#ensemble cast performance

[ulkaralakbarova]

Film Review: Mastering Elegance on Screen: How 'The Devil Wears Prada' Became a Timeless Cinematic Jewel

Andy (Anne Hathaway) whispers some important information to her fashion magazine editor boss, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep).PHOTOGRAPHS TO BE USED SOLELY FOR ADVERTISING, PROMOTION, PUBLICITY OR REVIEWS OF THIS SPECIFIC MOTION PICTURE AND TO REMAIN THE PROPERTY OF THE STUDIO. NOT FOR SALE OR REDISTRIBUTION. Watching an older film offers a delightful journey down memory lane, where one can…

[deus-regina]

When I say the Adamanticore AU is my madness, this is what I mean--

Since coming to this fandom I've built a structure for writing my fics, and that's making a planner document where I jot out the storyline summary, the genre, the rough idea on fic tags, and pinpoint the key events I want to have happen.

Then I create a summarized timeline of every scene/event that occurs in the story, start to finish, so that I can just cleanly write all of it out linearly. It's basically like my train tracks.

Anyway, the Adas fic I planned to be split into 4 acts (all in the one fic), and so far I've done the event summary for 3 of those 4 acts-- and it's like, 12,500 words LMFAO...

[boldlychristina]

im gonna be real with you chat, it has been very hard to attempt to quell my "irrational" thoughts when the universe seems intent on proving them right

[youryurigoddess]

Darling, wake up, an official confirmation of a brand new Good Omens 3 character with a forename and surname just dropped — one that reveals the first actor outside of the original S1 and S2 ensemble cast at that!

Hamilton Hodell talent agency has surreptitiously revealed that Sean Pertwee (the Third Doctor's son, known for his performance alongside Derek Jacobi in Cadfael TV series) will appear in Good Omens 3: The Finale (2025) as “Brian Cameron” — possible reference to Gaslight (1944)?

Sean Pertwee on the left, Joseph Cotten — the Gaslight’s Brian Cameron — on the right for some comparison.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

tailored for you

The Manhattan skyline glittered against the evening sky as she gazed out of the penthouse suite window. The sun was setting, casting golden hues across the city that never sleeps. In a few hours, the Metropolitan Museum of Art would be hosting the most prestigious fashion event of the year—the Met Gala—and her childhood sweetheart, now the love of her life, would be making his debut on the iconic steps.

She turned away from the window to look at Choi Seungcheol, better known to his fans as S.Coups, leader of the globally acclaimed K-pop group SEVENTEEN. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his custom-made BOSS suit for what must have been the twentieth time in the past hour.

"Is it too much?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "Maybe I should have gone with something more... conventional?"

She smiled, walking over to stand behind him. Her hands reached up to smooth down the shoulders of his impeccably tailored jacket. The designer had created something truly special—a modern interpretation of this year's theme, "Superfine: Tailoring Black Style" (or "Tailored for You"), fashioning an elegant gray suit with elements inspired by traditional Korean hanbok. The clean lines, and subtle asymmetrical closure evoked his heritage while the refined tailoring showcased Seungcheol's strong frame and commanding presence.

"It's perfect," she assured him, her voice soft but certain. "You look incredible."

Seungcheol's reflection offered a shy smile, but she could see the anxiety swimming in his eyes. This was different from performing on stage with his members. Tonight, he would be representing BOSS as one of their global ambassadors, walking the Met Gala carpet solo, surrounded by Hollywood A-listers and fashion royalty.

"I keep thinking I'm going to trip on the stairs," he admitted, turning to face her. His hand reached up to ruffle his perfectly styled hair—a nervous habit he'd had since they were children—but she caught his wrist just in time.

"Don't you dare," she laughed. "Your stylist will have a meltdown."

Seungcheol pouted, and for a moment, she saw the same boy who had climbed the tree outside her childhood home in Daegu to leave little notes on her window sill. The boy who had promised, at just thirteen years old, that one day they would see the world together.

"How is it that twenty years later, you still get that same look when you're nervous?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "The same pout from when you were about to perform at the school talent show and thought no one would like your rap."

His expression softened into a genuine smile. "And you're still the only one who can calm me down."

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the moment. Seungcheol glanced at the screen and chuckled. "It's the guys," he said, using his affectionate term for his fellow members. "Probably calling to wish me luck... or to make fun of me."

He answered the video call, and immediately the room filled with the chaotic energy of nine excited voices.

"HYUNG!" Seungkwan's voice dominated initially. "Show us the outfit! We've been dying to see the final look!"

Seungcheol laughed, some of his nervousness visibly melting away as he propped the phone up against a vase and stepped back to give them a full view of his ensemble.

"Wah, as expected of our leader!" Mingyu exclaimed, his handsome face filling most of the screen as he apparently leaned too close to the camera.

"Ya, move back, we can only see your nostrils," Soonyoung's voice commented, pulling Mingyu away.

"Hyung looks like James Bond," Hansol added appreciatively.

"Better than James Bond," Joshua corrected with his signature smile. "Our Cheollie is going to be the best-dressed man there."

She watched from the side, heart full as she observed the genuine brotherhood between these men who had spent their youth chasing dreams together. Now in their thirties, SEVENTEEN had achieved more than they had ever imagined—multiple world tours, numerous awards, and global recognition that extended well beyond the music industry into fashion, film, and philanthropy.

"Noona!" Chan, the youngest member, spotted her hovering at the edge of the frame. "You have to send us pictures! We know Seungcheol-hyung won't because he'll be too nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Seungcheol protested unconvincingly.

"Your left eye is twitching," Joshua pointed out in English before switching back to Korean. "It always does that before big events."

"Make sure he doesn't drink too much champagne," Jihoon added with a mischievous grin.

She stepped closer to the screen, smiling at the faces of the men who had become like family to her over the years. "I promise I'll keep him in line and send plenty of photos."

After a few more minutes of teasing and sincere well-wishes, they ended the call. Seungcheol's shoulders seemed lighter, his stance more relaxed.

"Better?" she asked, knowing how much strength he drew from his members, even from thousands of miles away.

"Better," he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "Though I'm still not convinced I belong at something like the Met Gala."

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Choi Seungcheol, you've performed in stadiums in front of tens of thousands of people. You've spoken at the United Nations. Your group's music has broken cultural and language barriers that people thought were impenetrable. If anyone belongs on that carpet tonight, it's you."

He gazed at her with such tenderness that her heart fluttered, just as it had when they were teenagers and he first told her he liked her more than just a friend.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Twenty years of practice" she replied with a soft smile.

[w1w2]

The Price of Affection

Part 1 | Next part

Minatozaki Sana x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7,5k

Synopsis: In a world of untouchable wealth and carefully drawn boundaries, Y/N is thrust into an arrangement that offers her everything.

Req by Anon

Notes: It was long as hell, so I split it into a few parts. I'm sorry for taking this long! Hope you won’t hate me, Anon.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The lounge hummed with quiet opulence, a symphony of clinking crystal, hushed negotiations, and polished laughter. Conversations wove through the air like invisible threads, merging seamlessly with the sultry strains of a live jazz ensemble. The scent of aged whiskey and rich cigars mingled with undertones of leather and expensive cologne, a reminder that this was a space reserved for those who had long since stopped checking price tags.

Golden chandeliers hung low, their soft glow casting elongated shadows against the sleek mahogany walls. The marble bar gleamed under the ambient lighting, tended by bartenders who moved with the efficiency of seasoned performers. Every guest was adorned in luxury, bespoke suits tailored to perfection, silk dresses that shimmered with the subtlest shift of movement, diamonds catching the light like scattered constellations. This was a world where wealth was not merely owned but worn like a second skin.

At the far end of the private lounge, draped in both luxury and disinterest, sat Minatozaki Sana.

She occupied a sleek leather couch with effortless poise, the dim lighting painting soft highlights along the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the sharp cut of her jaw. A vision of control, her every movement was deliberate, from the idle swirl of deep red wine in her crystal glass to the slow, practiced exhale of breath. There was a sharpness to her beauty, something untouchable, as if she existed slightly beyond reach.

The people surrounding her, business moguls, industry giants, men who held cities in the palms of their hands, laughed and indulged, their voices rich with self-importance. Yet, despite the company, Sana remained an island unto herself, detached and untouchable.

Another deal closed. Another night wasted.

The conversation around her was nothing more than static, the same rehearsed exchanges of power and influence. Sycophants eager to please, women and men eager to be noticed. It was all so predictable.

She exhaled slowly, bringing the wine glass to her lips, the deep red liquid barely stirring. Nothing ever excited her anymore. No person, no indulgence, no game.

Until her gaze drifted across the room.

And landed on her.

Y/N weaved gracefully through the crowded lounge, her movements fluid and practiced as she balanced a tray of half-empty glasses. The clink of glass on glass, the faint murmur of conversation, and the subtle scrape of high heels against polished floors, these sounds were as familiar to her as the rhythm of her own heartbeat. She had done this countless times, her every step marked by the same choreographed precision, but tonight, there was something different about her.

Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt that was ironed to perfection, paired with a fitted black vest and black slacks, she blended in with the other servers, yet there was something in her demeanor that set her apart. While others moved with the mechanical, well-practiced motions of hired hands, Y/N moved with purpose, with an awareness. Her sharp eyes, dark and perceptive, flicked across the room with a mixture of admiration and distance, as though she were a spectator in a world she didn’t quite belong to, yet couldn’t help but be fascinated by. She watched with a quiet intensity, like an artist studying the brushstrokes of a masterpiece she could never own.

Her gaze lingered on the finely dressed guests, their laughter like music to her ears but hollow to her soul. There was elegance here, yes, but a kind of elegance that felt put on, like a mask worn by those who didn’t want to be seen as they truly were. As she carefully set down a glass on a polished table, her fingers absently twirled the end of a worn pencil tucked behind her ear, a habit she hadn’t yet broken. The pencil was out of place in such a high-end environment, but it was hers, a small piece of her amidst a sea of luxury.

Beneath the hem of her apron, a small, pocket-sized sketchpad peeked out, the edges frayed from use.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

But she couldn’t help herself.

At every pause, in between serving, when the momentary stillness allowed for a breath of freedom, Y/N would slip the pad from her apron and open it to an empty page. The world around her, with all its gilded trappings, seemed to call to her like a strange siren song. She saw things others didn’t. The elegant hand of a woman reaching for a drink, her fingers delicate and poised as if the glass itself were a work of art. The subtle smirk of a man as he spoke to a woman, his lips curling in a way that wasn’t quite friendly, but not quite sinister either. The lonely, almost imperceptible tilt of a woman’s shoulders, even though she was surrounded by others, her neck heavy with jewels that could’ve bought an entire house.

