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webseriesviral · 10 months

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'Dancing with the Stars' pro Peta Murgatroyd reveals newborn son's name with Maksim Chmerkovskiy Dancing with the Stars pro Peta Murgatroyd has finally revealed her newborn son's name. Peta, who welcomed her second child with husband Maksim Chmerkovskiy on June 18, took to Instagram on Wednesday, June 21 and posted a photo of her adorable baby boy wearing tan clothes and resting on a white comforter next to a wooden sign that revealed his cute name. RELATED LINK: 'DANCING WITH THE STARS' PROS AND THEIR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS: WHO'S DATING OR MARRIED TO WHOM!? (PHOTOS) "Rio John," the wooden sign read. Peta captioned the photo, "Rio John Chmerkovskiy. Born - 6.18.2023." Peta added, "8.6 oz and thriving! We are overjoyed to share our baby boy with all of you. @shai.aleksander is already the best big brother and we all feel very complete. Life is good XO." Peta went on to call her new son the "love of my life" via Instagram Stories on Thursday, June 22. "[Maksim] can never say I didn't get him the ultimate Fathers Day gift... I cannot wait to share my birth story with you all," Peta wrote. Peta also joked about how Maksim suggested they should have one more child immediately after she had given birth in the hospital. "[Maksim] literally straight after birth. Anyone else experience this? Lol," Peta captioned a brief video of the spouses' time in the hospital. Peta and Maksim's new baby joins their first-born son, Shai, 6. Peta began documenting her second pregnancy -- including a babymoon to "paradise" with Maksim and Shai in April -- ever since announcing the big news in January that she was expecting again. The unexpected pregnancy occurred only months after Peta did a June 2022 interview in which she had revealed she was currently undergoing in vitro fertilization after suffering three miscarriages in the prior two years. FOLLOW REALITY TV WORLD ON THE ALL-NEW GOOGLE NEWS! Reality TV World is now available on the all-new Google News app and website. Click here to visit our Google News page, and then click FOLLOW to add us as a news source! "It's been a long ride for our family. Each day of those two-and-a-half years I prayed for a miracle," Peta wrote June 9 on Instagram. RELATED LINK: 'THE BACHELOR' FRANCHISE COUPLES NOW: WHO IS STILL TOGETHER? (PHOTOS) Alongside her post, Peta uploaded a video showing the moment she had learned she was pregnant again. "I really was reluctant sharing this footage, but I realized this is my journey... not a pretty journey but... MY journey. I am a changed woman from these events, I think a better woman. Today I am happy and content, I am grateful and won't take things for granted," Peta wrote. She continued, "I never thought this day at 39 weeks would come. It was an infatuation to be pregnant with my second child, I thought I needed it for my soul, to be full and whole. What I needed to realize and come to terms with was the fact that I am whole, I have a beautiful healthy family who love me and that I wasn't able to see." Peta said the joy she and Maksim were experiencing at the time was "other worldly." "I never thought we were going to be here [at 39 weeks pregnant]," Peta wrote over a photo of Maksim kissing her belly. "I thank god everyday. It was all worth it." Peta previously revealed that she got pregnant "all natural" this time around and it just "happened." Peta told People earlier this year, "I didn't even know I was pregnant for so long until I was really feeling sick. I danced through Dancing with the Stars with it. I started feeling weird, started feeling a little bit sick and a little bloated and I didn't want to test for weeks." Peta explained she had finally taken a pregnancy test around the "six or seven-week" mark and was shocked to discover the results. Peta competed on Season 31 of Dancing with the Stars last fall, however, her participation in the competition ended up being unusually brief. She and her celebrity partner, actor Jason Lewis, were eliminated at the conclusion of Season 31's premiere when it streamed live on Disney+ on September 19. Peta and Jason were eliminated after they landed in the bottom-two couples based on the combined total of judges' scores and viewer votes that were cast live throughout the two-hour premiere. Dancing with the Stars' judges at the time -- Len Goodman, Derek Hough, Carrie Ann Inaba and Bruno Tonioli -- were then tasked with saving either The Real Housewives of New Jersey star Teresa Giudice and her partner Pasha Pashkov (the other couple in the premiere's bottom-two) or Peta and Jason, and opted to save Teresa and Pasha. When asked if she'd like to return to Dancing with the Stars despite her short stint on the show last year, Peta told Us Weekly in January, "I would love to be [a pro partner again], if they want me." "I'm here, I'm willing," she noted. "I'll give birth and jump back in within, you know, the seven weeks that I did with Shai. I went back with Nick Viall that season, and I would gladly do it again." Peta became a pro partner on Dancing with the Stars for Season 13 in 2011. She competed in a total of 14 seasons and claimed the mirrorball trophy twice. Peta sat out of Season 23 while she was pregnant with Shai. Peta and Maksim welcomed Shai together in January 2017, and then the couple got married in July 2017 of that year after five years of dating. RELATED LINK: 'DANCING WITH THE STARS' PROS AND THEIR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS: WHO'S DATING OR MARRIED TO WHOM!? (PHOTOS) While awaiting the birth of Baby No. 2, Maksim's sister-in-law, Jenna Johnson, gave birth in January to her son, Rome, with Maksim's brother Val Chmerkovskiy. Dancing with the Stars' 32nd season is set to air on ABC, and stream simultaneously on Disney+, this fall. Alfonso has already teased having "fantastic" chemistry with his new co-host Julianne Hough. About The Author: Elizabeth KwiatkowskiElizabeth Kwiatkowski is Associate Editor of Reality TV World and has been covering the reality TV genre for more than a decade. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '139494146798076'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); (function(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=226191007403108"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); (document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); [ad_2] Read More

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

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Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down?

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week.

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of.

Banner by me.

Monday: Pitch Meeting

“Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

Today, Claire decided, that would change. She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

“We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

“I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

“Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

“Who are those people?”

“Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

“What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

�� “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

“Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

“I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

“I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

“Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

“Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

“It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

“I do!” Claire chimed.

“Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

“You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

“It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

“I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

“Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

“You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

“How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

“I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”

“You can’t have one,”

“Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

“I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

“Well, I need their handle,”

“Fine,”

“And the intern,” Claire was firm.

You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

“Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

“Thank you,”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“Jealous?” You questioned.

“Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

“Great,”

“I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

“Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

“If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

“Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

“Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

“Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

“Okay,”

“Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

“I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

“I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

“Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

“You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

“What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

“What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

“Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

“You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

“Me?”

“Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

“He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

“Potato, Tomato,”

“You should talk-

“Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

“Fine, fine.”

“I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

“That’s a lie,”

“Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.

“Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

“No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

“You should,” He suggested.

“I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

“Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

“Bitchy?”

“Your words, then she would like you,”

“She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

“He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

“Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

“You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

“He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”

Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

“If he’s not there,” You answered.

“I can’t promise that,”

“Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

“Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

“I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

“Great!”

“I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

“I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

“At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

“Well-

“You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

“I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

“That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

“You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

“Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

“Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

“I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,”

“Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

“I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

“Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

“You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

“Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

“So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

“Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

“And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

“Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

“Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

“What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

“Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

“I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

“Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

“What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

“In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

“No!”

“Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.

“I would never,” You glowered.

“You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

“I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

“Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

“Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

“July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

“I, I, no!”

“October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

“He started it!”

“Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

“I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

“Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

“Know what?”

“About your vendetta,”

“It’s not a vendetta!”

“Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

“I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

“His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

“You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

“Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

“You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

“Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

“I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

“I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

“You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

“We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

“You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

��“It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

“This is entirely personal.”

“Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

“No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.

“Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

“I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

“It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

“Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

“You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

“Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

“Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

“You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.

“You agreed to-

“No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

“I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

“Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

“She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

“Did you?”

“No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

“Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

“No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

“Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

“Until you what?”

“Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

“She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

“Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

“No, something weird is going on,”

You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

“I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

“He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

“I-

“Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

“What if he-

“Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

“Okay,”

“I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

“Thank you,”

“I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

“I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

“To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

“I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

“Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

“You still live at the same place?”

“No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

“You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

“What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

“I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

“I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

“Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

“I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

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sleeplessandstubborn · 4 years

Text

Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring about the protagonist and I started rooting for the French. Episode 1.

Let’s be clear. I was planning to root for the French anyway. They are in the neighbouring country, I quite like them and I was prepared to confront and make fun about all the stereotypes in this series. Because this was exactly what I expected. Funny, lighthearted and totally braindead (wink wink) escapism in an instagrammed to the top Paris which has the same resemblance with the real one than Vincent Minelli’s... But without Gene Kelly. So what did I think of the first episode?

Meet Emily Cooper from Chicago. She’s young, she is dynamic, she struggles to be liked by everyone and at the beginning of the series. She is a marketing executive about to be promoted or so she thinks.

... Because her boss Madeline (played by Kate Walsh) is going to Paris in order to take work with Savoir, a luxury firm the company (sorry I forgot its name) has just adquired. Madeline is overjoyed because working for a year in Paris is one of her dreams and because French men like mature women, as probed by the fact that their young and hot (sic, but this blog agrees) president married his high school teacher. We’ll never know which plans Madeline had for Frenchmen, whether they are young or hot or not. The case is after two minutes in the series she vomits, which means she’s pregnant and she can’t go anywhere because it’s an truth universally aknowledged that pregnant women can’t go on with their plans.

It’s in the next scene when we meet Emily’s boyfriend, Doug, and when we learn she’s going to Paris in Madeline’s place, in spite of being unprepared and not knowing the language. At this point one wonders how it’s possible that no one else in the company can replace Madeline. All of them are monolingual? Our plucky heroine is not discouraged by the litle fact of knowing virtually nothing about the country in which she’s going to live during the next twelve months. She and Doug - the moment you see the scene you know it wont’ go well - agree on a long distance relationship.

And after a very well done transition, we have crossed the ocean. Yes, this is well done, and I say it unironically. Episodes are short, your show is called Emily in Paris, so, what’s better than having your main lady already in the French capital in less than five minutes. The series goes to the point in this aspect and it’s a good thing to spare us of unnecesary scenes.

So Emily arrives to her apartment with pretty views, confused about in which floor she’s supposed to live (running gag ahead) and already hit on by a French guy on a suit that looks like the love child of Gabriel Attal and Albert Rivera (check it, seriously). I couldn’t take him seriously not only because of that but also because he said that Emily’s appartment was a chambre de bonne. Not by any means. Look, I’ve never lived in Paris but I know that apartment is huge when compared with a real chambre de bonne.

Off to know her working place, Emily has this HUGE smile pasted on her face. I don’t know if this supposed to make her charming and likeable. For me - it’s true than I have this European perspective - she looks a mix between an anxious puppy and a psychopath. I would be scared and would avoid her at all costs. The cultural clash is about to happen.

Yeah, I would look at her too, Julien a.k.a. token black character. You have probably heard about the lack of diversity in this series, I won’t abound in that, others have worded it better. It also an established fact that French people smokes at their workplace, even if in the European Union we have these things called smoking bans that won’t allow it.

And enter Sylvie, Emily’s Parisian boss and supposed main antagonist, à la Devil wears Prada. What to say about Sylvie other than I adore her? Her clothes, her style, her sarcasm. As any rational being would do, Sylvie is pretty dismayed to learn that Emily does not have the slightest idea of French and its already wanting to impose her American perspective and her alleged knowledge of social media. The problem is I don’t know if her posts on Instagram really deserve that much attention. Clash ensues with the rest of her new coworkers. C’est la cata! they comment. I quite agree.

Our fish-out-of-water takes an evening afterwork stroll (this Paris is like one square kilometer and public transport is something you mention but never appears) and calls her boyfriend to state the entire city looks like Ratatouille, which legitimately made me laugh. I am not sure if this reference means that Emily’s filmic culture is that limited or if it’s her boyfriend the one who only knows a movie which takes place in Paris and that’s one is Ratatouille. We know that Emily at least has seen Moulin Rouge and that makes two so probably is Doug’s fault.

Back at home, and since she has forgotten how to count, Emily attempts to open the wrong door. Immediately a wild Frenchman appears; it’s Gabriel, played by Lucas Bravo probably one of these young hot men Madeline would target. He takes the intrusion reasonably well. Especially when it’s discovered that Emily only knows his region, Normandy, from Saving Private Ryan. That makes three films, so definitely I think Doug is the problem here as far as filmic culture goes.

Next day Emily picks a yellow outfit and goes to work, purchasing a pain au chocolat in her way to work. I confess I was underwhelmed when discovered that there wouldn’t be any joke about the Great Civil War that has been going on in France since its earliest days: the partidaries of pain au chocolat vs. the ones of chocolatine. A ferocious, merciless conflict unknown by most nations. A lost opportunity not making this woman someone from the South who bravely defies Parisian conventions calling it chocolatine. I’m team pain au chocolat btw. Naturally when she discovers the wonderful world of flavours she makes another Instagram post. She’s earning more and more followers, Heavens know why.

