#this is a professionally made costume why the fuck is the actor not wearing a balaclava with this

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

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There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[hilarieburtonmorgan]

Ten Years Later, the One Tree Hill Cast Is Setting the Record Straight

Ten years after the finale of One Tree Hill, the actors Hilarie Burton Morgan, Sophia Bush, and Bethany Joy Lenz have never been closer. Despite their shared experience growing up on screen, the trio— who played Peyton Sawyer, Brooke Davis, and Haley James in the heartland-set high school soap for nine seasons—were kept largely isolated from one another during those years.

That distance began to dissipate with age, and when the #MeToo movement alerted the actors to some of their common experiences while working on One Tree Hill. In their new weekly iHeartRadio podcast Drama Queens, the three actors unpack the moments—nostalgic and traumatic alike—that unfolded behind the scenes of the wildly popular drama. To celebrate the podcast’s success, Burton Morgan, Bush, and Lenz joined us for a bit of reminiscing. —BRIAN ALESSANDRO

———

HILARIE BURTON MORGAN: Sophia, you were the person that called me about a podcast. What was the catalyst for you to be like, “It’s time”?

SOPHIA BUSH: When we first finished the show, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t want to be close to it. And then as time went on, and we all started being able to get together, and share stories, and talk some shit. We all finally told each other the stories we’d been afraid to share — I wish we’d been able to have the friendships we have now back then! — and hearing everyone’s stories really made me so furious. It lit that fire in me, and I thought “well, we just have to burn it down.” But, I also had to remember how much our fans love the show, and to realize that despite so much that was insidious we also had fun. We’ve shared stories about what was painful and hard, and I think especially because of what you were put through, I wanted to call you first and just say, like, “Does this idea feel triggering?” You said “No, this feels quite cool.”

BURTON MORGAN: What was your first reaction, Joy?

BETHANY JOY LENZ: I was definitely hesitant about more One Tree Hill anything. But the more we talked about it, I was like, “Wow, this is actually a chance for redemption.” Also, I don’t want to throw shade on the show that did give us amazing opportunities. I always try to temper my frustrations with a good bit of gratitude. But as for the bad stuff, I really do love the opportunity to redeem that. Some of it was us being young and stubborn twenty-year-olds, but a lot of it was the people around us who were using our youth and naïveté to keep us from arguing back. It was always, “Joy, you’re the odd man out. Sophia, you’re the odd man out. Hilarie, you’re the odd man out.” So we never reached out to each other. I’m incredibly grateful for the relationship I with you amazing women now.

BURTON MORGAN: I left the show first, and it was the divorce of my life, because I’d committed so much to being the good soldier. “I’ll do whatever press you want. I’ll go on whatever mall tour.” And so, the loss of that was traumatic. But the next relationship I got into professionally was with White Collar, and the best person I could have ever encountered was Tiffani Thiessen, who was an icon to me. She told me right out of the gate, “Don’t bad mouth the show that got you started. Defend your character, forget the bad guys, take what’s good.” That was such great advice. She was someone whose opinion meant something to me, because she’d been a teen idol of mine. Who were some women on TV that that you felt like we were trying to emulate while we were doing the show?

LENZ: I don’t think I ever really knew how to process it. I actually feel like I missed a lot of the excitement because I kept asking myself what it all meant.

BURTON MORGAN: I was the opposite! I like experience. But I made terrible choices.

BUSH: I’m with Joy. Now, I over intellectualize everything because back then, I was always soaking up all the experiences and I got my ass handed to me. So now I’m like, “What does it mean? What is it all?”

BURTON MORGAN: How many years out are we now? Like 17 years out from the first year?

LENZ: I don’t even know how to process that.

BURTON MORGAN: 18 years out? Jesus, we could have children in college at this point. Why do you think people still care?

LENZ: Comfort food. I mean, that’s it, like especially now that there’s so much content. I can only speak from my experience, but when I settle in to watch TV, I will spend 20 minutes scrolling before saying, “You know what, fuck it,” and turning on Frasier. And that’s what I watch because I know those characters, and I just want that familiarity. I honestly think the over-saturation has played a huge role in our fans’ need for One Tree Hill.

BUSH: And I would also say that there is something about how — as outlandish it got at times — there was also a lot that felt honest. People write to us about how they feel seen, how they feel represented, how they see their own struggles in our show. When I meet new people who are just discovering it and I think, “You could be watching anything! Why? Thank you?”

BURTON MORGAN: Honestly, having an older kid, and seeing the things that he’s drawn to, he loves watching TV shows from our era. Probably the same reason I loved watching Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie and What’s Happening – it’s retro. They’re mystified by it because there’s no social media on our show and so people are actually talking to each other. You actually had to show up at Karen’s Cafe to have that important conversation. It’s a wish fulfillment for these younger kids where they’re like, “Oh, my life doesn’t look anything like that.” We are the time warp, which is super fucked up.

LENZ: And we were also the last show that was doing, dare I say, wholesome content? I mean I know our show, like, jumped the shark several times in many regards, but in terms of the“hometown kids, middle of America, just dealing with regular emotions and life stuff,” those shows became very rare. Everything that came after us was like rich kids—Gossip Girl and The OC, and then it was all brought to a high-concept place like the Vampire Diaries, Riverdale stuff. And I don’t know that there’s anything out there that’s kind of gotten back to the roots, like One Tree Hill.

BURTON MORGAN: Can you imagine pitching One Tree Hill now? Like, “it’s about some kids. Two of them play basketball, and the rest are just moody.”

BURTON MORGAN: What episodes are we all excited to review the most? Some of them are cringey as hell.

BUSH: I’m sure a lot of them will be.

BURTON MORGAN: I like the Halloween episode we did at Tric [the “all-ages” nightclub]. That was batshit. It was 1000 degrees in there and everyone was dying and miserable and we’re dressed up like cartoons.

LENZ: I know. The one with the car, where they made me fucking siphon off gas.

BURTON MORGAN: That was fun cause that was really the first time the three of us were put together.

BUSH: Having to pretend to be high on pills when I never had been, I was like, “I’ll try!” Hilarie, your wedding episode was…

BURTON MORGAN: Christ.

BUSH: That was such a shit show, man. You said the Halloween episode — you’ll cackle when you see we did a Halloween episode after you were gone. And I had to be dressed up as one half of A Clockwork Orange, but was abandoned in my costume, and I was written to be dressed as a giant orange and Carol (Cutshall, costumer) papier-mached a workout ball and drilled armholes in it, and I had to wear it. AND I directed that episode!

BURTON MORGAN: That’s perfect! That’s a chef’s kiss.

BUSH: I had little T-Rex arms, being like, “well, if you go over there” – And they’d say “Where?” And I’d be like, “I can’t show you! I’m stuck in an orange!” It was, it was so humiliating. But when I think back on it, great comedic fodder.

BURTON MORGAN: What is your favorite keepsake from the show?

LENZ: I have the Julius Caesar book that Haley gives to Lucas in the pilot.

BURTON MORGAN: I have the leather jacket that Peyton takes after Ellie [Sheryl Lee] dies. That was an intense crying scene for me. My body has a physical reaction to that jacket.

LENZ: What’s yours, Soph?

BUSH: I have, like, a bin.

BURTON MORGAN: You have everything!

BUSH: There’s like this sad episode where Brooke celebrates her birthday alone in her room with a cupcake. I have the photo album from that scene, which is very sweet because it’s all photos of you and I, Hilarie…

BURTON MORGAN: You have that?

BUSH: Oh yeah, I took that immediately. There are real pictures of us from growing up, because it was this story of these friends who grew up together…

BURTON MORGAN: Joy, we’re gonna photoshop you in.

BUSH: Honestly, we should just make a new one. Of all the stuff that feels sentimental, that “Brooke Davis for President” pin kills me. It’s up on the wall in my office, because it makes me laugh. When I think about why that’s the one thing I’ve displayed—next to a photo of the three of us— it’s because it symbolized something that at the time really embarrassed me, but now I respect. Brooke Davis took the thing she was made fun of for, and turned it into an anthem. She was this bad bitch who owned her shit. That’s something I’ve tried to emulate.

BURTON MORGAN: One thing that I keep thinking is, “we deserve this.”

LENZ: Because we do! It’s hard to say that as women, I think.

BURTON MORGAN: What makes you two feel like we deserve this?

LENZ: Because we’ve worked our asses off, and because it’s beautiful to experience friendship with each other in a way that we were robbed of in our younger days.

BURTON MORGAN: We were really good girls. I’m excited to set things straight.

[silverinia]

I came for Baranski, I stayed for Baranski - a quick Christmas On The Square review someone* actually asked for

(* thank you, anon)

Disclaimer: I am in no way a professional of any sorts when it comes to film and I'm not a journalist either. The last movie review I've written was probably for a school assignment in eighth grade. I didn't do research for this and I've watched the movie exactly one time, so this is just for fun.

It was a Sunday, Sunday the 22nd of November, nearing the end of the train wreck of a year that is 2020. I woke up on an air mattress around seven am, my head aching, my throat itching with pyrosis and light nausea, it was still dark outside behind the closed blinds in front of the windows, when I slowly realised where I was, one of my best girlfriends sleeping next to me in her bed. I had crashed at her place after a warm, fuzzy evening of mulled wine, tacky Christmas movies I would never watch alone (Christmas Chronicles and Holiday Calendar, which I quite honestly didn't enjoy at all, but the company made it fun anyway), doing our nails, wearing the fun kind of face masks for a change and smoking too many cigarettes, as the soft pain in my head informed me right now. She woke up an hour later and the morning went by with coffee and reheated pizza for breakfast, when we decided to watch another movie and I realised that it was THE Sunday I'd been waiting for through Zoom interviews and Dolly Parton twitter memes and the infamous wig gate that will be briefly discussed in the following, and so we clicked on the small icon in the Netflix menu that said "Christmas On The Square".

And oh boy, was it a ride.

To start off, I should mention that I have a hard time watching most modern day American Christmas movies, as I noticed quite vividly again when I watched the two aforementioned Netflix productions last night. The character development is always foreseeable to say the least, the plot lines are plain clichés hunting each other like they're the kids in The Hunger Games, and the writing is generally so bad that you can join the actors in reciting the entire scripts on your first watch. I watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas once a year while I'm gift wrapping and pause every fifteen minutes to shamelessly stare at forties Christine Baranski (I think we should all turn away from the birth of Jesus and instead count our years based on Christine Baranski's date of birth) in flamboyant nightgowns and short Christmas themed dresses, looking so fabulous that every interpreter of Santa Baby ever could only dream of it, I watch Love Actually at least five times a year to lust over Hugh Grant, cry with Emma Thompson and miss Alan Rickman, I enjoy Bridget Jones, which I would definitely consider a Christmas movie, and that's it. That's my yearly Christmas time entertainment routine and I can barely tolerate anything beyond, because I'm still traumatised from the time when I was around five years old and on a holiday family visit where had to sit through National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, the dumbest movie I have ever seen (my apologies if you like it but also, who hurt you?), with my cousins. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. And it scarred me for life.

But this was a Christine Baranski movie, I knew she was going to play the lead and so I was pretty much as excited about this as I could. And the fact that Dolly Parton wrote the whole thing didn't hurt either. As I said earlier to my friend I was watching it with, I have the pop cultural taste of a fifty year old gay man, a quality I am most proud of, and this simply ticked off all my boxes.

I expected something similar to a Mamma Mia experience that wouldn't cause me to crave packing my bags, give Covid the finger and run off to Greece. Light-hearted entertainment, easy to stomach, uplifting music and so little plot that the simplicity feels like a creative choice. That's what my pained, hungover brain knew it could cope with and that's not what I got.

The movie started and I was immediately in the zone. I saw Christine Baranski's name in the front credits (an experience that never fails to make me scream "Yass Queen" at the screen, regardless of where I am and who I'm with, as if I'm the sobering result that pops out of the package when you order Jonathan Van Ness on Wish), the setting was wonderfully corny (I grew up watching Gilmore Girls once a week, so give me warm fairy lights and a gazebo and I'm perfectly happy) and as my friend wondered whether Dolly Parton, in her exaggerated homeless attire that didn't make her look shabby at all, was green-screened into the setting because she stood out so much (which she was because the background dancers were dancing in slow motion, but to be fair, we were probably still a little too drunk to notice that from the start) and I told her I thought that it was just the natural glow someone who's Dolly Parton simply carries with them everywhere they go, I was happy. This was the movie I was prepared for. A movie in which the most problematic thing would be stereotypical characters and the wig they hid Christine's real, flawlessly handmade by God herself hair under.

And then, around five minutes in, Christine Baranski's childhood love interest was revealed as she pressed her perfect pointy nose against the window of his shop and sang about her unrequited love.

And suddenly, things started taking turns at a pace I was still way too sleep-deprived for.

Suddenly, in the middle of my general amazement at seeing Christine Baranski do literally anything and laughing loud at her impeccable comedic delivery, there were unresolved daddy issues, hanging prominently at the wall in her marvellously designed house (she literally says "Daddy" at one point and I couldn't help but think that only someone with her vocal skills could keep from making it sound cringe-worthily kinky). One moment, I was clutching my chest above my heart while she was bonding with little bartender Violet and munching on pretzels while downing some whiskey in that elegant way only Christine Baranski can bond with ten year olds who had it rough, eat pretzels and down whiskey, and the next she felt responsible for said girl's mother's death (which she kinda was too, but I'm not the boss of her). I was still busy making fun of how the very annoyingly, but when you're snacking on pizza with extra cheese at nine in the morning also highly funny, slow talking pastor's name was Christian, and suddenly there was a cancer scare.

It was a lot, a hasty sprint from major issue to major issue with a hint of comedic relief every now and then, and it didn't get any less until the very, rather poorly resolved, end.

The entire, constant up and down was followed by the movie's peak of suspense, the near death of precious Violet, something I couldn't even get too invested in because I was still so busy worrying about Christine's MRT results (I was truly fucking worried), not to mention that I hadn't even started to really process the sudden revelation of the love child and how it had affected her character's actions until this point. Was her constant tendency of pushing people away, as we've seen most clearly with her angel in training assistant who's name I cannot recall right now, the result of her broken trust in her father who practically ripped her son away from her after she had just given birth to him? Was it a result of her never getting the closure she needed with plaid flannel wearing Carl she was clearly still in love with? Maybe both? And what of the many issues was it that made her so incredibly shaken up when Violet blamed herself for her mother's death? Was it 'just' due to the fact that the closed pharmacy was on her, or was there more to it? Was it because she had grown up without a mother herself? Or did I miss a major piece of information because I was momentarily distracted, dumbfoundedly staring at Christine's very blue eyes? No time to ponder on that, little Silverinia, because here comes unconscious Violet in an ambulance, WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!