Y/N’s pencil would dance across the page, capturing these moments with a fierce, quiet intensity. She could never get enough of it, the art of watching, of understanding the stories woven into the expressions and gestures of others.

This world... It fascinated her. It disgusted her. It wasn’t hers. And yet, every time her fingers moved across the paper, there was a strange, magnetic pull, an urge to capture it, to understand it, to make it hers for just a moment.

Why?

Perhaps it was the way people looked so sure of themselves here, so untouchable. Or perhaps it was the way the wealth clung to them, as if it had become part of their skin, their souls. The opulence was suffocating, yet every time she looked up, she found herself wondering how it would feel to be a part of it. To slip into the conversation without hesitation. To raise a glass and never think twice about the cost.

But that wasn’t her world. Not really.

Y/N didn’t belong to these people, and they certainly didn’t belong to her.

And yet, there was something in her chest, an ache, a longing, that kept her tethered to this place. To them.

As she returned to the bar to refill another glass, her attention once again caught on the high society that seemed to swirl around her like a powerful, intoxicating current. Her eyes flicked from person to person, from laughter to clinking glasses, but there was something different this time. A shift in the air. A strange sensation of being watched.

What she didn’t know, what she failed to notice, was that someone else was looking at her. From across the room, beneath the soft golden glow of the chandelier, eyes followed her every movement.

The gaze was intense. Calculating.

Minatozaki Sana had been watching her for some time.

Sana tapped a manicured finger against the rim of her wine glass, the slow, rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the sharp flick of her gaze. Across the room, between the ebb and flow of servers weaving through the crowd, a singular figure had captured her attention.

The girl with the sketchpad.

She watched as Y/N’s fingers moved with a quiet urgency, her pencil gliding over the paper in fluid, almost instinctive strokes. Her movements were precise but unhurried, as if she were racing against time yet savoring every second. Capturing something fleeting before it could dissolve into the background noise of wealth and indulgence.

Curious.

Sana had seen a lot of things in her life. Too much.

She had met people who built empires with their words and crushed fortunes with a flick of their wrist. People who whispered deals over glasses of the finest whiskey, their smiles razor-sharp, their intentions sharper. And she had met those who clung to power, desperate, bending at the knee to earn a place at the table.

Yet not a single one of them intrigued her.

They were all the same—predictable, rehearsed, painfully transparent in their greed or admiration. Some wanted her attention, others wanted her favor. But this girl?

She was different.

While others indulged in the luxury surrounding them, Y/N was simply observing, sketching, memorizing, dissecting the details of a world she wasn’t truly a part of.

Oblivious to the fact that a woman who could buy and sell entire companies was watching her.

Sana’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. How refreshing.

She set her glass down with the lightest clink, the crimson wine swirling as she leaned back against the couch.

“Who is she?” she murmured, her voice soft yet edged with quiet authority.

The man beside her, a senior business partner whose name she had long since stopped caring about, followed her gaze with a lazy chuckle. He was old enough to be her father, his presence tolerated only because of his wealth and the fact that he still served some use to her family’s empire.

“Just a server, I assume,” he said dismissively, swirling the liquor in his own glass. “These places always hire fresh-faced kids to make the guests feel younger.”

Sana didn’t respond immediately. She merely tilted her head, watching Y/N tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a smudge of graphite lingering on her fingertips.

She didn’t seem like someone who belonged here. And yet, she carried herself with a quiet resilience that set her apart from the other staff.

She didn’t seem like the usual type.

“She doesn’t seem like the usual type,” Sana mused aloud, her voice betraying a hint of amusement.

Her business partner huffed, as if bored with the subject already. “Well, if you want her, I’m sure she can be arranged.”

Sana’s fingers, still resting against her glass, went still.

The offhanded way he said it, as if he were offering an accessory, not a person, made something in her stomach twist, though she masked it well.

She had seen this side of the world too often, the way people with wealth and power treated those without it. Like objects. Like commodities to be bought and discarded when no longer entertaining.

And the most disgusting part? She had once played that game too.

Sana’s smirk didn’t falter, but something behind her eyes darkened. She hated men like him. Men who assumed everyone had a price because, in their world, they always did.

She ignored him. She always ignored people like him.

Instead, she stood with slow, deliberate grace, the soft rustle of her dress barely audible over the hum of conversation.

“I think I’ll introduce myself,” she murmured, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve.

And then, without another word, Minatozaki Sana crossed the room, closing the distance between them.

Y/N had long since perfected the art of moving unnoticed.

She had learned how to shrink into the background, how to exist in the peripheral vision of others without ever drawing their attention. It was a skill, a survival tactic honed over years of navigating spaces where she didn’t quite belong. She moved through the lounge with quiet efficiency, weaving between tables, balancing a tray with the kind of practiced grace that only came from desperation, not devotion.

The elite never truly looked at people like her. Not really.

To them, she wasn’t a person, just a function. A faceless server in a neatly pressed uniform. A pair of hands delivering their next drink. A voice that responded with, "Right away, ma’am," or "Of course, sir." Nothing more.

That was why she felt it immediately. The weight of a gaze.

It pressed against her skin, subtle yet inescapable, not unlike the slow burn of a candle’s flame held just close enough to feel the heat, but not close enough to burn. It wasn’t the casual glance of a guest scanning the room, nor the drunken, lingering stares she had long since learned to ignore.

This gaze was deliberate. Measured. Unrelenting.

Y/N’s fingers curled around the edge of her tray, her grip tightening instinctively. Had she done something wrong? She had been careful, hadn’t she? No one had seen her sketching. No one ever noticed her.

So why did it feel like someone was watching her?

Her breath shallowed, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin. Don’t look up. She should have just kept moving, kept her head down, but the weight of that stare demanded acknowledgment.

She swallowed, set down an empty glass at the bar with careful precision, and finally, lifted her gaze.

And there she was. 

The world around her tilted, or maybe it simply blurred. Minatozaki Sana was not supposed to be looking at her.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She had seen beauty before, but never like this.

Sana moved through the crowd as though she had been crafted for it, her very existence a study in control and elegance. She was an untouchable masterpiece, a woman who had everything and still carried herself like she had never needed to chase anything in her life. Her deep burgundy satin dress clung to her frame like liquid wealth, the fabric shifting and catching the soft golden glow of the chandeliers, as if the light itself wanted to worship her.

But it wasn’t her beauty that froze Y/N in place. It was her eyes. Dark. Sharp. Unwavering.

She was looking at her. No, studying her.

Y/N’s entire body went rigid, every instinct screaming that she should move, leave, disappear, but she couldn’t. The space between them crackled, heavy with something unspoken.

Why was she looking at her? A trick of the light? A fleeting glance mistaken for something more?

No.

Sana’s gaze lingered, steady and unapologetic, as if she were waiting for Y/N to notice. As if she had already decided something.

And then, she started walking toward her.

Sana didn’t rush.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if the space between them was hers to control, as if she had already decided that the distance would close only when she allowed it.

The crowd melted around her, people instinctively making way without even realizing they were doing it. Y/N watched, transfixed, as the woman, this woman, who had no business looking at her, let alone approaching her, closed the distance between them.

By the time she stopped in front of her, Y/N had to remind herself to breathe.

The air between them felt charged, thick with an intensity that made her fingers twitch against the tray she held. She didn’t know what this was, but she knew it was dangerous.

Sana tilted her head, her lips curving slightly, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was something else.

“Are you always this distracted?”

The voice was smoother than Y/N expected, low, laced with amusement, but carrying an edge of something unreadable.

Y/N blinked, willing her pulse to steady. She straightened her posture, clearing her throat before responding.

“My apologies, ma’am. Can I get you something?”

She gestured slightly to the tray, her voice neutral, professional. Unshaken. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Sana smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. "No. But I believe I can get you something."

Y/N frowned, momentarily thrown off. “I… don’t understand.”

Sana tilted her head slightly, studying her the way a cat might study a bird, interested, entertained, but in control. “You’re an artist.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Her fingers tightened around the tray. How did she know?

Sana’s gaze flicked downward, and Y/N followed it, only then realizing that, in her distraction, her sketchpad had slipped slightly from her apron pocket, the edges of a half-finished drawing peeking out.

Shit.

Sana’s eyes returned to hers, amusement flickering within them. “Relax. I’m not offended.”

Y/N swallowed. “I... It’s just a habit. I meant no disrespect, ma’am.”

Sana hummed, as if tasting the words on her tongue. “Interesting.”

Then, she took a step closer. Close enough that Y/N could catch the faintest trace of her perfume, something expensive, intoxicating, yet somehow subtle.

The kind of scent that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it anyway.

Sana leaned in just slightly, just enough that her presence became something more than casual.

“Do you always do things you’re not supposed to?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “Only when I don’t have a choice.”

Sana’s lips curled. “Then you might like what I’m about to offer you.”

Sana didn’t waste time. She never did.

Her gaze remained steady, unwavering, as she uttered the words that would change everything.

"I have a proposition for you."

Her voice was velvet-smooth, effortlessly commanding, laced with something dangerous, something final, as if she already knew the answer before Y/N could even comprehend the question.

"One that could change your life."

Y/N barely resisted the urge to scoff. She had heard those words before.

Rich people always thought they had something to offer, always assumed that the ones beneath them were waiting, desperate, hungry for salvation, willing to sell themselves for the right price.

Y/N wasn’t one of them.

Her jaw tightened, fingers curling around the tray she still held, as if grounding herself. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Sana tilted her head slightly, studying her, deciding. How much was she willing to say?

And then, she smirked.

A subtle curve of her lips, the kind of expression that spoke of knowledge, control, certainty. The kind of smile that said, "You don’t know it yet, but you’re already mine."

“I’ve seen people chase after wealth,” she mused. “I’ve seen people give up everything for it.”

She took a slow step forward, and Y/N felt the shift in the air, the growing tension, the way the space between them shrunk.

Sana’s voice dipped lower, just enough that Y/N felt it more than heard it. "You don’t seem like one of them."

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse jumped at the insinuation.

Was it an insult? A compliment? Or was it something else entirely? She wasn’t sure.

But the way Sana looked at her, the way those dark, knowing eyes pinned her in place, made her feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

"I’m offering you something simple," Sana continued, her words deliberate, unhurried, as if laying down cards in a game she already knew she would win.

"Financial support. Comfort. Security."

A pause.

A moment stretched just long enough for Y/N to feel the weight of it settle in her chest.

And then "In return, you’ll belong to me."