However, she has a Big Problem with Doing Research. Example given, she doesn’t know her schedule - a problem which could have been solved with reading numbers - and arrives two hours early to her workplace.

Once there she discovers she can’t sit with the cool kids. No one wants to lunch with her, so she decides to miserably sit by herself at the park, where we met her best new friend. Her name’s Mindy, she’s from Shangai and she’s working as au pair, while teaching Mandarin to the two blond children she’s looking after. We’ll later discover more about her. She instantly detects the American in Emily and offers her help to this awkward but at the same time arrogant newcomer.

Meanwhile at Savoir, Emily has earned a sobriquet. La Plouc, which is adopted by Sylvie and most of her coworkers even if Luc seems more or less reluctant to say it. La Plouc means the hick, as she instantly discovers thanks to an online translator. It’s really not a good day for our heroine, and she cames back home - remember that thing about this Paris being one square kilometer? - walking. Co-worker and someone who for some resason reminds me to the posh-y version of Philippe Poutou - check it - Luc passes by as she sits lonely by herself and apologizes for calling her la Plouc earlier. He also claims she’s arrogant for coming to Paris without speaking or even understanding French - which is true - and tells her people is probably scared as her new, modern ideas. Which makes no sense at all and it’s probably a white lie.

Meanwhile and for some reason her totally inocuous posts in Instagram makes her earn more and more followers. During the night, her oblivious to timezones boyfriend call her and they have - or attempt to have - a totally awkward and unsexy session of cybersex. At the end Emily is so frustrated that she tries to use her electric vibrator which leads to the short-circuit of the entire building. Fortunately before she has the oportunity of getting closer to the device in question. And that’s how Episode 1 ends.

What did I think? It’s fun and pretty to look at. Even prettier to rant about. As long as your brain remains carefully shut off in the meantime and you don’t take it that seriously you are going to enjoy it I guess. At least it’s my case.

Still frustrated for not covering the Great Civil War tho.

#emily in paris

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kookxin · 3 years

Text

STRIPED; kth

°§°

Pair¬ Taehyung×you(though she has a korean nickname)

Genre¬ hybrid au! soulmate au! fluff, slightly mature, marking, cuteness overload

Synopsis¬ young adult Eunbin never knew the true meaning of hormones until her closest friend, a tiger hybrid taught her.

Words¬ 2.6k

°§°

You were 6 when a 12 years old black siberian tiger hybrid had arrived in your home one evening, hiding fearfully behind your dad. Your friendly nature helped overcome his fear for humans, and he became used to having them around. He became family, yours became his. Therefore, it's apt to say that he was your best friend since as long as you can remember. You can't imagine a life without him.

When he first arrived into your life, he was just a child, a mere teenager, yet he took care of the 6 year old you, as if you were related by blood. Even though you were not, you shared a bond stronger than any blood relations. You knew how the other one felt, what they wanted and when. It was sometimes overwhelming, when you felt emotions that weren't your own, but someone else's. But, as you grew older, that became a part of you, a habit, the same goes with your hybrid buddy. You knew when the other one felt down, and you knew exactly how to tend to it. You knew that everyone had a soulmate, that everyone was destined to be with a certain someone, for instance, take your parents. You knew such a couple would be able to feel each other's deepest emotions as if it were their own. And what you'd felt for your Taehyung since your younger days only confirmed it. It was clear, the fact that Kim Taehyung, a tiger hybrid, was your destined mate.

Weird right? A human, a prey, a mate for a tiger, a predator. But that never, ever, altered your love for each other, even though you both hadn't the idea what to name that love, 'cause of your young innocent selves.

But with time, you grew up, so did he. You started going to school, and he was home-schooled. You were 11 when you'd invited a friend of yours to your house for the first time. And that's when you discovered how jealous your striped hybrid could be. The fact that your friend was a boy didn't exactly lighten the situation either. It was a play date, approx 1 hour long, the aftermath of which was a sulking Taehyung, cheeks puffed with anger, ignoring your existence the entire day. Your 11 year old self tried so hard to talk, to ask, to find out the reason for his anger and ignorance, yet he didn't budge from his decision of neglecting you. Finally after numerous failed attempts to get him to talk to you, after dinner, you retired to bed. But habits were habits. It was in routine for you to walk him to his room, kiss him goodnight, before calling it a night.

So you did just that, as soon as he was done with the tuck-in, you immediately hopped to your feet after him, following him to his room. As he went to twist the knob to his bedroom, you caught his wrist with your much, much smaller fingers, and tugged him closer, to tiptoed to his height to place an affectionate kiss on his cheek, and finally backed away to return to your own room. But to your surprise, you were pulled into a tight backhug, with pointy large triangular striped ears tickling your own, and his face in your neck, cheek to cheek. That was also a day, where you'd come to know that, one of his greatest weaknesses, are your kisses.

Your sixteenth birthday was celebrated with double the avidity and zeal, as it was made official to the world that you had found your mate on the same day, and you had found him in a certain tiger hybrid, your Tae. You grew even closer since then. It was timorous at first between you two, as your whole relationship had changed, for you and for the world, but then because your love for each other was the same, and if not, even more, you both became each other's need.

You knew that at some point, you'd have to leave your home to make your own living, therefore, to get a taste of it, you started to work. It was a part-time job in a decent diner, which paid you enough to make you and your family proud of yourself. You were finally able to call something 'your hard earned income', and you were ecstatic. But work also comes with responsibility, therefore there were times you had to work longer than your shift, and came back home tired as ever. Nonetheless, you would flash the largest grin, when Tae would welcome you with open arms and a striped tail wagging behind him, at the entrance of the house. You both would cuddle with each other all night long, while sharing secrets, giggles, warmth, and your love. Those were the kind of nights where you'd go blind to everything but your soulmate.

There were times when the 22 year old tiger would lock himself away for hours on end in his room, leaving you confused and pondering over the reasons for this behavior. At those times, your parents would just exchange an unreadable look, which had become quite known to you, yet you couldn't know what that actually meant. Your parents would give vague answers when you'd ask, and brush you away, or deviate from the topic. Those were the only times your parents would be worried about a tiger being your soulmate.

At night, when you'd miss him, you'd quietly make your way and stand in front of the door which separated you, but never knock, and try to feel his emotions on the other side. You'd hear what seemed like whimpers and moans, but you'd never dare knock, as told to you by your parents.

There had been an instance, where as usual you'd made your way to his room, standing outside the door, like you usually did. But what had startled you were the deep sounds which were split between growls and moans, and the next thing you knew was the heavy scratching on the other side of the door, and you felt him. It was as if he wanted to be out, but at the same time he was refraining himself. And that very moment you felt his silent plead, for you to go away. With tears in your eyes, you had run for your room, where you stayed awake on your bed the entire night.

You had searched the entire net for information, as your parents were zip lipped on this, and had finally concluded, that when he would lock himself in his room for hours without seeing you, your mate would be facing his heat. It was an animalistic urge to mark and mate with your partner, which was almost impossible to control. Therefore, as you were underage and unprepared for such a commitment yet in your age, he would suffer through his thing alone.

You wanted to, with all your heart, but couldn't help him through his pain, unless you were an adult. So you'd support him morally, you'd sit in front of his room the entire night, covering your scent with lotions and perfumes, and share his pain through the separating doors.

As you crossed 18, and your mate, 24, you decided to move out of your childhood home, to make you own life. Your parents had an apartment on the other side of the city, well furnished with all you could need. So with your belongings and your mate's, you both moved into your new place, your new home.

Half a year through living comfortably in your apartment, here you are, on your black leather couch, scrolling through your Instagram, with a furry head on top of your lap. The television was blaring nonsense into the silence, not getting any attention from the members of the living space. The black siberian tiger hybrid had recently dyed his hair jet black, to match with his hair, the inspiration being his best friend, a cat hybrid, Yoongi, who had dyed his hair blonde.

You are enjoying a video of the cutest cat on Instagram, when a hand grabs your wrist, bringing it to his head. Knowing this gesture very well, you start playing with his hair, twirling a few strands around your fingers, and purr runs out his lips.

Wanting to add a comment on the recently posted picture of your friend, you take your hand back unconsciously to hold the device better. Tae huffs in annoyance, which you fail to hear. He tugs your wrist back to his head, and you mutter a 'sorry' absentmindedly, still very focused on your phone, and run your fingers through his hair lightly. He closes his eyes in peace.

A few minutes pass, and you withdraw your hand again unconsciously, to type a message, and Taehyung has had enough. He hastily sits up, snatches away your phone, and tosses it to land luckily on the single couch. He then glares at you with hooded dark eyes that takes your breath away, literally. He then comes back again to settle his head down on your lap, and you inhale shakily. There is something about that look he gave you, and you read the underlying message in it, which basically meant that he's the dominant one.

Without having to be said, you start running your fingers through his locks, a rouge on your cheeks and you gulp, as he stares up at you with the same hooded dark eyes as a few moments earlier.

Your fingers tense, as he leans up a little to run the tip of his nose on your wrist, his eyes still boring into yours. Your fingers pause on his scalp, when he inhales the scent on your skin, and a smirk curved the side of his lips.

"You smell like me. I like it."

He is octaves lower than his already deep voice, and that, you find incredibly sexy. Why, you don't know yet, but, your body says you want to. So you lean down and place your lips on his forehead, as if you don't own your body anymore, and keep the contact of your skins firm. A low growl leaves him, and your lips curve up against his skin, knowing that your kiss is working its magic like every other time.

You withdraw yourself millimetres back to stare into his eyes, which turn darker than ever in front of your own. You feel the air around you grow hotter by the second, and there's sparks around you, and in your eyes. Currents are felt where you're touching and have touched, and they flow straight to your hearts, which are beating louder than ever.

You slightly angle your head and move slightly to the left, which make your lips hover right above his. You feel his every breath against your lips, which makes you look at his, and wonder how can his every feature be so very perfect.

You brush your lips on his, and exhale softly, not being able to take it anymore.

"Do it, Eunbin-ah. Kiss me..." His voice is a mere whisper and you do as told, without making him do so twice.

You kiss him.

Your very first kiss.

His very first kiss.

It's a feeling like never before, for the both of you. It's just a mere contact of lips on each other at first, then a little movement adds to the feeling, making it slow and passionate, but then the greed to feel more drives the both of you to do it with extreme fervour, zeal, and ardour.

The air around you energizes with the heated and frenzied gestures to convey your love to each other. You are fully lost into it, and your head move to cup his chin and head. His tongue gently grazes your upper lip, which brings you back to the world. You release a low moan, and instantly feel heavily embarrassed, but he eases it with a chuckle which warms your entire chest.

You pull back a little, to dive into the windows to his soul with your own, and witness the desire in his eyes colour his entire orbs black, just like the fur on his ears. You bring your fingertips just behind his striped black and white triangular ears, and rub the fur gently, and his eyes are shut immediately, squeezing in what you read as pleasure. His eyes open again, and there's hunger in them, along with words only you could read in the entire universe. He wants to mark you.

Without a word spoken, you bring your head down again, this time angling it in such a way that your neck is directly in his reach. Your lips graze his cheekbone and his human ears are well in reach for you.

Your eyes close shut immediately, when he leaves a kiss on your neck. He then attaches his mouth to your skin, leaving open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, to your collarbone, and back. He finds a spot on your neck, which instantly makes you shudder, and he immediately starts licking just there. Your body grows hotter, with heat rushing up your neck, to your cheeks, and down to your stomach. You feel your stomach coil as he opens his mouth over your skin and starts sucking the skin there. He starts marking you.

As he sucks, you can feel his tongue licking simultaneously there, easing out the stinging sensation. You gasp, when his teeth graze and nibble on your sensitive spot.

The television is long forgotten, and Taehyung can only hear your heavy breathing and soft, low moans. He feels his heart jumping in his chest, he fears at a point, that it would come out.

Your fingers find again, his sensitive ears, and you start caressing them. He hums against your neck, the vibration sending shivers throughout your body.

He slowly detaches his mouth from your skin, and licks it carefully. He finally kisses it, possessively, then draws you closer by grabbing your neck and kisses you on the forehead, and then on the lips. This one is slow yet possessive, lustful yet passionate. It is beautiful, the moment and the atmosphere, which has turned from something fervent and fierce, to impassioned and heartfelt.

The mark you have on the neck is fresh, turning a beautiful deep purple, indicating that someone owns your heart and you.