I'm not going to go in depth about what plot lines I thought were especially carelessly handled and why, real standouts were the sudden forgiveness towards her father who had still acted like a shitty asshole even though he might have had his reasons, because giving the baby up for adoption just wasn't his choice to make, and the fact that I kind of didn't buy how quickly Regina managed to forgive herself, especially for Violet's mother's passing, considering how deeply her tall, slim, dare I say angelic and entrancing figure was buried beneath the weight of all her issues. It felt rushed and incomplete, but that's as detailed as it gets because my major point is something else.

I think this movie made the great mistake of trying to be more than your average, flat, happy ending Christmas movie. I think no one involved thought it was possible to make it a big hit if the only real plot would've been great Dolly Parton music, fun ensemble dance choreographies, Christine Baranski's outstanding acting skills, fun settings and costumes and a redemption arch with as little plot as it could possibly take to make Christine likable to those who aren't already lost forever in the rabbit hole of being obsessed with her (poor fuckers, can't relate). They didn't notice that with the legends that were involved, they could've easily gone the Mamma Mia way. And I think that's why they tried to include heavier plot lines than most creators would've chosen, experiencing loss at an early age, struggling to find closure, dealing with sickness, teenage pregnancy, parents forcing their choices on their children when they affect their childrens' lives first, adoption, and the fear of losing your kid.

It was a lot and I don't want to say that it didn't work because my friend was crying, like, pretty hard and I questioned my entire existence all through the movie in not the worst way, and I did enjoy it a lot while watching. The "grief is love with nowhere to go" line was a real standout, for example, where the attempt of complexity DID work. It positively gave me fleabag season two, "I don't know what to do with it now, with all the love I have for her." - "I'll take it. It sounds lovely. You have to give it to me." feels, and that's about the biggest praise I can come up with. BUT (and this is written in capital letters because it's the big but) I'm also totally convinced that I wouldn't have enjoyed it if they hadn't cast Christine Baranski for the lead role. In my humble opinion, the hasty, not really at all resolved plot of this movie only worked because Christine Baranski is just a fantastic actress. She quirks a mocking eyebrow and you laugh. She parts her perfectly painted red lips and you immediately hang on them because you don't want to miss a single breath she, a literal goddess, graces us mere peasants of people with. She smiles and you're happy. She laughs and even while she's still laughing, you can't wait to hear her do it again. Her eyes fill with tears and you feel goosebumps on your arms, her voice slightly trembles, a breath hitches in her throat and you feel your heart shattering to pieces. As Chuck Lorre once said, this woman could read you the phone book and you would end up laughing tears because she just gets the job done. She knows what she's doing, she's an absolute pro in her game, and it doesn't matter, not even a little bit, what she's working with, because the work she eventually delivers with it is always at a minimum of 200%. I forced my friend to watch this movie with me because I adore this woman, and I felt for this movie because I felt for her. It wasn't the plot that sadly brutally overestimated itself, it wasn't the songs that I obviously enjoyed, nor the comedic elements that truly made me laugh a lot, it was all her. I came for Baranski, and I stayed for Baranski. This woman can do anything. She can even look graceful in a terrible wig job.

(side note / unpopular opinion: I actually didn't think the wig was all too bad. It wasn't good, actually far from good, but for me, nothing can match the awful wig game of Mamma Mia 2. I loathed that wig, I absolutely cannot stand it. So this didn't feel all that terrible. It definitely wasn't the most problematic part about the movie.)

I enjoyed watching this. It was a nice distraction from all the bullshit in the world. Watching it today was the first thing this year that actually brought me something close to excitement about the holiday season, even though everything will be very different and probably not quite as jolly this year. But it just gave me good vibes and as someone who did not watch this as a film reviewer, that's the biggest part of what leads me to enjoy a movie.

Will I watch this again? For sure. Will I enjoy it when I'm not hungover, having freshly done nails and munching delicious pizza for breakfast? Probably not as much, but it'll still have Christine Baranski in it. Would I recommend watching this? If you share my obsession with Queen B, one hundo. If you don't, probably not.

[rathernotmyname]

Okay so like I watched the Cats musical 3 times throughout highschool (for theater kid reasons) and every time I think about the remake I'm like. :((( they could have done such a cool revamp of the costumes and makeup :(((( they could have hire more than one professional dancer and did some BOMB choreography... I am SO TIRED of pop singers doing Broadway movies PLEASE PLEASE just hire Broadway singers, pop singers do NOT have the range....

Ksjsjs anyways this has been my silly Cats 2019 rant

thank god I’m not alone

YES JESUS FUCKING-- JAMES CORDEN??? THE ROLE HE’S PLAYING IS LICHERALLY SINGING OPERA WHY DID THEY GET JAMES CORDEN TO DO THE ROL-- ohh yeah, a fat joke. He’s.. he’s fat. That’s so funny. Haha. Oh look, Rebel Wilson! Does she- no, she’s fat, too, hahaha. I can’t even IMAGINE how in the everloving fuck the director looked at the musical, took the two most sophisticated characters (literally!! their songs even say so!!) and made them into fatphobic comedic relief. HOW??? The CGI: a nightmare. The music?? I will never watch the 2019 movie all the way through because it’s so PAINFUL. Why didn’t they get some famous broadway actors, at least?? Most of the minor roles couldn’t hold a tune, and that’s not even the worst of it. There’s a really well-done video by the youtuber Sideways that explains everything that went wrong pretty well (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3aK-EK5V2k).

I watched the musical (in German) when I was 11 or something and I fucking LOVED it. Because if you’re doing ballet and you’re 11, you’re going to hear that “oh, Ballet isn’t a sport, it’s just jumping around on tiptoes like a s*ssy and wearing tutus” and then you go in a big-ass concert hall where some people dressed as fucking cats are doing ballet on stage unironically, and it fucking slaps. It’s so cool. I wanted to be on that stage, climb up the walls and jump from the rafters. I, who was afraid to speak my own name because I thought it was embarrassing, wanted to go on that damn stage and do ballet with a bunch of people who got paid to do it. And they could sing, too! It was so damn awesome. I will never get over my utter, overwhelming awe and hero-worship of the dancer who did like 30 fouettés en tournant in a row. If I hadn’t been dancing ballet already, I would have started afterwards. (they completely ruined that character in the movie, too, by the way. he’s an uwu soft boy now, which... ughhh)

since I’m at it already, I think the director printed out the lyrics of the songs, ran them through a shredder, and then picked out a random line and based the characters on it. Otherwise, I can’t try to come up with a reason how he ruined every single character so badly.

I think they got a few royal ballet dancers to do the roles, but they can’t sing, unfortunately. And all the choreography that could have been actually good is completely spoiled by the horrible CGI. and the singing. oh, the new remixes? terrific. I hate those, too. why do we need synths?? why did they stop there?! why not insert a bass drop while we’re at it??? :)))) (wasn’t there a hip-hop section somewhere...? yknow what, I don’t want to know).

Ahem. This was my slightly longer silly Cats 2019 rant. Conclusion: I Do Not See It. Cats 2019 never happened.

[oscar-piastri]

the hating game [ben hardy x reader]

title: the hating game

pairing: ben hardy x reader

summary: working with Ben is complicated, especially since you can’t stand him but the cast gets tired of your dumb fights

words: around 2.9k

notes: this has been dying in my drive for 2 months & it will be divided in 3 parts

taglist: @borhapparker

“Can you pass me the salt please?” You asked Ben, who was sitting at the other side of the table, near the salt. He didn’t moved a finger or even looked at you. The room was full, very noisy but you spoke loud enough for him to hear you, yet it was like he was ignoring you. “Ben! The salt! Please!” You asked louder, but this time, he turned around to look at you and went back to ignoring you. “Hey, I was being nice for once!” you yelled, feeling your blood boiling, but it was useless, as your sentence was completely ignored by Ben, too busy talking to someone else. The smirk on his face was clearly showing that he enjoyed pissing you off and it was just driving you insane.

“You have two legs, get up and use them” he laughed, agitating the salt cellar in front of you.

“Yeah, to kick you in the fucking face” you growled and he just laughed, acting like you would do nothing.

“Will you guys stop this?” Joe groaned as he took the salt to hand it over to you.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry anymore” you said, taking your plate away. You couldn’t stay any longer sitting at this table with Ben, just looking at him made you want to destroy him, and you decided to leave instead of fighting. You walked back to the wardrobe trailer, where you were working.

You and Ben come from a long way, you have known him since you were a little kid, your parents were friends with his parents and you often spent time together during your childhood. But at both families’ regrets, you weren’t the childhood bestfriends type, but more like childhood enemies. You couldn’t remember how and why you started to hate him, maybe he stole one of your toys? Maybe he broke one of your toys? Maybe he was rude to you? You didn’t remember, but you knew it lasted when you were in middle school, in high school and it still is happening now.

Ben and you took a separate way after you graduated high school, which was great for you: no more annoying comments, no more driving you crazy, no more getting you to feel only hate when you heard his voice. But things changed when, years later, you saw him on your new workplace, where you work with the costume designer on Bohemian Rhapsody. You hoped that it could be a fresh start, but you realised that you were wrong when he saw you carrying boxes of clothes, and instead of helping you, he slammed the door at your face.

Ever since that day, your days were filled with annoying and rude comments, Ben ignoring you and making your job way harder than what it was supposed to be. But you were not gonna be the victim here, as you enjoyed pissing Ben off as a revenge, making his fitting a nightmare by pricking him. The game was on, and you were ready to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Unfortunately, your little hate game with Ben was starting to annoy everyone, as they got quickly tired of hearing you fighting and using mean words, ruining the happy mood of the cast and crew. You were well aware of that, but you couldn’t help but remember your childhood with him, everytime you could see his face.

Patiently waiting for the moment you’d start working again, you wandered around the many outfits created to be used for this movie.

“Will you ever stop?” You heard your superior say, as he entered the trailer.

“What do you mean?” You asked, putting down the magazine you were reading.

“Your little game with Ben, it’s annoying everyone”

“Sorry. It’s been going on for years. And it’s not a game. We just can’t stand each other, and that, since we were kids” You pointed out. 

“Well work on that. It’s NOT professional” your boss advised you as he went looking for the next scene’s outfits

“But it’s him-”

“Then be the bigger person” He said cutting you off.

“Ugh… I will” You said rolling your eyes

“Great, because Ben is the first one to come this afternoon” Your boss said before you started groaning, keeping you from hitting your head in the wall.

30 minutes later and you were on your knees, adjusting Ben’s outfit. 

“Like what you see?” You heard Ben asking, making you look up to look at him. He was wearing that white open vest with no shirt underneath, when you looked up, your eyes stopped at his abs and you felt him smirking. “Hey, my eyes are up there” he interpelled you, pointing to his eyes.

“Sorry, I had to take a closer look to your belly. You had too much fat food” you replied back, feeling his angry stare on you.

“I always knew you’d work for me” He said as you were working on fixing the same leg of his pants. 

“Yeah I’m not working for you, dumbass” you retorted, faking a smile.

“I remember -”

“I’m quite surprised you can remember things, I always thought you lost all your brain cells after too much rugby and beer” You cut him off, mentally applauding yourself for your answer.

“Y/N! Ben! Both of you, just shut up!” Your boss half yelled, as he was helping Joe with his outfit.

“Sorry” you mumbled, as Ben showed you his middle finger and you used the needle to sting his leg, making him wince in pain, putting a satisfied smile on your face.

But the luck wasn’t on your side, and your boss saw your action, leading you to be asked to stay outside while Ben was getting ready. So there you were, patiently waiting outside, sitting on the trailer’s stairs while you were scrolling down your phone. Yes, you were a child for doing that, but Ben was annoying you so much, you had to do something to make him stop. After a while, the door opened and you got up, leaving the stairs empty so Ben and Joe could walk outside. You didn’t bother looking at Ben, as you walked past him, slightly brushing his shoulder as you walked back inside to get your job done, feeling the look of your boss on your back, where you could feel how disappointed he was in you, for playing Ben’s game. 

You were glad to find Gwil waiting for you to help him adjust his outfit. You always liked Gwil because he was always calm and always tried to make you feel better after your little fights with Ben.

“You don’t look so well, darling. Did you had a fight with Ben, again?” He asked

“Kind of… My boss is mad at me because I was annoying Ben earlier” You explained as you started to adjust his outfit

“Listen, I don’t know why you and Ben are like that, but be careful. It’s much easier to fire and replace a costume assistant, than one of the main actors….” He warned you, and you could feel he really cared about you

“You guys all say stuff like that, like it’s easy! But you don’t know what I feel, just seeing him makes me want to punch him, annoy him, get him mad!” you tried to defend your position

“You could lose your job Y/N! This isn’t a game!”

“I can’t stand him…” you mumbled

“Try for a few more months, then you’ll never have to talk to him”

Your head clearly wasn’t in your work after what Gwil had just told you, and you decided to take a few moments for yourself, to think about the consequences of this little hate thing going around with Ben. Even though you were trying very hard to get over it, you’d always feel the need to do something to him, it’s physical. But your job was potentially on the line, and you couldn’t risk getting fired because of Ben, so you’d try to make peace with him. You were walking to go back to your personal trailer, when you were interrupted by Joe, running towards you.

“Y/N! Come quick! We need you” He said very quickly, showing a worried face.

“For what?” You asked, not understanding what was happening.

“We don’t have time” He replied, grabbing your hands and running again.

Joe had told you there was an emergency in the break room, one of Rami’s costume was destroyed and you were the only one available to fix it. When you got to the break room, you didn’t find Rami nor any outfit, but just Ben sitting on a chair.

“Hey-” You were about to ask where was Rami but Joe pushed you inside the room “What are you doing?” You asked your friend when you saw him close the door. ”Let me out!” You shouted, banging the door with your hands when you heard the door being locked.

“Great, now I’m stuck with you!” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“We won’t let you leave, until you’ve said nice things about each others!” You heard Lucy shout from the other side of the door

“Yeah! And not until you made peace!” Gwil added

“You guys are awful!” You shouted back, crossing your arms over your chest. “It won’t work! He’s so stubborn!”

“Not a good start Y/N…” Joe muttered 

“See? She’s not even trying?” Ben argued back, getting up from his seat to get closer to the door.

“Yeah? Because I know you’d keep on bothering me!” You argued, taking your eyes away from the door to look at Ben, with challenging eyes.

“Because you were terrible when we were kids!” He argued back

“Are you joking?! You were the one destroying my toys!”

“Because you bite me!” He defended himself, throwing his arms in the air, but it only made you roll your eyes.

