#trying to combine her with a ballerina would NOT be fun to draw. so she gets a sir slithers mane instead

[howlonomy]

im back in the fucking building AGAIN

[eirian-houpe]

For Your Consideration

It has taken me a while to get this together. I did way more writing this last year than I thought I had, so the decision to what I thought might be appropriate to suggest for nomination was a tough one for me. So please bear with me, and excuse my ramblings

Before I continue, I want to thank the Rumbelle community for giving me a home, and some sanity through a difficult year.  I hope I have written something that has helped other Rumbellers to get throught it as well. Much love to everyone.

Below the cut are my thoughts and suggestions. If your favorite fic is not there, please feel free to put it forward as you see fit.  You can find my fics here on AO3. Below the cut you’ll find my FYC presentation for this years TEAs.

Witness Protection

Summary: The Wife and Daughter of Massachusetts’ Governor, Maurice French, have been kidnapped. As the authorities raid the compound where they’re being held, his daughter, Belle, makes her own bid for freedom but is injured in the attempt before being taken into protective custody by Agent Milnor. Fearing for her life, Milnor calls upon an old friend to protect her; to keep her safe. A task that becomes imperative, as well as personal. Professional lines blur and the threat draws closer.

This was 2019 Secret Santa fic, and turned into an epic, sweeping drama of some 45,000 words, as such I feel it could be nominated for Best Novel length, Best Drama, Best Angst - Hurts So Good, and Best First Time. If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Seven Tastes

Summary: Jefferson and Grace visit the Dark Castle to try and persuade Rumplestiltskin to celebrate the Winter Solstice. What begins with a hidden sprig of mistletoe leads through the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime, that ends in a beautiful redemption.

Written for 2020 Secret Santa, It was a quite unusual fic, fun to write, a little angsty, and with a beautiful ending. I suggest it is suitable to be nominated for Best Rumbelle Secret Santa.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

The Gold Fleece

Summary: Belle wakes from a coma with no memory of who she is. Following a suggestion from her therapist she seeks to take up a craft she used to do before as a way to jog her memory. After making a deal with Storybrooke's craft store owner, it seems that the good Doctor Hopper may have been right... or was he?

Written for Rumbelle Christmas In July, an involved exploration of magic, memory and breaking of curses. My suggestions would be for Best Rumbelle Christmas in July, or Best One-Shot.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Awakening

Summary:  Weaver is dreaming or halucinating after Alice shot him, but suddenly everything starts to make sense as he gives in to what he sees and feels, even from beyond the grave, his beloved saves him.

This was my first round Rumbelle Showdown Fic. I believe it could be suitable for Best Angst - Hurts So Good and Best One-Shot.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Beauty Compelled

Summary:  Years ago, Moe French endebted himself to the nobleman, Mister Gold. Unable to pay the debt by any other means, he promises his daughter, Belle, in marriage to Gold. Now, on the day of her 18th Birthday, the contract is to be honored, and Belle must go to her new home, Adelram Hall, and to meet her husband-to-be, Mister Gold, who has a reputation for darkness.

Written from one of the Monthly Rumbelling prompts, I feel it could be nomintated for Best One-Shot, and Best Trope (arranged marriage).  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Lightly, Tender... My Dream

Summary:  Between realms, beyond curses, and through the passage of many lost years, Belle and Rumplestiltskin find one another again, and finally act upon their love.

One of the Monthly Rumbelling fics I wrote this year, I feel it could be suitable for Best First Time, Best One-Shot and Best Monthly RUmbelling (smut). If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

A Blade For Belfrey

Summary:  Edinburgh meets Glasgow as Weaver and Begbie clash when Begbie's alter ego, Jim Francis is commissioned by Victoria Belfrey to produce a work of art for a business rival. Rumplestiltskin, somehow suspecting Weaver an incarnation of himself, tries to take a back seat - but Belle needs otherwise.