You both have a newer connection now, and you can feel it in your chains, and in your heart, which is now connected to his.

When you look into his eyes now, you see him differently, he is the same Tae you had met in your childhood, but you see him now, as a grown up, young hybrid.

You see him as your soulmate, your life.

You grin at him, when his eyes run from yours, yet returning a sheepish grin. You cup one of his cheeks, and while caressing it, lean in and place a kiss just below his Adam's Apple, and grin again, feeling him gulp and release a shaky sigh. You lean up again, to look into his eyes, which you find already on you.

He hurriedly stands up and pulls you up with him, dragging you across the living room and into the bedroom, defeating all those who questioned your unity, the unity of a hybrid and a human, a predator and a prey.

°§°

Black Siberian Tiger

Do not copy storyline.

¬ Hajin

#bts kim taehyung #kth x reader #oneshot #hybrid #bts kth

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feminist-propaganda · 3 years

Text

Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of Queen’s Gambit - Episode 1

I’ll start this long piece with a quote by Toni Morrisson. She once said : “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”

After watching Queen’s Gambit yesterday I rushed to the Internet to see if someone had written all of the things I am about to write, all of the symbols I saw in the miniseries, all of the dog whistles, the references. I found articles about chess. About how the community had adopted the film, about which grandmasters the characters were based off of, about chess moves and theories, about production and the unexpected success of the series.

According to me, this is quite mediocre commentary. I eventually clicked on the New Yorker article that seemed to be a tiny bit smarter. After a couple of paragraphs I realized that the male writer was only going to rant about how the actress is “too pretty” to be Beth Harmon, and this seems to upset him. A lot.

But no one talked about Beth’s mother. Or the name of the series. Or the embroidery. The chess board. The tranquilizers. The math. The flashbacks. The exchange of queens. The sacrifice of the queen. Did no one see it? Or is it again one of those things; where the world is so obsessed with single mothers and representing them as huge, massive, quite literal train wrecks, but no one actually wants to look at them in the eye, talk to them, help them?

Let me tell you, as a single mother, this miniseries had me in tears the whole time. It’s really difficult to watch. It’s downright triggering.

Single mothers like to keep their silence. That’s because we know the world doesn’t like it when we start talking. It hurts. A lot. So instead, the world likes to make memes about how single moms are whores, how they are drunks or over worked. How they’re psychotic. How they ramble. They don’t make any sense. Bipolar. Crazy. How their children stare at the television all day, the way they microwave bad food. We laugh at them, and use them as comical relief in our ... what exactly? Cultural objects. Then we move on. We send a message to single mothers when we do this, and the message is important. You suck. Shut Up. Don’t exist. It’s your fault.

We make an entire mini series about a single mother who killed herself to save her kid, we put on the television images that hurt and harm single mothers and then the public responds with nothing. They don’t even bat an eyelash. Miss the point entirely. Great series about chess! Except it’s not about chess. Not at all. It’s about raising children alone, when the world hates you. It’s about a trailer. In the middle of nowhere. A strong willed woman who was a mathematician in the 1940s. Who taught her daughter everything she could. Realized she couldn’t do more. And made the ultimate sacrifice, the queen’s gambit. The riskiest, most reckless, bravest move of all.

So let me tell you about what it’s like to watch Queen’s Gambit when you’re a single mother. So that somewhere in the AI, it’s written. So that when our great grand children will try to understand our times, they’ll read it.

I’ll write an essay for each episode. And in each essay I will review the important lession that Alice passed on to young Beth, and how this takes her to Moscow, where she can live a much more fulfilling life than in the U.S.A.

Lesson 1 : Find A Two Dimensional Algebric Plane. Study It. Control It.

I recently learned from instagram user @itllbeokbaby and Amsterdam based artist and weaver Liza Prins that the words textile and text have the same origin as the word texture.

Text derives from the Latin textus (a tissue), which is in turn derived from texere (to weave). It belongs to a field of associated linguistic values that includes weaving, that which is woven, spinning, and that which is spun, indeed even web and webbing. Textus entered European vernaculars through Old French, where it appears as texte and where it assumes its important relation with tissu (a tissue or fabric) and tisser (to weave).

Women have been weaving, beading, sowing and stitching since the dawn of times. We also know that women used this technology not just to create clothes, tents or shoes. They used it as a container of information. As cultural DNA.

In South America, in places where writing as we know of it was never created, women would bead important tribal information into skirts. They would then use the skirts as a database of the tribe. To track births, deaths, epidemics, droughts and other important group defining events.

In modern times, women still use embroidery as a means of expression. My memories from childhood contain strong images of my aunts and grandmothers, sewing my name and date of birth onto pillow cases, bathrobes and bedcovers. They would do this by the pool, at the bottom of the ski slopes, on the beach or in the train. They would engage into conversation as they embroidered; as this activity required some concentration, but not their full attention. It was their way of being present; but also transcending into the past and projecting into the future. They sewed our lives into the cloth.

I once heard my grandmother counting the holes in the cloth she was decorating with her beautiful colours. I asked what she was doing. She said that to build the letters on the cloth, you needed to count the squares. Two to the top, four to the right, ten to the middle, etc etc. I was quite mesmerized. I was maybe eight at the time, the same age as Beth when she loses her mother. I had started learning some math in school but somehow the math in school seemed to be presented to me as the epitome of something quite different than this excruciatingly feminine passtime.

Math was presented to me as masculine, out of reach to us girls. And now I was disovering that these women in my family were geometry experts, fluent in linear algebra, and that at a higher level, they were database account managers.

In the first episode of the miniseries, in the first couple of minutes; we discover two Beths. The first Beth is in Paris, the beautiful, the chic; the glamourous Paris. Paris will always be the undisputed capital of Fashion.

Paris is the undisputed capital of fashion not because it is the home of polluting massive textile industries like the ones in Pakistan or Zara’s empire in Spain. Paris is the capital of fashion because it is the capital of Haute Couture. And Haute Couture is custom made, sowed by hand, piece by piece, bead by bead, sequin per sequin. It is delicate. It is slow. It is sacred. It is what my aunt’s did.

It is the opposite of industrial, the opposite of a sewing machine, the opposite of an engine. The opposite of yield failures, punching in and punching out. It is lace. Delicate, personal, eternal.

The second Beth we see is the eight year old Beth, that has just lost her mother. She stands on a bridge. Two cars have crashed into one another. And she stares on at the police officers. One says “Not a scratch on her. It’s a miracle”. The other says “I doubt she’ll see it like that”.

My theory is that the miniseries explain how Beth eventually begins to “see it like that”.

The first time we see 8 year old Beth she is wearing a dress, with her name embroidered on it. It reads Beth, in pink. Feminine. Purple flowers surround it. The embroidery is delicate. It’s on her heart.

We follow eight year old Beth as she gets sent to an orphanage. In the first couple of scenes at the orphanage, we think, for a minute, that maybe Beth will be okay here. The head mistress smiles, has nice hair. Shows her around. Yes, the bed is by the lavatory, but at least she has a bed, a roof over her head.

We only start despising this new mother figure when she takes Beth to choose new clothes. Beth takes off her dress, and stares at her name, written on the front. The headmistress selects a white shirt and grey dress for Beth. She hands to her these new items, symbol of her new life, of her integration within the orphanage and later mainstream society. The headmistress then grabs the dress with the name embroidered and looks at it with disgust. Then, she says “I think we’ll burn this one” and disapears.

Beth then understands that she is no longer allowed to love her mother. That to fit in this school, this orphanage, to survive, she must let go of the embroidery and all of the things she associates with her mother. Her mother, in the words of the teacher was a “victim” of “a carefree life”. A free spirited whore, a lesbian, a witch. There’s a lot of words we liek to use to describe women who don’t conform. And Beth’s mother, as we learn, never conformed.

At night, Beth sees her mother’s eyes, she hears the last words her mother uttered before dying in the car crash. “Close your eyes”. She said it with tears in her eyes and an air of great determination. She knew what she was doing, which is something Beth doesn’t want to tell anyone. Not even her new friend Jolene. Beth’s secret is her mother wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy at all.

Then, Beth discovers the board. One day, she gets sent to the basement and sees the janitor playing chess. Later in the miniseries, Beth tells the journalist from Life it was the board that attracted her. Not the pieces.

As the first episode unfolds, Beth learns that the squares have names. She learns the names. And at night when she looks up at the ceiling she sees the board. She visualizes the pieces moving on the 64 squares. She moves them in her mind and imagines all of the alternatives. What the board would look like if she moved this piece to that square. What would her opponent do then?

To the journalist of the Life magazine, Beth says that the Chess board was a universe of 64 squares, and that she could control this space. All she had to do was study it.

The board is much like the cloth that Beth’s mother Alice would sew information onto when she was a young child. You count the squares and move your material through it. As you go, you make shapes, patterns, motifs. Beth looks up at the ceiling at night and the first night, without the tranquilizers, she sees her mother say “Close your eyes” which is too painful or such a young child. A young child doesn’t understand yet why a mother would say “Close your eyes” and then crash on purpose into a truck. A young child doesn’t know about the world yet.

Alice aknowledged that she was about to do something extremely risky, that the outcome was uncertain. Alice told Beth that she was going to purposely provoke the car crash.

But when Beth takes the tranquilizers at night, and now that she knows about chess, she can transfer her love for her mother into her growing obsession with Chess. She looks up at the ceiling and instead of seeing Alice’s last thoughts, she sees the Chess board. Which is the small piece of universe that Alice controlled, when she was alive. The cloth that she sewed her daughter’s name on: “So that you’ll always remember who you are”.

#feminism #single mom #the queen's gambit

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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 3 years

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Parkson Mystery

Kate Denson x Jake Park

word count: 1,457

summary: none of Kate’s fans know how she met him. she was single one day, and had him all over her feed the next. they tried digging into his past and discovered he was working on Wall Street, until his digital footprint all but vanished, only again popping up on the internet’s radar when the songbird he spent so much time around made their relationship public. this is the true story of how america’s sweetheart and the mystery mogul first met... and then some.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this! this story was originally posted on the DBD Amino. imma be completely honest w u, I have NOT been a fan of Kate. I like using Boil Over when in swf and I enjoy the Horse Gorl™️ vibes but like. idk. ANYWAYS. as I wrote this story I actually made a bunch of personal headcanons and can now say, Parkson is an official ship for me! I can totally vibe w the dynamic they have in my head <3

masterlist

Jake Park wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d picked up a taste for country music after having an existential crisis; in fact, he wasn’t even ashamed to admit he’d become an avid fan of Kate Denson - not a stan, though. Sure, he followed her on his private Instagram, but that wasn’t to lurk on her sexy photoshoot pictures, it was just to keep track of release dates for her albums. Granted, it never is hard to admit things when you don’t have friends to admit them to in the first place.

Every now and then he’d wonder if he should stop being such a stiff and just call one of his old work buddies for a steak dinner, but a quick scroll through their text history would remind him why he left the world of Wall Street behind to begin with. Materialism pales in comparison to the simple things in life, he’d tell himself. His baser instincts had always told him life wasn’t meant to be complicated, which is why he shoved those instincts down for years.

But Kate’s music - the songs of America’s sweetheart - reminded him of what an uncomplicated life was. Hard, rewarding work all day, and well-deserved rest at night. So much more peaceful than the never-ending rat race of the big city. Her music spoke to his soul in ways nothing ever had before, calmed his spirit. It made him realize how lost he was. So, he ditched the concrete jungle in favor of the real deal. Now all he ever dreamed of was thanking the young star who set him on fire again, giving him a new lease on life.

When he heard she was touring in his city, he felt excitement seeping into his very essence. Finally, the chance he’d been hoping for. He supposed she would be bashful, tell him he did more to turn his life around than she did. She gave off that vibe, at least. But Jake knew the truth, and he hoped he might find a kindred spirit in her. He pulled out an old business suit, perfect for a rare night on the town, brought his expensive car out of the garage acting as its tomb, and purchased a VIP ticket.

He was the last person in line. When he got to the front, he was almost speechless at the sight of her - almost. He managed to get out, “Miss Denson, your music saved my life.” The star laughed shyly, like she was used to a different kind of person saying those words to her. Probably fourteen, wearing braces, just having gone through their emo phase before getting back in touch with their roots. All the kids go through them these days, after all. Even a little cousin of Jake’s did a few years back. While he pondered this, he couldn’t help but also ponder how her laugh sounded like wind chimes. How is it that musicians always sound so magical?

