same way. He sings about getting higher, however that being in the since that the person who he’s with seems to elevate everything when she is around. There is a very short outro and then its over. You are left wanting more once you’ve got into the groove and then the track comes to an end sooner than you’d hope.

24 Hours - This track has a very vintage feel highlighted through the production and it heightens the albums cinematic vibe. Here things are taken down a notch and there is a calmness that flows throughout the song. The production is more minimal and the prominent part to it is the two piano keys that are played spaced out from start to finish. There is an intimate feel to it particularly through his vocals and the lyrical content. He sings about his love, the strength and extent of it. He is certain that she is all he wants and that he’d do anything for it to be. There is choir that comes in on the final chorus which elevates the songs feel. Then the track ends on the play of a few piano notes which were heard at the start of the track, which provide the track with a full circle moment.

Teach Me How To Love - You are immediately drawn into this groove inspired track. This is a song that will get you moving your body to its beat and vocal delivery of the lyrics. He sings about wanting the person of interest to teach him how to love them. However you might be a little thrown off, as you may have gone into the track thinking of something else about what he may have wanted to learn about when it comes to loving someone.  The chorus is an instant singalong type. You get completely lost in its funky groove. It hooks itself in your mind with its catchy nature.  Although he may seem to feel a little under studied on how to love, his delivery of the lyrics exude confidence.

Call My Friends - This songs starts on a very sombre note, here he sings about his relationship with his friends. He sings about how his career has altered his life which then in turn has impacted his connection with his friends. He is in one place whilst they are in another. His friendships aren’t strained, but he wishes he could be more close to be able to experience life a little more with his friends, however touring and all that being in the industry brings with it has limited those interactions. Him saying he should call his friends, is him wanting to put in an effort to keep that connection in whatever way he can given his circumstances. A beautiful moment on the album that really makes you not want to take the things we often take for granted, for granted. The track follows a common formula in terms of the calm verse and then the hard hitting chorus that you are totally encapsulated by. His vocal give this sense of reflection and showcases his vocal growth.

Dream - This track starts with a dreamy opening. The song is about his longing for his lover and that when they are apart his way of feeling closer to her is dreaming of her. The moment where he sings ‘I just need to breathe’ after which the track halts and then starts back with him taking a breath is a great detail in the tracks creation. Another moment on the album where you get lost in its vibe. His vocals are stunning on this track and seem effortless. The production brings the feelings of the lyrics alive in such a magical way. 

Song For No One - This guitar led track provides the album with its most stripped back and intimate moment. However you are taken by surprise when the climatic moment of the track hits, due to the pick up in its production. The bridge gives you this feeling of vastness, he seems to be getting something off his chest here but it isn’t clear as to what. Lyrically he sings about writing this song for no one, he is unsure as to why he did so. Although he maybe claiming that this song is for no one, we definitely know that it is for someone. It seems to have this longing for someone, as it focus on a moment spent alone.

Monster (Ft. Justin Bieber) -  There were rumours floating about these two collaborating on a track on the album, however I was still to an extent surprised that they actually did. I was a little hesitant, and wasn’t completely excited by Bieber’s placement on the album. The song has this reflective feel to it, lyrically its about how people build those in the spotlight up only to then tear them down. How they are attacked for their doings no matter what it is, and held accountable to a degree where it seems unfair. We all make mistakes and we should give others the opportunity to learn from their mistakes and grow to be better. However instead people seem too quick to try and ‘cancel’ a celebrity rather than give them a chance to change for the better. It also plays to the way those under the spotlight are often seen as something other than human, whereas putting all that aside they are just like the rest of us. The track has a moody feel to it, with a dark under tone and the production is slick complimenting the lyrics and vocals really well. Even though Justin’s verse in terms of lyrics lacks any sense of genuineness, as time and time again we’ve seen him do the same stuff and then claim he is sorry (all of which to this point has become very exhausted and judging by the performance of his latest single ‘Lonely’ the general public to an extent have as well). So although I don’t feel empathetic to what he sings about, the opening vocal to his verse is rather laid back, however just before the chorus hits the build in his vocals depict a sense of urgency to get the listeners to understand his struggle. It does seem like a cry for help, or for understanding. The concept is rather intriguing, however looking through Justin’s history his feature in a way takes away from the authenticity of the lyrics.

305 - This breezy track has a 80s/90s feel to it, it is about him not wanting to lose the person he is in love with. He fears that maybe the person could end up feeling differently. The layered vocals during the opening of the track and during the chorus seem to be coated by the production, whereas for the verses the vocals are placed more at the front. The track has a funky groove to it, making you feel like you are at a dance. You feel like clicking your fingers or clapping along to the track. The bridge features vocals masked behind the production, making you pay closer attention in order to pick up on the lyrics.

Always Been You - This track starts off with a very cinematic opening. Then once the vocal on the verse begins the production dies down. The pre-chorus build where he starts off with ‘You’re the only one’ sounds very similar to that in the track ‘Wonder’. Then what seems to be a prominent style on some of the tracks, the chorus is where the track has its grand moment. Here he sings about the person of interest having always been the one. Normally a chorus with just a repetition of the tracks title and that being spaced out would make a track seem like its lacking, here it does the opposite and works really well in depicting what he is trying to put forward. You get lost in the grandness of the chorus and bridge.

Piece Of You - This JT inspired track is pulled of effortlessly by Shawn, this funky moment on the album revolves around the girl being someone who everyone is drawn to. Here he sings about how his insecurities come to life in regards to his relationship, when he sees all the attention she gets from everyone when they are with others. The vocals go from being laid back in the verses to more energetic in the chorus. A well produced track that gets you vibing to its mesmerising nature.

Look Up At The Stars - This reflective track provides the album with the such a full circle moment. The intro introduced us to this wonderland and now we seem to be in that place. He seems to finally reach the place he was hoping for, he’s dreamt of being with her for a moment now and they are together now. His vocal delivery showcases his emotions really well, making you the listener get a sense of how he must feel at this point. The dynamic between the feel of the verses and chorus on this track in particular stands out. The verses feeling a little more on the emotional side, then the chorus has a more more upbeat feel.

Can’t Imagine -  Now we get to the closing moment on the album with this rather stripped back guitar driven track. Both in terms of production on the track and vocals. Here he sings about not being able to imagine a world without his lover. He sees it being very lonely and dull with her. A simple end that closes on a point of where he is at right now. 