“I was 5! And you had just kicked me in the head with your dirty hands” You pointed out, remembering yourself biting Ben’s arm.

“Like you said, I was 5! And it was probably an accident!” 

Groaning, you walked past Ben and let yourself fall down in one of the chair in the room.

“Okay, maybe! But it doesn’t change the fact that you were a real dick to me in high school! You paid someone to ask me to prom and then ditch me on prom night!” You snapped at him, remembering that night where you found yourself alone in the middle of many couples dancing, in the most beautiful dress you’ve ever won, wanting to kill Ben as you saw him laugh at your situation.

“Oh yeah, I remember. That was fun!” He recalled, a devil smile on his face

“Ugh, such an asshole!” You said, throwing him an empty bottle that was on the table.

It wasn’t difficult for him to avoid your little attack. “Hey, you made holes in my rugby jerseys! Coach hated me for years!”

“Yeah, I’m still proud of it” Your lips turned into a smile, remembering the good days where you’d sneak in the boys locker room to destroy his jersey.

Ben was leaning against the wall near the door, looking at you. You looked at him as well for a second, before turning your head to the side, now looking at an empty wall. None of you were speaking, sitting opposite to each other, on your phone to let the time fly. Minutes were passing but your friends weren’t really ready to let you out.

The terrible noise of your stomach crying for food was the only thing you could hear in the room, making Ben chuckle as your cheeks turned to red in embarrassment.

“Okay we should play their game and get out” Ben whispered, turning his head to the door.

For once, you were agreeing with Ben, as you nodded your head yes and got up to walk to the door.

Saying one nice thing about Ben shouldn’t be difficult, there has to be good points about him, because he has friends. Unfortunately every aspect of his personality sounded wrong and you decided to switch your compliment “The only thing I love about you is your dog” you said, raising your voice so your friends could hear you from the other side.

“Not enough!” Joe shouted, hitting the door.

“Okay! Okay” you shouted back before taking seconds to look at Ben and think of something. “Ben, I love your dog and your beautiful green eyes, and also how talented you are at drumming”

“Yeah that can work” Joe said, putting a soft smile on your face. 

“Ben, your turn” Rami said, making you impatient to hear what Ben was going to say.

“Y/N, I like that you’re a great friend and also the fact that you’re a great writer” He confessed, looking at his feet

“What?”

“I remember reading some stories you were posting on Internet. Your blog wasn’t so secret” he said and you smiled remembering your days in high school where you created a blog to post random stories you were writing.

“Okay, how about a truce, for the rest of the shooting?” You suggested, ready to put your little war on hold for a few months.

“Alright, I’ll try my best, just try not to finish my coffee, don’t insult me and we should be fine” He teased before putting his hand before you, so you could shake hands.

“Guys, it’s good!” You said to the door.

“Yeah, we’re not fully convinced, but we’ll accept that for now” Rami answered before you heard the door being unlocked.

You all agreed to go grab something to eat and then celebrate this little truce by going to a bar. But only after a few minutes in the bar, and you couldn’t help but start a new competition with Ben.

“Are they really gonna play ‘who can drink the most’?” Gwil asked, as he watched you and Ben drink, looking at each other to see who was the best.

“As long as they don’t yell at each other, I’m fine with that” Rami said, taking a sip of his beer.

“I will not babysit them” Joe added 

“We’re right here? We can hear you” you said, making them laugh.

The night went on, and your little competition with Ben was still on. You were now sitting alone, holding your drink in your hands as you were watching Ben dancing with someone else, yet, he was only looking at you, taunting you, which made you hate him even more. 

The rest of the crew went back to their trailers to sleep, they had an early shoot and needed some sleep, but Ben stayed, and so did you, not wanting to lose against him. To be honest, you think you’ve won because he had stopped drinking to go dance with that random girl. But now, seeing him sending you looks while he’s with her made your blood boil: because it was rude and also because he’s acting like he’s better than you.

His eyes were on you as she danced closer to him, his eyes were on you while he had her hands on her body, his eyes were on you as he breathing down her neck.

Not standing this view, you went to the bar and ordered a new drink, only to find Ben sitting at your spot.

“I guess I won” He said, a proud smirk appearing on his face

“No” you said before drinking whatever was in your glass “I won”

“I didn’t mean the drinking contest. That for sure, you won it” He chuckled, making you feel stupid because you didn’t understand what was happening. “I won because you’re the one who left” 

“Yeah, to get a drink” You pointed out, showing him your now empty glass

“Because you couldn’t stand the view” He said, walking closer to you

He was right and it was annoying you even more, he knew he was right and he was going to play with it, and you could tell by the smirk still present on his face. 

“We should go, I’ve got to wake up early. And the boys would kill me if I leave without you” He said as he grabbed your arm to walk out of this place and dragged you into a cab.

“Thank you for walking me to my trailer, very gentleman of you, I’m quite surprised” you joked as the two of you were standing in front of the door.

“Sure. Tonight was fun”

“Fun?” you said raising your eyebrows. You didn’t find this night really fun, well it was until Ben started driving you crazy when he was dancing with that woman.

“What is that on your face?” He asked with a smile

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the face of jealousy! My god, you’re thinking about that girl” He said walking closer. “I bet you wish it was you”

“What? N-No… That’s… No… Ridiculous” you stammered, quickly losing the ability to speak as he walked closer and closer to you.

“Are you sure?” He asked, giving you the same look he gave you while he was dancing, a look that was driving you insane.

“I hate you so fucking much” you managed to throw before you crashed your lips against his.

“Yeah? Me too” he whispered as he hurried you to open the door.

“God, I hate myself for doing that” you muttered as you dragged him inside your trailer

“No you don’t” he smirked

“No I don’t” you said before kissing Ben again

[yaboymercury]

Ripping 9 to 5 - Actor

(Re upload since original got flagged for the pic)

Simon was disappointed in Jake to say the least. Sure he was a great actor and sure he was getting all his lines down perfectly, but he wasn’t giving it enough time, literally. During rehearsals Simon would try and push the actors as far as they can go and he could tell his star Jake had more to offer and had the potential for a bigger role. But it was hard to do anything about the potential when he was constantly finding excuses to leave.

Whenever a scene was going on for too long or Simon was trying to push him to evolve as an actor he would start to look uncomfortable and almost demand to get off the stage. As the director Simon obviously found this problematic, especially since him falling for Jake’s charms was a lot of the reason why he got such a large role in the play.

But the interuptions were becoming an issue and since the play was practically Simon’s baby he knew he would have to do something about it.

On rehearsal that day Jake had been giving an amazing performance as always and Simon was enthralled, he couldn’t tell if it was the acting or Jake’s pleasing appearance. And fuck did Jake’s ass look good in those tight trousers which Simon made sure was part of his costuming. But as always right before Simon could give any constructive criticism of the scene, Jake made a contorted face and scrambled backstage.

Simon had enough and called for the rest of the cast to take a break, and began stalking Jake through the backstage area until he got to a corridor leading to many different rooms and it seems like Simon lost him.

About to give up Simon walked past the cleaning cupboard and heard what sounded like a deep powerful rumble and the faint sounds of relieved breathing. Despite the fear of the unknown Simon felt, if it was Jake behind the door he thought this was as better time than any to confront him. So he opened the door.

He was indeed greeted with the sight of Jake, the tall actor looking shocked being caught cramped inside a storage cupboard, he was also blushing which Simon worked out what was for when he noticed the tent Jake had in his trousers. But what was most shocking was the smell that practically burst out the cupboard, a deep cheesy stench hit Simon making him choke. The unmistakable smell of a fart.

So in spite of all the circumstances all Simon could say from behind the shirt he had pulled over his nose was:

“Fuck Jake did you fart?”

At the accusation Jake’s face quickly changed to irritation and he grabbed Simon’s shirt and pulled him into the small space.

“God get in here I’m not letting anyone else see me like this”

Simon was experiencing sensory overload being suddenly pulled into such a small space cramped with man he was undeniably attracted to, but still annoyed at, and the smell in the room was of stale but obvious flatulence.

“Ugh Jake what are you doing in here, and why’d you pull me in? Is this where you are always running off to? And why does it fucking reek?!?”

Simon’s barrage of questions left him breathless or maybe it was just the smell.

“Dude you’ve got to calm down.”

Simon did not appreciate how indifferent Jake was being but his chill response did calm the atmosphere and the fact that Simon felt the warmth of his breathe so close reminded him of just how close the two were in the cramped room. There was a slightly elongated pause where the two just looked at eachother not sure how to go on.

“But you were right earlier, there’s no point trying to hide it any more, I did fart, I fart a lot actually…”

It was weird to say the least for Simon to hear the dreamy young man say fart so casually, it just didn’t seem like it would be in his nature.

“And that’s why I come here to let it out when I have to, I don’t really want to embaress myself in front of the cast and well you especially.”

That last part confused Simon but he didn’t really have the ability to comprehend it at that time.

“I dunno I also kind of enjoy it, like I know you know how good it feels to let out a stinker right?"

Jake’s demeanour shifted to show his more boyish side but the question threw off Simon even more leaving him even more bewildered at the situation. Jake decided to continue his monologue feeling relieved to finally admit this to someone.

“Like seriously come on hear this and tell me you don’t think it feels amazing”

PHRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPT

Jake scrunched his face a little but still kept his smile as he leaned over to let out the massive blast, Simon had to admit that the vibrations filling the room must have had some satisfaction to it and he could see the pride on Jake’s face as he moaned a little letting it out. But he lost focus on all this when the smell of the fresh fart hit. It was like the tiny room had gained the concentrated smell of a long abandoned cheese shop, the rich rotten smell making Simon have to pinch his nose so as to not pass out immediately.

“Hah come on man it isn’t that bad!” He took a quick sniff and then a little cough “Okay maybe it is pretty rancid, mine tend to always be…”

Finally regaining some of his composure Simon knew that as much as he enjoyed the intimacy with his star actor, he had to remain professional, and also he was starting to think that if he remained in the hot cheesy stink any longer he might melt.

“Umm alright Simon, thanks for telling me about your umm, issue, but I have to get back now…”

As he fiddled with the door a little desperately, Jake was disappointed that his cute director was going so quickly, and he had so much gas left that he wouldn’t be able to follow him back to rehearsal for a while. He grew determined and put and arm on Simon to turn him around and face him, their noses now few centimetres apart.

“Come on Simon don’t go yet, I’ve actually got a few questions for you actually”

Scared but a little excited by the contact all he could mumble out was “What?”

“Firstly why is it that you’ve always got so much attention on me? I swear when I’m on stage you can’t take your eyes off me.”

It was obvious Jake was teasing him but all Simon could respond with was him stumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact, and the more he tried the more he knew he was digging himself a hole. Giggling at how nervous he was making him Jake carried on.

“And secondly why is it that I have to wear these damn trousers?”

As he said it he turned around in the closet and poked his ass out so it was almost touching Simon’s crotch.

“Like fuck these feel like they’re painted on they’re so damn tight, and I did hear you had some say in the costume design…. but hey at least they create some pretty good vibrations if you get what I mean?”

Finishing the sentence Jake winked and confirmed his suspicions when he backed his ass back into what was obviously Simon’s unwilling boner.

PHHHHHHHHHHHRAAAAAARPPP

It was almost like there wasn’t anything between Jake’s hole and Simon’s dick as the gas blasted out. Jake’s grunts letting the fart carry on and on, with the sound of Simon’s moaning at the sensation and the deafening rip of the fart created a cacophony of stinking sound in the tiny room. And it didn’t take long for the smell to waft into both of their noses. Jake taking a deep breathe and sighing enjoying basking in his wretched stink while Simon was gagging still not used to Jake’s powerful anal pheremones.

Simon’s knees went shaky as he slumped down onto the floor but his dick was still very much rigid.

“Fuck Simon I don’t think you understand how good it feels to just stink up a room like this, like my gas has made this closet it’s bitch, and well you as well…

Chuckling Jake realised he hadn’t had this much fun with his gas in ages. Looking down at the cute but barely conscious overstunk director he thought maybe he would treat him and then maybe he’d be more willing to come and accompany him the next times he had to relieve himself.

Simon couldn’t believe his eyes when right in front of him he saw Jake’s ass start to be free of the constrictions of the trousers, the two glowing cheeks making the rank crack in between them look inviting. But it seems the invitation wasn’t exactly optional as the gap between him and the crack closed and soon his nose and face were wedged in it.

Muffled Simon could make out Jake saying:

“I hope you don’t mind having a bit of a stinky siesta in here for a little while, I think it’ll do you some good you seem to overwork yourself, sometimes we need to let go off stuff like that, in fact I’ve got something I have to let go of now…”

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRARP

Being so close to the source did no favours for Simon’s practically destroyed nostrils and it didn’t take long before the rotting odour of Jake’s flatulence made him black out in his ass.

Peeling his ass off Simon’s face, Jake made sure to leave him in a comfortable position before he went to inform the rest of the cast they had day off. Once Simon woke up he couldn’t wait to show him how quickly he could stink up the entire stage.

[imnotcameraready]

What’s the viscosity of blood?

i did the actual prompt this time! this is how Logan, a serial killer, and Roman, an actor and author, met.

Warnings: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggested death, mention of a possible car accident, mentions of a bad break up, panic attacks/anxiety. on one hand, this is basically Fluff but on the other hand, Logan’s a serial killer. if i forgot anything, please let me know!!!

Words: 3,208

Pairings: Logince, former Analogical

read on AO3!

enjoy!!!

It wasn’t like Logan to join a dating app. He had never done that before, and to be honest, he wasn’t much of a romantic. He’d only ever had one relationship and, well…. And he definitely hadn’t spent over 50 hours awake in the lab after the break up, running on nothing but coffee and suppression. Definitely hadn’t cried into the empty right half of his bed, lamenting how large it was, how much more spacious it was. No, no, Logan wasn’t sentimental.

He wasn’t still upset over the break up, despite it being over a year ago. He hadn’t signed up willingly, sought out a mobile application that was as different from Tinder or, God forbid, “Grindr,” which was what one of his teaching assistants suggested. One of the graduate students he oversaw definitely hadn’t suggest he get back into dating.

He hadn’t handpicked this particular site out of an actual pool of possible matchmaking services, hadn’t weighed the pro’s and con’s of each site before electing to sign up for one that would match him with someone with similar Google searches. He hadn’t been hoping that the “similar searches” would be related to work — he hadn’t been quietly hoping to talk with a fellow chemical engineer, maybe even discuss astrophysics with someone.

He had been a little surprised to be matched based on the searches “20 pack 20 mL syringes,” “buy hydrogen peroxide near me,” and “viscosity of blood.”