As Jake mused, Kate said something he couldn’t quite hear and began to walk away with her security detail, agent in tow. “Wait!” He called out, and she turned back to face him. He could tell her agent was thinking he was just a crazed country boy super fan. “What if I told you that your music is the reason why I walked away from Wall Street?”

Kate smiled, a little confused. “I’d say that explains the accent. What’s your name, mister...?”

“Park. Jake Park, to be exact, but you can call me Jake, if you’d like.”

She laughed again, this time with confidence unlike before, demeanor changing from wary to businesslike. Or... something else. Jake couldn’t quite place it. “Well, Jake, I have a burning question for you: Why would my music make you give up a career like that?” She broke away from her entourage to come closer.

“We could discuss it over dinner, if you’d like?” Jake offered, the old swagger from his uptown days making a guest appearance. Sure, he wasn’t working numbers under uppity snobs to get a bigger Christmas bonus anymore, but he still knew how to play poker. If Kate’s eyes were of any indication, his gut told him he may have just been dealt a winning hand.

Kate accepted before her agent could intervene or protest, his eyes turning into slits. Probably worried Jake’s background with money and marketing could put him out of a job. Maybe he was right. “I’d love to get to know my most interesting fan. Might as well put that Wall Street money to use, huh?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Since that day, their relationship as business partners, friends, and eventually more, blossomed. Kate dropped her greedy agent and management team for the generous man who became her best friend. Jake used his book smarts and savvy money skills to help lower Kate’s touring costs, made her performances more accessible to *all* of her fans, and helped her rake in extra profits from her music releases *and* with cheaper marketing. She spent less time in the studio and more time with him on their back porch as he sat and listened to her beautiful creations.

Truth be told, meeting Jake helped save Kate. Her old team had been stripping the life from her creativity, pushing for numbers rather than quality content. Having Jake work with her personally made everything so... simple. Working from home when making music, waking up to the sun dappling her skin through the the leaves of the trees, feeling the breeze on her face and his kisses on her fingers - it put the inspiration back into her music.

Her fans seemed to notice too, and they seemed to get a kick out of her sharing more about her life online, making theories about their relationship. Jake and Kate would scroll through the subreddit comments and laugh at the crazy ideas everyone had. Jake hadn’t laughed like that with someone in a long time. He hadn’t had a sense of humor in a long time, either.

When his family came calling, lecturing him about dropping his old career and this and that, he invited them over for dinner... and showed them that his and Kate’s retirement funds were already completed when she wasn’t looking. Their qualms ended after seeing the financial security they had, and seeing how calm Jake’s home life was. Sure, it was a strange change, but for once, Jake was happy, and seemed fulfilled. They didn’t always understand everything, but they understood enough.

Eventually, they visited Jake’s family in Korea, had their quiet wedding, nothing crazy, just something for family and close friends and nice rings, and did some remodeling with their own bare hands to create a cute nursery, complete with musical instruments and stuffed animals. When the delivery date came, Jake was a mess. He knew his wife would handle it like a champ, but his nerves were still through the roof. The labor came and went easily, and they came home with a beautiful baby girl.

“What are you going to call her?” Kate’s mother cooed as she obsessed over the newborn.

“Jake was thinking Yu-Hwa, and I was thinking Grace. He said I could have the first name if he had the middle name.” Kate mused. Jake was outside working on building a playground for their daughter. He’d insisted on getting an early start, arguing that his mother said time flies when raising a baby, no matter that their child was only a week old.

“Grace sounds beautiful. It matches your names, too. Oh, I’m going to have *so* much fun spoiling this little girl!” The new grandmother whisper-squealed, not wanting to wake the baby. “When are you going to have more?”

Kate laughed. “I told you mom, we just want the one.”

“For now.”

“For *forever,* mom.”

“What’s this about another child?” Jake asked, announcing his presence.

“Just Grama Denson getting a bit too ahead of herself.” Kate rolled her eyes.

Jake casually wrapped his arms around Kate, planting a kiss on her forehead before heading to the fridge to steal some lemonade. “I mean, between you and me, eomma, I wouldn’t mind making another baby, long as they keep turning out this cute.”

Kate gave him a quick flick to the forehead before he could dodge it. “Stop conspiring against me with my mother, sir. It takes two to tango.”

When the playground was finished, Kate did, in fact, gain another baby bump, watching happily as her husband helped their first waddler play outside. Grace Yu-Hwa Park and Dae-Hwan Lee Park, DaeDae for short, were lucky enough to have the best dad, Kate thought. Jake looked up at her, glowing in spite of the autumn cold, and thought the same thing.

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#outsider writes #dead by daylight #kate denson #jake park #parkson #jake x kate #kate x jake #jake park x kate denson #kate denson x jake park #fluff #dbd #dbd fanfic #dbd moodboard

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pidgebeifong · 4 years

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atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #aang #the gaang #Zuko #prince zuko #princess azula #Azula #atla #atla modern au #avatar the last airbender modern au #modern au #artist au #katara #suki #sokka #toph beifong #mai #ty lee

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pccrunfortunatesouls · 3 years

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|| Get to know SEBASTIAN “SKIP SPARKYPANTS” SEGURA who’s TWENTY-TWO years old and works as a POPSTAR in town. He is from NEW JERSEY and is often times mistaken for DIEGO TINOCO while others say he reminds them of SKIP SPARKYPANTS from THE FAIRLY ODDPARENTS. ||

Skip has been an attention seeker for as long as he can remember. Being the middle of five children, he was always the forgotten child and he felt like he had to work really hard to be noticed. He was always the king of running into the room shouting “hey mom, look at this!” and showing her a flip or a new dance moved he learned. And she always came back with a half-hearted “that’s nice sweetie”, only half watching and never giving the enthusiasm that Skip was looking for. It only pushed him to be louder and more obnoxious in his quest for getting attention.

He was always the kid in class that was getting in trouble for causing a disruption. You know the one I’m talking about. Since he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted at home, he decided he would get it from his classmates instead. He started out by making little jokes in class, usually at the teacher’s expense, that would make whoever was sitting next to him laugh. Then he started escalating it to physical comedy, one time disrupting the class for a whole twenty minutes because he thought it would be funny to stick his head through the hole in the back of the classroom chair and it got stuck. Even if people were laughing at him, he was getting attention the attention he wanted and he was starting to get addicted to it.

The first time he ever got attention from his peers where people were cheering him along rather than laughing at him was when he performed at the ninth grade talent show. He got up on stage and performed Shiny Teeth and Me, and the crowed absolutely loved it. Everyone was screaming and clapping, asking him to perform another song, and afterwards lots of people came up to him telling him how great he was. That’s how he got the idea to start his YouTube channel.

His YouTube channel was slow going at first, uploading a Chip Skylark cover every month or so and getting a couple thousand views. He was happy with even that, thinking that he was really doing something here. But over time his number of followers started to grow until he was uploading a cover at least once a week to appease the hundreds of thousands of people that were tuning in. And much to his surprise, almost all of the comments were good. People were loving him. For the first time ever, Skip was thinking he might try to make music his career and even had plans to apply to NYU for performing arts when he graduated high school. And then one day when he was eighteen, Chip tweeted out some fan covers, Skip’s cover of Icky Vicky among them, and his whole life changed.

Overnight, Skip’s video had over a million views and he could hardly believe what was happening. Chip Skylark noticing him would have been enough for him, because as much as he didn’t talk about it, Chip was his absolute idol. Watching a latino pop star get such commercial success meant everything to him, and Skip wanted nothing more than to be just like him. He even brushed his teeth religiously, just so if he ever met Chip the man would be impressed with his own shiny teeth. He was obsessed. And now here Chip is, being the absolute angel that he is and kickstarting Skip’s career, because only a week after Chip tweeted his cover, Skip got a call from a talent scout.

The talent scout made all sorts of big promises to Skip about how he was going to be the biggest international pop star in the world, even bigger than Chip, and he jumped at it without a second thought. He didn’t even consult his parents or take the time to thoroughly read the entire contract; he just withdrew his acceptance from NYU, signed the contract, and was ready to get into the studio. Skip was born to be a star, and finally other people were realizing it. Everything he wanted was coming true.

It wasn’t long before Skip learned that he probably should have read the fine print of his contract, because his record label practically owned him. Skip didn’t have any creative say in any of the music he was making, didn’t even have any say on the outfits he was wearing. Which is exactly how he became Skip Sparkypants. One day while he was in a fitting for his first show, a rep from the label came in with the ugliest pair of sparkly red pants that Skip had ever seen in his life. He was no stranger to wearing ridiculous clothes, doing it all the time when he was in high school to get attention from the girls he liked, but he had really thought this was going to be a time to reinvent himself. To go on stage looking cool. He tried to protest, told his manager that under no circumstances would he go on that stage looking like a disco ball, but he quickly learned that he had no say, that this was going to be his thing. It was his way of competing with Chip Skylark. Chip had his shiny teeth, and apparently Skip had his sparkly pants.

While he was originally deeply upset about his lack of creative control, as soon as Skip got his first taste of fame he didn’t care anymore. It turns out that his fans really loved the sparkly pants, so what was he protesting for? It wasn’t long before the fame was completely starting to get to Skip’s head. He’d never received this kind of attention before, never been loved and adored, and it turned him into kind of an asshole. He had high demands, got snappy and impatient with everyone that worked with him, and was just overall a dick. He even started getting so full of himself that he would request things like only red m&ms in his dressing room, because red m&ms were the best, just like him.

As soon as he started developing an attitude, his team put him through extensive media training to make sure he didn’t ruin his image. He was being billed as a sweet, caring, fun guy, a total heartthrob, and his team wasn’t willing to risk losing that image. And he got incredibly good at it. While he’s a dick behind closed doors, throwing around demands, and even somethings throwing tantrums like a petulant child, in front of his fans and the media, he’s the best. Girls want to be with him, guys want to be him, and both his music and his image are skyrocketing.

His rivalry with Chip started out slowly. The first time they met, Skip was so excited to meet his idol, the man that kickstarted his career, and it broke his heart to learn that Chip truthfully had absolutely no idea who he was. And Skip really got his feelings hurt about it. Rather than just waiting until Chip learned who he was, Skip started becoming a little bit of a dick to Chip every time they saw each other. Eventually Chip started being rude right back, and over the years it’s started to grow and take a life of it’s own. Now they absolutely loathe each other and everyone knows it.

It wasn’t that Skip wasn’t a famous pop star, because he was. He was still selling out his concerts, but his venues were just a bit smaller than the ones Chip was playing it. He was still doing numbers on the charts, but he kept charting lower than Chip. He was still chased down by mobs of fans that passed him on the street, but those mobs were just a bit smaller and screamed just a little quieter than the ones that chased after Chip. When he was first discovered, the scout promised that he would be an even bigger star than Chip, and Skip just can’t let that go. Too busy focusing on being better than Chip, he hardly takes the time to enjoy his own success.

The Incident, as he likes to call it, happened so quickly that he barely remembers it. After having one (or five) too many drinks at his place, he was on the way to the club with his friends when a fan stopped him to ask for a photo. He was so excited until she called him Chip, and then something in him snapped. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the years of boiling resentment for the other star, but Skip just exploded. How dare she confuse him for that shiny teethed little bitch? He started screaming it at the top of his lungs, ranting about everything that’s wrong with Chip Skylark. Don’t you know who I am? he remembers yelling, not paying any attention to the fact that everyone around them had started taking out their phones to film his meltdown. He only shut up when his friends physically dragged him away, and even then he went with a bit of kicking and screaming.

After an agonizing day curled up on his couch under a weighted blanket, watching the video being circulated all over Twitter and Instagram, Skip pulled out the old notes app to post an apology to his account. Saying that he made a mistake and didn’t mean what he said, and he was very sorry to any of his fans that he hurt. He was going to try to be better. Skip posted it with all the confidence in the world, sure that it would be enough to get his fans back on his side, but all the negative comments just kept coming. His fans were disappointed, wanting to know what happened to the fun loving Sparkypants the knew and love. Suddenly they were questioning him, they couldn’t trust him anymore, and Skip’s team knew they had to take some sort of action.

Skip originally had no real intentions of becoming a better person while he’s in Corona, even though that’s very much his team’s intentions. They want him to take a long, hard look at himself and work to improve, but he doesn’t want to do that. What he wants is a long vacation on a beautiful island, and the chance to fuck with Chip Skylark. Everyone has heard the rumours that he’s having a hard time finishing his album, and he thinks this is his opportunity to finally get the one up on him.

Though many fans seem to be under the impression that Skip’s real name is Skip Sparkypants, it definitely is not. His real name is Sebastian Segura, but Skip is a nickname given to him by his family from the time he was born, and it just kind of stuck. And Sparkypants… well, everyone’s seen the man’s pants.