One of the few crossover fics I have ever written, combines Once, with The Blade Artist. I feel it could be nominated for Best Crossover Fic, and because it has Begbie and Weaver, suitable for Best Bobbie Squared.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Fallen

Summary:  Belle finds herself inhabiting the consciousness of a demon. When she finds a fallen angel, she begins to recognise the strand of darkness within herself. Not necessarily 'evil' but certainly not innocence and light. Who could she be if she embraced that darkness, and... shouldn't she be looking for Rumplestiltskin? Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin finds himself in the conscisousness of an angel... falling.

One of my Lover’s Leap fics, and my first attempt at Creature fic.  As such I feel it could be nominated for Best Creature AU, or Best Supernatural.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Gilded

Summary:  Belle fears she is to become trapped in a gilded cage of her father, and Lord Gaston's making, with no relief and no way to be herself... until she meets the enigmatic little man trapped in the darkest, shadowed corner of the castle's library... 

Written for the March 2020 Monthly Rumbelling, I feel it could be nominated for Best One Shot, and Best Monthly Rumbelling (non smut)  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Hatter

Summary:  Belle's consciousness is kidnapped as she tries to return from the latest test of the Fairy Curse. Running out of time to bring her back to her body and save her, Rumplestiltskin persuades Jefferson to use the Hat to take them to where they need to be in order to retrieve it, trouble is... it turns out to be the one place in all the realsm that Jeffereson NEVER wanted to see again.

Another story from my Lover’s Leap series, and another of the few crossover fics I have ever written, crossing with Alice, the 2009 miniseries. I feel it could be nominated for Best Crossover fic, Best TV Show AU and Best AU.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Prima

Summary:  Detectives Weaver and Rogers stumble upon a crime at a local theater where they meet the Prima Ballerina, Anabelle French in the process of apparently committing agravated assault with a deadly weapon, but as Weaver investigates, he discovers there is far more to it than a simple crime, and he is forced to run to a place of safety with his suspect in tow.

A Woven Beauty fic that was written for the Monthly Rumbelling, so I feel it could be eligible for Best Monthly Rumbelling (smut) and Best Woven Beauty.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Rack ‘Em Up

Summary:  Gold indulges Lacey with a night out at the Rabbit Hole, and she teases him while hustling the other patrons at pool. This is a game that Lacey is playing to win, but the money's not the object. This was written as a gift on the occasion of @emospritelet​'s birthday.

I feel it could be eligible for Best Smut - PWP, Best One-Shot, and Best Golden Lace.  If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

Two Could

Summary:  Belle and Rumple jump into the bodies of two pirates. When the King's Navy blockade the harbor, the decision must be made to run the gauntlet, or wait out the siege, but two captains seek another way, and seal their alliance in a way that only pirates could.

One of my Lover’s Leap series, I feel it could be nominated for Best AU, Best Historical Romance, and Best Romance (Smut). If there is anything else you feel might fit, please feel free to add the fic in that category, and if you think it appropriate for any of the character awards, I would be honored to be nominated.

[girlsbtrs]

Femininity and Violence

Written by Peyton Lawrence. Graphic by Allison Thompson.

Rob Halford got me in trouble as a kid. 

He didn’t actually get me in trouble, but his lyrics were the herald for a time-out or grounding to come. Any time my dad would catch me doing something I shouldn’t- making potions, giving my barbies sharpie makeovers, or scribbling on some important paperwork- he would sing Judas Priest’s “Breaking the Law.” It was never malicious, just my dad poking fun at the little troublemaker I’d grown to be. 

Those were the same childhood days when I lived my past life as a classically trained dancer. Now, I was certainly never going to be a prima ballerina, but I loved the crystals and tulle of the costumes and the pretty waltzes I got to dance to. There were times I used to put on my pastel recital costumes just to play around the house. That life met a tragic end because of a bum ankle gifted to me by genetics and made worse by pointe shoes, but before the untimely end, it was a respite from my troublemaking and a venture into whatever graceful fantasy world I chose for the day. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about Margaret Atwood’s “The Robber Bride” recently. She accuses us of, “pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else.” I didn’t have my watcher as a little girl, I hadn’t yet been faced with the expectations of what a girl was supposed to look like or how I was supposed to act. I could live in a world where Tchaikovsky and Judas Priest were on an equal playing field of music I knew and loved. Music and clothing and my passions were just that- things I loved, things I was passionate about, things I did for the sake of enjoyment and not because I felt I had to meet an obligation.