The words sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. She took a half-step back, instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Had she heard that right?

Her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something she refused to name.

Sana let the silence linger, let the words settle in the space between them like a trap disguised as silk. Her amusement was barely concealed, hidden behind the careful, poised expression of a woman who never asked for anything, only took.

She watched Y/N’s reaction like one might watch a bird trapped inside a cage, half-curious, half-predicting exactly what would happen next.

“I don’t mean it in a cruel way,” she said, her tone almost soothing, as if this was all perfectly reasonable, as if she were simply offering Y/N a glass of wine instead of something irreversible.

“You’ll be free to live your life, to pursue your art, to do whatever you wish.”

And then, Sana lifted a perfectly manicured hand, fingers brushing against the fabric of Y/N’s vest, plucking at a stray thread as if the gesture was casual. As if it wasn’t the first time she had touched her, as if she hadn’t just rewritten the course of Y/N’s life in a single breath.

"But when I call for you, you’ll come to me."

The touch barely lasted a second, feather-light, insignificant. And yet, Y/N felt it everywhere.

A phantom warmth lingering against her skin, hot, unwanted, inescapable.

This is insane.

“This is a joke,” Y/N muttered, shaking her head, trying to shake off the weight of what was being asked of her.

“It’s not.” Sana’s response was immediate. Steady. Unshaken.

Like she was used to getting what she wanted.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbling inside her.

“You’re asking me to...”

“To be mine.”

The way she said it. Unapologetic. Unwavering. Like ownership was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N hated it. Hated the way Sana made it sound so easy. Hated the way she sounded so sure. Hated how tempting the words were.

Because what would it be like?

To not worry, just for once. To not struggle. To not feel the crushing weight of debt and uncertainty with every passing day.

To have someone like Sana, dangerous, powerful, untouchable, want her.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. This wasn’t a choice she should even be considering.

And yet, deep down, a part of her already knew. She wasn’t walking away from this.

She should have refused. She should have walked away, but she didn’t.

Because the world didn’t operate on should-haves. It didn’t care about pride, dignity, or the weight of one’s conscience, it cared about survival. And survival, Y/N had learned, was a currency in itself.

The reality of her situation settled like a weight on her chest, growing heavier with every passing second.

She had been running on borrowed time for too long, the rent that kept increasing, the tuition payments she barely managed to scrape together, the debts coiling around her like invisible chains, tightening with every unpaid bill. The fear of losing everything never left her; it followed her like a shadow, whispering in her ear, reminding her that no matter how much she fought, she was always one step away from falling apart.

And now, standing before her, was a woman offering her a way out. An escape.

Sana didn’t need to spell it out. Y/N understood exactly what this was.

A transaction. Cold, simple, nothing more.

Her gaze flickered upward, locking onto Sana’s once more, searching for something she wasn’t even sure she wanted to find.

She expected indifference, amusement, the same detached, effortless control Sana had wielded since the moment she approached her. But for a fleeting moment, so brief Y/N might have imagined it, she saw something else.

Something beneath the perfectly crafted exterior. Something lonely.

It was gone in an instant, buried beneath a veil of polished confidence, but it left Y/N unsettled, because it meant something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

It meant that maybe, just maybe, Sana wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to be.

Y/N inhaled sharply, forcing herself to look away.

The logical part of her brain screamed at her to reject this, to turn on her heel and disappear into the safety of her struggling, barely-holding-on life, but so was being crushed under the weight of reality.

So was working herself to the bone with nothing to show for it. So was starving for her dreams while others dined on power like it was their birthright. So was the way Sana was still watching her, waiting, patient, expectant, like she already knew what Y/N was going to say.

Y/N exhaled.

And against every rational thought, against every instinct telling her to run before it was too late.

She lifted her chin, steadied her breath, and met Sana’s gaze head-on.

"Okay." The word left her lips, soft but unshaken.

A deal made. A fate sealed.

Y/N expected regret to settle in immediately, to crash over her like a tidal wave the moment the word slipped past her lips. She thought she would feel the weight of her decision pressing against her ribs, suffocating, suffused with the unmistakable sting of irreversibility.

She had made mistakes before, but nothing like this, nothing so deliberate, so impossibly final.

And yet, in the silence that followed, there was no overwhelming sense of panic, no sharp stab of second thoughts clawing at her resolve.

There was only Sana.

Still standing before her, still watching her, dark eyes filled with something almost amused, something self-satisfied.

She didn’t look surprised.

Of course, she wasn’t.

As if Y/N’s answer had been inevitable, as if she had simply been waiting for her to come to the same conclusion that Sana had already reached long ago.

Sana took a measured step back, just enough to create space between them, but somehow, the air between them remained just as heavy, just as charged. She reached into the sleek, structured purse resting at her side, her movements slow, deliberate.

Y/N wasn’t sure what she expected. Cash? A contract? Something tangible, something to prove that this wasn’t just a strange, fever-dream conversation she had somehow stumbled into?

Instead, Sana pulled out a single, thin black card.

Matte. Expensive-looking. Bare except for the subtle gleam of gold-embossed letters spelling out the name of a hotel, a place Y/N had only ever heard of in passing, in articles about business tycoons and foreign royalty.

A place meant for people so obscenely powerful they no longer needed to announce their wealth.

Without a word, Sana placed the card delicately onto Y/N’s tray, her fingertips barely grazing the edge of it before she withdrew her hand.

“Take tomorrow off,” she said smoothly, as if she were merely rearranging Y/N’s schedule instead of rewriting the trajectory of her life. “Meet me here. Ten o’clock. Sharp.”

Her tone was effortless, a voice accustomed to giving commands without expecting resistance, to moving the world around her like chess pieces.

It took Y/N a moment to breathe again.

Her gaze flickered down to the card, her stomach twisting, tightening at the sight of it.

There was no contact information. No way to confirm, to ask questions, to back out.

Just the name of the place where she was expected to be.

Expected.

As if Sana already knew that Y/N wouldn’t refuse.

As if the decision had already been made the second she had parted her lips to answer.

Her fingers twitched, tempted to reach for the card, but the action felt too final, too much like acceptance, as if the moment she touched it, she would no longer be able to pretend this was just another fleeting moment in a night full of them.

By the time she lifted her head again, Sana was already walking away.

She didn’t look back.

Her movements were slow but assured, every step echoing the same self-assurance that had been threaded through her words, through her very existence.

She walked like a woman who had just won something.

Like she had closed a deal, secured something she had set her sights on, and now had no further reason to linger.

As if this conversation had been nothing more than a well-played move in a game she had already mastered.

Y/N stood frozen, her body stiff with the weight of something she didn’t yet know how to name.

The lounge continued on around her, the hum of conversation, the crisp laughter of the elite, the soft clinking of glasses punctuating the air like clockwork. It was as if nothing had happened, as if no one else had noticed that something fundamentally irreversible had shifted in her world.

She exhaled, shaky and uneven, and stared down at the black card once more.

It felt heavier than it should have.

The next morning, Y/N stood in front of the towering glass structure, the hotel’s gleaming surface reflecting the golden morning light like a monolith of untouchable wealth.

She exhaled slowly, staring up at it, at its sheer, unapologetic grandeur. A place not meant for people like her.

And yet, she was here.

A deep unease settled in her stomach, coiling tight as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of the dress she wore, something unfamiliar, something not hers.

It wasn’t the uniform she had grown accustomed to, the stiff button-ups and restrictive vests designed to make servers blend into the background, to become part of the décor rather than individuals. This was different.

The dress fit her perfectly, tailored in a way that made it clear it had been chosen for her, not by her. Sleek. Elegant. Effortlessly expensive.

Y/N swallowed, suppressing the instinct to scoff at the absurdity of it all.

She was still the same girl who sketched on napkins between shifts, the same girl who counted coins before deciding if she could afford coffee that day.

But now, dressed like this, wrapped in luxury she had never touched before, she could almost believe she was someone else.

Almost.

A staff member appeared beside her, polite and professional, as if this was normal, as if Y/N belonged here. She didn’t.

"Right this way," they said, gesturing toward the elevators.

She hesitated for half a second before nodding, stepping inside the mirrored space, watching her own reflection flicker beneath the warm golden lighting.

Her hands tightened at her sides as the elevator ascended, a steady, silent climb toward something unknown, irreversible.

The doors opened into a private lounge, and the moment she stepped inside, she saw her.

Minatozaki Sana.

Y/N had thought she had gotten used to how effortlessly powerful she looked, how seamlessly she fit into these kinds of spaces, wealth and control stitched into her very existence.

But seeing her now, bathed in the soft natural light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a delicate wine glass resting between her fingers, it hit her all over again.

Sana looked like she belonged here.

Like she had been sculpted from the very essence of places like this, untouchable, effortless, above everything and everyone.

Y/N, however, felt like an intruder before a single word had even been spoken.

She lingered near the entrance, resisting the urge to fidget, before Sana finally acknowledged her.

"You're early," Sana remarked, voice smooth, laced with something unreadable.

She gestured toward the seat across from her, a silent command more than an invitation.

Y/N hesitated, only for a second, before obeying, sinking into the plush, impossibly soft seat.

The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but weighted, like Sana was letting it linger on purpose, testing, waiting.

Then, with quiet precision, she placed a single, slender envelope onto the table between them.

No rush, no ceremony, but somehow, the action felt heavier than it should have.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers twitching in her lap.

She didn’t need to ask what it was. She already knew.

Rules.

Of course, there would be rules.

Sana’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, as she finally spoke.

"Before anything else," she said, measured, controlled, "we establish the rules."

Y/N exhaled, something in her stomach twisting.

Rules meant control.

Rules meant limits, boundaries, an unspoken reminder that this was nothing more than an agreement, a transaction.

Sana had made that clear from the very beginning.

"This arrangement is transactional," she continued, her voice neither cruel nor soft, simply factual. "Nothing more. No emotions. No expectations outside of what I provide for you, and what you give in return."

Y/N’s fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, barely suppressing a flinch at the clinical detachment in her tone.

She had known this. She had known it from the moment Sana had made her offer, from the moment she had said yes.

Still, hearing it aloud felt different.

Like something being carved into stone, irreversible.

Sana tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Y/N’s expression as if watching for the first hint of hesitation.

"You’ll have full financial support," she continued. "Your tuition, your rent, whatever you need, I’ll cover it."

She paused.

Then, in a voice softer, but no less firm, she added,

"In return, you’ll be mine."

The words slid through the air like silk, smooth, deliberate, but the weight behind them settled into Y/N’s bones, cold and undeniable.