While he’s gotten out of the habit of cooking ever since becoming famous, because he has a chef to do that for him now, he’s always been a really good cook. Growing up he was always expected to make dinner for the family at least once a week, and those skills aren’t something that just leave you, even if you don’t use them anymore. His favourite first date move is to invite his date over to cook enchiladas because he thinks it makes him look humble.

The man is loud. Just… so very loud. Even with international love and success, he’s never gotten over his need for attention and will do anything he can to make sure he gets it. Usually that involves telling stories or jokes loudly and obnoxiously so everyone can hear. If he’s in the same area as you, you’ll know it.

Deep down, when he really tries to access his emotions, Skip is incredibly insecure and just doesn’t think he’s good enough. It’s why he’s so loud and obnoxious all the time. He thinks that if he puts on a front and appears confident, everyone will believe him. So far it’s working pretty well.

He has a pet hamster named Cornelius that he absolutely adores. Thinks he’s the cutest little guy in the world. If he’s not posting pictures on Instagram of himself or promoting his music, it’s pictures of little Corny.

#✨ headcanons ( skip )#✨ visage ( skip )

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everything-y-nothing · 4 years

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someone please write this fic

being on lockdown during this pandemic resurrected some major bamon feels. my brain started to obsessively develop the plot for a bamon fanfic and since I do not consider myself a writer, I’m surrendering it to the void.

For your consideration, Bonnie and Damon’s lives after the TVD series finale starts something like this:

Bonnie needs a fresh start after the shitstorm of the last 8 years. Her friends are safe and moving forward with their lives, so she decides to go back and finish up college...far away from Mystic Falls. The idea of exploring anything supernatural is lost on her, so instead of following in Grams’ footsteps as an Occult Studies professor, she takes a different path. Bonnie discovers her passion for Human Rights and Global Health, earning a PhD in Social Epidemiology. Working for a nonprofit jumpstarts her solo trip around the world, traveling through various parts of Africa and southeast Asia.

Her love of travel and social justice advocacy inspires Bonnie to create a digital media publication to share her unique perspective. Self proclaimed anti-influencer, Bonnie creates Currently: Conquering the World with Dr. Bonnie which delivers education through travel – simultaneously offering honest first-hand travel insights, educating followers on important issues faced by the highlighted destinations and checking privilege. The platform uplifts the voices of WOC, POC and marginalized people. It has been featured in a couple of major publications, donates to local nonprofits, hosts a podcast and has a sizable social media following. Bonnie posts a booty shot for every 1,000 new followers to her instagram account to show that there’s no correlation between a badass bitch in a bikini and intelligence.

Magic takes a backseat to Bonnie’s career and she’s okay with it. She still practices and befriends a handful of witches and warlocks through her travels. However, she keeps the magnitude of her abilities mostly under wraps. There’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell that she will let the power of her lineage be taken advantage of again. Bonnie Bennett - joyful, unapologetic BAMF, brainiac and humanitarian - finally found her inner goddess and is making good on her promise to live her very best life.

Bonnie keeps in touch with the remaining members of the Mystic Falls Scooby gang, though marginally - FaceTime sessions with Caroline and Elena when they can fit into each other’s schedules and time zones, long conversations with Matt, and random texts from Damon complaining about anything and everything. In time, the calls become fewer and no news is good news in her mind. Plus, she has a business to run, places to be, people to educate and a patriarchy to dismantle.

At first, Damon struggles acclimating to his new human life. He’s not pleased to have to take up exercising to in order to maintain his physique and misses the strength and agility he once had as a vampire. The lack of bloodlust is a plus. Cooking and eating real food is way more rewarding and enjoyable, another plus. Although, he gets mildly depressed that his body needs to build up an alcohol tolerance and can actually now die from overdrinking. He finally has Elena all to himself which is all he ever wanted and he should be walking on cloud nine, but it’s all so overwhelming. Time is fleeting and he realizes how much he had taken it for granted. He misses Stefan so goddamn much and it doesn’t help that his best friend/favorite drinking buddy skipped town on him. He spends one whole year mourning his brother, wallowing in self-pity, and being the domesticated boyfriend to his Pre Med fiancé before he gets his shit together.

Inspired after binge watching Tidying Up on Netflix, Damon starts applying the Konmari method to the Boarding House. In the attic, he finds his bachelors of architecture along with a set of licenses he got for ‘shits and gigs’ back in the 80s and it sparks something in him. He was productive as a vampire, after all. Damon convinces Caroline to compel NCARB and the State Board of Contractors into reinstating his architect and contractor licenses – because that’s what family is for – and starts a design and contracting firm, working mostly on small tenant improvement projects in and around Mystic Falls. His first project is to renovate the Boarding House which he later hands over to Alaric to run the Salvatore School.

Damon and Elena get married in between the time she ends Pre Med and starts Med School. It’s a spontaneous ceremony at City Hall which Matt documents via Facebook Live. They make it through one year of marriage before things start to go south. With Elena now further away for Med School and Damon running his business in Mystic Falls, they barely make it work to see each other on weekends. Damon falls in love with a dilapidated old bar in the heart of town and purchases it, throwing himself into a major renovation. It serves as a nice distraction from the growing divide between him and the “love of his life.” Year two is the tipping point – Elena wants him to relocate closer her, Damon wants to continue growing his business in Mystic Falls and neither wants to compromise. They see each other even less and argue more until Elena admits she has been cheating on Damon with a colleague, and their decision to part ways is mutual. Not so epic love, after all.

The breakup isn’t as painful as he thought it would be since Elena and him were living separate lives already. He sells the property for which he planned to surprise his ex-wife with a family home and readjusts his plans for the bar to incorporate a second floor loft for himself. It takes Damon almost a full year to finish renovations on his pride and joy, Savior. Blood, sweat and tears went into preserving and restoring original, historic architectural features. He took great care in curating every single detail and it paid off because his bar was voted best in the county and has become the go-to place for intimate date nights and an impeccable drink selection.

Nine years after Bonnie hightailed it out of Mystic Falls for good, three years after founding Currently: Conquering and two-ish years after the grand opening of Savior, the former besties run into each other on the streets of Havana. The run and jump hug from when Bonnie resurrected herself from 90s Hell is relived and they play catch-up over medianoches. Bonnie is leading a group of travelers through Cuba for the next 10 days while Damon is on sabbatical to celebrate his thriving business ventures and divorce. He critiques the photo composition her latest ass shot posted to IG and she points out his new frown lines that would put Stefan’s to shame – and just like that, they’re besties all over again.

Bonnie invites him to join her tour group and having no set itinerary, Damon agrees. It’s truly refreshing to see Bonnie in her element. Bearing witness to the person she has grown into after the supernatural drama of yesteryear only reinforces Damon’s admiration of her. Having no real destination after Cuba, Damon piggybacks onto her next guided tour, leaning into the local culture that his best friend has grown to love so much. He even follows her to Costa Rica before he has to return home.

(Annnnnd that’s where it stopped)

Comments:

Does a similar fic already exist and I just don’t remember haven’t read it?

Would it be too much to ask for accurate characterization and spot-on snarky dialogue, and like, not written in first-person narrative?

Timing - I’ve estimated approx 9 years until Bamon meet up Cuba. Not sure if it makes logical sense with everything that happens in between.

Damon and Elena’s child(ren?) - didn’t consider them...the Gilbert’s shouldn’t procreate, IMO. I don’t plan on watching Legacies and not sure what is canon. The plot would need to be adjusted if included. Regarding the origins of Stefanie Salvatore - I’d say keep this character as DE’s spawn instead of rewriting as Bamon’s kid. Since Stefan killed Enzo, the name would be a sore spot for Bonnie.

Bonnie’s career - mimics that of Dr. Kiona who runs hownottotravellikeabasicbitch on IG - follow her! She’s awesome.

#bamon #bamon fanfic #super extra #headcanon #plot bunny #incomplete #to the void with love #please entertain me #I promise to love you forever #covid 19 delirium #things i obsessed over during lockdown #devil's in the detail #bonnie bennett #damon salvatore

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oh-boleyn · 4 years

Text

loud [parrlyn]

based on this post

words: 1337, one shot, language: english. f/f

tw: nudism?

Anne Boleyn wasn’t exactly an artist.

Since she was a kid, she loved drawing. After giving her mother headaches after being a chaotic child, she discovered the only way she would keep quiet was with paper and a pencil. Or a pen. Or whatever thing she could find.

(In a good day it was going to be pencils and papers.

In the not so bright ones, it was the walls.

One time it was George.)

It was really relaxing, a way to express herself without having to be so loud.

Growing up, people always hated when she was being loud. Her teachers would call her parents. Her father would tell her to stop talking. Her mother told her she was prettier with her mouth closed. Her classmates would say she was too much. Too tall, too outspoken, too flamboyant.

Her first and only boyfriend at first compliment her for that. Henry told her she was so opinionated, so attractive, so passionate. But when she refused to have sex with him it all was turned about how she was an attention seeker, that nobody wanted someone who was just words and no action.

The only thing that nobody cared if it was too vibrant, colorful, political or loud, was her art. Art wasn’t supposed to be plain, basic and simple like everyone wanted her to be. Art was an escape of it all.

Anne wasn’t exactly an artist, but she loved painting and drawing.

That’s why she was taking that course in a little art boutique just two blocks away from her apartment. It was not academical, so there was no pressure to be good or reach someone’s standard. It was about learning, trying new techniques, connect with other ways to draw and paint.

Every Thursday after her last college class, Anne would go.

(…)

“For everyone over eighteen, this Friday we will be bringing a model. She’s not professional, but she offered to help us. You need to be over eighteen because she will be nude and we don’t want to get into any trouble with anyone underage and their parents. Take your things and see you this Friday or next week.” The professor (if you could call her that) said.

Someone passed a paper to Anne. It was the list for who wanted to go.

She knew she was going to meet up with Katherine as they always did, but maybe she could squeeze it in. Just go after half of the class.

She signed with her name and age and left the class.

(…)

For Anne, coming into the art boutique making a lot of noise was something normal, that’s why she always arrived at least five minutes before the rest of the class. She loved seating in front of everyone, exercise her hands, make some sketches and then start working on whatever they were doing that day.

This time she really couldn’t make it in time. The whole room stared as her as she put down her things.

So loud.

Once she is seated, everyone returns to their tasks. Anne sitting in the back of it, but still with a great view. She doesn’t pay attention to the woman in the center until she has all her acrylics out of the bag.

Her heart skips a beat.

The woman in the center is just gorgeous. Her skin looks warm and silky, her figure is just like one Anne could swear she saw once in Rome on an Aphrodite sculpture. Still, the woman doesn’t look like an Aphrodite. Her hair is up in a curly mess that just has so much dynamism to it. Her chest moves swiftly while she breathes.

Anne is so enchanted that she doesn’t realize how her hands are moving. She also doesn’t realize that she is just using her fingers, and that she didn’t made a previous sketch. It’s just curves she tries to memorize and recreate.

She doesn’t realize she is only painting in blue and white until the end of the class, when her hands are straight out of the movie Avatar. Boleyn goes to the bathroom, washes as much paint as she can and text Kat that she is so sorry but lost track of the time and that she will be there as soon as she can.

When she goes out again there is a woman looking at her painting.

She gets closer, and the woman, the woman in the center, smiles gently at her.

“This is yours, right?” Anne nods, air out of her lungs. “I’m Catherine, nice to meet you.”

The woman extends a hand, which Anne takes in a second.

“Anne.”

“Well Anne, this is really good.” She lets the other girl’s hand go.

“Thank you.” She mutters.

“Let me help you.”

Catherine starts closing open cans while Anne grabs her draw and puts it into the bag, carefully it is not fresh enough to get smuggled. Then she saves the cans, lastly taking any other thing she just left there.

“You are gorgeous.” Anne says suddenly, heart pumping in her chest.

“Really?” the woman laughs. “You are gorgeous too.”

“Can I have your Instagram handle? Or your number?”

Ah, yes, love in millennial times.

(…)

When Catherine Parr gets home, she has two new followers and a text.

The first account is @annboleynn full of photos in a hundred different places. Each one of them different, doing faces, with friends, family, some of them just things she considered funny. Still a lot of photos.

The second account is not precisely like that.

@nnbln__ is a lot of white backgrounds and figures. There are also some sketches. Touches of color everywhere but not as overwhelming. Anne Boleyn results to be really talented and original. Her way to draw just has a movement, a way to speak about how she sees her world.

And maybe that’s it about her. Maybe she is just as vibrant as her paints.