But time passes, little girls grow up, and all good things must come to an end.

I think you’d be hard pressed to find a young girl who didn’t have a “not-like-other-girls” phase. Mine came in 7th and 8th grade. Swan Lake and pink tutus paved way to black skinny jeans and Fall Out Boy. I took a break from ballet, cut all my hair off, and broke off a nasty chip in my shoulder. My watcher had arrived, and I hated him. I hated feeling like there was now an expectation to look and act like a proper young lady. As much as I genuinely liked my new interests, the dark clothing I was wearing and the music I was listening to, I’d unfortunately conditioned myself to think the girls who wore pink and enjoyed pop music were somehow less-than, despite loving Hannah Montana and glitter only a handful of years prior. 

Thankfully, I was able to grow out of that phase. I realized that being feminine didn’t equal being a two-dimensional pretty face, and hating pink didn’t earn me cool points. I restarted ballet, and at the same time, I rediscovered metal. (Rediscovered is a loose term. I grew up on the 80s glam and hair bands, this time around, it was death and grindcore. The kind of music my mom would describe as “scary”.) I loved the violence, the raw power in the distorted chugging guitar and growled vocals. This music had a magnetic draw to it- it felt so unfiltered, so brutally real.

It’s still not totally clear cut to me what my relationship to femininity is now. Sure, I’ve come around to the idea of wearing dresses and lace again, but a lot of the things I love aren’t traditionally feminine things. Good little girls don’t listen to men screaming about evisceration or play music so loud that the neighbors can hear it. But in the same breath, wearing lipstick in the pit can be seen as weakness. Men in the metal scene can and will make life a living hell for girls who refuse to act like “one of the guys”. There are days when I feel like I can’t win, when there isn’t a right answer. It’s a daily battle between who I am, who I want to be, and how I’m perceived. I’m still trying to strike the balance that feels natural to me, the combination of these things that doesn’t feel forced or performative. 

I think Poppy has the formula down to an art. She’s the first solo female artist to be nominated and win the Grammy for Best Metal Performance. Her career has evolved tremendously since her days of Youtube fame. She’s embraced the heavier sound without compromising her avant-garde aesthetic and bubblegum-y vocals. It hasn’t come without a backlash though. Her Instagram comments are filled with self-righteous men who declare that her music “isn’t real metal.” The thing is, these comments don’t change how she presents herself. She is unapologetically herself. To me, Poppy is a perfect study in combining two totally different aspects of who a person is in a way that is utterly unique. 

It’s been a challenge, trying to reconcile these two very different but defining parts of who I am. I’m trying to shake the expectations I hold and the prior experiences that inform how I view both myself and other women, trying to finally divert my internal watcher’s gaze and return to doing things just because they make me happy. Ultimately, I’m working on returning to my roots. Maybe I’m taking the long way ‘round, but I remember the little girl who sat around in frilly skirts and listened to her dad singing Judas Priest, and I’m finding my way back home to her. 

[tawmlinsun]

🌈🌈🌈 (write as much as you want, of course ❤️)

send me a 🌈for 100 words of elu fluff!!

Lucas pushes the door open, the musky scent of sweat masked beneath layers of deodorant and too-sweet perfumes hitting him the face as soon as he steps inside. There’s something else there too, something starchy that he can never place, even after three years of coming to the studio.

He starts down the hallway to the back waiting room, squeezing past students unpacking their dance bags in their lockers and stepping around girls tying on pointe shoes. It’s a bit of an organized chaos back here in the depths of the dance studio, narrow hallways carrying dozens of students as they get ready for class and run between rehearsal rooms.