Now, these weren’t necessarily work-related searches, but the person who had matched with him based on those searches had already swiped right on his profile. Logan recalled being a little confused, a little more curious, to see what this “Roman del Sol” might be doing with that sort of information. Logan himself had a solid alibi, what with his position at the university. No one could disprove that one of his pet-projects wasn’t about how blood reacted to certain chemical agents, and that would explain all three of the searches. And it wasn’t too far from the truth.

No, he hadn’t rehearsed the story in his head over and over while driving to the planetarium. It’d been his idea but Roman had accepted wholeheartedly, granted that they start at the cafe inside. “i wanna get to now you first ;P” was how he justified it, and in hindsight, Logan couldn’t believe he’d accepted a date with someone who typed like that.

Their conversations over the app were quite something. According to Roman’s profile, he was an actor, writer, and loved Disney. Upon first contact, Logan had to clarify what “loving Disney” entailed, which led them to a surprisingly heated but good-natured discussion about the ethics behind the Walt Disney Corporation becoming a monopoly of entertainment and media. Something about that led Roman to asking “r u doin anythin on friday, teach? ive got rehearsal until 6 but after that we could meet up somewhere and continue this delightful debate in person ;)” and something — Logan still couldn’t put his finger on what — but SOMETHING moved him to respond with “That would be lovely.”

So now here he was, parking in the planetarium’s lot. Logan looked at himself in his rearview mirror and straightened his tie with one hand, smoothing it down his chest slowly with his eyes trained on his own face. Dark bags had begun forming beneath his eyes, darker than a few years ago. He would have to make a larger effort to maintain his work schedule. And his skin had grown pale.

No. He shouldn’t waste time scrutinizing his own reflection like this, because he could spend hours doing so and he had to meet his date on time.

Logan held the edges of his sports coat as he exited the car, pulling his briefcase out with him. He slung the strap over his shoulder and brushed himself down once more. It didn’t hurt to want to impress, no. He just had to remember that he looked, what did Roman say, “dashing?” He looked dashing.

He checked his watch as he walked up the short path to the planetarium. He had arrived five minutes early, despite the traffic. Splendid. He could order and secure a table.

The prices were relatively understandable and the service fairly fast. Logan’s americano was sitting before him in ten minutes — meaning Roman del Sol was five minutes late. The thought ground Logan’s gears just a little, and he indulged in the meaningless frustration as he took his first sip, eyes glazed over while staring at the parking lot. Perhaps Roman had been caught up in the traffic? Or the rehearsal was running later than anticipated. Maybe he had stood Logan up. Or he’d gotten into a horrible car accident on the highway, resulting in fifteen dead and six wounded.

Reel it in. You’re turning into Virgil.

At that thought, Logan scoffed. He could never rile himself up as much as his livewire ex. Still, as his thoughts drifted back and forth between worrying about his new potential beau and anger towards his former flame, Logan couldn’t help himself in combining the two and worrying about Virgil. If Logan was taking the break up this hard, it was unlikely that Virgil was put together at all.

Now, now, Logan. Dr. Picani had said you shouldn’t decipher your past until you were ready and in a good location to do so. Maybe you are ready, but this certainly isn’t the stage, and this definitely isn’t the audience.

Speaking of theatrical metaphors, where the fuck was—

“Hello! Are you Logan?” speak of the devil.

Logan blinked, adjusting his glasses and sitting up slowly. “I, um. Yes,” he cleared his throat, a stern tone overtaking his voice as he was reminded that he’d been waiting for — he glanced at the clock on the wall — 23 minutes. “You must be Roman.”

His eyes trailed up and he had to mentally withhold from a verbal exclamation. Before him was, well, the most stunningly beautiful man he’d ever seen. Roman’s profile photos were true to life, hair swept lazily to the side, a dazzling playful smirk on his face as his slender fingers curled around the empty chair at Logan’s table. He was wearing a dark brown coat with a vibrant red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal a white and gold prince’s outfit beneath.

“Sorry I’m so late, rehearsal ran late and then the traffic was unbearable! I didn’t want to be too late, though, so I didn’t change out of my costume,” Roman slid into the empty seat, leaning forwards with his arms on the table, “It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Specs.”

He reached a hand out to Logan’s, which he assumed was to shake. Roman had a fairly firm grip and his hand was warm, warmer than Logan’s surely. Once they let go, Roman leaned forward on both of his elbows, smiling cheekily.

“I know we disagreed on a lot regarding Disney, but you must admit I was right about one thing,” his voice had a purr in it, almost like a cat.

Roman’s tone didn’t change the fact that Logan was definitely not giving up ground on their Disney argument. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, picking up his mug slowly, “About what?”

“You do look handsome. As dashing a prince as I’ve ever seen.”

Logan straightened up, a bright red flush overtaking his face. Oh. He cleared his throat and reached down for his coffee. “High praise coming from the man actually dressed as a prince,” two could play the flirtation game.

“A Scottish nobleman, thank you very much!” However, it seemed that Roman was more well-versed. “First, though, I would love to know when your birthday is.”

Their conversation bounced around, from astrology to astronomy, to the possible colonization of Mars, to civilization, and Logan was honestly refreshed by how quickly Roman was able to keep up with him regarding depth of knowledge. They did seem to disagree on a lot, such as how accurate astrology charts were, though Logan was as willing to overlook Roman’s acute knowledge of astrology as Roman was to overlook the apparently blasphemous fact that Logan was a Capricorn.

An hour or two of conversation had passed before Roman swept his hand through his hair, laughing heartily at something Logan must have said. They were on the topic of plays, since Roman’s current role was Macduff in Macbeth for the fall Shakespeare festival, and Logan had made an offhand comment about washing the theater blood from Roman’s pristine white outfit. Really, Logan knew nothing about theater. He considered it “professional make believe,” though the nature of poetic verse did intrigue him enough to actually read a few Shakespeare plays.

“What’s so comedic?” Logan asked, hand tracing around the rim of his empty mug.

“Oh, well, you know. You mentioning blood reminded me of the searches that crossed our paths,” Roman’s hand ran back, cupping the back of his neck as he chuckled a little more, looking not at Logan but out the window to his left.

Logan had almost forgotten that that was what they were meeting over. His back straightened, sitting upright.

He knew exactly why he’d been searching about syringes, hydrogen peroxide, and blood. He was more interested to hear why Roman was. And while he wasn’t nervous in the slightest (had Roman been a threat, Logan would have no trouble in alerting the authorities), Roman grew more jittery at the topic.

“....It’s always a little difficult to explain, but, well. I always end up searching the weirdest of things,” Roman shot him a tiny, lips pulled tight smile, “Usually it’s for reference, as an author. I’m working on a murder mystery novel.”

Ah. Logan nodded. “That would explain the blood viscosity search,” he said.

“Mhm. And you hit the nail on the head with the white outfit, actually,” Roman grabbed his costume’s sleeve and rolled it over, showing Logan the back part of his right arm.

There were a multitude of tiny light brown dots, barely visible on the white fabric. Logan raised his eyebrows.

“The information’ll definitely come in handy regarding my book, but what happened here was that I was stitching on new trimmings and kept poking myself in the hand. Eventually, well….I’m not the best tailor and I had to figure out a way to clean the fabric. The searches before that were probably ‘how to get blood off of clothes’ and ‘what’s hydrogen peroxide,” Logan snorted at the second search, to which Roman grinned, “Hey! Not all of us are chemists.”

“Chemical engineer,” Roman rolled his eyes and, despite the small flare of annoyance at the fairly common mistake, Logan felt something warmer well up at the sight of his small smile. He wanted to see more. “And you added the trimmings yourself? I thought there was a costuming department or such.”

“No, well, this is actually one of my personal costumes. It’s from when I played Cinderella’s prince in a production of Into the Woods a few years ago. The director for that is the same director working with us for the Scottish play, and to cut costs he asked if I could reuse the costume. With a few modifications, of course,” Roman smoothed out his outfit once more, smiling lopsidedly at Logan now.

“Of course,” Logan felt himself smile back, fondly watching Roman fiddle with the costume. He wanted him to keep talking.... “And you mentioned a book, correct?”

A spark jumped through Roman’s eyes and his face lit up. He clasped his hands on the tabletop, leaning forward as he did so. “My book! I don’t, oh, I don’t want to spoil too much, but it’s a murder mystery novel! I’m just working on the first draft and research right now but once it’s out, oh once it’s out!”

Logan didn’t want to press Roman for details but....a murder mystery novel? That was his one of his favorite genres. And, well. Was his life. “A murder mystery? I won’t ask you to spoil it, but I am excited to read it,” he pushed his glasses up, watching Roman’s face glow brighter.

“Oh, maybe I’ll tell you a little! There’s definitely romance involved, but the beautiful beau at the center of it all has no clue who to trust. Does he trust the dashing but stoic doctor, or the charmingly focused detective, or maybe the righteous journalist following him around? Oh, it’s the mystery of the century!” Roman laughed, excitement laced through his voice, and Logan found the laughter to be contagious. 

“I’m excited for it,” he reiterated, unsure of what else to say.

Roman nodded energetically, now sliding his coat off. Something about the motions must have reminded him of the other pressing question in his mind, though, because his grin faltered for a second. It was up as quick as it went, however, and Roman asked “But what on earth were you doing searching about blood?”

The moment of truth. But Logan had long since become an expert at explaining that part of his life. He didn’t even have to draw in a breath, he just let his own giddiness ride itself out before answering. “It’s quite boring, compared to your story. All three of the searches were about work. I’m running a study on blood clotting agents at my lab. While I was the one bulk buying hydrogen peroxide and syringes, for the study, one of my graduate students was doing background research on, well. Blood.”

There was a bead of pause. Logan wasn’t nervous, no, but he could hear his own blood pumping. A quickened pulse meant nervousness. But he wasn’t nervous.

Roman was still looking out the window. For someone exuberantly animated, Logan thought, Roman was being very quiet at these revelations. He had an eyebrow quirked up as he seemed to watch the outside world. Logan couldn’t help but worry that Roman didn’t believe his story, but what wasn’t there to believe? It wasn’t an entire falsehood, only a few omitted details and one large fabrication. Did Logan not look like he’d run studies on blood?

“See, Professor Plum, you say that’s boring, but that honestly sounds quite fascinating.”

Logan blinked and watched Roman’s mouth curve into a small smile. He faced back towards Logan with a wide, supportive grin. “Blood clotting agents? For what, medical purposes? That sounds groundbreaking.”

Well — “Such a thing already exists, though in fairly unstable forms,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “We’re just working on, ah, making a less costly version.”

“Less costly? Like, the ingredients?”

“Precisely.”

Logan didn’t miss how Roman’s eyes widened, how they seemed to sparkle. Was that wonder? He hadn’t pegged Roman as the type to be so excited over scientific discoveries. “That sounds amazing! Really impressive, Logan,” his voice had a sort of breathlessness, was Roman really that impressed?

He seemed to catch himself, though. Roman leaned back and crossed his legs, the same Cheshire grin he’d been wearing all night returning to his face. “So you’re beautiful and a genius,” he hummed, voice as warm as his hands had been.

Logan couldn’t help but let out a breath as the rest of his face turned red at the praise. “I, well….thank you,” he also couldn’t help the little smile that grew on his face.

It fell in a second, though, when he realized Roman hadn’t disclosed all of his search reasons. “Wait. Why were you searching for syringes?”

And now it was Roman’s turn to turn red. A small laugh escaped his lips and his fingers drummed against his upper lip, a habit that did not escape Logan’s notice. “Well, it’s a long story. The summary is that I was trying to do that thing with flowers and food coloring, you know? I, ah….was trying to make a bouquet, and I needed a lot of syringes.”

Flowers and food coloring? “Can you elaborate? What do you mean, flowers and food coloring?”

Roman waved his hand now, a little dismissively. “Oh, t’was a bold dream. I’m not as good with precise measurements and such as you seem to be. There’s this thing you can do where, if you split the stem of a white rose, you can soak it in dyed water to change the color? You typically split up the stem and leave the different parts to soak in glasses with different colored water in them. I was trying to make a bouquet of rainbow flowers but, well….after a few days, it was clear that something had gone wrong. And after a week, I gave up on it.”

“You….you needed syringes. For that?”

Logan couldn’t help the incredulity that filled his tone. Roman gave him a tiny glare, shoulders hiking up — the way his brow furrowed, despite the evident frustration, was adorable. Logan didn’t expect this to be going so well, to be falling so hard for this dumbass, but it seemed he was still capable of being surprised. Roman…..wasn’t continuing, though. He just raised an eyebrow at Logan, face still stiff in a frown.

Was there some social cue Logan was missing? Was he supposed to know how to color roses? He shrugged. Surely he couldn’t expect that “I have never attempted to color roses, thus I am unaware.”

Roman kept watching him with a guarded expression, arms crossed around himself. Logan must have stepped out of line in some way. He had half a mind to apologize when Roman finally lowered his shoulders and cleared his throat. “No, no, you’re right. It….technically it wasn’t necessary.”

He’d bounced back fast. “But it was oh so fun. Almost like my own little experiment,” Roman smiled at him, “I like it when things are just perfect.”

“Of course, completely understandable,” Logan elected to not acknowledge Roman’s moment, “Did the roses turn out….okay?”

“They did! They were for Pride, of course, and they were beautiful!” Roman laughed.

And so they continued. Pride, homosexuality in the media, Star Wars movie theories, Star Wars versus Star Trek. Debates, bickering, insults with no bite behind them. It felt….

It felt like Logan was falling from a tall building. He’d never clicked so well with someone. And he certainly lost track of time.

“‘Scuse me, babes, but we’re closing!” Logan and Roman both turned towards the cafe’s desk, where the barista who had served the both of them was waving, “I’m gonna have to ask ya to leave!”

Logan checked his watch. Had they really talked for three hours? That must mean the planetarium was closed, too.

“Damn, well. We missed the planetarium,” Roman put his phone down and let out a breath, “I can’t say I’m too upset! It would have been lovely, of course, but I got to spend the night with an even more delightful star.”

He held out his phone towards Logan, whose ears were turning red with embarrassment. “I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime,” his voice was soft as Logan’s hand brushed over his to take the phone.

Logan felt himself smile downwards as he typed his information into Roman’s phone. “I would like that very much, Roman. Your company has been most enjoyable.”

“You, too, Spock.”

[bigskydreaming]

So after my post about Posey as Kyle Rayner last week, I was in the mood to do this. (Casual super subtle reminder here that I’m open to commissions for a variety of photoshop art and design work, hit me up for specific details. Just don’t do RPF photomanips, only character-specific stuff - I know, huge shocker, lol, and I won’t do NSFW manips of actors unless its using screencaps of them in their actual role as the character you’re commissioning something for. JUST saying for clarity, not because I think I’m like....actually subtle and that anyone who follows me ever expected otherwise).