(…)

[10:34PM] Anne: Hi, I’m Anne from art class. The one who asked for your number.

[11.21PM] Catherine with a C: Hi Anne.

(…)

They end up deciding to grab coffee sometime. Sometimes ends up being Monday afternoon, and for Anne coffee is a cup of tea.

They talk a lot, and for Anne is so easy to just keep talking as loud as she always does. Cathy is rather quiet, doesn’t say much, just nods or giggles. She is calm and chill, while Anne moves her hands a lot, and laughs noisy. They are the opposite from one another, but when they talk, they discover they think the same. Catherine is a journalist major, while Anne is a political one.

It was not often Boleyn found someone with whom she could talk about the different feminism theories, or the best way to deal with third countries economies, or new social plans that should be implemented since we are definitely not in the sixteen century. But Cathy gets it.

(…)

It’s on the third day Anne brings it up.

“I’m sorry for being loud.”

“Why?”

“I know it’s uncomfortable and people always stare at me, I really didn’t mean to do it but-“

“No” Catherine stops her. “I was asking why were you sorry. I like you being loud. People loose to much time thinking and planning and controlling what they are going to say. Just creating images of people, they not really are. I like you being unapologetically you. Maybe because I like you.”

Anne kisses her in a second.

(…)

Maybe Catherine Parr was art. But another kind of art. For Anne art was like her, loud and opinionated. Unapologetically her. But Catherine, quiet, relaxed Catherine was also art. In a way that without talking, she could make Anne feel loud inside. Feel that intense feeling of pure passion.

Catherine Parr was like a blue messy painting in a Friday night. Not planned, incredibly beautiful, calm and dynamic at the same time.

And Anne was in love with her.

(And her love was loud.)

#parrlyn #catherine parr #anne boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction

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liw-the-melancholic-apple · 4 years

Text

The First One - Bonus scenes in traditional written word

This is a smau and a zukoXreader, although i haven't decided how this ends yet.

Y/n has recently transferred to Ba Sing Se from Omashu university and meets the gaang through a schoolproject they do with sokka and suki.

Bonus 2: Nerves

Ooooookay. It wasn't all this exciting. You'd been to parties before. You'd met new people before. Why did choosing a pair of jeans feel like you were deciding your fate? You usually only noticed people's jeans when they didn't fit, were neon colours or torn to shreds.

Your jeans all fit you, they were all in the neutral colour scheme and those that were distressed were still more fabric than hole.

So, by your own logic you could choose any pair and be fine. Yet still five pairs were laying on your bed. 2 grey, 2 black, one midnight blue. You didn't seem to be able to pick one.

The pile of t-shirts and jumpers on the ground hadn't gotten any of your attention but promised to be a similar drama...

You sighed in annoyance and texted both, Jin and Fai. The latter had a lot of encouragement and suggestions while the former mostly mocked you. He did however offer some really good advise: treat it like a gig with the band. In a pub. Wear those clothes.

"And stop being such a nervous wreck! It doesn't suit you. You're great. You're fun. They'll like you."

He didn't let you thank him, though. "Next time you're here, you're buying at least two rounds. I'm not your fucking therapist."

Classic Jin. But his idea worked. To a gig you'd wear the ripped black jeans, white t-shirt and the vintage leather jacket.

Those where the clothes you wore when you left your appartment. Those were the clothes you wore when Suki texted that she was held up at Aang's place. She would be late. Sokka was gonna join later anyways. Ty Lee wasn't coming at all.

Yeah, meeting new people who were presumably forced to be nice to you!! On your own. Without the safety blanket that were Suki and Sokka. Great...

You stood in front of the Jasmin Dragon, studying the green and gold of the big logo on the window and the small one on the door.

You could just wait here for Suki. No, you weren't a child and Suki wasn't your mum. Besides, she would show up with Aang -why did that name seem so familiar? - and you already told her that you would be about 15 minutes earlier than her. Waiting was no option.

You shifted your weight from your left leg to the right and texted the group chat:" So, I'm here."

Katara answered, telling you to come inside to the counter. The scent of oriental spices and caramel syrup filled the air in the shop. The perfect mix of old-timey, traditional tea house and modern way too sweet coffeshop combined into one smell. The essence of the Jasmin Dragon.

You had discovered it during your first week in Ba Sing Se and instantly fell in love with it. Was it that smell? Maybe. Was it the excellent sencha-ginger-tea? Partially. Was it the supercharging, black as your soul giant mugs of coffee? Partially. Was it the delicious muffins in every flavour imagineable? Yes. Was it the breakfast items that all looked mouthwatering? Absolutely.

But mainly it was the general atmosphere here. The furniture was a collection of armchairs, benches, sofas and tables that all looked like they came from a 50's or 60's living room. All colours of the Rainbow, nothing actually fit together. It was so cosy and inviting.

And then there was the old man who usually was behind the black marble counter. You'd found that he would start around 11 am, as he was never there when you got your coffee before early lectures and classes. But he would take orders, prepare drinks, clean tables and give his thoughts on students' problems when you popped in for a midmorning pick-me-up.

And also now, close to closing time, the rotonde older man with the long grey hair stood behind the counter checking on a couple of teapots that gently bubbled behind him. While doing so, he talked to a short black-haired girl that giggled a lot. She held on to an annoyed looking tall guy, that you thought might work here, and stood next to a girl that warmly smiled at you and waved you over.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, that would be me. You're Katara?" She nodded.

"And that's Toph and Zuko", she answered while indicating the girl and the guy. Suki had warned you about both of them. Toph was blind and often subjected to people wanting to help her, which she hated. "Don't offer her help. She'll let you know when she needs you", Suki had said.

The girl extended a hand into your general direction. "Pleasure meeting you."

"All mine", you answered taking her hand. Zuko also shook your hand, mumbleing "Hi."

He had a rather large scar on the left side of his face. His hair covered it some. According to Suki you shouldn't stare and shouldn't mention it. She had known Zuko for years and still didn't know how he got it. You quickly averted your eyes.

"Okay, so I'm sure Suki already told you but she only just left Aang's. His roommate is a bit mad because he can't go to the party and delayed them."

You were about to answer when the man behind the counter cleared his throat. "Sencha-ginger", he handed you cup. Surprised but greateful you took it and looked for your wallet.

"Oh, no need. You've been a valued customer. And i finally learned your name. You know, you're one of the most quiet People ever to come into the shop." He gave you another smile.

"Not really quiet", you answer laughing. " But i usually come in alone and i don't like talking to myself in public. People stare." The man crinkled his forehead but Toph punched your shoulder and laughed. "Sokka said you were funny!"

"Well, why do you always come in on your own?", counterman inquired, his forehead smoother.

"Uhm...", should you tell the sad truth?

"You don't have to answer that", Zuko intervened. "Since he opened the dragon he's become quite enamored with gossip, haven't you uncle? No need to satisfy his curiosity."

"My nephew thinks me impolite. But I reckon there is a reason for your solitude. If it is your choice to enjoy our tea alone you can tell me that and no harm is done. But if unfortunate circumstances force you to drink your tea by yourself i would like to give you the oppertunity to speak about it. Let go of dark thoughts."

Wow. Some teamaker he was. And Zuko's uncle? Interesting.

"Thank you...Mr..."

"Iroh. Just Iroh will be fine."

"Well then, thank you Iroh. It's not too much of a story, though. I moved to Ba Sing Se six weeks ago and haven't yet found a group of people who'd put up with me for extended periods of time", you chuckled, hoping you didn't seem too desparate.

Katara seemed like she wanted to say something really nice but Iroh spoke quicker:" Oh, i don't think that's true. You don't give me the impression that anybody would have to put up with you. But if you want company while drinking your beverage i can always chat.

We could talk about your love for green tea and ginger. You know we also have black tea varieties that feature ginger and i think you might enjoy the herbal infusions.

The fruitier teas go great with the muffins! And if you're into croissants and pudding pretzels you should try the vanilla chai latte.

But if you don't want to talk about tea we could also gossip and play pai sho. You know how to play pai show, right?"

You absolutely didn't.

"I'm familiar with the most basic of basic rules." Wrong answer. The sweet little man grabbed a pai sho board out of nowhere and started explaining the game. Zuko offered an apologetic gesture, while Katara and Toph intently listened. You sipped your tea, nodded your head and enjoyed just being part of something. It had been a minute. But you would never play pai show of your own volition. The game was complicated and boring at the same time.

"Maybe you would like to learn about the ancient art of teamaking?", Iroh continued his suggestions of things to talk about when at the dragon.

Was there an art to it? Hot water and a teabag, no? You tried a vague expression and he kept talking.

"I always wanted to found a club or class, you know. Likeminded tea enthusiasts who want to deepen their knowledge and appreciation. Would you be interested?"

No, you weren't. But he was so endearing. So caring. So genuinely into this idea.

"I... have yet to find out how much time and effort my classes will demand. I wouldn't wanna make promises i can't keep."

That was fair, right? And not even an actual lie.

"We're here!!!!!"

Suki burst through the door, followed by a gangly guy with a shaved head. Aang!! That's why the name sounded familiar! He was Instagram verified. Half the campus followed him for his inspirational quotes and vegan recipes.

Suki hugged you hello, introduced you to the insta-famous and then Katara ushered you out and to the metrostation.

You waved at Iroh as you left. He had only talked about things that hardly interested you but he'd managed to make you feel like a member of the group that was now discussing pai sho rules, teamaking and being on time.

MASTERLIST

Part 1

@fanficflaneuse @eddiesemoass

#atla fanfic #atla zuko #smau #avatar: tla #zuko x y/n #zuko x reader

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

One-shot. Erik discovers his teenager is dating and older man.

Sixteen

"Uniqua," Erik yelled from the kitchen.

He was peeling boiled potatoes, getting them ready to mash as mac and cheese baked in the oven over pan-seared steaks next to potatoes. The greens were already boiling with a hambone. The fried chicken was done. The tea was made and the sweet potatoe pie was on the counter for dessert. He listened for the footsteps of his little helper, but they didn't come.

Erik sighed. Uniqua knew he was cooking for Christmas. It had been their tradition since her mother ran away. Eight years later, they still liked to cook and spend time together as a family, just the two of them on special holidays. She'd already missed her favorite parts, putting the cheese in the macaroni and sweetening the tea. She was about to miss the potato salad.

Dropping the hot potato back into the bowl in the sink, Erik walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Uniqua," he called up the staircase. Her room was over the kitchen, he knew that she could hear. He was starting to get irritated. Even if she didn't want to come down, she could at least answer.

Thudding up the stairs, he gently knocked on her door, the 'KEEP OUT' road sign swaying from the movement. He didn't hear her moving inside and her music wasn't on, so why couldn't she hear him? Was she asleep? Was she feeling okay? Concerned, he opened the door and his heart sank.

There in the John Brown nude was his only child dancing in front of her iphone's camera. Erik was frozen. In the second before he lunged at the camera, he saw what looked like a grown man on her screen. He had full facial hair and was definitely out of high school. Late twenties at least.

"DAD!" Uniqua shrieked snatching her blanket from the bed to wrap her naked body in as she dropped down to the floor. Her air pod fell from her ear onto her pink rug.

The call ended and Erik was left with his daughter's unlocked phone. Until now, he never felt a need to go through it. He opened her gallery and was mortified. She had nudes that she'd undoubtedly been sending. There were some saved images of a man too. They were all the same man, he could tell. The dick pics were all of the same dick.

Uniqua looked terrified. Her face was ghastly and rightfully so. He wanted to whoop her ass until the white meat showed. She KNEW better than to do something like this.

"WHO IS THIS THIS GROWN ASS NIGGA ON YOUR PHONE!!!?... HUH?!!!"

He held the dick pick in her face before grabbing it back to flip through the images again. He found a face in a mirror's reflection. It was that nigga she was facetiming.

"WHO THE FUCK YOU FACETIMING?"

Uniqua's eyes were huge as if she may have a heart attack.

"YOU BETTER START TALKING QUICK, I SWEAR FO' GOD..."

"H-he's m-my boyfriend," she whispered with uncertainty, clutching the blanket around herself.

"YOUR WHAT?!" Erik's eyes got huge. She had to be out of her rabbit ass mind. His head was beginning to hurt.

"Oh hell nah," he mumbled pulling up her text messages. She'd been texting a number saved as 'Daddy😜' but it wasn't him. Hell nah it wasn't him. He wanted to vomit as he scrolled through their conversation. This was a grown ass man talking to his sixteen year old daughter. She was sending him images and videos of her body like she was grown.