She forced herself to keep her face neutral, to hold Sana’s gaze even when something deep inside her twisted violently at the ownership in those words.

"When I call for you, you come to me," Sana went on. "No excuses. No complications."

The air felt too still, too thick.

Y/N should have hesitated.

She should have asked for more time, more details, should have weighed the consequences of what she was doing.

But the truth was she didn’t have time. She had no better choices.

And deep down, beneath the carefully placed logic and resistance, wasn’t there a part of her that had already decided?

Y/N inhaled, slow and quiet, steadying herself, steadying the part of her that still fought to pretend she could walk away from this.

She could do this. She had to do this.

She lifted her chin, her voice barely above a whisper, but firm in a way that surprised even her.

"Understood."

Sana studied her for another second, long enough for Y/N to feel like she was being dissected, unraveled, seen. before leaning back, satisfied.

A slow, approving smile curved at the edges of her lips.

And just like that, the deal was set.

Y/N should have expected the whiplash that came with stepping into Sana’s world.

She had seen glimpses of it before, the flash of designer logos stitched onto silk and cashmere, the quiet, unmistakable scent of wealth that never needed to announce itself, the way power seemed to bend around Sana like an unseen force, making space for her, making way for her, ensuring that nothing ever stood in her path for long.

Y/N had watched it from a distance, had sketched it in the margins of her notebook, trying to understand it.

But living inside it, even temporarily, was something else entirely.

It was disorienting, like being pulled into a dream so vivid, so surreal, that it left her questioning whether she had truly woken up.

One moment, she was struggling to make ends meet, rationing instant noodles for dinner, calculating how long she could stretch a bag of rice before she had to dip into savings that barely existed.

The next, she was being escorted through five-star restaurants where the price of a single glass of wine could have covered her rent for two months.

The contrast was staggering.

She was surrounded by wealth so absurd it felt like fiction.

Sana moved through it all with practiced ease, accustomed to luxury in a way that made it seem second nature, as if it had never occurred to her that life could be any other way. She existed in spaces that Y/N had only ever passed by, peering in from the outside, lingering just long enough to imagine what it must feel like to belong.

Now, she wasn’t just looking in, she was being pulled inside.

Penthouse suites with panoramic city views, extravagant charity events dripping in excess, sleek, high-performance cars waiting outside her tiny apartment, things that weren’t hers, but were now at her disposal simply because Sana willed it.

It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. Suffocating.

And through it all, Y/N had never felt more out of place.

Even as she stood beside Sana at high-profile gatherings, even as she slipped into the designer dresses that had been hand-selected for her, their tags bearing numbers that made her chest tighten, she remained an outsider.

An imposter in borrowed luxury.

The people in Sana’s world, CEOs, models, heirs to empires, spoke a language she didn’t fully understand.

Not just in words, but in the unspoken rules of wealth, in the way they carried themselves with an ease that came from never having known struggle. They sipped champagne without glancing at the price, they wore couture gowns without worrying about spilling wine on fabric that cost more than Y/N had made in the last year.

They laughed without fear of tomorrow.

And Y/N? Y/N had spent her entire life fighting to exist.

Every step she had taken had been uphill, every dream carried on the back of sleepless nights, every piece of art she had ever created fueled by the quiet, gnawing terror that it might never be enough.

Now, she was expected to belong.

Expected to walk through this world as if it didn’t feel wrong against her skin, as if she wasn’t always a breath away from someone seeing her for what she really was, a girl who had no business being here.

And that terrified her.

Sana had made them clear from the very beginning.

This wasn’t about love.

It wasn’t about affection, devotion, or anything sentimental, there would be no whispered words in the dark, no lingering touches that meant more than they should. No space for vulnerability.

Y/N was here to fill a role. And in return, Sana would give her everything, security, comfort, an escape from the suffocating weight of struggling to survive.

It was simple. At least, it should have been, but knowing something and feeling it were two entirely different things.

Y/N had spent her life accustomed to distance, the kind that people created with words, with silence, with carefully drawn boundaries that told her exactly where she stood. She thought she understood this arrangement.

She thought she could handle it like a business exchange, detached and controlled, a simple give and take.

She had braced herself for something transactional. Something calculated. Something cold.

She had expected Sana’s touch to be a reminder of that, to be clinical, distant, a formality rather than something felt.

But it wasn’t. The first time Sana touched her, it was nothing like what Y/N expected.

It was slow. Deliberate. Soft.

Not hesitant, not searching, but precise. Like Sana knew exactly what she was doing, what effect it would have.

Fingertips ghosting over Y/N’s wrist, tracing a path so light, so unbearably gentle that her breath caught in her throat before she could stop it.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

It shouldn’t have meant anything at all.

And yet, the warmth of Sana’s skin seeped into hers, spreading like the slow burn of whiskey down her throat, unexpected, unwelcome, inescapable.

Y/N’s body betrayed her before she could tell it not to. A shiver rippled up her spine, subtle, but enough.

Enough for Sana to notice.

Too warm.

Sana never rushed. She moved with the kind of certainty that came with power, with knowing she could have anything she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

She wasn’t close, not really, but it felt like she was. Felt like she was taking up too much space, or maybe Y/N was just too aware of her.

Y/N tried not to react.

Tried to steady her breathing, tried to ignore the way her pulse pounded against her skin, exposing her in a way she couldn’t control.

But then, Sana leaned in.

Close.

Close enough that Y/N could feel the faintest whisper of her breath against her cheek, warm and feather-light, brushing against her skin like something dangerously close to intimate.

"Relax."

A single word spoken so effortlessly.

But it landed like a command, low, smooth, undeniable, sinking into Y/N’s skin, wrapping around her like silk.

As if that were even possible.

Y/N swallowed, her throat tight, heat creeping beneath her skin in slow, suffocating waves.

She told herself she could handle this, that it was just another part of the arrangement, that it meant nothing. But the moment Sana’s lips brushed against her skin, Y/N realized something she hadn’t accounted for.

It was a game.

Sana never let Y/N forget that this was not love.

There were no whispered words meant to soothe, no false pretenses, no moments where Sana gave her even the smallest illusion that this was anything other than what they had agreed upon.

This was a transaction. A role to be played.

And Y/N, she had thought she could handle that. She had thought she could detach herself, could compartmentalize the way Sana did so effortlessly, but the first night Sana called for her, she realized how impossible that would be.

The penthouse was as she had expected it, cold in its perfection, impersonal in a way that only obscene wealth could be.

Windows framed the glittering cityscape, an endless expanse of artificial light stretching far beyond what Y/N could see, but not a single curtain drawn, not a single inch of privacy, as if Sana had nothing to hide.

The furniture was sleek, modern, designed for aesthetic rather than comfort, a space curated to impress rather than to be lived in.

It was beautiful, sterile, it wasn’t built for comfort.

Neither was Sana.

She stood near the window, one hand resting lightly against the glass, the other wrapped around the delicate stem of a wine glass, her silk robe hanging loosely off her shoulders, framing the soft, golden glow of her skin.

She looked untouched by the world.

And yet, when she finally turned her head, the way her gaze found Y/N, pinned her in place, dissected her without so much as a word, made Y/N feel as though she had already been claimed.

Sana barely spared her a glance before setting the glass down, her movements slow, methodical, controlled.

Everything about her was deliberate. Everything about her was a choice.

Her gaze flickered toward the clock on the wall before settling back on Y/N, dark and unreadable.

"You're late."

Her voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t irritated, just stating a fact, like time itself was something she owned, something she expected others to respect without question.

Y/N exhaled, pressing her hands down the front of her dress, a dress she hadn’t chosen, something too elegant, too expensive, something that fit too perfectly against her skin, as if Sana had taken the time to know her measurements, her shape, before she had even asked her to come.

“I took the subway,” she said, knowing full well that people in Sana’s world didn’t take the subway.

Sana hummed, finally turning to face her fully, and Y/N felt it again, that same quiet, unnerving intensity.

The kind that made her feel like she was being studied, dissected, read like a book Sana had already memorized the ending to.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Instead, she moved.

Slow, measured steps closing the distance between them, her bare feet silent against the polished hardwood floor, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin as she stopped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faintest trace of her perfume, something expensive, warm, something that lingered even after she was gone.

Y/N had nowhere to go.

Had no reason to move, no reason to step back, but even so, her body remained still, her breath shallow, waiting.

Sana reached for her.

Fingers skimming lightly over the strap of her dress, her touch feather-light, not searching, not tentative, just testing.

Barely there.

Barely anything at all.

Except.

It was everything.

Y/N should have hated how easy it was for Sana to unravel her, should have resisted the way her own body leaned, reacted, softened beneath something so unbearably delicate.

But it was impossible to resist something when you didn’t even realize you were yielding.

And Sana saw it.

Her fingers ghosted lower, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress, trailing against Y/N’s skin in a way that felt both proprietary and impersonal all at once, as if she were simply confirming something she already knew, this was hers to touch. Hers to take.

Nothing more than a deal.

Sana’s hand traveled upward, grasping Y/N’s chin between two fingers, tilting her face up until their eyes met fully, until there was nothing but the city behind them and the heat between them.

And for a split second Y/N thought she would kiss her.

The thought alone was enough to send her pulse into a reckless staccato, enough to make her lips part in something between hesitation and expectation.

But Sana didn’t kiss her.

She only looked at her, gaze lingering, assessing, as if waiting for something Y/N didn’t understand.

And then she let go.

Just like that.

Like Y/N was nothing more than a moment, a thing to be used, something to be taken but never kept.

Sana turned, her back to her now, her presence still filling the room as she walked toward the bedroom, the silk of her robe sliding from one bare shoulder, as careless as the way she had just released her.

"Come," she said simply, disappearing through the door.

And Y/N followed.

Because this was what she had agreed to.

This was what Sana wanted from her.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

[lvnleah]

west end star | leah williamson.

You were lounging on the couch, Leah sitting beside you with your legs draped over her thighs. Today was the day you could find out if you had landed your first major West End role, the one you’d been dreaming of since you were a kid.

Your whole life had been dedicated to musical theatre. From performing in summer recitals at age six to moving all the way to London from Manchester for Musical Theatre college, your whole life had revolved around it. Sure, you had done a few ensemble parts here and there after college but nothing like a major role. 

A few months ago you had auditioned for Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia the Musical on the West End. You had poured everything into that audition. Every note, every step, every ounce of emotion you could muster had gone into your performance. 

Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia. Even saying it to yourself felt surreal, but it was what you’d been dreaming of for as long as you could remember.

The callback process had been gruelling. Weeks of singing, acting, and dance workshops, surrounded by people who were just as talented and hungry for the role as you were. You’d tried to stay grounded, but deep down, you knew you wanted this more than anything.