Amelia’s classroom is towards the end of the corridor, down where the youngest students rehearse and right next to the back waiting room. The hall gets a little emptier, a little quieter as Lucas gets closer, since Amelia’s in the last elementary-level class of the day.

A window on one side of the hallway allows a peek into the rehearsal space, and Lucas pulls a deep breath in as he comes closer. He peers in carefully, eyes darting not to his sister, but to her ballet teacher, Eliott.

Eliott, the reason Lucas volunteers to pick Amelia up from ballet class every single week instead of sending her home in the class carpool. Eliott, the reason Lucas spent three hours last weekend watching some dance documentary well into the wee hours of the morning. Eliott, the reason Lucas has mousse in his hair and his favorite shirt smoothing down his torso.

Today, a bike-short-clad Eliott’s in the center of the room demonstrating the class’ last combination for the day, long arms spread in an L-shape as he lifts his leg into what that documentary told him is an arabesque. The muscles clench as they work to complete the move, holding tight as he comes out of the position and moves to hit the final pose. The students applaud when he finishes and scramble to their places to give it a try.

“Are we ready?” Eliott asks, and the smile that blooms as the girls give him a resounding cheer nearly blinds Lucas. Eliott signals to the piano accompanist at the side of the room and the class bursts into action.

“Hold that relevé, Claire, that’s it! Good, Natalie!” he calls from inside, lilting voice slightly muffled by the window’s thick glass. Lucas allows himself a moment to stare, drink in the sight of Eliott moving through the space so fluidly, going over the movements for students who are struggling and giving gentle corrections to the others.

Lucas honestly would have stood there watching until class ended if it wasn’t for a locker slamming down the hall, snapping him out of his Eliott-induced reverie. Feeling caught, he hurries over to the waiting room and leans against one of the walls, resolving to spend the next five minutes playing on his phone while he waits for class to finish. He gets pretty caught up in his game when suddenly —

“Lulu!” comes a scream from the side, his only warning before getting an armful of his little sister as she slams against his chest, forehead bumping right into the base of his sternum. Oof.

“Good class, kiddo?” Lucas asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Ameila’s head. She nods furiously, pigtails bouncing through the air as she pulls away from their hug.

“It was so fun!” she exclaims with a jump. “And Eliott said my piqués are getting better!”

Lucas gives her a hum of appreciation, impressed with her progress. He knows she’s been struggling with those for a while now, if her usual post-class complaints are anything to go by. “Did he now?”

“Yeah, and that my pirouettes were good, too!”

“Wow,” Lucas gasps, drawing out the vowel to sing-song it for her. “Guess we’ve got a prima ballerina in the family, huh?”

She does a wobbly pirouette and in the place of an answer, and Lucas is sure to give her a big round of applause in response, delighting in the clear joy on her face.

“Go change your shoes and grab your bag and we’ll head home for dinner, okay?” he suggests, eyeing where Eliott is stood in the corner chatting with the piano accompanist.

Amelia dashes off at the same time the accompanist does, leaving Eliott alone, looking over a sheet on his clip board. Now’s his chance.

“Hi,” Lucas tries once he gets close enough, shoving his hands in his pockets to mask the nervous energy.

“Lucas, hey,” Eliott says, letting his clipboard fall between his hips as he turns to face Lucas fully. “What’s up?”

“So, just between us,” he starts, leaning in conspiratorially, “Are Amelia’s pirouettes really getting better? Because the one she just showed me…” Lucas winces, tilting his head to the side in fake appall as Eliott bursts into a heavenly giggle.

“They are, trust me,” he confirms “She’s really got potential.”

“Well, good, because she’s our family’s only hope. I’m not that graceful, you see,” Lucas declares, gesturing towards himself with the tiniest of pouts. “Could never do ballet.”