ANYWAY. So here’s a little something I whipped up as Posey as Kyle and part of why I feel he could capture Kyle’s character so well. The uh...badly photoshopped typography (look I ran out of steam lol, the Tyler/Kyle manip was actually pretty extensive), well I’m just saying that’s totally in character and something he’d write when annoyed that fending off a week long alien invasion can’t even get him a freaking break on rent, cuz of the whole secret identity thing. Although he’d also probably add a dig about how Flash’s city made him a whole museum just for stopping a couple bank robberies. 

But I decided against just putting him in the GL costume from the movie, because a) I thought that design sucked and b) its total 100% canon that the first time Kyle put on the ring and his clothes turned into the traditional GL costume, his immediate reaction was like yeah, no, this isn’t gonna work for me. Gross. And then he just made his own costume, the first GL to have a distinct look from the others. 

Of course, its ALSO canon that although Kyle’s a professional artist and illustrator and that’s literally his day job, that didn’t automatically make costume design something he excelled at. And the look he came up with was certainly distinctive, buuuuut one could argue it was more of a lateral move than an upgrade. Like srsly. The crab mask. Oh kyle baby no. 

So, I actually picture early-in-his-career live action Kyle Rayner putting together something like this. Very barebones, barely even superhero at all, because he’s the kinda guy who’s like “I mean, if the glowing green ring isn’t a dead giveaway, not sure how much any costume could help clue in anyone who still doesn’t get it from that. Look, I got black, I got green, I got white, that’s all the same colors as the other GL ‘uniforms’ and fuck you, this is comfy, and honestly who’s gonna make a big deal about me not showing up to work in uniform? My four foot tall alien Smurf boss who’s been wearing the same red pillowcase for sixty million years? Hey, if they’re not even paying me for this, why should I have to stick to the dress code?”

And that’s about the time he’d realize that Wally stopped listening to him a full minute ago and is five states away by now, and he’d just be like “ugh, this is why you suck, West,I should’ve never left the Titans, at least on that team PEOPLE KNOW HOW TO FINISH A CONVERSATION.” And then Superman would come up behind him and ask who he’s talking to, all politely confused, and then Kyle would melt into a puddle of fanboy goo because it took something like six saving-the-world-teamups before he could actually look Superman in the eye without blurting out something about how he had Superman bedsheets in high school and could he please have his autograph wait whoops I already asked you for one like a hundred times already huh, how embarrassing k gotta go die now bye.

Or something like that. Idk. ANYWAY. So yeah. Here you go. One version with a mask and one without, because honestly the mask was the worst part about the GL costume and I just don’t like it so boo.

LOLOL and just to be totally clear like, I have no idea if that’s a real paypal that somebody has, but if they do, I don’t know them, I literally just threw it in there on a whim.

[captainwhogotthecanary]

ClexaCon: Day 2

Same deal as day 1: this is probably too long and detailed, and if you want the facts, you can probably get them from the official videos. This is more about my reactions and vibes and the like.

I dressed as Wonder Woman this day. It’s my only store bought costume, but I look great in it, and I finished off the look with tall (not not heeled!) boots and rainbow socks and brighter makeup than I usually wear. I looked good enough that the barista when I grabbed coffee asked for my employee discount; she assumed I was a performer at the hotel. I got great comments all day, a little overwhelmingly so, but it felt pretty awesome until I left the convention. CW for brief mention of assholes at the end of this post.

Nyssara

I met some cool people in line waiting for the “doors” to open for the standard attendees. We ended up sitting together while my Friday friends sat behind, since we had trouble finding six seats together, not too surprisingly.

I needed the intro video because as I’ve mentioned, I like my faves to be happy, and while I never ever doubted Sara loves Nyssa and vice versa, they didn’t exactly get happy times together on screen, and I wasn’t yet into Arrowverse fic when they were on screen. It was a good video. They’re both great actresses and can seriously crank up the intensity when the scene requires it. Any Nyssara fic recs are appreciated, btw.

The panel was good. It was fun, different kind of energy, something like nostalgic and speculative and silly. And Jes came through! Again, there are videos and gifs, so go do yourself a favor and look if you haven’t.

Of note to people following my blog, when asked her favorite one night stand of Sara’s, Caity’s first thought was of Snart, though she said she couldn’t count him since they hadn’t slept together. I think that’s just so awesome that the characters had that connection, and the actors according to what I’ve read, that even after years have passed, there’s still some sort of nostalgia or whatever because they were genuinely close. The actors and characters in different ways, but still.

More is More: Polyamory in Media

I’ve got some ot3s (ahem, Rogue Canary), but as far as real life, I don’t know much about polyamory. It’s something I’ve long thought works with the RIGHT people and the RIGHT communication, which makes it rare and challenging, and it has to be so hard for some people, like some of the ones in the panel who explained that being poly is, for them, the same as their sexuality; it’s a need, a wiring, not a choice or a lifestyle. It’s rare (or rarely talked about/seen) and so there’s not a big demand for more of it in media, but then the lack of representation means fewer people know it can be a healthy option, so it becomes a cycle, like so many things.

Most of the panel ended up the panelists sharing what it means and what it means to them to be poly or practice a poly lifestyle. There’s a big no-no/disparaging negative in the community regarding “unicorn hunters,” which I’d like to have someone properly explain to me but google says it’s usually couples looking for a third person who fits their needs without considering the needs of that third. It’s objectifying and not setting up for a healthy relationship and I get why that angle is negative, but I’m not sure why multiple people in that panel and then in a later panel seemed to use it to apply to anyone looking for the trio presentation rather than the open relationship presentation. Not complaint so much as genuine confusion there. So anyway, there wasn’t much discussion of the trio+ aspect I was most interested in, because I’m not planning to write or practice a relationship where the people in it date other people but I adore stable (usually potential) trios in media.

I still enjoyed it very much and learned a lot in the “I didn’t know I didn’t know this” category. My favorite part (though it also made me sad) was how excited and relieved the panel was about being in a room where they could discuss all this without judgement.

Bi+ Representation in Media

I adored all the panelists here. I didn’t learn much; the basic gist was “there’s not enough representation.” Still, it was cool listening to and watching a bunch of bi+ folks talk about their faves and what they’d like to see. I bought a book by one of the panelists and will do a rec post later if it’s any good, ya and lgbt and superheroes. I’m excited.

Romance Between the (Book) Covers

Sigh.

Okay, so…

I don’t think of myself as an amazing or particularly experienced professional writer, but I do feel like I could contribute more than a lot of the writing panelists, and I found that very frustrating. It wasn’t that they were all lacking experience or talent, to be clear, but it was that for most of them, their experiences or input were almost entirely unhelpful for new or aspiring novelists.

For example, there was a writer whose story was, “I’d never written anything before in my life but I decided to write a book and they published it so that was cool.” Another said she’s unique because she writes in first person, which she does because “it’s a lot easier to tell instead of show. And I know they say you’re not supposed to do that, but I think it works.”

I get that the expectations are different in the smaller market that is LGBTQ+ romance, but…

I don’t know. I feel like standards are important. That’s why I all but stopped writing while I’m struggling with words and with tying things together; I don’t care whether it’s original fiction or fanfiction, free or paid, I have standards for my work.

I also had my feathers ruffled slightly when the moderator asked the panelists, “Did you write heterosexual relationships to start out in order to get a foot in the door or earn money?” with a clear implication that there was no reason to write a m/f relationship other than for mainstream success. The one bisexual panelist low-key called her out but I don’t think she noticed, with an, “I’m bisexual so writing a male/female relationship is a perfectly valid choice for me.”

For one, yeah, there was a bisexual panelist and there was a huge bi population amongst the attendees, so that wording could have been more sensitive, and for two, I know plenty straight people who like to write m/m or f/f romance, so why wouldn’t that be a valid choice in reverse, for something other than a cash grab?

Personally, I mostly write m/f relationships because I started writing while still closeted, because that’s where my actual experience is, and because my go-to is still to write canon or canon-adjacent pairings and tv still likes to fuck up most of the few canon lgbt ones. That doesn’t make me less valid as a writer who is lgbt.

Mazikeen: The Devil in the Details

This was enjoyable. The actress says Maze is her spirit animal, which is awesome. I was pretty frazzled and distracted (people were saving me seats even though I SAID I’d be late and it was equally appreciated and discomfiting) and also trying to liveblog the panel to a friend, so I didn’t get as much emotional impact from this as the rest. It sounds like we probably get to see Maze with a real relationship this next season, so that’s exciting. It seems like a decent next step for her after the growth over the last seasons. I’m also suuuuper excited she and Trixie will be okay; they have one of my favorite relationship of the whole show.

Amber Benson: Tara Maclay and the Legacy of Buffy

Teeeeearrrrsss. Do me a favor; if you watch the video for this one, watch the behind the scenes one first. The intro video they played left very few dry eyes, and then Amber came out all teary and emotional.

The singalong was a lot of fun, despite “Under Your Spell” being notes most humans can’t hit.

There was one answer she handled with some unfortunate wording, but it was so clear she meant well and she’s such an icon, so she didn’t get boo’d like I was almost afraid of. There wasn’t much applause, but then we moved on. She was the only panel I went to that earned a standing ovation. I cried a lotttttttt.

And then I left the con to go change before having dinner with Friday friend. And people were gross and staring in creepy ways and there were homophobic comments made “accidentally” too loud and just bleh. It was a small thing in an otherwise fantastic weekend, but it made me feel like I needed to take a shower.

[awed-frog]

"why are angels in suits and archangels in ratty jeans" do you think maybe archangels have something that resembles free will, something regular angels have to struggle a lot to discover within themselves? (yes I read all your tags)

I’m not sure the two things are linked, though? Or linked in that exact way, ie free will automatically leads to freedom to customize your accessories?

Like, if we’re talking clothes, the most striking examples are Michael and Lucifer and how their fashion sense seems to evolve with their vessel.

There could be many reasons for this. Most likely, it’s just a narrative way of showing a clear difference between Dean (or Sam) and their possessed versions, because the fact is, both Lucifer and AU!Michael used to dress in a very similar way to real!Dean and real!Sam, so without the change in clothes, both actors and viewers would have a much harder time telling them apart.

(The interesting exception, of course, is Cas. See below for more speculation.)

As for in-story logic, there are a couple of fashion-related points we can make.

First of all, both in Supernatural and IRL, suits embody a kind of willing submission to your role in society, and what your superiors think and want. While most lines of work have compulsory or traditional ‘uniforms’, suits are not dictated by practical or safety reasons. They simply signal you don’t work with your hands and you get (or hope to get) something of a decent salary. What’s particularly striking about suits is that, on the whole, they’re not really a good choice as ‘standard wear’ for tertiary jobs? Like - for one, most suits just don’t fit the wearer’s body very well. You walk around and you see a lot of people (basically all the women because boobs and curves, but also many men) who just look awkward and cheap. There’s a reason why ‘getting a bespoke suit’, complete with standing on ridiculous tiny podium with four Italian tailors shaking their hands at you is such a popular movie trope and generally shorthand for ‘you’ve made it’, and it’s because off-the-rack suits tend to suck - they fall weirdly on your body, might pull at your joints, and generally look really bad. If you’re Benedict Cumberbatch, you could probably find someting suitable even in Asda, but then again, if you’re Benedict Cumberbatch you’d look good in a sandwich wrapper, so that’s a moot point. And another thing is that suits are incredibly high-maintenance, even if Supernatural pretends otherwise? 

(And that’s another of those ‘black spaces’ we all watch with such rapt attention, by the way, because the boys wearing suits so often implies someone - *coughs* Dean *coughs* - spends a sizable portion of his time buying and looking after those clothes, and probably has a whole room in the Bunker full of fluffy fabric and costumes.)

Anyway - you need to fold them neatly and iron the shit out of them (and ironing shirts, that’s fun) and depending on the fabric every time you fucking move they fucking crease? And finally (I mean, I could go on because I hate them, but you know), finally they’re generally the reflection of an entitled, arrogant society which doesn’t take into account nature or weather. Like, people in suits may look all cool and unruffled inside their fancy AC-ed banks, but try wearing your bespoke woolen monstrosity on the tube, or outside on a summer afternoon, and you’re not likely to come out alive. So where manual workers are mostly forced to wear the same thing year-round to protect themselves from injury (or because their clothes need to be boiled when washed), and other professionals (like teachers) will adapt their wardrobe to seasons and mood, people who’re forced to wear suits truly represent the end of individuality, personality, and choice. 

(Our national bank and our biggest insurance will police everything down to your bra, nail polish and make-up, so while there are people who genuinely enjoy wearing suits - I guess - I’d say for most it’s not really a choice.)

And the sad thing is, we’ve all accepted this as a good & worthy thing: buying your first suit is a sign you’re all grown up, and even if you’re not a corporate slave, you’ll be expected to wear suits at important meetings, weddings and funerals (hell, I know I’ve got a couple in my closet, so I’m not claiming any moral high ground here). What’s even more perverse, and also chimes in with the Supernatural universe, is that true wealth doesn’t give a rat’s ass about suits. As with other stuff, from dead languages to meditation to how well you treat your inferiors, there’s a wide gap between those who think they’re the upper class and the real upper class. This is a detail that often goes unnoticed, both IRL and in fiction, but a show like Billions, for instance, explored it to perfection: most characters will be in suits all the time, because the background is the financial world, but not Axe, our main character, who’ll choose jeans and leather jackets (which probably cost more than your house, and okay, but still: the key is comfort and non-conformity).

(See also: Chuck in his second-hand jacket vs. his archangels preening up and buying stupid stuff as soon as they fall in line.

Or: Chuck wearing whatever the hell he likes while his theoretically more powerful sister is stuffed into luxurious and revealing clothes, complete with pastel nail polish.)

Coming back to Supernatural, this is something of a pattern: normal angels are (almost) always in suits. Cas has a shabby suit hidden by his trademark trench coat - a fashion choice which has many reasons (chief among them, that John Constatine thing) but ends up representing the character’s dilemma and his push towards free will and a different kind of belonging. Both Michael and Lucifer dress shabbily when they’re not following Heaven’s plan, and suit up as soon as they manage to fulfill their expected roles. Raphael, the only archangel to be 100% loyal to the task he was assigned, is always shown in a suit.

(Gabriel, who never fit in, lived and died (twice) in his own personalized wardrobe.)