Leah had been your rock throughout the process. She’d spent countless nights helping you run lines, watching you practice choreography in the living room, and reassuring you when the self-doubt crept in. 

“You’re going to get it,” she’d said every time you worried. “I can feel it.”

Now, here you were, sitting on the couch, staring at your phone like it might explode. Leah was gently tracing patterns on your shin, pretending to scroll through her phone but clearly keeping an eye on you.

“You know you’re allowed to breathe, right?” she teased, glancing up at you with a small smirk.

“I am breathing,” you shot back, though it felt like your lungs were only half working.

Leah rolled her eyes. “Barely. It’s going to be fine, love. Whatever happens, you’ve done everything you could. You were incredible in that audition.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Both of you froze.

Your agent’s name lit up the screen, and your heart started pounding.

“Don’t just stare at it, woman!” Leah said, her voice suddenly serious. “Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear. “H-hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s Miranda,” your agent said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” you managed to say, though your voice cracked slightly. Leah gave your leg a reassuring squeeze. “Do you have… um… any news?”

Miranda let out a little laugh. “I do. I just got off the phone with the casting director, and they were absolutely blown away by you. They said your energy was perfect, your vocals were spot on, and well, they want you for Sophie.”

The words hit you like a wave. You sat there, frozen, as Miranda’s words echoed in your ears. “I what—wait. I got it?”

“You got it!” Miranda confirmed, laughing again. “You’re going to be Sophie Sheridan on the West End. Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve this.”

Tears filled your eyes as you tried to process the moment. “Oh my god, I—Thank you, Miranda. Thank you so much.”

“Go celebrate,” she said warmly. “You’ve earned it. I’ll be in touch soon with all the details.”

The call ended, and you slowly lowered the phone, staring at it like it might suddenly disappear.

“Well?” Leah asked, “Babe, talk! You know, use words?”

You turned to her, the biggest smile breaking across your face. “I, um, I got it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Leah, I got it.”

Leah let out a cheer, pulling you into her arms so quickly that you nearly toppled off the couch. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, kissing you all over your face as you laughed and cried at the same time. “You’re going to be Sophie! On the West End!”

“I can’t believe it,” you said, burying your face in her shoulder. “This is actually happening.”

Leah pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands framing your face. “You worked so hard for this, and you deserve every bit of it,” she said before attacking you with more kisses. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

You smiled, giggling as her kiss attacks stopped. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been my rock through all of this.”

“And I’ll be your rock through everything else, too. Now,” she said, standing up and pulling you with her, “we are celebrating. Whatever you want, dinner, drinks, dessert, name it, and it’s yours.”

You laughed, wiping your tears. “Can we start with some champagne?”

“Absolutely,” Leah said, already heading to grab a bottle. “Only the best for my West End star.”

Your debut arrived quicker than you ever expected. Weeks of rehearsals and costume fittings flew by in a blur. The nerves hit as soon as you woke up that morning, a constant flutter in your stomach that didn’t ease, no matter how many times Leah reassured you.

“You’ve got this,” she said that morning, handing you a cup of tea as you sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and everyone’s going to see how incredible you are.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Leah asked, sitting across from you after a few moments of silence. 

“Just… everything,” you admitted. “What if I mess up? What if everyone hates me?”

Leah smirked and reached for your hand. “If anyone doesn’t like you after tonight, they’re either blind or tone-deaf. You’re going to be the best Sophie Sheridan that stage has ever seen.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But I’m also right.”

She was the steadying presence you needed that day, texting you little messages throughout your pre-show prep: You’re a star, babe. Don’t forget to breathe. Save some talent for the rest of the cast, yeah?

When the curtain finally rose that evening, the nerves melted away, replaced by the joy of being on stage that you always had. The music, the lights, the energy of the audience, it was everything you’d ever dreamed of. By the time the final bows came, the roar of applause felt like it might shake the building.

When you finally emerged from the stage door, your breath caught. There Leah was, standing with Amanda and Berny, a bouquet of flowers in her arms. Leah’s face lit up the second she saw you, her grin wide and proud. She stepped forward, holding out the bouquet, but before she could say anything, you launched yourself into her arms.

“You were amazing,” she whispered into your ear, holding you tight.

“Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling with pride, and the sight made your stomach flip.

Amanda stepped in next, wrapping you in a warm hug. “That was incredible, sweetheart. I was in tears during ‘Slipping Through My Fingers.’ You’ve got such a gift.”

“You were made for this role, darling,” Berny added, smiling warmly. 

“Thank you, both of you,” you said, overwhelmed by their kindness.

As the four of you walked toward a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Leah squeezed your hand. “You know,” she said softly, so only you could hear, “watching you up there… I’ve never been so proud in my life.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Stop it. You’re going to make me cry.”

“Good,” she said with a grin, “because I cried. Twice. And if I have to admit that, you can at least tear up.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed you.

“And you’re brilliant,” she said, leaning over to kiss your temple. “Don’t forget it.”

[endiness]

Debunking misinformation about Netflix's The Witcher (Part 1)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

"Henry Cavill is a massive fan of the books and the games and he quit the show because the writers wouldn't stick to the books and he just cares about the source material so much."

Henry Cavill not only did not know that the books existed when he started pursuing the role of Geralt, but he actually thought that the books were based off of the video games (and he still didn't bother to read them) and he didn't learn that the games were actually based off the books until Lauren told him (even though the first thing in the game credits is that they're based off the books); as of 2021, he as only read the full series once — right before he was cast in 2018; while he has played TW3, he has only played a little of TW2 (and I've never found any evidence that he's played the first game); and he also has not played the DLC for TW3.

Henry Cavill also started heavily pushing the narrative that he's just such a massive fan of the books and how important adhering to the source material is to him during the press for S2 to deflect from how it was due to his acting choices of cutting Geralt's lines and either saying nothing or just grunting instead that Geralt's characterization — who is much more verbose in the books — was book inaccurate in S1:

He also lied about the situation and tried to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose and blamed the lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, which cannot be true as confirmed by Lauren:

And tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't that important anyway so it wasn't really a big deal, which also cannot be true as confirmed by Joey:

He also started pushing the narrative that adhering to the source material is so important to him and it's 'tricky' to do that with Lauren's vision, but his definition of "Lauren's vision" is the show being an ensemble piece with Yennefer and Ciri at the forefront (like the books) and the show in general heavily centering around women (like the books):

So the idea of him caring so much about "book accuracy" is, in fact, not accurate to the books at all as his problems were the prominence of women in the show when Ciri is the main character of the main book series, which the show started adapting from S2 onwards (which is when Henry Cavill started to complain about wanting "book accuracy" in the first place), and when women are very prominent, central, key figures in the books and they often drive the plot forwards.

Lastly, S3 was the closest adaption of the books out of all the seasons so far, so the idea that he quit after S3 because the writers just weren't respecting the source material and the show wasn't following the books doesn't make any sense anyway.

"Henry Cavill is the only reason why the show was even close to the source material at all."

I've not only never seen any evidence of this, but if anything, I've seen the exact opposite: Henry Cavill was either directly responsible for or at least contributed in some way to a lot of things that went against the books or didn't happen in them.

As I already pointed out, he cut Geralt's lines in S1 and either said nothing or just grunted instead which is inaccurate to Geralt's characterization in the books. Here's another quote from Joey affirming that:

(Just to note: During the press for S1, he frequently talked about how the games inspired his performance as Geralt — sometimes talking about them even more than the books despite how the show is based off of the books, not the games — and it wasn't until S2 press that he suddenly changed his tune and started talking about how important adhering to the source material ie the books is to him. He also only started advocating for a more book accurate Geralt because he got dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1.)

He didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier's friendship as directly as in the books and buddy-buddy with each other:

He didn't want to have any kind of conflict in Geralt and Ciri's relationship in S2 — at least on Geralt's side of things:

Nor play Geralt struggling with fatherhood at all — all of which led to the domino effect of Yennefer's betrayal:

Eskel's death (which in itself also led to things like Vesemir trying to create new witchers and Lambert's attitude toward Ciri):

And Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season:

He didn't want Geralt and Triss to even just platonically find comfort in each other in S2 — which is what happens in the books:

He nixed a sex scene between Geralt and Yennefer in S2 because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting which, uh, is absolutely in character of them:

While this is an incredibly inconsequential change, given the prevalence of this idea that Henry Cavill is such an ardent defender of the source material ie the books and how much he wanted the show to adhere to them, I do think it's important to note that he pushed for — and got — more signs into the show even though by his own admission that is more of a game thing than a book thing and he got it into the show for the explicit purpose of catering to game stans:

This is also another incredibly inconsequential change, but again, given how prevalent the idea of Henry Cavill pushing for perfect source accuracy is, I do just want to point out that he would wear his armor 24/7 to make it look worn down:

Even though it is canon in the books that Geralt will buy himself brand new clothes, so the idea that Geralt's clothing has to look worn down and can't be brand new is not actually book accurate.

"Lauren wanted to make Roach's death a joke."

Just to address this point specifically, Lauren wanted to make a meta reference about how all of Geralt's horses are named Roach. That in no way, shape, or form means that she wanted to make Roach's death into a joke or even that the scene had to be played comedically. This is what Lauren had to say about the subject and the 'joke' in question (which, js, actually fits the tone of the books more):

And as far as the "Henry Cavill is the only one who cared about the source material and he's the only reason why the show even stuck to the books at all" front goes... Henry Cavill did change the dialogue in this scene to a book quote/reference; however, the quote in question ("Enjoy your last walk across the meadow and through the mist. Be not afraid of her for she is your friend.") is not something that Geralt himself says and the line/scene from the books foreshadows Geralt's ending in them.

So, at least imo — especially taking into account the incredibly high standard the fandom has set for Henry Cavill as the #1 defender of the books — I don't think this change was actually book accurate especially given the narrative significance of that exchange in the books.