A solid effort from Shawn Mendes, that seems to be thematic and cohesive. His main focus on the album lyrically is his relationship with Camila and his feelings for her. It is personal and is very true to his journey, his life and who he is as both a person and artist. Some of the tracks do a feel a little to short though. I still do feel that Shawn has a lot more to offer as an artist and I look forward to his next album.

[musemelodies]

I guess it’s a good time as any to talk about Walter’s past relationships ‘cause to quote...whoever coined this phrase, (I wanna say John Mulaney), there’s a lot to unpack here. Despite being older than Zeke, Walter hasn’t been around nearly as much as him, but he’s been around and has quite a few stories to tell (some of them even true) sooo...I don’t know how to close out this introduction so I’m gonna let this guy do it for me:

John Mulaney, folks! Let’s give him a big hand!

A n y w a y...

Picture it: Las Vegas, 1932. A much younger (and less jaded) Walter had a grand total of one animated appearance so far, a crowd scene in one of those Bosko and Honey pictures and he was keen to put his name out there. After hopping a bus from Burbank to Vegas, Walt was trying his hand at stand-up when he found himself sharing the stage with--oh, I’m sorry, I've just been informed by Walter's legal representative that I’m not at liberty to tell that story. Or call him Walt. Insert tired as heck Disney joke here, but yeah...let’s fast-forward a bit, shall we? 

Much of the thirties was a hectic experience for Walter, having gone from a random extra to the main antagonist of the Slappy the Slaphappy Squirrel series. I’ve just been informed that that’s one and only time I can speak that name so there it is. (Don’t worry, one of these days, I’ll write a deeper thing about their relationship ‘cause that’s a novel on its own.) He didn’t really have time for romance, let alone a serious relationship or at least that’s what he told the press to get them to go away. Sometimes he was a wingman for Zeke and Marie, other times he was sandwiched between them, and Zeke asked him to be the best man when they tied the knot. Unfortunately for him, Marie chose a certain squirrel to be the maid of honor. They may or may not have danced together. His memory’s a bit fuzzy on that one.

Whenever Walter was questioned about his relationship with Slap--his costar and if there was anything going on between them, his answer was to throw a bomb at them. If he was in a good mood, he might’ve made a snarky comment about it, but most of the time, he reached for the bomb. Even if he did have those feelings--and he didn’t, don’t look at him like that--it would’ve seriously hurt their careers. After a producer caught him sneaking out of his costar’s dressing room (he was just there to drop off a bomb, honestly), he was yanked into his office and immediately reprimanded. 

He was given a long speech about professionalism and protecting the brand or something to that extent. He spent more time shielding his face from the man’s spit-filled rant than listening to him. At any rate, Walter denied having anything to do with his costar, other than what the script called for and what the audience expected from him. If they wanted slapstick, he’d give them slapstick, but as her fame quickly eclipsed his and he spent more time in traction than in the spotlight, he began to grow bitter. Not as much as in his later years, but still... 

With the arrival of the war, Walter joined the air force with Zeke and had even less interest in finding The One, though he did take up the sax. They both played for the company and later, after the war was over, the Toontown Philharmonic. After Zeke complained that the latter was too square, they took to the Ink and Paint Club and played backup for various stars, including the one and only Red Hot Riding Hood. 

To say Walter had hearts in his eyes was putting it lightly. He and Red struck up a strange, but genuine friendship with a lot of mallets and banter involved and slowly, but surely, it lead to something more. He loved her sense of humor and how she didn’t take any shtick from anyone and the way she just lit up the room. As cheesy as it sounds, those were some of the best days of his life. 

For a while, Walter even considered popping the question, but as the Tex Avery era was coming to a close and Red was longing to see the world, she gently broke it off with him in ‘55. Walter wanted to go with her, but she insisted he stay in Burbank. He still had a future in cartoons and maybe she would make a comeback someday, but in the meantime, she had to see what life was like beyond the showbiz scene. After giving him a smooch, she bid him goodbye, dropping him a postcard a month later. It took Walter some time to come to terms with it and even now, he still wonders what might have been. They still kept in touch over the years, though and he’s happy to call her a friend. <3

The sixties brought on a period of uncertainty. Theatrical shorts were no longer a big draw and Walter had taken to doing stage work and bit parts in B-movies and the occasional commercial, just to keep himself busy and pay the bills. It seemed like everyone he knew was either hitched or getting hitched and he felt like he was missing out. 

Enter Wilhelmina Wolf, a studio teacher whom he met through Sid. She was a nice enough gal, a math whiz, and knew her way around a good joke. After six months of going steady, they got hitched and the following year, Wilhelmina gave birth to three beautiful pups. The early days of their marriage weren’t bad and he loved being a father, but after a time, he and Wilhelmina had almost nothing to say to each other, save when they were arguing. After a while, they called it quits and received joint custody of their daughters. From then on, they stayed with their father every other month and he doted on them to make up for the drama.

From the end of the sixties and throughout the seventies, Walter didn’t play the field too much. He continued to do stage work and starred in a rather cheesy and short-lived superhero series with his oldest costar. He was still adamant that there was nothing between them, despite feeling a weird and distinct pain every time he saw her with that white-haired schmuck from Jonny Quest. Maybe it was indigestion. Yeah, it was most likely that.

By the time the eighties rolled around, Walter was starting to age (and so was his routine) and though he wouldn’t admit it, he was lonely. His daughters were growing up and his career was in limbo and he was yearning for something (or somebody) to make him feel young again.

At Zeke’s urging, he went out with a fox named Vanessa Volpe, an aspiring actress and model who was twenty-six. She was gorgeous and she was quick to sink her claws into him or rather, his wallet. She had him on a string for about a year, all it took was a cute expression and a purred request, and Walter would give her the moon. Half his pals were green with envy and the other half were green with disgust, but not as much as his kids. His youngest daughter refused to speak to him and wouldn’t participate in the wedding. His costar showed up and cracked plenty of hard-hitting jokes about the happy couple. Three months later, Walter came home to find Vanessa messing around with their next-door neighbor (who also happened to be an up and coming director) and, well, that was the end of that. 

Walter’s love life was pretty uneventful throughout the nineties and well into the new millennium. Considering he was significantly older and bitter and deeply wrapped in his denial, the idea of getting into a relationship didn’t appeal too much to him. However, out of sheer spite towards his costar and having nothing better to do that night, he went on approximately one date with Candie Chipmunk and it was excruciating. Halfway through it, he ran screaming out the door. 

So that’s where Walter’s at as of today. As for the future, who knows??