Something else that’s a headcanon of mine is that angels, generally speaking, don’t give a damn about human stuff because they’re not equipped to understand it. Like, Crowley is susceptible to the joys of a well-cut suit, and also painfully aware of its meaning (as an illiterate, illegimate child of a socially rejected mother, belonging and riches is what he dreamed about, and it’s not a surprise he chose to be apprenticed to a tailor); then again, he’s a demon, not an angel, which means he’s got a deep layer of tortured humanity informing his thoughts and his decisions. On the other hand, what does a suit mean to someone like Lucifer, who’s older than balls, considers humans to be a mistake and the scum of the Earth and is used to see their fashion sense change dramatically every few seconds (to an immortal, fifty years must look like one or two minutes)? No - to Lucifer, and Michael, and possibly Gabriel, the main problem is that they’re not in their rightful vessels; and, as we’ve seen very clearly in Lucifer’s case, the consequences can be irritating and very, very dramatic. So it makes sense, in a way, that they’d focus on keeping their vessels’ skin in one piece without bothering with anything else? Like, Nick!Lucifer changing into a nice Armani would be like a guy being rushed to the ER for organ failure insisting on silver cufflinks on his hospital gown.

(That’s also why, I think, Lucifer never bothered to change anything about Cas’ appearance when he was possessing Cas? It was a way of 1) cutting down his workload, 2) annoying the hell out of Sam and Dean and tricking them for as long as possible and 3) refusing to claim ownership of a vessel Lucifer probably considered dirty and beneath him.)

As a final thought, I always had a problem with that whole ‘angels have no free will’ thing, because the show & tell on that one never matched all that well. I mean: the only angel whose journey we truly witnessed was Cas, and even with Cas, it’s stated outright he always had plenty of free will and a boatload of feelings and opinions - to the point where he had to be reprogrammed several times. Mostly other low-level angel we’ve seen, though, have displayed a remarkable sense of self and very disinct preferences: from Balthazar who did his own thing to hippy!angels who wanted to camp by a river, to Ishim who went against orders to get laid, to Gadreel who took an awful lot of independent decisions, to his subtextual husband/textual parabatai who’d chosen a suburban human life, all the way to Naomi (the highest in hierarchy) and to that cute angel in glasses (the lowest of the low, and rip). So while the ‘tell’ part of this story was always more or less consistent (‘angels can’t understand emotions, can’t make their own choices, Cas is the lone exception’), the ‘show’ part mostly fell short of that message: with the exception of the suit as shorthand for brainlessness and obedience, angels never acted like the brainwashed robots they were supposed to be. In fact, you could even argue that the only two angels who’re pig-headedly determined to follow the path Chuck traced for them are, ironically enough, Michael and Lucifer.

[psychiccupid]

All the asks.

YES!!!! THANK YOU!!!!

ALL 45 FROM HERE UNDER THE CUT!!!

0: Height? I’m 5′3″ last I checked!! (which was a while ago >w1: Virgin? Helllll no2: Shoe size? 8 1/2!3: Do you smoke? I vape ‘cause I’m cool but I’ve never had a cigarette and I’ve only smoked weed three? times and each time I did it out of a pen and felt nothing lol 4: Do you drink? Occasionally! I love me some rum and vodka! But it’s been a while... mostly a social drinker...5: Do you take drugs? Nope6: Age you get mistaken for? I passed as a teen until college now I just look lie a perpetual 20+ year old lol7: Have tattoos? NO BUT I WANT 5!!!!8: Want any tattoos? OH WHOOPS... I WANT 5!!!!9: Got any piercings? Just my ears! But when my stomach reaches a personal goal size I’m gonna pierce it as a reward! 10: Want any piercings? God dammit... lol... I want a belly button piercing :D11: Best friend? I HAVE LOTS OF BEST FRIENDS!!! @hatgh0st @nicecreamdeer @teslagannon @mentalserendipity AND @puggger BEIN’ MY CLOSEST FRIENDS :’)))))12: Relationship status? I’m dating @puggger but it’s open and poly! 13: Biggest turn ons? Bite. My. Ear! Breathe. On. My. Neck! Shower me with constant adoration and momentarily cure my ever looming existential crisis :> 14: Biggest turn offs? Bigots. Toxic Masculinity. Insulting me or the things I love. 15: Favorite movie? Tie between Tangled and Kimi no Na Wa!16: I’ll love you if? *Coughs* YOU SHOWER ME WITH CONSTANT ADORATION AND MOMENTARILY CURE MY EVER LOOMING EXISTENTIAL CRISIS! And talk to me about Pokemon and Anime ^-^17: Someone you miss? @hatgh0st DDD’‘‘‘: 18: Most traumatic experience? Yo I’m not going into that lololol19: A fact about your personality? I will /always/ act happier than I am so if I’m upset I’m about to lose it.20: What I hate most about myself? “Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that...” I’m not a huge fan of how I look physically - but absolutely my face and stomach overall. 21: What I love most about myself? I love my personality and how I don’t really give in to society or peer pressure. I love how I refuse to give up my passions and do not really care about material possessions. Not that that’s bad!22: What I want to be when I get older? Anything creative!! But especially a voice actor or a professional cosplayer!!23: My relationship with my sibling(s)? Eh... 24: My relationship with my parent(s)? EH... Like I love both of my parents and my sister... but I need like four months away from them for every week I spend with them y’know?25: My idea of a perfect date? FIRST We go to an aquarium! We spend hours and we both get excited reading about all the different fish!! SECOND we have lunch/dinner by the beach. It’s sushi. We inadvertently hold hands and then dip our toes in the ocean while you compliment my bonnet and matching swim suit. Walking along said beach is a must if there’s time! FINALLY we go to a dive-in movie. Ideally, they’re playing Kimi no Na Wa so I may cry into the pool. You, without really thinking about it, say, under your breath “You are the Takeshi to my Mitsuha” (though if you reverse the names I won’t be upset). We get spontaneous Safeway cheesecake on the way home! (You give me your raspberry piece in exchange for my double chocolate piece). We fuck. Afterwards, I get to sleep as the Big Spoon. I get to wake up and cuddle you.... you said perfect not financially acceptable lolol26: My biggest pet peeves? INDECISIVE PEOPLE. Especially negative people (like, people who know how to make it better but keep complaining... this is mostly about me lol). Boys who don’t know how to play the Question Game.  27: A description of the girl/boy I like? Cares about absolutely everyone. Has the voice of an angel! Wears pigtails and likes dying her hair! Likes to dance and play dress up and dreams of performing for crowds... uh duh... of course I’m talking about Hatsune Miku 28: A description of the person I dislike the most? UhhhhhHHHHH like... I could go broad here and just put Trump but like... I’m trying to think more personal?? Hmm... like I could put my mom too but I don’t dislike her the most? UHHH @ my own anxiety: Tells me the world is a lie and that we’re in a simulation and that I need to wake up. Makes talking to bosses/people above me impossible. Tells me no matter what that I’m doing something wrong and that I’m not good enough. 29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend? Didn’t wanna hurt their feelings? The truth was worse than a lie?30: What I hate the most about work/school? Going. Capitalism. I have a degree. 4_ years of retail/food service work under my belt AND I’ve worked at Disney and I still can’t get more than minimum wage. 31: What your last text message says? “Nah I’m ok I just feel bad” yup.32: What words upset me the most? “How can you be gay if you’re dating a boy?” “Ok sure you’re Enby. But why do you still relate to women?” “This is my daughter, Jessica” 33: What words make me feel the best about myself? “Wow! You could make a career out of this!” “This is really good!” “You’re working really hard aren’t you?” “You are smart.” 34: What I find attractive in women? Absolutely everything. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t blow me away. All women are so pretty and talented and so strong and I love them all!35: What I find attractive in men? Anytime they have feminine hair/features I lose my goddamn mind. When they’ve come to accept every part of themselves and are super confident not because that’s what they’re used to but because they really worked for something! When they’re genuine and they get that sparkle in their eye!! 36: Where I would like to live? Anywhere I can be me and creative! Right now it’s looking like Austin, Texas... but LA or Tokyo... LA ‘cause that’s where I feel like I have to go... Tokyo ‘cause that’s where I’ve wanted to go since I was 7 but I don’t know if I could live there...37: One of my insecurities? Everything??? But I’m very insecure about how I look. I have a mighty fear that I do not get far in life because I’m ugly as sin (I’m not but god I think so). 38: My childhood career choice? In order from age: 4: Vet, 11: Lawyer, 14: Software Designer, 16: Gene Specialist/Splicer, 18: Calculus Teacher, 19: Script Writer, 19: Stage Actor, 20: Costumer/Cosplayer/Voice Actor (Not that I haven’t been doing these since I was 16, but I didn’t decide they could be career choices until college) 39: My favorite ice cream flavor? Phish Food, Cookies N Cream, Cookie Dough, Raspberry!40: Who wish I could be? SOMEONE HAPPY. A professional voice actor!41: Where I want to be right now? Hmmm... probably Tokyo? The Pokemon theme park that existed in 2002ish! In a line about to meet Arin Hanson? Back in bed lol? ON THAT DATE I MADE EARLIER!!42: The last thing I ate? Leftover gluten-free pumpkin spice & blueberry pancakes ^w^43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately? HALEY FROM STARDEW VALLEY! ... Audrey from Huniepop... 44: A random fact about anything? I can name 21 digits of pie from memory and I am very talented knowing what a pokemon’s national pokedex number is :’D  

[sweet-kiwi]

The Makeup Artist -/Fionn Whitehead Part 1.

-

Hi, it’s Tia! I apologise for not posting in a while, I’ve had major writer's block and my life has just been hectic. I should have loads of imagines posted soon! 

I got this idea and I thought it would be perfect for a miniseries and for it to be about Fionn. The romance will happen soon, don’t worry! The first part was for you to get an insight and what not!

If you have some requests regarding Fionn, send them ‘here’.

Hope you enjoy. xx

-

The crisp air causes a crimson pigment to proclaim on the apples of your cheeks as you strolled down the street to get to your destination of the set for Dunkirk. You were lucky to grasp this job vacancy as it was a huge opportunity for your career in makeup. From the experience you had, you normally had to bring your own equipment. However, with this project being funded vastly, you were not required to bring any of your own possessions. Foremost, the actors also needed to illustrate all of their struggles and challenges through makeup (which would allow the acting to look more realistic): they had to look dirty and shiny. Not with fresh looking faces and with all of their blemishes covered up, no. They needed to look like someone had literally slapped them in the face with dirt.

Grasping onto the warm coffee cup, you started to see the set approach you. The hundreds of extras dotted around the beach front, already dressed in their costumes but faces looking fresh, not aesthetically suitable for the scene that would be filmed, shortly.

Nodding your head in a greeting manner every time you walked past one of the crew members, you walked to one of the makeup stations, situated at the top of the beach near the brick wall. You placed your back pack on the white plastic table and your latte next to it. Each of the makeup items had already been placed on the white tables in the tent, ready for usage.

The organisation for the makeup artists and stylists were that each makeup artist was given one of the listed characters (main characters) while the extras were just about working fast to get to each of them. There were over a dozen makeup artists on the set, which meant not all of them got one of the main characters, however, you were lucky enough to catch your grab on Harry, Harry Styles. Which when you found out you had Harry, you were bewildered. Surely, he would have someone more experienced or even his own personal makeup artists than little ole' me?

Taking a large gulp of your drink, your eyes brightened at the sight of Harry and Fionn approaching your station. If you were to say you were a little bit more excited to see Fionn than Harry, would that be deemed wrong? Although over the time period of a couple of months of working on the set, you and Harry had become close, friend-wise that is, the boy is too disgusting to be seen as anything further. Even off set, with the limited time you do have off, you and Harry would go and adventure out together.

"Hi, Harry. Fionn..?" You trailed, knowing how hectic it was to get the characters looking dirty with the limited amount of time you had, so why was Fionn still looking fresh and cute? Not that the cute had any relevance, but...

"Oi, an' where is my coffee," Harry said with a slight huff, then finishing with a smirk.

"I'm your makeup artist Harry, not your assistant," you joked back and motioned for Harry to sit on the chair so you could start the makeup application.

"Tha's fine then, I'll just have som' of yours," Harry smirked and grabbed your coffee cup and took a sip. With a huff and the roll of both of your eyes, you muttered that Harry could have the rest. Legitimately a child, he was.

"Oh, an' Fionn is jus' gonna hang here fo' a bit, cause’ Sandra is busy sorting out Barry because one of the makeup artists called in sick," Harry said, while intently watching you as you sorted all of the makeup that you would need specifically for Harry, as there were some extras that weren't necessary.

"I may as well as do you as well, Fionn. That is, if I finish with Harry in enough time," You replied, looking at Fionn as you spoke. A blush makes its way to your cheeks, but you are hoping loud mouth (Harry) wouldn't pick up on that.

"You make that sound like a gang bang, love," Harry smirked. A gasp escaped your mouth as you gently slapped Harry on the top of the head. A laugh erupted from Fionn, which caused you to smile.

"S'not nice is it," Harry mumbled and then took another sip of your drink. You rolled your eyes before grabbing the extra chair and shuffled it closer to Harry so you could apply the makeup. Fionn had already situated himself on the extra chair and watched you apply the makeup.

"Gotta' make you look like you've been beaten when I could do that without the makeup, with the way you are going with annoying me, I could give you two black eyes fo' free," you mumbled sarcastically as you dipped the makeup sponge in the brown pigmented makeup. Harry's eyebrows scrunched up and pouted his lips.

"Told yah, Fionn. She bullies me," Harry mumbled.

"Nah, mate, she's fuckin' funny," Fionn replied causing your cheeks to explode in a redness. Harry's eyes widened when he caught the eruption of crimson cover the apples of your cheeks.

"Oi oi..." Harry said with a smirk. You attempted to hide the ever-growing blush on your face by untucking the piece of hair behind your ear. You padded more of the brown pigment onto your sponge and dabbed it around Harry's eye. At the same moment, Harry raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in Fionn's direction.

"Stop it..." You mumbled and tried to focus on the makeup application. Once you were finished with Harry's makeup, it was Fionn's turn.

"Right, you're done, mister. Fionn, it's your turn," you said while placing your items down and finding a clean-unused sponge. More so, making yourself look busy so you could avoid Harry's teasing smirk. When you looked back up, Fionn was now sat on the chair and Harry sat where Fionn once was. You gave Harry a knowing look as he still needed his hair done, which only received a smirk and a shrug as a response.

After dabbing the right amount of makeup onto the sponge, you started applying it to Fionn's face. The close proximity of the both of your faces made it incredibly hard for you to focus. Being this close to his face allowed you to see the intricate details of his face: from his freckles to his mole on his chin, to the beautiful green tint in his eyes.

Also at this very moment, Fionn was inspecting your intricate details: to how beautiful you looked with the minimal makeup you were wearing, to your plump cherry tinted lips that looked incredibly kissable.