[piosplayhouse]

Ok it's over now! So basically it was a 1:1 adaptation and covered up to the arm calming ritual in the cloud recesses. It's been a while since I've read mdzs so I can't tell you 100% but this went pretty fast and I didn't catch any big things they missed out on except for one thing. Total runtime was 2:30 hrs! The big thing they missed was NO FAIRY!!!!!! ZERO OUT OF FIVE STARS!!!

lil apple *was* in it but just as off screen donkey braying. Disappointing but whatever. Btw her name in Japanese is Ringo-chan

Since this was the final performance there were cast intros and here's some highlights:

- ensemble girl who throws loquats to wwx is a mdzs stan. Biggest ups to her making her dream come true

- one of the ensemble guys who played a bg lan disciple was like "I was very happy because I didn't have to cut my long hair. I was like 'really? It's alright to just keep it natural?!'. I was super happy"

- jin zixuan's actor flipping his hair during his intro (side note but him and jl kept flipping their hair throughout the whole thing it was very funny)

- Jin Ling also very excitedly flipped his hair as an outro after making his comments it was very cute

- sizhui and jingyi linked arms during their comments

- Tomoki Hirose (lwj) said something like: "Shunya (wwx) worked very hard for this role. While playing wwx, every day in practice he was happy and energetic and in lwj's role, every day my heart went doki-doki"

- Kaneko Shunya kept fucking up the final big thank you and Tomoki Hirose had to coach him through it multiple times LMFAOOO. The other cast members were cracking up over it + after the second time he fucked it Jiang Cheng's actor made the zidian hand gesture like he was going to whip him 😭😭😭

- after everyone stepped off stage wwx and lwj did a final longing glance at each other from opposite sides of the stage ... Wao ...

[marvelmaniac715]

If I ever write a musical, I want to make it super meta, with a song called 'We Wrote This For The Tonys', and it would be one of the first songs in the show, or near the end, wherever it fits, and it would recap the key plot events with impressive vocals and flashy dancing. The chorus would be pleading for the show to win a Tony award, and if the musical's asked to perform at the Tonys, that would be the song the cast would do. My current lyric ideas are:

We wrote this song for the Tonys

That's why it's quick and so upbeat

Now our leading lady will belt a high C

Because we really want that shiny trophy

Please let us win just one Tony

See, that ensemble guy just did a somersault

Our composer's in the audience, she's waving at a camera

She bought a dress on sale for this that won't be worn again

Let her hold a Tony, and then we'll all go home

Please let this free publicity sell tickets for our show

The prices are affordable, the proshot's on it's way

And theatre kids on TikTok think we're better than 'Santa Fe'

Just give us a shot then we'll leave you alone!

[aarontveitisonfire]

At the 85th Academy Awards, the cast of Les Miserables took the stage to perform a rousing rendition of One Day More from the 2012 film. Eddie Redmayne, starring as Marius, was among the ensemble that sang the live number at the awards ceremony and the actor recently reflected on his nerves right before he went onstage for the performance. "I was getting pretty nervous and I could see Amanda [Seyfried] standing in front of me and we were about to sing our little duet," Redmayne recalled during an appearance on The Kelly Clarkson Show. Right before the actor went on, he heard the stage manager tell him that a billion people were watching the show. "I sort of survived," he said of his performance, adding that he was impressed by his co-stars Aaron Tveit and Samantha Barks. "I remember after my bit, Aaron came on and just flipping owned it! I was like 'That is how you do live performance!'" x

GIF: mine x

[reveryfics]

Marvelous

Charles Xavier x Male Reader

Summary: Charles and Eric's need for new mutants brings them to a mutant owned Burlesque club, introducing them to a particular shape-shifter.

A/N: I'm back earlier then expected, but hopefully this and the Valentines Day fic make up for when I was gone. Requests open.

The velvet curtains parted with a sigh, releasing Charles and Eric into the smoky embrace of the Burlesque club. The air hung thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and anticipation. A sharply dressed maître d' immediately recognized them, his eyes widening slightly before a professional smile smoothed over his features. "Gentlemen," he murmured, ushering them through the crowded room. "Your table awaits."

They were led to a plush, dimly lit booth nestled near the grand stage, a prime vantage point for the evening's entertainment. The murmur of the crowd, the clinking of glasses, the low thrum of the music – all of it faded into the background as the house lights began to dim, casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. A hush fell over the audience, a collective intake of breath before the show began.

Then, you appeared.

A single spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the stage and revealing your striking presence. The shimmering blue of your skin seemed to absorb and reflect the light, an otherworldly hue that immediately captivated the eye. A cascade of luxurious blonde curls framed your face, contrasting beautifully with your unusual blue skin tone. A delicate pearl necklace rested against your chest, the creamy orbs glowing softly against your skin. The undeniably scandalous outfit you wore, a masterpiece of shimmering fabrics and strategically placed embellishments, clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and line. You moved with a mesmerizing grace, each step, each gesture, imbued with a confidence that radiated outwards, filling the entire room. It was as if the stage were your own private domain, a world where you reigned supreme. You danced with a passion that transcended mere performance, lost in the rhythm with the other Burlesque dancers, each movement a story told in the language of the body.

Your eyes swept across the audience, a slow, deliberate survey that took in every face, every expression. Then, your gaze locked with theirs. A slow, knowing smile spread across your lips, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. You danced closer to their booth, your hips swaying rhythmically, your eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings as you dipped low, your eyes locking with Charles's. You knew exactly who they were, and precisely why they had come. And you were damned if you wouldn't offer Charles a private showing of your… talents.

The crowd erupted in cheers, a wave of voices chanting your name, a testament to your popularity. As the music reached a crescendo, your body began to shift and change before their very eyes. The transformation was seamless, fluid, almost magical. Feminine features melted into masculine contours, delicate lines hardened into powerful angles. It was a breathtaking display of control and artistry, a testament to your mastery over your own form. The audience gasped, captivated by the spectacle unfolding before them.

Charles visibly licked his lips, his eyes glued to the stage. For a moment, he seemed to forget Eric's presence beside him, lost in the mesmerizing performance. "He's quite… marvelous, isn't he, Charles?" Eric murmured, his eyes fixed on you.

Charles could only nod, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze remained locked on the stage as you shed the last remnants of your costume, revealing a skin-tight ensemble that accentuated every curve and line of your newly formed body. The performance was hypnotic, a captivating blend of power and grace.

When your show concluded, a stagehand approached Charles, discreetly gesturing for him to follow. Eric gave him a knowing look, a hint of amusement in his eyes, as Charles was led through the club, the pulsating music and excited chatter fading slightly as he neared your dressing room.

The room was small but luxurious, decorated with plush velvet drapes and ornate mirrors. You were seated on a silken chaise lounge, a robe loosely draped around your form, a picture of relaxed power. A half-empty bottle of champagne sat on a nearby table, along with two crystal glasses. "Charles Xavier," you purred, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I knew you'd come."

Before Charles could even speak, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand before closing around his wrist, tugging him closer. Your eyes, intense and knowing, looked up at him through your lashes. "Crawling back to a shapeshifter, after Raven left you," you whispered, your voice laced with a playful challenge, a hint of vulnerability beneath the bravado. "So scandalous, yet I have a feeling you enjoy it."

Charles felt his cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and intrigue swirling within him. He couldn't deny the similarities between you and Mystique, but there was something different about you, an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull that drew him in. "Perhaps," he admitted, his voice a low murmur, his eyes searching yours. "But something tells me you aren't like Mystique. Although we could use someone of your… talents."

A throaty laugh escaped your lips, the sound both seductive and playful. Your body began to shift and change once more, the transformation as seamless and captivating as it had been on stage. It was a display of power, a demonstration of your complete control over your own form. "How could I say no to someone so… persuasive?" you purred, your voice a silken caress.

You released Charles' wrist, rising to your feet and backing him against the vanity. One hand cupped his cheek, your touch surprisingly gentle, while the other rested on the cool surface behind him, trapping him in your gaze. "We're going to get along nicely," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. Then, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tantalizing kiss, a promise of more to come.

You pulled away, licking your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes. With a graceful turn, you walked out of the dressing room, offering a playful wave to Eric, who was waiting just outside, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Charles touched his lips, a small, involuntary smile playing on his mouth. He knew he was a sucker for people like you, for the thrill of the unexpected, the allure of the unknown. He was drawn to your confidence, your power, your undeniable charisma.

"I'm so screwed," he muttered, a mixture of amusement, apprehension, and a touch of excitement swirling within him. He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but he couldn't resist the temptation to follow where you led.

[arminthada]

NEW TEASER FOR GLASS HEART, PREMIERES JULY 31 ON NETFLIX

When a drummer is kicked out of her band, she meets a brilliant musician who invites her to join his new ensemble, TENBLANK. A band that quickly takes the world by storm...

Glass Heart premieres July 31. Starring Takeru Satoh, Yu Miyazaki, Keita Machida, Jun Shison, and Masaki Suda.

OFFICIAL POSTER

TEN BLANK INDIVIDUAL POSTERS

OVER CHROME INDIVIDUAL POSTERS

The band TENBLANK is officially making their real-world debut!

A 30-second demo version of "Senritsu to Kessho" ('Crystalline Echo'), a song from their upcoming debut album featuring vocals by Takeru Sato and lyrics by Yojiro Noda of RADWIMPS, is now available for early streaming on TikTok and Instagram starting today, May 22nd.

The CD will be released in two formats: a regular edition and a limited first edition. The limited first edition will include a Blu-ray with behind-the-scenes making-of footage from the drama's filming.

TENBLANK's debut album, Glass Heart, will be digitally released on July 31, 2025.

You can pre-add/pre-save the digital album Glass Heart here.

Netflix Press Release

Turn up the volume! The Japanese music drama Glass Heart premieres July 31 — and today, the teaser trailer offers a first look at the electrically charged, heart-thumping sights and sounds of this series. For the first time, fans will hear the song "Crystalline Echo" by the series’ band TENBLANK, sung by Takeru Satoh with lyrics by Yojiro Noda of RADWIMPS! In addition, teaser art and character art have been released. The teaser opens with Naoki Fujitani (Takeru Satoh), the lead vocalist of the four-member band TENBLANK, as the curtain rises on their live performance. The live scene, which involved over 5,000 extras and was shot with 12 cameras, is truly breathtaking, creating a sense of realism and excitement that ranks among the largest in Japanese drama history.

Along with Satoh, the band members — guitarist Sho Takaoka (Keita Machida), keyboardist Kazushi Sakamoto (Jun Shison), and heroine drummer Akane Saijo (Yu Miyazaki) — underwent rigorous musical training to deliver genuine performances.

Glass Heart follows Fujitani's growth as he navigates conflicts with charismatic rival vocalist Toya Shinzaki (Masaki Suda) from the competing band OVER CHROME, while becoming entangled in the schemes of a powerful music industry producer. Throughout these challenges, the band members support each other, deepening their bonds and growing as a destiny-bound unit.

The song ”Crystalline Echo," composed by Masahiro Tobinai and written by Yojira Noda, is just one of the several songs Noda pens for TENBLANK featured in this series.