“Oh, no?” Eliott retorts. He leans back, raking his eyes up and down Lucas frame, sending the boy’s heart thumping in his chest and blood burning in his veins. “You’ve got potential, too,” he decides. His gaze finishes its path, coming back to meet Lucas’ eyes which have now surely gone a little glassy. “Muscular. A powerhouse.”

Lucas feels his mouth go dry, lips parting around a response he’s having quite a bit of difficulty locating, when he hears pounding footsteps behind him.

“I’m ready!” Amelia announces, coming to stand before the two boys, one satisfied, one flustered.

“Where, uh,” Lucas stammers, trying to snap out of his daze. “Where’s your coat? And your water bottle?”

“In my bag!” Amelia gives them a proud smile, swinging her dance bag up onto her shoulder and reaching for Lucas’ hand.

“And did you remember to say thank you to Eliott?” Lucas prompts, nodding over to where the boy stands watching them intently, eyes burning holes in the side of Lucas’ head.

“Thank you for class, Eliott!”

“You’re welcome, Amelia,” Eliott answers as he turns to her, his voice back to the cheery tone he uses with the kids. “Keep working on those piqués, yeah?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, going red in the face. She looks to Lucas sharply, tugging on their joined hands. “Lulu, I’m hungry.”

And now it’s Lucas’ turn to blush, rosy cheeks turning deep at the sparkle of delight in Eliott’s eye as he hears the nickname.

“Uh, that’s our cue to leave, I guess,” he stammers, flicking his gaze between an impatient Amelia and a smirking Eliott. “We’ll —”

“Bye, Eliott!” Amelia interrupts, squeezing Lucas’ hand once more. What has gotten into her today? “See you next week!”

“Bye, Amelia,” Eliott laughs, bright as the sun. He turns to Lucas then, thunderclap eyes going a little softer. “See you next week, Lucas?”

Shit. Lucas feels his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he can stop himself, the low timbre of Eliott’s voice rumbling in his ears. “Of course,” he answers, already being pulled away by his sister. “See you next week.”

[randombtsprincessa]

Bells and Roses

All Rights Reserved © Randombtsprincessa/Tulips98

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Smut

Summary: You pay your muse a visit. Or alternatively; you and Jimin haven’t defined a relationship but does it stop you from turning it wild? Lol no.

Warning: Jimin dancing, no real relationship defined, pink! Jimin, a lot of handsy behaviour, fingering, oral (female receiving), riding, sub! Jimin, unprotected sex (be safe kiddos)!

A/N: Happy Birthday, my love, my life, my beautiful Park Jimin! I was inspired for this fic from Cake Waltz! You can listen to it while reading this!

I love feedback!

An idle glance was cast at the delicate chain watch circling your wrist, eyes flickering over the glittery digits before returning to the front of the hall. A hush fell over the murmuring crowds surrounding you, the well-dressed masses shifting and straightening in their plush seats with their eyes drawing to the front as well where the spotlights had been directed.

You waited keenly, the rest of the ambient lights dimming till darkness hid you in its embrace, masking away the slight change in your face, if any occurred.

You, of course, knew it was inevitable. You were an expressive person, some might say a little highly strung, but it was all in a day’s work. You were here to have fun, let loose. Maybe even get another stroke of inspiration but you weren’t going to be specific about it.

This wasn’t about you, not really.

The curtains rose and colors exploded in your vision.

A dusky shade of pink was first, circling spotlights forming a halo upon the wooden stage where stood perfectly posed, curled ballerinas in glittering costumes of the same pink. The pink light dimmed, the ballerinas sinking to the floor with their feet curled behind them, a bow of sorts.

Another light burned, a blinding silver this time, hitting just the edge of the curtains and unbidden, your body lurched forward in anticipation.

The light flickered, building tension as a brush of strings echoed, followed by a deep thrum of beats that pulsed in your blood. It was an unusual combination, mellow, sweet tinkles that contrasted against the sultry bass, sending chills down your back.

The spotlight was back and from it – just as the beat dropped – emerged the reason why you were here, sitting among people who held no delight for you.