[vincered]

    ❛                        IF     YOU     WANT     TO     HAVE     IT     ALL     ,     TAKE     IT     ALL                                 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬  ,  𝟕𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬  ,  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐬

               [    PARK    CHAEWON,    CIS    FEMALE,    SHE    /    HER.    ]                introducing    nero    waterway,    VICTOR    of    the    72nd    hunger    games,    representing    district    two.    my    sources    say    that    they    are    twenty    years    old    &    that    they’re    pretty    handy    with    manipulating    opponents    and    allies    alike.    wonder    if    that    did    them    any    good    in    the    arena    ?    anyways,    caesar    says    you    can’t    miss    them,    because    they    remind    everyone    of    a    battle    cry    echoing    sending    shockwaves    through    ankle    deep    water,    an    unsatisfied    hum    falling    from    carefully    painted    lips    to    preserve    a    pristine    reputation,    the    sound    of    short    staves    hitting    a    dummy    in    the    dead    of    night    –    raw    hands    interrupted    by    an    unwelcome    visitor    &    happily    sipping    on    hard-earned    wine    ,    hiding    the    bitter    taste    of    blood    behind    a    victorious    grin.

              NOT    ME    literally    seeing    this    rp    &    screaming    becos    i    was    JUST    thinkin    about    the    hunger    games    .    i    was    actually    gonna    bring    nero    in    as    a    tribute    but    i    remembered    i    love    nero    so    i    couldn’t    but    some    day    one    day    maybe    ,    i    don’t    know    .    n    e    ways    ,    i’m    cc    ,    i    can’t    spell    &    i    prefer    feminine    ,    she    /    her    pronouns    .    NERO    is    much    like    her    namesake    ,    the    horrifying    roman    emperor    ,    very    ...    bad    !    in    short    ,    she    don’t    giv    a    fucc    but    i    hope    she    ...    grows    .    BUT    this    is    super    long   ,    i’m    sorry   .   if    u    wanna    plot    PLS    like    this    &    i’ll    hope    on    over    (:    also    pls    click    HERE    for    a    mobile    version    of    this    since    ik    it    might    b    hard    to    read    on    my    theme    .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖔𝖓𝖊   ╱   𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭  

FULL   NAME   nero  atlas  waterway  NICKNAME(S)   empress  (  by  the  capitol  ,  obviously  )  ,  snake  ,  traitor  .    AGE  twenty  GENDER   /   PRONOUNS  cis  gendered   female   /   she  /  her   ORIENTATION  pansexual  ,  demiromantic   HOMETOWN   district  two  ,  inner  city  near  the  wealth   FACE   CLAIM  park  chaewon  (  go  won  of  loona  )

aesthetic :    a    battle    cry    echoing    ;    sending    shockwaves    through    ankle    deep    water    ,    an    unsatisfied    hum    falling    from    carefully    painted    lips    to    preserve    a    pristine    reputation    ,    fingers    taped    with    bloodying    bandages    after    hours    of    training    past    her    point    ,    raised    by    wolves    she    learns    to    bare    her    teeth    –    but    not    before    she    learns    to    hide    her    claws    ,    bloodthirsty    eyes    while    holding    an    opponent    underwater    –    her    LAUGH    is    still    used    as    a    soundbite    ,    the    sound    of    short    staves    hitting    a    dummy    in    the    dead    of    night    –    raw    hands    interrupted    by    an    unwelcome    visitor    ,    attending    parties    with    regret    laced    in    the    way    she    stands    properly    (    was    victory    her    best    option    for    infamy    ?    )    &    hiding    the    bitter    taste    of    blood    behind    a    victorious    grin    .

LABEL   the  potentate  ,  the  truculent  ,  the  amoral  MORAL  ALIGNMENTS   neutral  evil  /  chaotic  neutral    ( + ) POSITIVES  strategic  ,  potent  ,  adroit  ,  tactical   ( - ) NEGATIVES  barbaric  ,  nefarious  ,  blasphemous  ,  fustian   HOGWARTS  HOUSE  slytherin  first  ,  ravenclaw  second   MYTHOLOGICAL  PARENT   athena  +  mars   DEADLY  SIN  wrath  +  pride

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖙𝖜𝖔   ╱   𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞  

trigger  warning  :  death  ,  murder  ,  drowning

             𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢.   nero  ,  a  name  synonymous  with  evil  &  barbaric  acts  –  blessed  is  the  baby  girl  born  into  the  waterway  family  .  her  brother  ,  augustus  is  primed  to  be  a  victor  ;  tall  ,  lethal  with  the  personality  to  match  .  she  can  still  remember  being  held  face  down  in  the  bathtub  by  a  boy  three  years  her  senior  ,  body  flailing  as  she  struggles  for  air  –  nero  can  remember  her  brother  burning  her  arm  over  an  open  flame  ,  can  recall  every  cut  their  parents  had  to  pay  thousands  to  prevent  a  scar  .  nero  got  the  name  synonymous  with  evil  ,  but  it  should’ve  been  given  to  the  boy  who  tried  to  throw  her  into  the  quarries  when  she  was  five  .  their  parents  ,  politicians  in  their  own  right  –  an  ambassador  to  the  capitol  ,  married  to  the  deputy  mayor  –  are  eager  to  produce  a  victor  ,  to  throw  augustus  into  the  spotlight  with  a  laurel  wreath  onto  his  dark  hair  .  they  look  to  nero  &  hope  for  the  same  thing  –  two  victors  are  better  than  one  –  &  once  they  finish  wiping  bathwater  from  her  mouth  ,  finish  healing  a  burn  &  picking  up  a  broken  body  from  the  rock  tops  ,  they  put  her  in  augustus’s  path  .  the  perfect  opponent  ,  the  perfect  rival  ,  the  best  partner  in  school  .  

                          so  the  academy  accepts  both  waterway  children  &  they  climb  the  ranks  faster  than  no  other  .  once  nero  learns  how  to  wield  a  weapon  ,  how  to  hold  her  own  –  payback  is  dished  out  faster  than  augustus  can  blink  &  through  the  attempted  murder  the  siblings  enact  ,  respect  is  earned  .  it’s  rocky  ,  but  there  are  new  nights  they  spend  taping  each  other  up  &  walking  each  other  home  .  teen  years  are  spent  together  ,  ruling  the  career  academies  with  their  sheer  ego  &  skill  .  augustus  ,  rocks  the  spear  like  a  gladiator  while  nero  adopts  short  staves  .  they  both  excel  in  everything  ,  including  the  bloodlust  &  the  craving  to  kill  .  waterways  in  their  true  form  ,  they’re  in  talks  to  volunteer  &  only  the  stupid  would  oppose  their  will  .  but  ,  at  nineteen  augustus  is  found  dead  in  the  quarries  –  feet  away  from  where  nero  laid  at  five  ,  feeling  the  life  slip  from  her  fingers  .  nero  ,  who’s  never  shed  a  tear  in  public  cried  for  the  next  week  ,  red  rimmed  eyes  glaring  at  everyone  who  looked  her  way  at  a  sniffle  .  it’s  deemed  an  accident  ,  but  augustus  –  so  close  to  victory  ,  would’ve  never  accidentally  fallen  to  his  death  .