Newly announced cast members include Erika Karata as TENBLANK's manager Miyako Kai, Pistol Takehara as Genji Kamiyama, Akari Takaishi as the diva Yukino Sakurai, who performs songs written by Fujitani, and YOU as Momoko Saijo, Akane's mother and confidante. Naohito Fujiki plays the envious music producer Ichidai Isagi, Takayuki Yamada as the vocalist of the popular rock band Takaoka once belonged to, and Reini as Mahiro Arisugawa from OVER CHROME.

Glass Heart streams on July 31, only on Netflix.

Story: Akane Saijo, a drummer who was ousted from her previous band just before her debut, is unexpectedly chosen by Naoki Fujitani — a reclusive and brilliant musician — to join his new band, TENBLANK. Together with band members Sho Takaoka and Kazushi Sakamoto, the band gains fame through Fujitani's distinctive compositions and their electrifying performances. As TENBLANK rises to stardom, they face numerous challenges, and Akane's journey from obscurity to stardom unfolds as Fujitani's secrets emerge. Will the band withstand the storm, and where will Akane's heart lead her?

i'm gonna be insane about this, thank you

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Poornima - Channe Ke Khet Mein 1994

Anjaam (Consequence) is a 1994 Indian Hindi-language psychological thriller film directed by Rahul Rawail. It stars Madhuri Dixit and Shah Rukh Khan in lead roles with an ensemble supporting cast. The film's music was composed by Anand-Milind, with lyrics written by Sameer. The film is about a woman facing the brunt of her obsessive stalker. It also focuses on the atrocities committed against women. At the 40th Filmfare Awards, Anjaam won Khan the Best Villain award for his performance. Madhuri Dixit repeated the iconic dance moves for the song in the 2022 Netflix series The Fame Game when her character meets some fans dancing to it.

Poornima Shrestha was the first successful child singer in Hindi films, and became one of the most prolific female playback singers in Bollywood during the 1990s. She was one of the top-ten selling 1990s artists with her album Mera Dil Bole Piya Piya. Poornima has sung in many languages including Bengali, Nepali, Marathi, Bhojpuri, Punjabi, Gujarati, Oriya, Rajasthani, Assamese, Haryanvi, Garhwali and Arabic. Apart from films, she has sung numerous songs in genres such as Baal Geet, Bhavgeet, Bhajan, Ghazal, Chutney and Indipop.

"Channe Ke Khet Mein" received a total of 67,7% yes votes!

[illubean]

JJK Men with a S/o in Musical Theatre

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ino Takuma, Aoi Todo

Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

self indulgent af (im not even in theater anymore)

Warnings: it’s mentioned that reader plays female characters but other than that relatively gn

Satoru Gojo

he INSISTS that you practice in front of him (he just wants to hear you sing any chance he gets)

his favorite musical after you introduce him to it is Legally Blonde no I will not be taking criticism

sometimes walking past you in the hall he’ll sing the little musical theater song lyrics he knows very bad and very loudly

“Hi Toru-“ “A TOAST TO THE GROOM”

he comes to every single one of your shows and every show date

your production is being put on for a week? he’s got tickets to go all 7 days

and since he’s already watched it so many times he likes to snicker and gossip with you about your cast mates and how he noticed them mess up one night

without fail Satoru is always front row with his camera pointed directly at you (terrible theater etiquette I know)

if theres ever a point where you get to interact with the audience he eats it up every time

hes you’re #1 supporter and he gets you the biggest bouquet he can find every time

your cast mates are always gossiping about him, telling you how lucky you are and how they wished they got flowers every show night

very supportive but if you get in the car to go home with your stage makeup on he WILL laugh at you..

“Help me, why are your eyebrows so dark!?” “The stage lighting washes me out!”

Suguru Geto

HE’S SO JD HEATHERS CODED IM MFFHGHGNGGJGNJG

he appreciates performing arts but has never spent much time thinking about it or seeking it out if that makes sense?

he’s reluctant but he will sing parts of songs when you need to practice and can’t meet with whoever the part originally belongs to

MAKE HIM DUET SUDDENLY SEYMOUR WITH YOU. HE CAN SING EITHER PART.

if you beg and cry hard enough he might just audition for a show with you

but if he get’s casted as anyone else but your character’s love interest or worse, the love interest of SOMEONE ELSE he’s rejecting the role

he doesn’t think he’d actually ever get casted, he just auditioned because you kept bugging him about it

but if he does? god damn it now he’s stuck

you’re directors love him, and since you guys have good stage chemistry they are almost always going to cast you together if he auditions again

Kento Nanami

out of all of them I think he’s the only one who was interested in the arts before meeting you

he probably likes Les Miserables and The Phantom of the Opera

he never asks you to sing for him but if you offer or ask him to watch you practice he will gladly do so

he’s impressed by how well you perform

it amazes him how you’re able to move around, dance, and sing all while in character

he attracts the attention of your cast mates, always being so respectful

especially when he waits for you to finish getting out of costume with a bouquet and his jacket to offer you if it’s cold

he’s always invited to your open rehearsals even if its not by you 😭 your directors love him too

Toji Fushiguro

doesn’t care much for the arts but he’d be damned if he missed seeing his baby perform

no matter if you’re a lead or ensemble he WILL be there

he tends to keep to the back as to not block people’s view with his broad shoulders..

he likes watching you play characters that are so far from your usual personality

especially if you’re usually quiet, like wow he didn’t know you could project like that

he teases you after the show if you have a love interest in the show, especially if you complain about the person casted as them (no because why did I get casted as love interests with my mortal enemies 3 times)

if the show is suitable enough, he’ll bring little Megumi along to see you perform

I don’t think he’d be one to buy bouquets for you but he’d buy a single rose and let Megumi give it to you

he’d watch fondly as you pick up his son and bring him to meet the other cast members

GAH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Ino Takuma

he does the “raise your ya ya ya” thing around you 😭

he gets jealous if you have a love interest especially if theres a scene where you get freakay

this makes him consider auditioning for the next show you’re going to be in….

he’d watch you take photos with them and pout until you walk up to him

his favorite roles to see you in are the ones like Heather Chandler or Regina George

he may or may not be joking when he says you should be mean to him after seeing you perform…

if the show is sad he will cry then try to deny it when you point out the tear stains on his face

and if YOU’RE crying on stage? he cries even harder

he makes you karaoke with him, even though he’s getting absolutely mogged but he doesn’t mind

he just likes hearing your voice

he brags about you to anyone willing to listen

Aoi Todo

the audience hates him.

he always insists on sitting as close to the stage as possible and his large body blocks the view of the people behind him (luckily the stage is raised…)

and he’s so loud… you can always hear his shouts and applause over everyone else’s

your cast mates don’t like him either…

“Wow, your boyfriend is so…supportive”

even after the show is over and it’s time to meet you people give the two of you side eyes

“YOU DID SO GOOD MY LOVE!” “Shhh! But thank you…”

he’s so bad at being quiet 😭

another one who likes watching you play mean characters…

he has so many photos of you on his phone of you in costume and on stage

and they’re ALL in his wallpaper rotation

[jbaileyfansite]

Critics Reactions to Jonathan Bailey's perfomance as Fiyero (Master Post)

“Dancing Through Life,” on the other hand, is the adaptation’s biggest musical accomplishment. Although Wicked is primarily about the relationship between these two women, the charming prince Fiyero always threatens to steal the show, and never more so now that Bridgerton heartthrob Jonathan Bailey is playing him in a dazzling blue/gold suit. Setting this song in a library full of rotating, cylindrical shelves allows the dancers to really show off their moves, while Bailey succeeds at infusing the number with his personality as he flirts with men and women alike. Unless Wicked really hits big with the Academy, it’s unlikely that Bailey will score a Best Supporting Actor nomination at the Oscars, but surely he deserves some honor for being the sexiest actor on Earth at the moment — hope you’re taking notes for next year, PEOPLE! [x]

And Bailey, from his boot-toe book choreography to ovation-worthy gymnastics, is hoofing his way through every step of “Dancing Through Life;” there will be deserved awards attention coming Grande and Erivo’s way for Wicked, and Bailey should be as much a part of the conversation. I can’t remember the last time a performance was so instantly charismatic, the kind of movie-star heist—he nearly runs away with the film during that musical number—that makes going to the cinema so exciting. [x]

A character I was worried about going into this. Jonathan Bailey, he plays Fiyero, who is this kind of just over the top cocky, flamboyant, kind of douchey, but in a fun way character. And there’s just so much there that it could be really easy to mess up. And I didn’t know that he was into song and dance performance, because I’ve only seen him in Bridgerton, so I didn’t know what else was in his repertoire. But I feel like he absolutely crushed that character. You cannot help but love everything he does when he’s on screen. He nails it. [x]

Jonathan Bailey oozes sex appeal and charisma as Fiyero Tigelaar in an utterly swoon-worthy performance, unleashing his West End talents with the dazzling “Dancing Through Life” sequence that cements himself as a true superstar, while his chemistry with both Erivo and Grande is off the charts. [x]

I have to give Jonathan Bailey his freaking flowers. I thought he was going to be good. He got an Olivier award for Company and if you haven't, there is a video of him singing The Last Five Years from years ago….So I was like I think he's going to do a good job, he's also so charming and everybody loves him. I was not prepared to see what we got. The perfomance, the vocals, the gymnastics, the charm, the way he says 'you're perfect' is just engrained in my brain in the right way. And he's so…like he would have chemistry with a chair, I'm convinced. Everyone in 'Dancing Through Life' is now pregnant and so am I. His entire arc of Fiyero being like the daft person and then becoming who he becomes is so clear and every choice, and look, nuances he has…it is calculated but effortless. [x]

Jonathan Bailey delights in the supporting cast as her love interest Fiyero, also offering a fantastic interpretation of someone who hasn’t been called upon too often to be serious but might be willing to give it a try. [x]

“Dancing Through Life” triumphantly translates the joy of seeing Wicked live: Dancers perform acrobatics in rotating circular bookshelves, Jonathan Bailey (who I swear has chemistry with every single person on the planet) taps his way across books with a flippancy perfectly suited to the charismatic prince Fiyero, and the ensemble works (and sings!) in harmony. [x]

Jonathan Bailey uncorks an outrageous scene-stealer as the heterocamp Fiyero, a performance to put alongside Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride. [x]

Chu's usual choreographer, Christopher Scott, delivers again with vibrant, inspired moves, particularly in the elaborate "Dancing Through Life," which takes place in the school's rotating, multilevel library. "Bridgerton" star Jonathan Bailey gets a chance to show off his musical theater background here, and he's terrifically charming as the glib Prince Fiyero, the object of both Elphaba and Galinda's romantic interests. [x]