The figure threw itself into a spin that had you gasping in concern, feet flying over where a head should be, before landing squarely in the centre of the second spotlight, this time a raging purple. Loose, white shirt that hung around the torso and black tights caught the light, glinting and winking at the audience with its sequins.

No, your delight lay in this, watching the figure unfurl, standing straight and proud, a tilt to his head that had him eyeing the crowd, a particular trance in those orbs that made you bite into the glossed surface of your lip.

The ballerinas moved in synchrony, as they reached up on their toes, a perfect throw arabesque pointing towards the figure of your interest but he still didn’t move, taking his time to study the audience that watched. You sent a silent thanks to the darkness that shielded you because when he was done, he turned his back to the stage before opening the dance with a pirouette, a brush of his fingers trailed onto each dancer that had been turned to him.

You slumped in your seat, chin stuck to your chest as headiness clouded your mind. Your eyes never strayed, fixed on the man that pranced, settled and then took flight (almost literally) on the stage. The bass never seemed to reduce his pace, his feet, encased in white, following the faerie precision of the composition.

The dance was a mix of his contemporary and ballet, the ballerinas more an accessory on the stage, paling next to his vitality but of course you could be biased. It wasn’t like you even saw what the girls and boys in the tutus were doing. Your eyes were fixed on the man who with a roll of his neck, turned a seducer and then as innocent with big glimmering eyes and a too familiar pout.

The music went on, and your delight soared with him.

It was almost too short but it was more than enough for you, overwhelmed as you got to your feet with the rest of the audience when they rose for a standing ovation.

He finished off the dance with an over exaggerated flourish, a mischief that he loved when he knew that he had rendered a mind blowing performance. His head was tilted again, eyes roving.

You could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk brewing on his face but there was no way it could’ve been aimed at you. You had shrouded yourself from him exquisitely. He had no business having that smirk on his face.

Park Jimin

The name lay as exquisitely upon your tongue as the finest wine, the sweetest delicacy. Meeting him had been the rarest coincidences, but knowing him now felt like serendipity. You had been a fresh out of college artist, eager with your skill and your degree.

Everything had been lovely until you were prompted to hold your own exhibition in one of your friend’s galleries and you were struck without inspiration. Landscapes…cityscapes…abstract…nothing seemed to fit. Canvases were discarded, paints tossed around, palettes and brushes broken in frustration and quite a few tears shed before an impromptu walk through the city landed you standing dubiously in front of the Theatre.

Slumped in one the same chairs as you had been, you’d laid eyes first on the lead dancer for Calico Dance Academy, the rising star. You had both been much younger back then but even then he had been graceful, sleek like a striking cobra and just as entrancing.

He had basically pried your third eye open with his beauty. So, when you learned that his doors were open for admirers, you knew you had to take your chance.

You gazed at the bouquet in your hand, clasped loosely within your fingers as you studied the flowers.

“How may I help you?”

You flinched at the customary questioned posed to you by the cheerful florist, soft cheeks lifting as she welcomed you to the counter.

“Yes, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat. “I would like some flowers, please.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” The girl laughed softly, but not deprecatingly, moving to the side so you could see the arrangements behind her. “How would you like them?”

You studied the shelves, moving from the simple collection of a few stems tied neatly together to an extravagant affair of lilies and daffodils, too big for you to carry.

You thought back to the night before and the lapels of the man’s costume.

“Can I customize a bouquet, with sunflowers and roses? And could you add those small bells to it?”

It was relatively easier, finding Jimin’s delivery address and dropping the flowers off. The studio was not too big, considering the academy was still finding itself but Jimin was certainly quick to find you, following you out one day when you were done leaving the flowers at the front desk.

“Hey, you’re the secret admirer.”

You turned to see the beaming man taking quick steps towards you, still in a tight black shirt and leggings that enhanced his thighs. You were surprised to say he was much shorter up front and that much more beautiful.

He smiled at the startled look on your face and you could’ve sworn flowers blossomed from the cracks of the concrete sidewalk.