                         𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢𝐢.  the  plan  is  to  enter  the  games  at  twenty  -  three  ;  an  age  near  the  middle  of  the  pack  ,  not  too  young  ,  not  too  old  .  but  the  games  are  supposed  to  be  hers  –  they’re  supposed  to  be  augustus’s  ,  so  she  volunteers  at  eighteen  .  her  sheer  potency  shirks  her  competition  &  she  strides  to  the  stage  with  a  smirk  curled  on  her  lips  .  the  capitol  takes  an  instant  liking  to  her  –  just  the  name  nero  strikes  their  hearts  with  admiration  ;  mixed  with  the  baby  face  ,  the  clear  bloodlust  in  crimson  lips  as  she  boasts  with  pride  about  the  games  .  she  loves  the  games  ,  she  loves  the  capitol  ,  she’s  a  victor  wrapped  up  in  the  cloth  of  a  princess  .  it  becomes  clear  that  manipulation  is  her  forte  –  she’s  good  with  words  ,  she  leaves  everyone’s  head  spinning  &  she  walks  away  with  a  training  score  of  ten  before  interviews  .  when  she  meets  the  stage  clad  in  a  a  ruffly  dress  ,  she  makes  the  crowd  love  her  (  ❛  oh  ,  it’s  an  honor  .  ❜  ,  ❛  i  hope  i  can  make  you  guys  proud  of  me  .  ❜  ,  ❛  my  brother  would’ve  been  so  happy  that  you  guys  have  given  me  a  proud  welcome  .  ❜  )  –  she  earns  her  fair  share  of  sponsors  the  night  before  her  games  &  goes  into  the  game  knowing  she’ll  win  .

                          her  games  are  much  like  her  ,  barbaric  down  to  the  bone  .  a  seemingly  never  ending  fjord  ,  surrounded  by  climbable  walls  of  rock  –  it  almost  reminds  her  of  home  .  the  bloodbath  starts  on  rocky  shores  ,  the  cornucopia  is  the  mouth  of  a  cave  halfway  underwater  &  nero  claims  her  first  kills  in  the  water  .  the  girl  from  eleven  ,  held  underwater  the  way  her  brother  held  her  ;  the  boy  from  three  ,  head  bashed  in  with  a  rock  ;  the  pair  from  five  ,  spear  through  the  pair  like  kebob  .  her  allies  look  to  her  for  instructions  ,  the  career  pack  waits  for  an  eighteen  year  old  empress  to  give  orders  to  her  soldiers  .  the  careers  run  the  game  ,  it’s  almost  un-fun  to  watch  if  not  for  nero  &  her  sheer  entertainment  .  her  laughs  ,  the  quips  she  sends  to  allies  &  non  allies  alike  ,  still  used  as  soundbites  &  promotions  to  this  day  .  she  starts  wars  with  her  words  before  ending  it  herself  with  crimson  stained  hands  .  she  turns  her  allies  against  each  other  just  to  take  them  down  herself  in  the  woods  ,  promises  safety  to  the  non  careers  only  to  betray  them  in  the  cruelest  of  ways  .  her  final  showdown  –  the  girl  from  three  ;  she  survived  to  kill  the  girl  that  killed  her  partner  ,  for  love  ,  or  something  –  the  thing  nero’s  never  searched  for  .  they  survive  a  fall  from  a  cliff  into  icy  waters  &  after  nearly  dying  from  electrocution  ,  blood  is  spilt  in  fjord  water  &  nero  claims  the  crown  with  her  knee  on  the  back  of  the  tribute  ,  hands  drenched  like  the  hair  clutched  in  her  fingers  .  she  can  still  remember  her  brother  trying  to  drown  her  ,  he’s  with  her  when  she  wins  .

                         𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢𝐢𝐢.  a  willing  tribute  ,  an  ecstatic  victor  .  she’s  chased  the  crown  for  as  long  as  she’s  lived  &  to  hold  it  in  her  hands  is  enough  to  make  her  smile  for  a  lifetime  .  eager  to  shake  hands  with  president  snow  ,  nero  has  an  easier  life  as  a  tribute  than  most  –  she  has  NO  regrets  ,  she’s  the  perfect  tribute  ,  the  perfect  victor  &  quickly  rises  to  almost  it  -  girl  status  .  her  face  is  everywhere  ,  the  face  of  multiple  brands  &  products  ,  life  size  advertisements  are  all  around  the  capitol  &  her  game  goes  down  in  history  (  top  three  on  the  most  ruthless  ,  cruelest  victors  in  history  )  .  because  of  her  willingness  &  her  eagerness  ,  she  gets  an  easy  life  –   parties  with  the  rich  ,  nights  spent  with  fans  willingly  .  snow  keeps  a  loose  leash  on  his  newest  ,  favorite  victor  ;  lets  her  wield  her  words  in  whichever  way  she  wants  &  nero  gets  everything  she  wants  .  she  watches  with  her  head  held  high  as  others  suffer  ,  losing  no  sleep  ,  sleeping  with  whoever  she  wants  ,  gaining  whatever  she  wants  –  empress  nero  is  branded  on  her  skin  in  invisible  ink  ,  but  she  wears  the  title  with  pride  .