"OH! So you think you grown now," he nodded, fuming inside.

"N-no," she whispered.

"DON'T BE EMBARRASSED NOW, FAST ASS. YOU THINK YOU GROWN."

He dialed the number and waited on the man to pick up, but he didn't. Erik heard his voicemail, but his name wasn't recorded.

"What's his name? Where he live? What you know about this nigga? I wanna know everything you fucking know. Matter fact, I'm reading all these texts and you can get dressed and sit ya ass right there because you ain't leaving the fuckin house until you 18. KEEP FUCKIN UP. YOU SIXTEEN! YOU CAN'T EVEN KEEP YOUR FUCKIN ROOM CLEAN!"

She sat closed in on herself, afraid to move as she cried, silently hiccuping. Erik was furious. She KNEW better.

"Get the fuck outta my sight," his lip twitched. He watched as she stood with her blanket and snatched her clothes from the floor, scrambling from the room. Standing, he watched to make sure she went into the hall bathroom.

"What the fuck," he groaned holding his head. Uniqua had never given him problems of this nature. This was illegal and her so-called boyfriend was a pedophile.

As Erik read through all of the messages, his heart beat faster. He felt fear, actual fear. He saw that the conversation went back to February. How had he missed it? How had she hidden him that long? Was he a bad parent for not noticing? He felt like a horrible parent, like somehow he'd failed. What else had he missed? What if he hadn't walked in. He'd have never known and his only daughter could've gone missing. His pride and joy, she could've been trafficked or dead somewhere. He exited from the messages and his foot tapped the floor anxiously. He could hear his daughter out in the hall as the bathroom door creaked.

"UNIQUA SHANICE STEVENS," he shouted. "GET YA ASS BACK IN HERE."

She shuffled down the hall and back into the room with her head down in shame, not knowing what else to say or do as her father stared, his expression stern.

"Dad, I'm sorry," she whined, fresh tears in her eyes. It looked like she genuinely meant it.

"Did you meet up with him," Erik asked.

"No!" She leaned forward with strong conviction. "I was going to but I didn't. "

"So you didn't have sex with him."

"I swear I did not!" Her hand raised in a solemn vow as her tears continued. She sniffled. Erik wasn't sure whether to believe her, but she'd NEVER done anything like this before.

Erik frowned, trying to read her. This only made her cry more.

"I-I d-don't.. want you.. to be m-mad.. at me," she sniffled, her eyes now red. "I d-don't want.. want y-you to," she sniffed, "to be disappointed!"

"Tell me EVERYTHING you know about this guy," Erik stressed again.

His daughter began to break down, coming clean about everything that had been hidden. Erik thought his head would spin. He sat and listened as she spoke, saving his comments. He wanted her to continue with the honesty even if he hated what was coming out.

-----

Erik waited outside of the apartment building where his daughter had directed him. She was currently on lockdown at the house with no phone, laptop, or mp3. The wifi password had been changed and he made it very clear that if she left the house, he would definitely beat her ass and then she'd never see her phone, mp3, laptop, or room door again. He wasn't one to bluff and she knew that.

Erik's eyes followed the tall, skinny brown skinned male from the building to the lot. Before he could get to his car, Erik hopped out of his black truck approaching the man.

"Aye nigga.." Erik swung as soon as the man turned around, hitting him square in the nose before gripping his collar to hit him again in the same spot.

The man grabbed at his face, gingerly touching his bloody nose. It was definitely broken.

"FUUH-SHIT!!" The man howled in pained surprise. He didn't know who Erik was.

Erik held up his daughter's school picture. She had a blown out ponytail and sat smiling angelically, blue and pink braces on display, with an electric blue and white hoodie which said 'Billie Eilish', large silver hoops, glittery lipgloss, and her hands crossed over each other. It was obvious that she was young.

"She's sixteen," Erik emphasized. "She's my CHILD and she's SIXTEEN. LOOK AT THE PICTURE."

He pushed it in the guy's face, looking out the corner of his eye at the couple of onlookers, an older black couple.

"He's a grown ass man talking to my teenage daughter," Erik explained showing them the picture. Their judgmental gazes turned to the man who held his hands up as if innocent.

"Whoa! Wait now.. Nah, she told me she was 19!" His head shook as he tried to defend himself.

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT SHE TOLD YOU, HER FUCKIN FACEBOOK, INSTAGRAM, TIKTOK ALL SAY UNIKKY03 OR HAVE HER AGE POSTED."

Before the man could lie again, Erik pulled up the screenshot he took on his daughter's phone.

Daddy😜: I'm 31 is that okay with you?

Uniqua: that's fine I look 19 anyway 😜👌

Daddy😜: You're very mature for a teen 😚

The man looked at the message as if it were brand new and he'd never seen it before.

"OH HELL NO," a loud voice came from the left. A young man early 20s drinking a Red Bull with his phone in his other hand. "HE'S A KIDDIE DIDDLER?!?!"

Erik held up the picture of his daughter as the guy came nearer, squinting at the photo.

Without warning, Red Bull lunged ahead jumping on the man in question as Erik stood shocked.

Red Bull beat the breaks off the nigga, spitting on him before stumbling back.

"All yours cuz," he mumbled.

Erik didn't hesitate. He couldn't forgive any man who would prey on his one and only child. A man who would do it once would do it again, only next time it would be someone else's child.

He kicked the man in the ribs six times before he came to himself. Stepping back, he glanced at the couple. The woman waved him on.

"Beat his ass!"

"I'm a grandfather. You do what you gotta do for your family," her husband shrugged watching on. The neighborhood was out today.

Erik circled the man on the ground. He started to pull his gun and in his mind.. he saw himself pulling the trigger. However, he took a step back. He was a father who needed to be there for his daughter. Especially now more than ever. She was more important. She was his first priority.

Still, Erik needed to make a point.

Snatching his gun from the concealed holster on his waist, he racked it fast and put it to the man's head as he laid busted up on the concrete. No one made a move to stop him, walking around him instead.

"If you so much as breathe in my child or ANY child's direction.. I'll kill you AND your entire family. Do you FUCKIN hear me."

Erik leaned down further as the man groaned in agony.

"I SAID DO YOU FUCKIN HEAR ME."

"YES, YES, I hear you," the man winced as Erik stood, staring down at him before stepping over him and heading back to his car.

He nodded to the couple and Red Bull before pulling off.

"Alright," Red Bull nodded back. The couple waved as Erik drove away.

-----

"I'm sorry," Uniqua whined when Erik walked in the door. She was sitting in the living room, watching Christmas movies and waiting. When he entered, she stood walking toward him slowly, the way she always did when something was heavy on her mind. She walked up until she collided with him, tucking her head into his chest and he sighed. He couldn't stay mad at his own child. She was only a kid afterall.

He swallowed her up in an embrace and walked her back to the kitchen. There was a pan of cornbread sitting on the counter.

"Ah, you made cornbread," he smiled.

She beamed, her eyes still red. He could tell she'd been crying the entire time. His heart broke, but at the same time he knew he had to be tough for her own safety.

"You understand why I got so angry, don't you? I just want you to be safe. Grown men, especially men that age don't need to be messing with little girls your age. They only to that because they're predators and grown women don't put up with that shit. Promise me you'll never talk to anyone like that without telling me."

"I promise!" She looked like she might cry again.

"Aight," he said letting it go. "Come here." He raised his arms beckoning her to collect her hug.

She came quickly, hugging her father tightly as he sighed.

"Stick to boys your own age, just let me meet em first," he said putting a heavy hand atop her head.

"I promise... No one over 19," she said.

"Sixteen," Erik corrected.

"Oh! That's what I meant," she nodded quickly getting the message. "Sixteen."

@muse-of-mbaku @imaginewhoever @goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagines @vikkidc @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @drsunshine97 @purplehairgawdess @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @fonville-designs @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent

#original #erik killmonger fics #erik killmonger fanfiction #dadmonger

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chwrpg · 3 years

Text

What's happenin', hot stuff? -- Duk Barnes

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: Can I just say, you knocked this completely out of the park, Kayla !!! I am so, so, so, so ready to see what you’ll be doing with Duk given the groundwork you put down in this application. Not just that, but Duk was simply missed on this dash. I love, love, love him and thank you for taking him up once more.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

Your fave Kayla, she/her, 26, EST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Donald “Duk” Barnes

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

Okay so like I am always trying to be better for you guys, so let’s be optimistic and say 6 out of 10.

SECONDARY CHOICE:

N/A

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

One of the things I’ve always loved about Duk is his kind heart. Like, underneath that very attractive exterior, there’s really a heart of gold. When I have written him before, I’ve always enjoyed how much he loves his family. It’s something I connect to and part of what draws me to him. He especially loves and is close to his sister, Sage. He never has seen her as weird, she’s just Sage. His relationship with his two younger siblings is different, of course, but I know he loves them and would do anything for them. It’s the same principle that I see in him with his friends. He’s very much ride or die, as the kids say. He’s also respectful and so funny. I love him so much and I’m forever grateful to be part of giving more depth to a character that was originally just a stereotype.

SAMPLE WRITING:

Adjusting his AirPod in his ear, Duk Barnes reached for his phone, hitting play on his coming to America playlist he had curated specifically for this moment when the pilot announced they had reached America and would reach their destination shortly.

In a second, he heard the familiar strains of his first track begin just before: “I hopped off the plane at LAX / With a dream and my cardigan / Welcome to the land of fame excess / Whoa, am I gonna fit in?”

It was a surprisingly apt song for having been released over ten years ago in what felt like an entirely different world. He could remember Sage playing this song over and over until he broke her CD in a moment of anger. He smiled to himself, thinking about how she’d laugh about how he was willingly listening to it now.

It had been over two months since he’d seen her in person. Or anyone in his big, loud, crazy American family. He’d talked to them through instant messaging, Skype, FaceTime. But that was it. For he had done something crazy on his own.

He’d gone to Singapore. To meet his biological family for the first time.

The thing was when Duk had turned 18, his mom had sat him down and presented him with a rather thick packet tucked inside a time-worn Manila envelope.

“This,” She had said with a shaky breath “Is everything I have about your biological family. You’re an adult now and your dad and I think that it’s time for you to have it.”

At the time, he didn’t know what to say. He’d taken the big envelope without a word, just nodding.

“You don’t have to do anything with the information if you don’t want to, of course.” His mom said rather quickly, having taken his surprised silence for disinterest. “But it’s yours. You used to always want to know more about your… your roots. At the time, I didn’t think it was right for me to share. But in there,” She nodded then to the packet where Duk was touching the golden brad holding the envelope shut. “In there, I think you’ll find the answers.”

In truth, he hadn’t opened it until a year later, He’d found it stashed in a neglected high school science textbook he had forgotten to return while preparing his things to return to college. Sitting at his desk, he finally pried it open. And his mom had been right, the answers to each question he could have wanted to ask were there.

There was also a letter. In a perfect script, on a fine soft-feeling stationery, written in English. It was from his mother’s mother. She wrote about her disappointment that Duk was given up for adoption, how she wished to raise him herself in Singapore, and gave some background about their family, how they were proudly Chinese and Malaysian and had such history that could be traced back over centuries. She wrote about how his mother had come to Chicago to study and fell in love with a white man. They’d broken up before Duk was even born and it was clear that the man didn’t want to be involved in raising the child. But his mother gave him up because she wanted to focus on her career and how the whole family had prayed that this baby would find a good home and a good family to love him as much as they all did.

However, most importantly, it said that Duk was, no matter what, part of the family and welcome to come to Singapore and meet them.

Using some of the names mentioned in the letter, Duk cautiously typed them into Google. The results were mostly in Mandarin, which he knew very little of, so he used the translate function to see what could be made of the articles. It looked like his maternal grandfather was something of a mogul. He had created a hotel and resort empire that spanned not only Singapore, but other countries in Asia and, apparently, a few in development in Europe. It felt unreal, and sat heavy in his chest. So much so that he had abruptly shut his laptop so hard he thought he would break it.

But it all had stirred up something in Duk. A yearning for something he couldn’t quite name. So, he took up learning Mandarin. He wanted to be able to communicate with his newfound biological family, on the off-chance that maybe some of them wouldn’t speak English. First with Duolingo, then borrowing Rosetta Stone from the local library. He wasn’t fluent, might not ever be so, but as he kept working on it, he realized he took to it almost naturally. The words felt right in his mouth. He saved money in a Tupperware container that he hid in the back of his sock drawer. He had given the adoption agency his information in the hopes that he would hear from his family and the first person to email him was his maternal grandmother. She was who he practiced writing Mandarin to, then, slowly, spoke to on Facetime. She was an adorable lady, with a big smile that reminded Duk of his own and the same shared love of the chaos and beauty of life. She encouraged him to come to Singapore and offered to help financially, but he told her it was okay. He could do it. He’d get there, he’d just need a place to stay.