“You leave me flowers,” he prompted.

You nodded, more for your sake than his as he stuck out his hand. “It’s not much of a point being a secret admirer. Let’s make friends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Some people would like a secret admirer.” You told him, catching his hand in yours nevertheless.

“Some people would also be creeped out by it but you seem nice. I’m Jimin, and you are…?”

You stared at the expectant look on his face, a part of you itching with some indescribable emotion.

“Y/N,” you managed at last. “I’m Y/N.”

Park Jimin proved to be a great friend. With the most charming disposition, he was also equally brainy. As clichéd as it seemed, he helped you see things that you didn’t in your not so humble artistic perspective. He was a storm, bubbling with gossamer energy and you had never been so grateful to have your life thrown in the path of so impressive a storm.

So, after a soft afternoon spent in the park with ice cream after his practice you popped your question.

“So…you know, I am a painter right?” you asked lightly.

Jimin slurped at his strawberry scoop delicately. “Yup,”

“I was, just thinking, you know, that – if you don’t mind awfully – I could paint…you, I guess.”

Jimin stopped with his tongue still gracing the side of his scoop, his eyes flickering to yours in amazement. “You want to…paint me?” He asked.

You shook yourself a little, ready to save face. “It was just a thought. I mean, you don’t have to even consider it. I know most people get freaked by the thought of getting painted and it’s a whole lot of hassle.”

Jimin cut you off, laughing as he streaked an ice cream soaked finger across your cheek. You squealed in turn, sliding away from him on the seat.

“Stop trying to put me off, Y/N. Of course, I’d model for you. I’d be honored. We can go now; I have all the time in the world.” Jimin leaned in and before you could even register the motion, he’d kissed the line of pink sugar from your skin, popping his lips as he did so, careless and ignorant of the way your eyes lingered on his mouth.

Four hours later, your masterpiece was ready of sorts. Jimin held still the way you told him to, hair fluffed as he stared out your window in one of his somber stage expressions.

“God, Y/N,” Jimin grinned, peering over your shoulder, watching you apply the small shades and contours to his neck and collarbones. You’d yanked his sweater down a little, much to Jimin’s amusement to reveal the sharp bones beforehand. You thanked your insight now; they looked beautiful in the fading evening sunlight.

“Is that a good god or a bad god?” You halted your hand, staring at the picture in trepidation before Jimin laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Good, Y/N, I can’t wait to see myself up on your friend’s wall.”

You invited Jimin with your customary selection of flowers, delivered to his house this time, the invitation to the exhibition tucked within the stems.

It seemed Jimin was much more excited about the exhibition because he showed up an hour before you; seeking his picture while you ignorantly mingled, clueless until you spotted a familiar figure, studying the one picture you were responsible for.

“Jimin,” You called the man, his head tilted to the side as he stared at his likeness against the lavender wall.

“Y/N,” he greeted, not looking at you, thankfully because you were blatantly staring at your friend.

You had never had occasion to see Park Jimin in a suit but by god, it was a sight.  

Tight black satin clung to his figure, stretching over his shoulders and hugging his waist. “I see you found your picture.” You had to smile.

Jimin turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t know if it’s the lighting or the finishing touches but I do look mighty fine. You picked a fantastic model.”

You shoved at him. “That’s just your ego talking. I have it on good authority that the painting is just fine.”

He pouted at that. “What have I said about the self depreciation, Y/N?” He didn’t wait for an answer, aiming a hopeful look at his own self. “So, when do you need another painting of a hunk?”

It was during the third painting that you and Jimin ended up on your too messy bed. Fast, rough and brilliant, Jimin rolled off of you in a daze, eye glimmering in the shadows.

“If I’d known you felt that good, I’d have jumped on you sooner.” You managed in a huff, causing Jimin to break out in a guffaw that lasted well into the minutes that you took to clean up and slip into a nightgown.