                          and  yet  ,  she  feels  a  little  suffocated  by  the  time  the  74th  games  come  around  .  she’s  known  now  ,  a  capitol  lap  dog  ,  a  willing  victor  ,  a  willing  tribute  –  nero  waterway  is  not  only  lethal  ,  she’s  ruthless  ;  but  ,  there’s  a  part  of  her  that  realizes  snow  is  tightening  her  leash  .  he  demands  secrets  from  the  people  she  beds  ,  the  lives  of  her  parents  hangs  over  her  heads  &  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  ,  nero  FALTERS  underneath  the  watchful  gaze  of  the  capitol  . she  doesn’t  live  up  to  her  namesake  for  the  few  months  leading  up  to  the  games  ,  shirks  from  the  limelight  she’s  grown  to  love  as  she  reevaluates  her  decisions  .  regret’s  started  to  seep  into  her  bones  ,  but  nero  is  an  empress  ,  she  doesn’t  know  how  to  surrender  .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊   ╱   𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

exterior  ,  known  to  be  both  potent  &  untrustworthy  –  nero’s  still  managed  to  wrap  the  capitol  around  her  little  finger  .  she  makes  heads  spin  with  harmless  words  ,  pulls  strings  while  she  bakes  cakes  for  her  favorite  game  makers  .  outwardly  ,  people  know  she’s  NOT  to  be  underestimated  –  that  though  she’s  terrifyingly  tiny  ,  she’s  much  more  lethal  than  most  people  will  ever  be  in  their  entire  lives  .  nero  ,  like  her  namesake  ,  synonymous  with  evil  &  savagery  ,  will  start  wars  without  lifting  a  finger  &  laugh  while  her  fingers  get  stained  with  blood  . 

&  while  the  capitol  craves  it  ,  it  may  rub  other  victors  the  wrong  way  .  a  bit  too  proud  of  her  achievements  ,  nero  has  absolutely  no  regrets  about  her  life  .  she’s  trained  for  it  her  entire  life  ,  she  grasps  her  laurel  wreath  in  between  crimson  hands  &  she  boasts  her  pride  .  she  rolls  in  the  fame  &  the  glory  ,  not  understanding  the  nightmares  &  the  remorse  felt  by  other  winners  clad  in  gold  .  young  &  naive  ,  she’s  almost  childlike  with  her  pure  glee  –  if  not  for  the  bloodthirsty  barbarian  hiding  inside  of  her  .  outrageously  pretentious  ,  borderline  evil  ,  everything  she  says  has  a  meaning  behind  it  –  usually  negative  .

interior  ,  nero  is  lonely  .  a  victorious  socialite  of  all  things  now  ,  she  trains  the  potential  tributes  back  home  ,  attends  lavish  parties  &  mingles  with  high  status  citizens  but  she’s  lonely  at  the  top  .  a  stranger  to  romance  ,  she’s  never  sought  after  it  as  much  as  she  seeks  sexual  interactions  –  she  more  craves  friendship  ,  companionship  in  the  way  she  used  to  have  an  older  brother  .  

but  she  hides  it  well  ,  takes  pictures  by  her  advertisements  ,  watches  the  games  with  glee  ,  laughs  with  game  makers  &  other  ruthless  victors  .  she  masks  her  loneliness  &  her  suspicion  with  charm  &  her  preceding  reputation  ,  unaware  that  her  isolation  is  exactly  what  president  snow  wants  .  her  loneliness  is  what  he  counts  on  ,  but  as  smart  as  nero  is  strategically  ,  she  stupid  .

midway  ,  her  psyche’s  been  a  bit  twisted  &  contorted  because  of  her  upbringing  –  what  ,  with  the  attempted  murder  &  the  glorification  of  the  annual  murder  games  .  she’s  been  an  unfortunate  victim  of  the  capitol’s  brainwashing  ,  viewing  the  games  as  an  extravagant  event  &  winning  to  be  the  greatest  honor  .  she’s  flourished  as  a  victor  as  well  ,  willingly  playing  into  everything  the  capitol  wants  her  to  become  as  a  side  effect  of  being  so  terribly  naive  about  everything  .

there’s  a  part  of  her  that’s  starting  to  suspect  something  is  wrong  –  whispers  of  traitors  &  to  keep  a  close  watch  on  all  the  victors  ,  but  it’s  not  like  nero  has  many  actual  friends  .  not  many  people  actually  want  to  befriend  someone  that’d  gladly  go  into  the  games  again  ,  but  she’s  sat  back  &  observed  while  snow  tightens  her  leash  ,  restricting  her  from  her  daily  life  .  early  signs  of  regret  are  starting  to  seep  into  her  bones  as  snow  starts  demanding  more  &  more  ,  but  she’s  been  idolizing  the  capitol  &  everything  all  her  life  –  it’ll  take  a  lifetime  to  wipe  her  slate  clean  .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗   ╱   𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

in  conclusion  :  nero’s  evil  ,  very  bad  ,  very  annoying  .  &  don’t  look  at  me  ,  i  know  this  is  long  &  THIS  is  why  i  couldn’t  take  up  two  muses  cos  then  i’d  be  stupid  for  BOTH  &  i’m  simply  so  fuckin  stupid  please  love  me  anyway  if  u  wanna  plot  ....  jus  like  this  &  i’ll  slide  in  .

[elleryandesine]

Ellery’s Reaping

Ellery had never been to a reaping. District 2 barely had one, at least by comparison to some of its neighbors. As a career district, the reaping process would often take weeks-- a list of well-trained applicants would be whittled down further and further after a series of tests revealed which candidates had the best shot at winning the Games. Reaping Day itself? Well, it was more of a formality than anything else. Names were drawn, pre-selected careers volunteered, and the whole affair was usually over as soon as it had started. Most years didn’t even have a public gathering. It was one of those days that people tended to forget about. It came, and then it went.

Today’s reaping was different.

A ferocious night of partying behind him, Ellery was splayed out in his bed before being jolted awake by the sound of a creaking door.

“Jasper, is that you?” he groaned. It wouldn’t be anyone else, but he was still surprised by the intrusion. Ellery’s butler was normally better about knocking first.

“Yes, sir,” Jasper answered from the doorway. “I’m extremely sorry to bother you, but your father has requested your presence.”

My father? thought Ellery. Decimus was a busy man, but he had never requested assistance from his son in such a graceless way. Ellery let out another groan. This can’t be good.

“Call him and let him know I’ll be over there shortly,” replied Ellery. The Andesine Quarry was carved into the mountains at the far edge of District 2-- at least a thirty-minute cab ride from the mansion. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” stammered Jasper. “He’s... uh... already here.”

Ellery completed his trilogy of groans, dragging himself out of bed and stumbling over to the doorway. He was wearing nothing save for a tired scowl and wine-stained bathrobe. 

“You’re really trying my patience today, Jasper,” he muttered under his breath. The old man looked away awkwardly, guiding his master down the buttressed hall without a single word. After what felt like forever, they arrived at a massive archway lining a pair of ornate marble doors. 