To say that it was hard for him to compose himself was definite.

To say that it was hard for you to keep your professional conduct together was also a definite

You almost had to stop breathing because you were afraid of breathing in his face. That was how close you were to his face. What if your breath was bad? Had the Latte you had earlier affected the smell? Probably.

He almost had to close his eyes because all he could stare at was your lips. What if he accidentally kissed you? Would you have kissed back? Would it have made things incredibly awkward? Probably.

"It looks like you both are gonna' kiss, wit' how close you are," Harry teased, causing you and Fionn to move away from each other abruptly. Fionn's hand awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, while you coughed to try and disguise your blushing.

"Um, yeah, you're done Fionn," you mumbled and placed the makeup down, refusing to look him in the eyes as you were too embarrassed.

"Uh, thanks, love," Fionn replied and got up from his seat. One of the makeup artists approached the tent and explained how you were asked for, seeing as there were fewer hands with sorting the makeup out.

"I'll see you two later, then. And, Harry you owe me a latte," you said and waved goodbye. Once you collected all the makeup items you needed and was out of sight, Harry turned and smirked at Fionn.

"Now, I thought The Notebook was the most romantic thing I've seen, but damn, I was wrong," Harry smirked.

"Shut up, Harry."

"You should get her number, ask her out on a date. You both seem keen on each other," Harry said while raising his eyebrows.

"She'll just say no," Fionn mumbled.

"Mate, Y/N was basically eye-fucking you, doubt she'll say no," Harry chuckled and patted Fionn's shoulder, gesturing him to move, seeing as they were needed by their hair stylists.

"Let me work some magic and I'll get you a date with her," Harry said while putting his thumbs up.

"Oh dear god."

[smiley-stark]

A Slippery Situation

Sebastian Stan One Shot

a/n: this is one of the many things I’ve been working on this past week. BIG thanks to @theliteratureloser for this idea! I’ve only got one request left to work on, so please feel free to send in ANY request! I can definitely try anything. Thank youuu xoxo.

warnings: some language probably, fluff fluff fluff, lube, inappropriate jokes, this is all pretty pg tbh. enjoy! *not my gif*

Loose gravel crackled under tires as you pulled slowly into your reserved parking spot at the studio, nerves gushing for your first real day shooting.

 'I’m thinking about doing a look like this? With your prosthetic skills, I could pull it off.' 

A bright message appeared on your screen and you almost snorted from laughing at the attached photo. Him wearing one of the stunt doubles' wigs. Sebastian had always been such a joker. Though you had only known him for a matter of months, you were absolutely infatuated. 

Being an SFX/makeup artist and designer definitely had its perks. Working on movies was one of those perks.

 "Not sure I’m skilled enough to make that look good!"

 Your mind wandered back to the first few times you met Sebastian as you typed back your response. You were assigned to take on Marvel's newest hit, a Captain America movie. You were given the privilege of meeting all of the actors and actresses that had specific suit. Sadly, you also had the burden of creating said suits. The costume for Bucky was extremely difficult. You had to incorporate the iconic bionic arm, which would definitely be a challenge.

Luckily, after four months of varying measurements, long nights, and pure determination, you had completed the ever so important appendage. You popped the trunk of your car and grabbed a suitcase full of makeup and supplies, setting it on the asphalt next to you. Reaching back in (much more carefully) you pulled out the piece de resistance, a box containing the metal arm.

You approached the door, struggling with your many bags, but managed to pull it open and head inside. Scarlett was already sat in her hair and makeup station, hair being fluffed by your good friend Tonio. You reached around and tapped her shoulder. When she opened her eyes and saw who it was she practically squeaked. "(Y/n)! Ahh! How are you! It's been like two weeks?!" She pulled you into a quick hug. 

"Hey Scar! I'm alright, how about yourself?" You asked, pulling out from the embrace to examine her face. 

 "Excited! I'm sure you are, too. Lots of fight scenes to film today. Lots of fake blood to use!" You chuckled, knowing you'd be using a lot more than fake blood.

 "Anthony Mackie! The man himself!" You joked, spreading your arms out and welcoming your dear friend with a hug as he entered the room. 

 "(Y/n)! Darling!" He laughed, being extra as always. The two of you made small talk about his new costume until you hear an uncomfortable scuffle from behind you. Turning, you had to cover your mouth to avoid laughing. 

 "Sebastian?! What are you doing?" The man was trying to walk without bending his legs and was looking extremely hilarious while doing so.

 "Hey! You made this thing! I can hardly walk." he said, a slight pout lacing his voice. 

"Hey! You should be happy! I tailored it to make your butt look good!" You joked, gesturing to the tight pants he was stuffed in. 

 "Yeah, yeah! Whatever." He laughed back, sitting stiffly in his chair. "Just come make me pretty." 

 "Oh, Bas, you're already so pretty!" You laughed, pulling out a kit of makeup.

"Thanks, sweetheart" he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm. 

 "I swear! The two of you talk like an old married couple." Anthony piped up from where he was reading his lines. For a few minutes you went back and forth between Sebastian and Scarlett, trying to hurry and finish their makeup. Normally you wouldn't rush things like this, but you had no idea how long it would take to get the arm on, and judging from the tightness of the suit, you assumed it would take a while. Finally, you completed the makeup and both of them were perfectly airbrushed. Looking in the mirror, Scarlett thanked you and headed off with Anthony to start the day, leaving Sebastian behind. 

"Let's see my baby" he smiled and shifted in his seat from anticipation. You brought the box to him and sat it in his lap. Slowly, you lifted the lid and revealed the shiny new piece of armor. 

 "Holy shit..." he seemed blown away by your work. To be fair, you did a pretty damn good job. He looked from the arm to you repeatedly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"It's pretty simple, actually. Three parts. Bicep, forearm, and hand." You explained, pointing to each section. "First, we'll slide on the bicep, add the forearm, and work on the glove. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!" He laughed at your childish remark but went along with it. 

"Alright. Let's up my badassery and get this thing on." You sucked a breath in through your teeth and scratched the back of your neck. 

“Wait a second... what?” He narrowed his eyes at you, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows. You turned around and grabbed the two small bottles from your makeup bag, hiding them behind your back.

“Before we get to putting it on, I have a question.” You asked, batting your eyes in fake innocence.

“Oh my God what’d you do?” He asked, suspicion lacing his voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Will you just hush up and answer my question?” You joked, cocking a brow. He heaved a sigh and shrugged.

“Well,” You began, pulling the bottles out from behind you, “Do you want warming or flavored?”

He froze. Staring at the bottles and then to you, questioning what the bottles were meant for with his eyes, implying what he wanted to use them for with his smirk.

“For your arm, you dirty man!” You laughed, doubling over when you saw a look of shock wash over his face.

“Well, uh.. in that case, let’s try flavored. What flavor did you pick up?” He asked, wiping his hands on his knees.

“Vanilla.” You chuckled, shaking the bottle in front of his face.

“Sounds like the kind of sex Robert has.” He quipped, causing you to snort. 

wait. had you just..... had you really just snorted in front of him. like full on?? fuck fuck fuck

“Your laugh is so cute!” He chuckled, joining you in laughter at his own joke. Relief washed over you and you decided to get to work on putting on the arm.

“Alright, Bas. Just be still. I’ll try to make it quick.” You assured, trying to stifle your giggles at how wrong your words sounded. You slathered a layer of the vanilla lube along his arm, cringing a little at the slip it left on your hands. You turned and picked up the bicep of the arm, attempting to slide it on.

nope

“We’re gonna need more.” You sighed, dousing his arm a second time. Finally, the bicep started to move up his arm and he cringed visibly at the feeling.

“I’m so sorry, Bas. Did they change up your workout regimen again? I don’t see why this isn’t going on easier.” You felt really bad. Maybe it was a mistake on your part? There was no way. You had followed each of his measurements perfectly, making sure he had room to move around with the arm on.

“Yeah, they said they would email you about it? I’m guessing they didn’t.” He heaved another sigh, sending you an apologetic glance.

“It’s okay! We’ve got plenty of lube and lots of stamina!” You encouraged, trying to stay positive.

“Well, what in the name of God is going on in here?!” Anthony almost shrieked, entering the room from a side door with his hands over his eyes.

“Oh my God! Anthony! No, no, no, it’s not what you think. Will you call Tonio in here? I need your help getting this arm on.” You pleaded, trying to pull his hands off of his eyes but failing due to the slippery substance on your hands.

“You’re slimy! What have you two been up to?!” Anthony burst into laughter at the scene playing out before him. “Oh. My. God. Sebastia- Oh my God! I’ll be right back” He left the room in a fit of laughter, hunching over and clutching his stomach.

When he returned, Tonio trailed behind him completely clueless. The look on his face was priceless when he saw Sebastian’s glistening arm.

“Guys, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need help getting this arm on.” You sighed, giving them the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

“Alright, fine But if I ever catch the two of you using this lube for something else, I swear I’ll beat you both!” Tonio warned, reaching over and pouring more of the substance onto Sebastian’s arm. 

“I am so, so sorry Seabass.” Anthony laughed, placing his hands on the metal. “On my count of three, we slide it up, okay?” He asked, looking around at the three of you. 

After a LOT of elbow grease (ha ha) and determination (and lube), the arm was on and fully functional. Sebastian stood and examined it in the mirror, clearly admiring your attention to detail as the other men left. You called out a quick ‘thank you’ before grabbing a towel to wipe off the excess currently dripping from Sebastian’s arm.

“Again, I’m really sorry. I tried my best.” You muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

His fingers brushed gently under your chin, politely pulling your eyes to his. “Hey, it’s amazing. Just like you... I- I have to go now. Thank you” He muttered the last words, but you could’ve sworn that he glanced at your lips once or twice.

For the next few weeks you, Tonio, and Anthony used countless bottles of slip on Sebastian. Every day you sat and laughed at his visible discomfort until the final day of shooting rolled around.

“Hey princess, ready?” He asked, walking behind you and placing a hand gently on the small of your back. You had gotten used to this. These soft touches. Gentle reminders of how badly you wanted to envelope him in hugs and shower him with kisses. 

Keep it professional, (Y/n). You reminded yourself.

You turned, grabbing another bottle from your makeup bag and heaved a sigh. “Ready if you are.”

He sat in his designated chair, throwing a wink at you from across the room. You joined him and started applying the product, this had become second nature. 

“I’ll grab Tonio and Anthony” You laughed, turning away from him. Before you could take a step, you felt a slippery hand touch your wrist.

“Wait, (Y/n), can we talk?” His eyes were full of worry, making your heart sink into your stomach immediately.

“Yeah? What’s wrong, Bas?” You asked, lovingly tucking a strand of his soft hair behind his ear.

“Listen, I don’t want to fade away after today.” He confessed, refusing to look at you.

“What?” You responded, completely confused.

“I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other. (Y/n), I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but I really care about you.” His eyes finally met yours. Normally there was some hint of a smile in them, but not now. He was completely serious as he sat before you, covered in lube, dressed like a supersoldier, confessing his feelings for you. You couldn’t help but giggle at the entire situation.

“I shouldn’t have said that...” He muttered, looking down in embarrassment.

“No! No, I’m so glad you did say that. I just cant help but laugh at your arm. I’m sorry.”

“You’re glad?” He questioned, looking to you with his brows raised. You nodded in response and a look of relief flashed over his features before he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a slow, passionate kiss.

“Maybe next time we need lube it’ll be for something else.” He joked after pulling away.

“What the hell?!” Anthony shrieked from his hiding spot outside of the door, causing you to lean into Sebastian’s chest, cracking up. His chest vibrated with laughter and he brought up his clean hand to stroke your hair.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes, Bas?”

“After this we should ditch these losers and grab dinner, sound good?”

You smiled into the warmth radiating from his chest and hummed in agreement. Pushing off of him, you reached over to re-lather his arm, preparing to pull the damned thing on again. Funny how the same thing you spent hours pulling on Sebastian’s arm was the thing that pulled you together.

(and, no, it wasn’t the last time you used lube)

 this post’s tags!

@theliteratureloser @thevanishedillusion 

permanent tags are: open!

-xoxo nic

[kmp78]

This is what made me stop being a fan

“i feel like J will never do anything right in your eyes. like what would he have to do for you to say something positive about him? genuinely asking, not hating”

His life, he can do whatever he wants. But actions have consequences. So whatever he does, he has to be ready to deal with people not necessarily liking it. That’s life. 

Just like K, I too started as a fan. As a quite big fan actually. As someone who did everything they could to support the band. Buy merch, buy Vy tickets, go to shows, do M&Gs, spread the word on sm…And in the beginning I was happy to do that. I admired J because he seemed like a “go-getter” who worked hard, he seemed like he cares and is involved in what goes on around him in our society and around the world (His Oscar speech, anyone? And him speaking about Ukraine, supporting the LGBT community, concern for the environment, etc). He seemed passionate about his art, he obviously is very talented. He was great on stage. And he seemed like the “underdog” and like someone who fights for the underdog. You know, all his speeches about “be who you wanna be, love who you wanna love, be different, fight for your dreams” blah blah blah. And then of course his whole “struggling artist” act, the whole “no ones making any money here”. Yeah I fell for that. “Oh poor thing. He’s so great and so talented. But he’s not making any money. Yeah, we have to support him and his art and give from our very little salaries so that he can keep doing his art.” Yes, in that sense I was one of the “sheep”. I have to laugh at it now. 

Just like K said too, I also didn’t have any specific moment that made me stop being a fan. Shit just kept piling up until it hit the fan. It was just a sum of a lot of different things having happened. 

It started with the London Vy really. When they set the tickets at 10,000. It was insane. Now, nothing wrong in being ambitious and dreaming big and trying to do big things and trying to reach your goals…when YOU work for it. Not someone else. Had they promoted the shit out of it themselves and had done everything they can to get the tickets sold, fine. But it was like “Oh let’s put out 10,000 tickets to make a lot of money but let the fans do all the work any pay for it all.” It’s like DT saying “Let’s build a wall and make Mexico pay for it.” It’s ridicilous. Oh and “let’s sell tickets to an event that has no date so the people who buy live tickets won’t even know if they can watch it.” I mean, seriously? Real “geniuses” at work. Smh! And even though it was clear it will never work and people kept complaining and sending in suggestions, they just ignored it all. And then they did the VIP VV (that was supposed to be a treat for those who got their tickets early) unannounced, so that most of the people missed it. So from that point on I was like “Okay, let’s see them doing some work THEMSELVES to sell their events. I’m done. Unless there is some effort coming from YOUR way, I ain’t doing shit!”. I also stopped buying multiple tickets and I stopped buying VIP. If they don’t put in any effort, why should I? They’re the ones with a company trying to sell a product, not me. I don’t go to my workplace either expecting my clients to do MY work for me while paying ME. It’s ridicilous. And if you wanna improve your product, listen to your costumers. If they tell you something IS NOT WORKING, do something about it. Don’t ignore them, block them, black list them just because they told you their opinion about your product in the hopes of helping you improve it. And for god’s sake don’t be RUDE to them and tell them they should be grateful they got anything at all even though they PAID for the product and dont tell them to fuck off if they dont like it. Well, unless you wanna lose all your costumers. In that case, go ahead. 