“Well,” she said, a determined but amused look on her face. “That much I can do.”

Singapore was… beyond words. He would never be able to put words to the beauty of the country of his biological family and the feeling that settled in his chest when he stepped off the plane for the first time. It took his breath away, looking out across the tarmac, toward the trees and then the city skyline just beyond. It looked like something out of a movie about the future. If he didn’t know better, he would have been anticipating to see flying cars in the sky. It was amazing - and insanely scary - to meet the family, some of whom were eagerly awaiting him as he walked out of customs. It was kind of freaky, too, to notice how he could see himself, for the first time in real life, in other people. Grandma had given him the biggest hug and kissed both his cheeks. He wouldn’t remember all their names and how they were connected to him at first, his head felt full with information and tired from long hours whiled away in the air. He was, however, mildly surprised to discover that his family all seemed to speak English better than he could and playfully teased him with smiles on their faces about his choppy Mandarin.

Looking at his phone now, he flipped past photos of himself with cousins and various friends of the family, past the TikToks and other videos he had made of his travels (he had been surprised when his video of himself dancing in various airports on his way to Singapore to Billy Idol’s “Dancing with Myself” had begun raking in the likes). It made him smile and he knew already he couldn’t wait to go back. Grandma had begun hinting, toward the end of his time there, that he could try for dual citizenship and had outright offered him a job with the family company, even though Duk wasn’t sure if his uncle - the current CEO of the business - was certain of him. He stops on a video of himself doing one of the many TikTok dances with his cousins outside of a nightclub. They’d been the ones to show him the country’s nightlife, showed him what was what and brought him up to speed on the culture. They’d even managed to get him onto Weibo, the Chinese social media site, and looped him into their WhatsApp groupchat.

They had encouraged him, too, to meet his mother. Which was… easier said than done, it would turn out. He didn’t meet her until his last few days in Singapore. They’d texted a little before that, mostly just to set up a time and place. And when he had seen her, sitting by the window at the tea shop, it was like looking in a mirror. They had the same eyes, same mouth. And she had smiled at him like he was an old friend. Their meeting had been a little awkward, with pockets of nervous silence on both sides. But when they said goodbye, they hugged and Duk held his composure until he was back in his room, where he broke down into tears. Not sad tears, but tears of relief, of joy. It was all so much more than anything he could have expected.

The plane makes its final descent into O’Hare and Duk closes his eyes, uncomfortable still with the way the plane downshifts toward the ground, even though he knows it’s safe. He gets his things together once the plane settles on the tarmac, steering toward the gate. Turns off his AirPods, checks his phone for messages. He smiles at the notifications already popping up on his screen; friend requests on Facebook, new followers on Instagram, new likes on TikTok. Most are family, but he doesn’t recognize several of the new likes on TikTok or followers on Instagram. There’s also a text from his sister that just came through: Why is there a video of you dancing on TikTok?????

He shrugs it off, blowing up on social media doesn’t mean much since he’s still on cloud nine about his trip and eager to just get the hell off this plane already. He’s tired, almost running on fumes, but he still has a bounce in his step that always seems to be with him.

Then, once he makes his way through disembarking and through hectic customs, there’s the Barneses. Crowded right up to the metal barrier. They’re there to greet him, his mom waving her hands in the air as if he can’t see her in the crowd. His father is saying something to Michael, who is hoisting a big sign up into the air. Sara is picking at Mike, as usual and Sage is just looking around as though she would almost rather be anywhere else. But their eyes meet and she smiles. And he knows she is glad to see him, too. Duk tilts his head to one side, studying the simplified Hanzi type lettering on Michael’s sign. “You do know that the sign says ‘fried rice here’ right?” He asks the group. He didn’t expect this to be his first words to his family upon his prodigal return, but then again, normal to the Barnes family is always entirely subjective. Immediately, his mom shot a look at Mike, who is covering his face to hold back a burst of roaring laughter. “Michael!” She hisses and the boy finally lets loose peals of laughter. Sarah punches his shoulder and he grimaces as Sage rolls her eyes, turning her attention to her phone instead. It was the best welcome home he could have ever received.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nothing! I love you all!!

#accepted #submission

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jiminfms · 4 years

Photo

* hi , my name’s tee and this ain’t a waist trainer bitch , this a back brace i got scoliosis . 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 , 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐬 ( finally ) ! i prefer either feminine or non - binary pronouns , and i reside in the est time zone ! it has taken me so long to formally write and i highkey hate it because i lost muse for my queen miss giavanna , so i decided to bring another muse instead of leaving because honestly ... i love ya’ll 🥺 . the way i love miss jennie kim is more than i wanna admit , so let me introduce you guys to the tiny ball of aggression that is jimin jung !

omg ! i was walking yonge street downtown , and you’ll never guess who i saw . jimin jung ! i just saw a post about them on sixsecrets ! i think it said something like ' jimin jung physically restrained by security guards following a verbal argument with fellow customer at drake one fifty ! ' . isn’t that wild ? i guess it makes sense though , since they’re apparently antagonistic and bellicose . but i’ve heard they’re also sultry and voguish ! i’ll just stick to giving them the benefit of the doubt . i mean , it’s not like i know them personally — they’re a famous singer / songwriter and model ! you know , i’ve actually heard rumors that redacted , but they’re just rumors … i think . i dunno . if you happen to run into them , tell them i’m their biggest fan !

FULL NAME : jung jimin .

NICKNAME(S) : n/a .

AGE + DATE OF BIRTH : 24 + june 10th , 1996 .

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN : gemini .

MEYERS - BRIGGS PERSONALITY TYPE : entj .

MORAL ALIGNMENT : chaotic neutral .

GENDER + PRONOUNS : cis female + she / her / hers .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual .

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic .

PLACE OF BIRTH : kensington , london , england .

PLACE OF RESIDENCE : toronto , ontario , canada ( specifically , in the neighborhood of forest hill ) .

OCCUPATION : singer / songwriter and model .

VOICECLAIM : dua lipa .

NATIONALITY : british - korean .

ETHNICITY : korean .

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : english , korean , and japanese .

i. prosopography .

jimin’s story begins with the fateful meeting of her parents , kim seo - yeon and jung do - young , on a cold winter’s day . they found themselves at the tender ages of 20 and 22 , attending a boring christmas gala with their parents when they would have preferred to do anything else in the world . seo - yeon was a women who knew what she wanted the moment her eyes landed upon it , so when she made brief eye contact with do - young , she purposefully spilled a glass of champagne onto his expensive tom ford suit and made a big deal of it . this sparked their whirlwind romance , and six months later they found themselves announcing their engagement to korean media outlets .

despite how quickly they were engaged , their parents saw this as mutually beneficial . seo - yeon is the youngest daughter of the wealthy kim family , owners of the kq group conglomerate that was worth billions in its own right . do - young was the only child of his parents , and came from park family lineage where their hotels and resorts were the cause of their fortune . the families were soon to be one , and the couple was the chaebol heirs that others envied . following their lavish wedding , seo - yeon and do - young decided that they were going to head off to london to make a life for themselves . so , they transferred to oxford university , finished their schooling , and shortly after seo - yeon’s graduation from the financial economics program , the couple discovered that they were expecting .

it was a sticky summer day when seo - yeon unexpectedly gave birth to their daughter , who decided not to allow her parents time to get to the hospital . jimin was born in the bathtub of her parents’ luxury bathroom , and right into the arms of her slightly panicked but overjoyed father . from the time that she was a toddler , araminta was a very precocious child , picking up on skills quite quickly and speaking in few short sentences by the time she was eleven months old . as she grew older , jimin’s parents remained hands on despite their busy schedules , and decided that they would see what their daughter would have the most interest in . when she was four , her parents began piano lessons , and it was evident that she had a natural gift for the instrument .

life for jimin had always been comfortable , but she didn’t want to take the usual route , or what was expected of her . she had always been interested in music , so she she originally started with taking dance classes . she trained in all forms of dance in order to be well rounded , and she initially had dreams of becoming a backup dancer , but when she was playing around and decided to make a video singing a song that she had written all on her own , jimin became an overnight sensation . her song , hotter than hell , blew up almost instantly and she was signed to warner music group .

i’ve written enough VCJNXVBHCV but her career has followed the timeline of dua’s , although it’s slightly off by maybe the month or the year . she has won a total of forty - two awards in her career , including two grammy awards and three brit awards . although miss dua got a lil clowned for her dancing at one point , i must say that jimin is quite the performer , and definitely makes use of the stages by recreating music videos or simply giving the audience an experience . she has not released future nostalgia as of yet , but it’s what she’s currently working towards ! through her career , she is known by her mononym jimin !

ii. temperament .

jimin is a real bitch , but she doesn’t go out of her way to ‘ out bitch ’ someone because she finds it to be kinda dumb . she’s primarily looking to have fun , and no one is about to be bitchy around her without getting snatched up .

she parties like she just turned twenty - one and dares someone to say something about it ! invite her to the club and she’s coming without a second thought . she’s the friend who will make plans and will get a little sad when people cancel on her , but she’s still going to find a way to enjoy herself .

does not take authority seriously and she can be seen making a jerking off motion whenever someone kisses up to those of authority . talks shit , but backs it up because if you’re bold enough to talk shit you might get hit , right ?

she’s a sultry bitch and she loves it . give her the chance and she’ll flirt with a tree , she’ll flirt with a plant , and she might flirt with your significant other . she can get kinda lewd and will say something really off - beat , and honestly shut her up if you do .

the epitome of a gen - z / millennial line straddler as she can’t walk past a mirror without taking pictures of herself . sickeningly vain as she takes pictures at any chance she can like after getting her hair and makeup done or even when she’s out and about shopping .

iii. headcanons .

jimin is quite chaotic and she does not hold back from it ! she’s a pot stirrer , and she’ll watch everything unfold as if she wasn’t the one to start the problems in the first place . not afraid to spread a rumor or putting a trolling instagram comment on one of her posts on blast . she likes to be petty , but she can back it up ( but it’s NOT fat enough 😔 ) .

her style is vastly different than what’s expected . on stage , i would think her style is something akin to kpop stage outfits , but not necessarily as tame . she’s not afraid to show skin so there’s a lot of embellished leotards and heels , dramatic eye makeup and perfectly styled hair . off stage , she likes a relaxed but high - end style . lots of denim , lots of black , loves oversized pieces , but she loves to follow trends where she can .

loves to yoga , pilates , and anything else that doesn’t involve having to go to an actual gym . she especially love aerial yoga as it keeps her flexible as a dancer .

miss jennie didn’t let us enjoy it long enough , but jimin’s hair is canon to jennie’s blonde pieces ! she’ll switch up the color every so often with temporary dyes , but other than that , it’s usually always blonde !

she doesn’t drink st*rbucks so don’t ask her to go , and she especially doesn’t go because she likes very simple coffee drinks .

iv. wanted connections .

give me everything , please ! i’d love some of the basics like former friends , best friends , industry rivals , friends with benefits , confidant(s) , frenemies , good / bad influences , one night stand(s) , enemies with benefits , or a current or ex fling !

because i love my women loving women , hand over the ex girlfriend ! in my head i’m thinking that they were a really happy couple and they were really good to one another , but they drifted apart . they remain good friends and people probably think there’s still feelings because they can be rather touchy feely with one another ( 👀 ) .

ifykyk .... but i love angst ! i love to have my heart ripped right out of my chest so give me angst in any form : angsty friends , exes , anything !

a couple who are stuck in a limbo ! they have yet to make it past the point of friends , wondering if they’re just a hookup to one another would there could potentially be more . they probably fight a lot because of those underlying feelings , but it could be interesting to explore either way !

give me enemies ! and not for fake but two people who genuinely dislike one another . it’s not surprising for jimin to not get along with a lot of people considering the fact that she’s not ... the nicest , and i’m not entirely sure as to why they’d dislike each other , but it could be so much thank u KFJDFDS .

give me the heartbreak that still lingers i will sell you my SOUL . maybe their relationship was good , or it was a mess KNFJD , but but when they broke up they haven’t fully gotten over it yet ? probably a lot of lingering looks , and giving compliments but they’re kinda awkward because they don’t know how to approach each other sometimes .

#sixhqintro #blog is on dashboard for now while editing !#also this is really long pls don't pelt me with eggs NVJCBHVXC #i did it ya'll KNFJBHD

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