Something was wrong-- the manor staff were gone, replaced by a pair of stern-looking peacekeepers. Ellery’s stomach turned. He remembered a similar day, six years ago... same hall, same uniforms, same rude awakening by Jasper... No, no, no, he thought. Not again. That day, he had opened the doors to find his mother with a gun to her head. He only had a few moments to say goodbye before she was driven off and executed for treason. Decimus had been away at the Capitol-- Ellery was all alone as the peacekeepers raided the mansion, looking for any connection between his father and the rebels. 

They never found one, but that didn’t stop Ellery from playing the day’s events in his brain on loop. Honestly, he wasn’t exactly surprised to see the peacekeepers return. Was it true all along? he wondered. Was my father really plotting against Panem? He pushed open the marble doors, expecting to find Decimus in custody-- or worse, already dead...

Instead, he found the business mogul reclining in a lounge chair. No guns, no peacekeepers-- just Decimus, with a gilded piece of paper in his hands. He barely noticed Ellery enter, focused rather on the text in front of him.

“Sir?” asked Ellery, hesitantly. “You called for me?”

His father’s beady eyes darted up from the paper and onto Ellery. They screamed of confusion, as if Decimus were unsure who he was looking at. A few seconds later, the recognition set in.

“Oh, Ellery, yes...” he spoke in short, nervous bursts. “I have, um, some news.” 

“Yes, I was told,” replied Ellery. “What is it? Did President Coin accept our request for additional machinery?” 

Decimus blinked a few times, then gathered his thoughts. “Yes, actually, she did. But, um... that’s not why I called you.” He picked up the gold paper and extended it toward his son. “You see, um... I was informed by the Mayor this morning... according to this document, you’ve, um... well, you’ve been chosen as a potential tribute for the Quarter Quell.”

Ellery let out a nervous giggle. “The Quell? Well, isn’t that exciting. I’ve always wanted to be reaped-- quite a novel experience, isn’t it?”

His father didn’t laugh.

“Anyway,” Ellery continued, “I wonder who volunteered to replace me. Wait-- don’t tell me... it was Sergius, right? Or maybe Hector... he was always a strong one, after all...”

“There are no volunteers,” replied Decimus. “That’s the stipulation for this Quell. They’re picking ten of you for the Capitol and having them choose who they want to compete.”

Ellery felt his stomach turn. Again. This was impossible! The Andesines were the most well-respected family in any of the districts, hands-down. The only thing that didn’t make them Capitol was their District 2 lineage. That Coin bitch has some nerve if she thinks she can fuck with us.

But then, it dawned on him-- she already had. All those years ago, when his mother had been carted off like a piece of meat... that’s all they really were to Coin, wasn’t it? The Andesines may have been gourmet steaks, but they were nonetheless meat in the eyes of the Capitol. And Ellery was the tastiest meat of all. He was practically a celebrity in the Capitol, at least a B-list one. When he visited the city of Panem’s elite, he had always been greeted by cameras and curious looks.

How are you so eloquent? they asked. Are you sure you’re from District 2?

He was beautiful, he was tragic-- he was everything the Capitol could’ve wanted in a tribute. Upon this realization, Ellery’s eyes shook with fear and he ran back into the corridor at an alarming speed. He didn’t get far. The peacekeepers grabbed him and forced him to his knees. 

“Be careful with him!” shouted Decimus from behind them, voice breaking in two. “That’s my son!” 

One of the peacekeepers laughed, and the other kicked Ellery in the ribs. Bastards! he thought. He always knew they hated him. No self-respecting Capitol citizen could live in a barracks without looking on the Andesine mansion with jealousy. Ellery wondered if they’d killed his mother with the same amount of glee. 

He was given two minutes to change, then marched out to a car and driven to the city square. What followed were hours of interviews, paperwork, and tearful goodbyes-- mainly with Decimus, but Jasper as well. Ellery’s father assured him that if worse came to worst, he would help him win the Games however he could. Decimus was well-connected in the Capitol, and this reassured Ellery. The media attention was intense-- District citizens were outraged at his selection, Capitol reporters were enthralled, and Ellery did his best to soak up the spotlight.

It wasn’t until nighttime that this new reality hit Ellery with its cold, hard weight. He was destined to be selected, there was no question about that. But what then? The bed in the Justice Building felt clinical and stiff. Ellery wished he had some morphling to help him calm down. Or at least some alcohol. He didn’t, though-- it was all back at the mansion. Everything was. 

Ellery wondered if his mother had felt this way in her final moments. It didn’t matter. He closed his eyes-- hoping that when he opened them, the whole affair would be revealed as some drug-induced hallucination. 

He opened them. It wasn’t.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Carl Reiner (1922 - 2020)

Betty and Dick Dixon would put their three sons to bed by nine o’clock at night in 1962, then settle in for a little TV viewing before turning in themselves.

Betty would fold laundry or do some sewing sitting on the couch while Dick, not much of a TV viewer unless it was sports or news, would read the paper for ten to fifteen minutes before dozing off in his big green overstuffed armchair.

Rikk and Robert Dixon may very well have been asleep along with their dad come nine-thirty, but on Wednesday nights little Buzzy boy lay awake and alert in bed, listening to the faint TV sounds in the living room, waiting for a familiar theme to start playing.

When it did, he carefully crept out of bed, down the hall, and into the living room, crouching behind his father’s chair while Dick Dixon snoozed away, peering over the top like Kilroy in the old WWII graffiti.

He was there to watch The Dick Van Dyke Show, and today, sadly, he’s here to commemorate the incredible genius behind it and to acknowledge a debt that can never be replayed.

I’ve posted elsewhere about how I gravitated to the art of story telling at an early age, already analyzing and dissected the way stories were told even before I knew what I was doing.  The Dick Van Dyke Show was tailor made for me, even at the age of eight.

Seriously, what’s not to love?

It was a series about a lucky guy with a happy home and a wonderful wife and the greatest job in the world:  Hanging out all day with two great and funny friends, doing nothing but coming up with ideas and skits and stories, all of which end up being broadcast on a popular TV show.

For 90% of the writers of my generation, The Dick Van Dyke Show proved to be the single greatest career inspiration.

And we can all thank Carl Reiner for that.

. . .

Go ahead and Google him; you’ll find more info that I can pack into this wholly inadequate obituary. 

The man was a creative genius with no misplaced ego.  Whatever worked, as long as it made the final project better.

Reiner was hilarious in person, but he also knew when to let someone else shine.  He and Mel Brooks performed a long running free-form improvisational routine called “The 2,000 Year Old Man” in which Reiner would play a reporter interviewing Brooks, the aforementioned 2,000 year old man.