And then there was the whole Joker thing with the used condoms and dildos and all his Joker antics. his whole “method actor” bullshit while frolicking around with models, while going rock climbing, while sending pics of himself in Joker makeup to models only to have it leaked and almost ruining things for WB. His antics were disgusting and not funny and if you claim to be a method actor and those stupid antics were needed as a part of your “method acting” then BE a method actor and don’t fuck around with young models or go rock climbing. At least stick to your story then and act like it. 

Which leads to the next problem. His words and actions not matching. Being fake. Lying during interviews. “Be who you wanna be, be different”. Well, why don’t you start with yourself and take your own advice, J? If barely legal underweight girls are your thing and you can’t even be friends with anyone who doesn’t look like a model or isn’t much younger than you are, then be that. If that’s who you are, fine. So be it. If vapid models with half a brain cell are the company you prefer and want around you, it’s okay. But in that case don’t try to speak about women’s rights and about having respect for strong women or any of women’s issues. Keep your mouth shut. And don’t try to hide it and act like that’s not who you are. People are not dumb. So don’t assume they are and treat them like they are. Just because everyone around you are stupid, doesn’t mean the rest of us are, thank you very much. 

Then Gucci came into the picture. Gucci this, Gucci that. Gucci, Gucci, Gucci. I AM SICK OF GUCCI! We get that you are the face of Gucci and friends with AM. But can you not shove Gucci down our throats 24/7, thank you very much. And shut up about “no one’s making any money here” and quit the “struggling artist” act. Please. When youre wearing an outfit that costs more than my whole month’s salary. Go fuck yourself. And if you raise your prices, I expect a stellar product. I expect to get my money’s worth. If I pay thousands to go to Camp MARS, I expect MARS to put some effort into it. Have activities with fans, interact with them. You have the whole weekend. You’re literally booked for the whole weekend. It’s YOUR “festival”. So do the work. And if you sell your camp packages by promising to play new music, then do that and don’t do false advertising, if you’re not intending to play new songs. And can you please tear yourself away from your freeloaders for ONE weekend  and concentrate on your work, thanks. Also, if you’re going to do a show and people paid thousands to see it, can you please rehearse so you actually know the lyrics to your own songs. I don’t come to shows to listen to the fans sing. I come to hear YOU sing. And play. That’s if the band even bothers to show up. 

I could go on and on but what finally made me go “I have had it!” was him disappearing from sm and only coming on when he needs something from us. When he only remembered he has fans when he wanted our votes or our money or  needed us to do PR for him. And him lying the whole time. Can you take things seriously for once and quit being immature and actually say what you mean for once. And do what you say. Don’t expect us to believe you and feel sorry for you if you say your back hurts soooo much, but instead of taking care of it,  you’re flying around long distance to go to fashion shows and to unnecessarily go to some art gallery for a day and when you can go rock climbing with your kittens. Same thing goes for your knee.Don’t go on sm to whine about it to get attention and do ice baths in trash cans and  come on stage wth a cane when you then after two songs take off your knee brace and jump around. 

The last drop for me was the lies about the new album. the ten millionth “#soon. The "we’re 80% done” for 2 years straight. The “We’re finishing the album today” only to tell us two weeks later that he’s working on the lyrics on the first single. Only to tell us the album isn’t even done. At some point it stops being funny and becomes pathetic. Come tease us about a new album WHEN YOU ACTUALLY HAVE AN ALBUM: And dont go around talking about how “exhausted” you are now that you finished ONE SONG. In FOUR years. Seriously, dude! Have you lost touch with reality completely?! Do you actually even know what HARD WORK and REALLY being exhausted from working is like? You need to get out in the real world more, dude. Stop hanging out with your freeloaders whose only job is to go from one vacation to another and lay around by the pool all day or who get dressed by other people and their only job is to look pretty in pictures. That’s not hard work. Neither is doing one song in four years. That’s just insulting.  And if your staff can’t get even one lyric video right, it’s time to finally take a look at your staff and start hiring professionals. How hard is it to get a LYRIC video with two verses right? You write the lyrics down, the person doing the lyric video writes them on the video and reads it through. Another person looks at the LYRICS video when it’s done and compares the lyrics to proofread. Boom. Done. Don’t need to be a genius to do that. 

I don’t know what happened to J. If the Oscar and the millions he got from the Joker role went to his head and his ego got too inflated and he got lazy, because why work when you can make money by doing nothing? Or if he completely lost touch with reality after hanging out too much  with the type of people he does and since he’s dressed head to toe in Gucci and no doubt gets it all for free, he thinks everyone can afford to throw around thousands. Or he just was a shallow douchebag who is full of himself before too and he just played another Oscar worthy role…the “Oscar J” role…and people fell for that PR campaign. And now the real J is coming out again? I don’t know. 

For me to be able to like J again, he needs a huge piece of humble pie. Tone done the attitude. You’re not above everyone else J. You’re not the center of everyone’s universe. You’re not THAT important and you definitely are NOT “different” than most in HW. In fact, you’re pretty much a cliche. So stop acting like you’re “all that”. You’re not. Tone down the Gucci. Seriously. We’re sick of it. Start hanging out with smart people. You’ll be surprised how inspiring smart people actually are. And yeah, most of them don’t look like models, but the good news is you don’t have to sleep with them. You can actually just be friends with people. That’s if you can bear to breathe the same air as someone who is normal weight or, god forbid, overweight. Get involved in your community. If you actually care for the environment or for animals so much, prove it. Letting your interns RT a tweet or two does not count as being “active”. And if you write a “protest song”, please do show with your ACTIONS that you care about things BEFORE writing said song and conveniently using a current unrest to sell it. Stop lying. Seriously. We’re not dumb. Be who you are, whatever it is. But ffs STOP LYING about who you are!!!!!! Put some effort into your work again. Focus. You once did. We want that J back.

***

Extremely well said, anon.

I found myself nodding and agreeing all the way through.

(Disclaimer and rules)

[its-love-u-asshole]

IwaOi + 1, with Iwa-chan saying the line, please!

Val!!

AO3

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Iwaizumi glared at the set before him, the overheadlights and the chatter of the director suddenly too stimulating for him, evenwith all his experience in the industry.

What had he gotten himself into?

Iwaizumi never thought he’d regret taking a job, especiallywhen it came to the epic action films he loved so much. He was an actor, this was his livelihood, and therefore whathe enjoyed doing. It came with a lot of good memories and opportunities, andsince Iwaizumi was a relatively reserved celebrity, he avoided tabloid rumorsfor the most part. Yeah, his life was good. He made a hefty salary, and he gotto have fun in the process.

Plus…

Acting was something close to his heart, and it washow he’d met his husband, the ever popular Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa Tooru, his beloved partner, who happened to bethe source of his woes that day.

Iwaizumi watched as the pretty brunet was touched upwith makeup, his calm smile blinding and his sparkling eyes quickly readingover the script before the scene started. Such a perfectionist. Oikawa was theopposite of Iwaizumi in a lot of ways when it came to acting. He was often theprotagonist of action films, with how he radiated confidence and the way heseemed to have the natural aura of a leader. His skills were much more variedthough. Yes, Oikawa was also the star of quite a few romance films, comedies,and had even acted in a few horror movies in the past.

In short, he was a star, and Iwaizumi couldn’t be moreproud. Of course, it wasn’t always so simple. Oikawa was someone who ratherenjoyed the spotlight, and his name popped up in magazines and on rumor sitesmore than either of them liked. But oh well, they were used to it. They trustedeach other, and at the end of the day, Iwaizumi couldn’t be happier with theother by his side.

So naturally, when they’d both been cast in the samefilm, something which hadn’t happened in years, they’d jumped on theopportunity to work together. Iwaizumi was the protagonist’s best friend, andOikawa was the protagonist’s love interest.

Currently, they were about to shoot the epic kissscene, an important highlight of any movie. It was fairly standard, theprotagonist was about to go risk his life against the main villain, and thus hadto act as if he’d never see his true love ever again.

Again, standard. Standard…

Oikawa nodded happily as the director informed him ofa few acting tips, and before Iwaizumi knew it, the bell was being sounded, andit was time.

It should’ve been fine. It should’ve been no big deal.Iwaizumi was a goddamn professional.

But as he watched Oikawa’s eyelashes flutterseductively, as he saw the brunet’s lips part to welcome someone else’s…it wasmore than he could take. Iwaizumi clutched the armrest of his chair, thecostume he had on suddenly too itchy and form fitting. He remembered how he’dkissed Oikawa right before shooting had started, how he’d held his hand beforean important scene, how they’d fooled around a bit in the dressing rooms.Oikawa was his, and he was Oikawa’s. At the end of the day, it was them againstthe world, so why was this bugging him?

God,don’t tell me…

The denial swam in his brain, making his vision hazyand his thoughts run all over the place. No way. This was not happening. He hadto get himself together, his scene was next, and he had to—

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes snapped open, and he was greeted bythe wide eyes of his husband, the brunet’s head tilted to the side in the mostadorable way. Fuck. I hate him.

“Iwa-chan…you zoned out again, you missed the wholescene!” Oikawa scolded, holding up a water bottle which Iwaizumi gratefullytook. “You’re not getting sick are you? Or is my acting just that good?”

“I’m notsick,” he replied, chugging half the water in one go. Iwaizumi couldn’t believehe’d let himself drift so far from reality. His blood was still boiling, butwhatever. At least the damn scene was over. “And don’t get too full of yourself.I’m just happy that cheesy scene is fucking done with, how many takes did youneed?”

Oikawa bristled as expected, and Iwaizumi was almostsatisfied, until the brunet froze mid tirade. It only took the one moment ofhesitation for Iwaizumi to know he had lost, he’d revealed way too much byreferencing the scene at all. Now he just had to be ready to either brush itoff or deny it completely.

Great…

Slowly, a smirk formed on his husband’s face, one waytoo attractive to be fair. It made Iwaizumi want to kiss the daylights out ofhim, but he couldn’t risk ruining their makeup. They still had about two morescenes to go today, one which included a second kiss with the protagonist, andIwaizumi did not want to see thatmore than he had to.

Oikawa’s eyes sparkled with triumph and satisfaction,like he was starring a villain instead of some corny love interest. Not good.

“Oh Hajime…are you jea—”

“I’m notjealous.” Iwaizumi’s voice was practically a snarl, and yup, he’d definitelylost.

“You are!” Oikawa gasped in glee, wrapping his armsaround Iwaizumi in excitement. At least most of their co-stars were used tothis shit by now, and no one bothered to glance over at whatever nonsenseOikawa was spouting. “Aw, you’re so cute Iwa-chan!”

“Shut up already!” Iwaizumi didn’t pull away though,which was a bigger blow to his pride. He couldn’t deny that after the dumbscene, it felt nice to have Oikawa back in his arms, where he belonged. Damn. “How is it cute? Makes no sense…”

“Oh Iwa-chan. Sweet, naïve Iwa-chan—”

“Hey—”

“It’s cute because you actually think I enjoy kissinganyone but you,” Oikawa said softly, his volume dropping until it felt like itwas only the two of them, hiding some big secret. Oikawa’s eyes were gorgeousdespite the color contacts he’d been forced to wear, his smile soft and solelyfor his husband to see. Iwaizumi couldn’t help it, his face warmed upimmediately, and damn you Oikawa.

Damn him for being everything Iwaizumi needed andmore.

All the tension from before seemed to drain out ofhim, and now he felt especially silly. But it hardly mattered, not when Oikawawas kissing him in the familiar, mind blowing way.

[malefistache]

Hi, sorry, i'm new to your blog, and i really like reading your opinions on the descent of ouat to mediocrity. But, i just wanna know why do you dislike jmo? Did she do something horrible or smth? Personally, i don't delve into private lives of the actors, because i feel like it would affect my perception on the characters they play... But, i'm curious just what made you dislike/not care about her?

Her decisions on Emma’s wardrobe as of late (from about season 4-on), because she wanted her to be more feminine. That’s costume department’s job, because they know the character’s style, according to the personality they want to convey. Every little detail has a meaning, as much as some people claim not to be the case- call us delusional, or say we are looking for things where there are none. Unless you have worked or studied something in the field, you know every fucking piece of garment (color, stlye, etc) has a message encoded in it. 

Emma Swan’s usual look  -      Emma Jones lately    -           Jennifer Morrison

Emma was always portrayed as a soft “butch,” mainstream lesbian— you drop this character in OITNIB or L Word and have NO DOUBT she digs chicks: her coding was in both the clothing as well as the subtext, so when she suddenly started to wear more “feminine” and “vintage” clothes = the total opposite to Emma Swan; it caused a cognitive dissonance on who this person is, and sent a message that is not very LGBT friendly, especially as it was also around the time Emma started dating Hook. Het, bi or lesbian, the transformation of Emma’s outer appearance began the erasure of her queerness and gender fluidness. 

I can’t find which was the outfit Emma wore in one episode, that later we actually saw JMO wearing to an event, but there is one, and several (floral) pieces that are awfully similar Emma/JMo garments. And there’s a post about designer Eduardo Castro talking about how JMo in particular has a lot to say when it comes to her wardrobe, and by the tone in his answer, it is not a happy one: it is not his vision.

If you put one and one, it builds a message about how having a man in your life, a “true love”, opens you up to femininity and you have to embrace it. And that a woman who once prefered to wear more masculine ensembles, who didn’t care about what society might think of her, was only “tough” because she had walls that needed to be broken down so she could open to love and become a real woman. It is a very misogynistic, layered message under the coding of this character through her wardrobe. The whole show is a literal metaphor to living in a closet: Emma came to this world through one, so the erasure of it is hurtful and harmful not only for the lesbian/bisexual/genderfluid, but to any woman who doesn’t line up with the expectations society has placed on femininity. So yes it IS homophobic, and anyone involved in doing this to Emma, without a proper answer to it (I.E. Emma wanting to live up to her parents’ expectations) deserves not my sympathy.

Everything on TV has a special coding and meaning, so interfering in what Emma’s code used to be, to fit her personal preference, not only shows her lack of professionalism and of respect for the people behind the camera who are just doing their jobs, but it also takes away from the character she used to play.