The true surprise, even more than Grande, is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the charming prince with hidden depths that both Galinda and Elphaba gravitate towards. Bailey has such a light comic touch to him and his performance of “Dancing Through Life” might be the best part of the movie, and the most ambitious set piece in the film. [x]

The true standouts are three-fold, with Grande, Erivo, and Bailey embracing the tonal shifts with unbridled glee. […] Fiyero has major bisexual vibes, and chemistry with every single character. Bailey’s take on “Dancing Through Life” lets the Olivier Award-winning actor unleash his sex appeal on a library full of unsuspecting Oz-ites. [x]

Jonathan Bailey adds renegade bravado as the devil-may-care Prince Fiyero, selling the character's journey from apathy to activism with aplomb. [x]

Elsewhere, British heartthrob Jonathan Bailey steals the show as the vain Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, a love interest for both young witches. Bailey effortlessly dances and sings his way through the film’s most demanding musical numbers. [x]

It's Jonathan Bailey who threatens to steal the show though, instantly charming during Flyero's meet-cute with Elphaba. Anybody not swooning already will be with his excellent 'Dancing Through Life' number, Bailey's palpable charisma shining through the extended number which culminates in a reimagined Ozdust Ballroom. [x]

One more: Jonathan Bailey. His dashing Prince Fiyero is one charming prince, so cheeky that he will have boys and girls everywhere swooning. And swoon they do, within the film — it’s a small thing, and not to get all #RepresentationMatters about it, but I was delighted to see Wicked make very clear that both male and female Shiz students are equally lustful whenever Fiyero’s around. There are some deliciously flirtatious moments between Fiyero and some guys during “Dancing Through Life,” and it had me thinking about the fact that, for as fabulously gay as musical theater so often is, you don’t usually see that kind of thing in a massive mainstream film. Kudos all around. [x]

The standout to me: I’m going to go with Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. He pops up into the film and immediately comes off so cocky, but so charming and likable. Just everybody he talks to, he has this fun rapport and chemistry with them, and just brings to life every scene that he’s in, whether it is just dialogue, joking, dramatic or his big dance number in the library. He’s so good. And it’s one of those things where I am not super familiar with him outside of this, and you just see him and you go - man, that guy is a star, this guy is really good. [x]

And while Wicked is all about is two leading ladies, we must spare a moment or several for Jonathan Bailey’s virile, twinkly Fiyero, who quite literally leaps onto the screen on his horse while clad in tight britches and sturdy riding boots. He’s charming in a way I never found the rather bland character to be onstage, bringing vibrancy to the role as a big screen heartthrob who tears up the floor (and library books) with his aggressive dancing. Now it makes sense that he could turn the head of both Glinda and Elphaba. A West End veteran himself, Bridgerton actor Bailey also boasts an exemplary voice – the casting directors truly spoiled fans here – and there are no exceptions made when every number is treated as a potential show-stopper. [x]

In terms of supporting performances, Bailey’s absolutely dashing and magnetic, giving a star-making performance – a la Rupert Everett’s in MY BEST FRIEND’S WEDDING. He lights up the screen as the object of romantic affection in screwball-esque scenes shared with Grande as much as he does during the library set number leading “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Bailey is a charming Fiyero, using all of his Bridgerton swagger in exactly the right ways. He arrives well into the term, a transfer student who has reached the end of the number of schools to be kicked out of. Fiyero is sometimes treated as a throwaway character–the generically hot love interest for two girls to feud over. But this Bailey’s Fiyero will not be so easily dismissed and his “Dancing Through Life,” plays well when accented by talented professional dancers that make the entire scene pop. [x]

Then there’s Jonathan Bailey, who manages to steal the show from his very entrance. Not since Dan Stevens first showed up in The Guest, or perhaps when Glenn Powell out-cruised Tom in Top Gun: Maverick, has there been this much tantalizing testosterone employed in such an effective way. Bailey’s bravura take on Fiyero Tigelaar, the Winkie Prince who sings about “Dancing Through Life,” is by far one of Chu’s most accomplished moments of filmmaking, managing to make the character simultaneously seductive and disarmingly silly. It’s also a moment in Wicked‘s storytelling where there’s fun to be had, and the massive sequence is absolutely a joy that by far exceeds the smaller scope of the on-stage presentation. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is so very “that guy.” His Fiyero doesn’t have the foppish facade of the original. His portrayal makes us aware he’s more complex than he appears from the moment we meet him and his talking horse, but as a Prince Charming, his rizz is high. Who wouldn’t fall in love with Bailey (and who hasn’t)? [x]

Bailey as Fiyero is the ultimate casting as the Lord becomes a Prince. He delves into Fiyero’s shallowness and his moments between Elphaba and Galinda are so starkly different as Bailey plays into both relationships organically with wonderful chemistry between all three. [x]

Jonathan Bailey has a standout musical number with “Dancing Through Life,” and he manages to have chemistry with everyone on screen as the handsome Fiyero. He’s fiercely flirtatious and fun to watch. [x]

Jonathan Bailey could have chemistry with an inanimate object. That man absolutely shines in the role of Fiyero. [x]

But, it’s Bailey’s Fiyero (surprise!) who steals the movie’s second-best scene: the elaborately choreographed “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Galinda immediately sets her sights on Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey, bringing an outstanding amount of Kenergy to his role). […] And there are certain sequences, specifically Galinda’s signature number “Popular” and Fiyero’s “Dancing Through Life”, where everything does click together nicely and the film suddenly sparks into life. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is absolutely swoony as the flirty Fiyero. While Wicked: Part One is just the beginning of his story, you can already see how Elphaba’s impact is starting to influence him to think more of others versus being shallow and self-consumed. [x]

Jonathan Bailey‘s Fiyero is a joy to watch, and you can see in his physicality and the sparkle in his eyes who he is destined to become. Once we see him dance and sing, he sweeps everyone off their feet. [x]

Fiyero gets one of the film’s most appealing numbers, brilliantly delivered by Bailey, “Dancing Through Life”, as the dashing Prince disturbs the peace of Shiz’s library to entice his classmates to join him for an evening of fun at “the most swankified place in town”, the Ozdust Ballroom. With Bailey gleefully taking on Christopher Scott characterful, silky smooth, choreography, he goes on to offer us seductive glimpses of the more substantial man hiding behind his mask of superficiality. [x]

I can’t say the word scene-stealer without talking about Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. Give Jonathan Bailey awards, give him every role … for being so amazing in this movie. He is just so effortlessly cool and charming and funny, but I love the heart that he gives certain moments … Fiyero just lives with me now … He enters this movie giving me one of my favourite performances. [x]

The supporting cast proves equally magnificent. Jonathan Bailey’s Fiyero exudes oodles of charisma and a strong voice, easily proving he can handle Christopher Scott’s limber choreography while simultaneously putting his own stamp on it.  While his character plays a more major role in the second film, his introduction, through the stunning “Dancing Through Life” number, leaves a lasting impression and makes for a compelling counterpoint for both leading ladies. [x]

Not to be outdone, Jonathan Bailey of Bridgerton fame plays Fiyero. The heartthrob, almost brainless hunk, who arrives at Shiz and drives so many of the students crazy with lust. Now Bailey’s carefree, but passionate, and decisive in both singing and choreography. With his signature song “Dancing Through Life”, Bailey gets to showcase some awesome footwork, along with amazing vocals, for a scene that is just mesmerizing thanks to the energy and the camera work. [x]

That said, it's BRIDGERTON (2020) star Jonathan Bailey who winds up stealing most of the scenes he's in as the Prince, Fiyero Tigelaar. Bailey is fantastic as the Prince, bringing an entertaining sense of levity and delight to the film. This is to the point that Bailey's absence in the film's finale is quite noticeable, with the film feeling somewhat dull without his presence. [x]

Elsewhere, Jonathan Bailey is charismatic as the dumb-but-charming Fiyero, and there’s a campness to his song-and-dance number, “Dancing Through Life” that will stir the loins in a whole range of viewers. [x]

One standout is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the Winkie prince who quickly makes a mark on Shiz after his enrollment. Bailey is not only charming and funny throughout, but exudes an energy that many of the other supporting players simply lack. [x]

Supporting roles are strong too, most notably from Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, full of bravado and fun, as well as a hefty dose of yearning – and fans of Bridgerton will know that no one does yearning like Bailey. His 'Dancing Through Life' is a blast but he's just as powerful in the film's quieter moments as his chemistry with Elphaba burns. [x]

As for the supporting cast, Bailey absolutely shines in his biggest film role to date. Much like Galinda, Fiyero is initially privileged and arrogant, but Bailey instils him with so much undeniable charm that you can easily understand why literally everyone at Shiz is falling under his spell. The seeds are sewn for Fiyero to open up in Part Two, but, for now, Bailey nails it as a seemingly one-dimensional hunk with hidden layers to explore. [x]

The film’s biggest strength is its perfectly cast triple-threat performers – Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba Thropp, Ariana Grande-Butera as Glinda Upland and Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero Tigelaar, a handsome prince whose subplot is best not spoiled. […] The charismatic Bailey, Emmy-nominated for “Fellow Travelers,” is known as the oldest son Anthony in the “Bridgerton” TV series, but in England, he is also an accomplished musical theater performer. He won an Olivier Award as Best Supporting Actor in a Musical for playing Jamie in the revival of “Company” in 2018. Fleet-footed and a nimble vocalist, he gives Fiyero an allure that wasn’t initially apparent on stage. [x]

Meanwhile, Jonathan Bailey channels his incredible Kenergy to bring the effortlessly charming Fiyero to the screen, with his fun take on “Dancing Through Life” almost stealing the show (someone please give him his own musical!) [x]

The same goes for Fiyero as Jonathan Bailey who makes his male lead into a much stronger character by leaning into the sobering moments as strongly as the lighter ones. [x]

Another pleasant surprise was Bailey as Fiyero. Best-known for his role in “Bridgerton,” Bailey isn’t as well-known for his singing chops, but he deftly carries one the most dazzling musical numbers of the whole show, “Dancing Through Life,” serving up both impressive vocals and dancing. Beyond his musical talent, Bailey is charming and roguish as the Winkie prince, while hinting that there’s a little more to him beyond his care-free persona. Bailey also has the unique ability to have chemistry with practically anyone he’s a romantic lead with, so he has great chemistry with both Grande and Erivo. The few, briefly swoon-worthy interactions between Fiyero and Elphaba specifically will likely have fans excited to see Fiyero and Elphaba’s relationship develop in “Wicked: Part 2.” [x]