The secret to a good comedy team is the straight man.  It’s the straight man’s job to guide the performance of the comic, to steer them away from failing ideas and back towards laugh getters.  When comedy teams split up it’s typically because either the straight man wants to be recognized as equally funny, or (more commonly) because the comic thinks they can do it on their own.

Reiner and Brooks revived the 2,000 Year Old man again and again and again, never running out of material.  Never once did Reiner try to one-up Brooks -- and never once did Brooks think he could do the routine all on his lonesome.

It takes supreme self-confidence to step back and let somebody else get the spotlight, but Reiner could do that.

The Dick Van Dyke Show wasn’t supposed to be a show about Dick Van Dyke.

It started life as a pilot called The Head Of The Family and other than living in a New York brownstone instead of a ranch house in New Rochelle, it was pretty much the same show that became one of television’s all time classic sit-coms.

Only it starred Carl Reiner.

For reasons best known to CBS, the suits decided they wanted Van Dyke, then an up and coming stage actor, to carry a show based on Reiner’s personal life experiences.

Reiner graciously ceded the point and stepped back.

Would The Head Of The Family have been the big hit The Dick Van Dyke Show was?

Maybe; maybe not.

Casting chemistry has a lot to do with the success of any production.

But it sure would have been just as funny.

. . .

Another aspect of Reiner’s comedy sensibilities is that his work never felt meanspirited.

Ph, he could skewer inflated egos with the best of ‘em, but he never belittled or demeaned his characters.

The Comic is a sadly underrated drama he made with Dick Van Dyke about a has-been silent movie comedian.  We find ourselves laughing at first, but by the end of the picture we come to realize it’s not a comedy but rather a tragedy with some grimly comic bits.

Where’s Poppa? is another underrated film, against bypassed by most audiences as a morbidly comic film, but again, it’s not.

Rather, it’s a sad yet humorous story about an adult child desperately trying to cope with a parent sliding deeper and deeper into dementia with each passing day.

Reiner’s writing always showed he wanted good things to happen to his characters -- all his characters.

He wanted them to learn, he wanted them to rise above themselves, he wanted them to be better people than they thought they were.

And the humor came in their failings, true, but the failings were never the climax of the story, just act two.

And while Reiner could be passionate in striving for things he believed right, and strenuous in his opposition to those whom he felt inflicted harm, at every step of the way one could sense he hoped the other side would have a flash of insight, a moment of awakening when they’d recognize what they were doing and turn away from it.

Carl Reiner knew the difference between justice and retribution.

. . .

I met Carl Reiner briefly once at Howie Morris’ funeral (see what he and Carl and Sid Caesar could do together here).  I exchanged a few Tweets with him; he was kind enough to respond to a few comments I posted.

I did get to tell him how much The Dick Van Dyke Show influenced me, not just professionally but personally, and while I think he heard that a lot from many, many other writers, I think he appreciated it every time.

No bask, not preen, not strut in pride, but appreciate that something he did made such an impact on literally thousands of other people that it changed their lives.

No, we didn’t all go on to be big time TV writers -- let’s be brutally honest, I’m a piddlin’ size fish in the tiny pond of TV animation -- but it gave us something to aim for, something to aspire to.

Even those who never made it in show biz gained something from that show, and I’ve never heard anyone regret any decision they made based on it.

So again, thank you, Carl.

You made a huge impact.

The world is not just a different place because you were in it, it’s a better place.

 © Buzz Dixon

[urlocalkpoptrash]

Bad Time For A Good Time| Chapter 19.

Chapter 19: Flames.

Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: lots of cursing.

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Jeon Jungkook is the ultimate bachelor; guarded, angry, rich, body count that puts the numeric system to shame, and aimless - what else could a girl want? You’ve been working in the same dead end job, hoping it would get you somewhere. You finally have your foot in the door, and the person you need to win over is slamming your foot out. What can you do?

- - - - - - - - -

The thing with fire is that it goes out, it gets cold. Fire is temporary, it burns so bright and if you’re one of the unlucky ones stuck in its path, you will be nothing but ashes and smoke when it’s done. Loving someone who’s soul is made of fire will only end in one way, there is no other possible outcome. You will end up burnt or even worse, you’ll be destroyed far too bad to be fixed. Unfortunately, we all love playing with a little fire.

Jungkook lived life so full and head on, he was always ablaze, lighting up the world around him. Maybe that’s what kept you drawn in, like a moth to a flame. He felt everything so intensely, which to some could be a good thing, but those people have never felt the pain of falling for someone who only used you to keep them warm. Jungkook was about to feel that pain, and there was nothing you could do to make him see otherwise.

“Tae,” his name was a cry that hung in the air, suspended by tension that was circulating around everyone.

“Y/N,” he responded, coldly.

“You don’t have to do this,” you were pleading with him, your eyes swallowing the menacing grin that jerked across his face.

“But I do, y/n. It’s only fair that I even the playing ground, cause this is all just a game to you, right?” He stepped out of the spotlight, and closer to the door.

Namjoon tumbled away from the doorstep and into the house. He looked over his shoulder at you, and Jungkook had moved away from you. You could feel his gaze locked on you, but you couldn’t bare to meet his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Taehyung,” you hissed, your fear being masked with anger.

He laughed, but there was no joy. It was bitter and it felt like it froze your heart. This wasn’t the tae you knew, this wasn’t the person who had been your best friend for years. You didn’t know this man standing before you.

“Oh? I don’t know what I’m talking about? Alright, then let’s explain everything in your own words, shall we?” His face lit up from your phone as he entered the passcode. Of course he knew the passcode, he knew everything about you.

“I’m going to be introduced as his new PR assistant. So, I’ll be around him all the time. I have to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, while simultaneously trying to be irresistible,” he read the text out like it was a script from a movie.

“What is he talking about, Y/N?” Jungkooks voice had lowered at least two octaves.

You turned your head to finally meet his gaze, and you weren’t expecting him to look absolutely devastated. You wanted him to look anything but hurt, you’d rather see rage, or apathy. You would have rather him scream in your face, you couldn’t fathom hurting him the way you were about to.

“Gguk, just let me explain, please. Don’t listen to him,” you reached up, pressing your hands to his chest, but he gripped your wrists and threw them off his body.

“How about I explain, because at this point everyone is going to find out just how much you can’t be trusted,” tae snapped, taking another step towards you.

Namjoon immediately took a step in front you, his arm stretching out so tae couldn’t get any closer to you. You knew he wasn’t doing this cause he cared, he was doing this because he was just a protective man. You knew that he was pissed, his jaw was clench, his dimples sinking into his cheeks, making him look terrifying.

“Oh, Joonie,” tae teased heartlessly, “you think you’re going to get off without any repercussion?” He wagged his eyebrows, asking with some enthusiasm.

Taehyung looked back down, his thumb tapping on the screen as he scrolled through all your texts, the green lights flickering across his face. You wanted to reach out and snatch the phone from his hand, you wanted to know why he was doing this.

“Ah! Here they are, and might I say, that Namjoon has quite a wonderful eye for dick pictures. Good choice on the grey sweatpants,” he turned the screen to face all of you.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye, catching Namjoons eyes closing for a moment. He knew he was going to lose his best friend, and that his world was about to change drastically, and it was all your fault. You did this to them.

That’s when it hit you, the realization that this was all your fault. How could it not be? It was your fault tae went down this path, it was your fault that joon was about to lose one of his brothers, it was your fault that Jungkook was going to be broken hearted. You were fully to blame, and it was all because you couldn’t say no, all because you wanted to further your career.

“Taehyung, please stop,” you tried to plead with him again, but if you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t stop if you were in his shoes.

“Why?! Why the fuck should I stop?! Huh?! Should I spare your fucking feeling, y/n? Should I pretend that you’re the victim in this!? Cause that’s exactly what you want. You want everyone to feel sorry for you, because every fucking thing is about you. You can’t take responsibility for one god damn thing in your life. Who are you going to blame this time? Who’s fault is all this? What poor fucker is going to be sucked into the black hole that his your heart! WHO?! Please, fucking tell me!” You swore his eyes had taken up half his face, they were so wide and so angry.

“Me..” you admitted, your eyes stinging from the tears that were threatening to escape, but you wouldn’t let them.

The room fell completely silent, not even tae had a witty and rude comeback. No one, including yourself, imagined you’d be admitting your wrongs in a room full of people you had some sort of love for - each of them now being torn apart by your recklessness.

“I’m to blame, Taehyung. This is all because I’m selfish,” you hard swallowed, your throat dry as can be.

“What are you saying, y/n? Was all this fake? Was all this to benefit you?” Jungkook’s tone was now sharp, it was his turn to be angry.

“Yes... it was, originally... but everything changed, I started to have real feelings for you. I tried so hard not to let them get the best of me, I just couldn’t though,” your chin began to quiver, your strength was fading away too quickly for you to regain it.

“And what did you get out of this? What did you get out of playing with my feelings? What’s your reward for making me fall in love with you? Is it a good one? Is it worth the manipulation and lies you brought into my life? Is it worth me? Hmm? What is it?” He crossed his arms across his chest, his fingers balling to a tight fist, making his knuckles go white.

“Head of marketing,” the tears had now made a clear path down your cheeks, falling off at your jaw.

“My dad set you up to this?” He sounded as if he couldn’t even believe his own words.

You nodded silently, dragging the back of your hand over your cheeks to clear off the tears.

“And what about Namjoon?” He asked, looking up to his hyung, who was feeling far too guilty to even glance at him.

No one answered him, again the silence filling the dead air. No one wanted to answer this question, mostly because everyone knew that you had manipulated joon into this whole mess, it wasn’t his fault that you used him to get to his best friend.

“FUCKING TELL ME!” He screamed, his voice cracking at the end, he wasn’t keeping it together any better than you.

“I used him.. to get to you,” your heart was rattling against your ribs.

“Did you fuck him?” He was ice cold now, you weren’t the girl he was in love with, you were a homewrecker, you were a gold digger, you were everything he was afraid of.

You merely moved your head in an up and down motion, not even a full nod. You felt like a disgrace, and you knew that he probably felt the same about you.

“Namjoon...” he squeezed his name out from between clenched teeth.

Joon finally brought his head up, matching the gaze with his younger friend. They stared at each other for a moment, and as if Jungkook was having an epiphany, his mouth fell open.

“The girl you were talking about.. the girl you were trying to make yours... that was y/n, wasn’t it?” And there it was, the icing on the cake. He realized that not only was he in love with you, but his mentor, his best friend, his brother, was in the same boat as him.

“Do you love her?” He didn’t even bother to let him answer the first set of questions, because he already knew the answer.

You didn’t want to hear the answer, you didn’t want to know how much you had fucked up. You couldn’t bare to hear him say the one word that could actually break you down.

“Yes. I love her too,” he said it, and you could no longer hold on to what little restrain you had left.

An audible cry raked through your chest, clawing it’s way from the depths of your pain. You buried your face in your hands. You couldn’t bare to see them, you were so ashamed of your actions. You weren’t crying for yourself, you didn’t deserve sympathy. You were crying for them, and what you did to them.

“My work here is done,” Taehyung turned to leave, but stopped mid circle, “Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s your phone,” he threw it at your feet, the phone landing face down, pieces of glass from the screen splattering over the floor.

“Gguk...” you dragged your hands down, showing your face.

You almost fell to the floor when you saw that he had tears in his eyes, they swam dangerously close to the shoreline of his eyes, begging to fall down his cheeks, but he shook his head. When he looked back at you, they were gone and the cold, brooding Jungkook you first met was back. You had lost him, you weren’t behind his wall anymore, you were the main enemy he was trying to keep out.

“I want you out of my house, y/n. I don’t ever want to see you around here again. By the way, you consider your deal with my father off the table, and your job terminated,” his nostrils flared as he tried to stay distance and aloof with you.

“Jungkook, please, just listen to me,” you were ready grovel for his forgiveness, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“I said get the fuck out of my house! I can’t stand to look at you, or let alone hear your voice!” He grabbed your shattered phone and threw it out of his house, and he did the same with your keys.

Your breathing stuttered from crying so hard, you couldn’t stop sniffling or cleaning your nose with the back of your hand again. You knew he wasn’t going to listen, you couldn’t blame him though. You hurried out of his house in only his shirt, and nothing else. You grabbed your obliterated phone, and your keys which had slide across the drive way. You were glad that he lived in a pretty secluded area, no neighbors to watch your walk of shame.

You fumbled with your keys as you opened the driver side door, your tear filled eyes making it hard to see, and definitely making you incapable of driving, so you did the only thing you could. You screamed in your car, slamming your hands against your steering wheel. Your body was shaking, and it felt like the world was slipping away from you. You could only feel the pain, it rang in your ears, and sang through your veins. You cried so hard that not even a sound came from your mouth. It ripped through your body like a fire, burning you up to leave with nothing but ashes.