He stayed on his back, gloriously naked with no signs of wanting to pull the comforter up across his body. You stepped cautious when you saw that the light in his eyes had changed, something deeper and serious flickering in them now.

“What’s wrong?” you’d asked.

Jimin was mum for a while before speaking, “I don’t want you to think of this the wrong way.” He said slowly before wincing, realizing the start had been wrong itself.

He sat up, finally tugging on the covers to recover some dignity. “I meant, I don’t want you to think that I’m just into the whole wham-bam-thank you ma’am thing.”

You continued to frown, silence prodding him into further speech.

“I want this, I really do but I don’t know how much time I can devote to you.” He said finally.

You broke out laughing. “Jimin, you know we don’t have to define a relationship just because we slept together one time. We can still be friends.”

“I don’t want to just be friends though. I want to define something, just in case you go and find some other muse.”

It had taken a few days to discuss out terms to define a relationship between you and Jimin. Both of you were busy people, what with your exhibits picking up and needing you to focus on extensive travel while he toured for his own shows.

You didn’t want to look it to face but you knew Jimin was a very attractive man with a healthy amount of libido that needed to go around along his charisma. That was one of the first things you’d brought up; exclusivity. However, your friend turned potential lover had quickly shot the idea down, vehemently stating he would very much appreciate some form of stability, something solid to come back to.

Did that answer any of your questions? No, neither did you manage to put a finger to what exactly it was that Jimin and you were.

However, it did not stop either of you from falling into bed with each other whenever Jimin and you happened to be in the same city.

You were at your florist again; much more upright and sure of your order this time as you smiled at the long term girl friend behind the counter.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” She greeted, straightening the uniform cap perched on her bleached hair.

“Hey Solji, yes it has.” You agreed, your eyes screening the assortment of flowers.

“I take it the special receiver of the flower is back in town then?” She asked, moving to the usual selection of sunflowers, fresh and dewy, high near the sun.

“How do you know?” you gasped, looking around as Solji smirked, wrapped a pretty blue paper around the roses and sunflowers.

“I’ve been wrapping flowers for a good many years, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of flower givers. You’re timed and only get one particular customization. Of course, he or she is special.” She plucked out a tiny string of small bells before tying the package off.

“Pretty observant, I’ll have to be more careful.”

“Or one day you can just introduce us,” she teased back, cashing you out. The soft giggles followed you a good way as you carried the bouquet towards Jimin’s building.

It had been a few months since Jimin had moved out of the small apartment that he’d had to share with roommates. With the success and acclaim that followed his dancing troupe, he had purchased an apartment of his own, making it easier for you to show up whenever you wanted to.

You deigned to be sneaky about your approach, leaving a small painting of his last performance, on cheap canvas first at his doorstep, sliding it in and ringing the doorbell, quickly concealing yourself in the alcove of the stairs. You watched the door swing open quickly before a head peeked around, looking slyly around before shutting the door again.

You let out a giggle, flitting down again to place the bouquet in front of the door when the door flew open again, nearly scaring you into heart palpitations as you were met by the crinkle eyed grin of none other than Park Jimin.

Clad in baggy grey pants and a pale blue shirt, stood the man who’d been your muse ever since you’d laid eyes on him. As your eyes drifted over his features you fixated on one change that had you gaping.

“Jimin,” you gasped out, “…your hair is pink!”

On his part, he looked sheepish, raising a hand to pat at his head before opening the door wider to let you slide in, swiping the bouquet from your hand and taking a whiff.

“Ah, my favorite,” he sighed, complacent as you looked down the apartment you hadn’t stepped into for months now.

The deep, woody scent of new furniture still lingered, clearly from having been locked ever since he got it and you wondered if you should’ve gotten a bigger bouquet so he could smell something better than varnish.

The sweet bliss of his arms wrapping around you diverted your attention, turning to look up at him.

“I saw your name in the audience listing.” He mumbled, lowering his head to nuzzle within the crook of your neck.

“And hence the smirk,” you realized, placing both hands on his chest. “You knew I was there. And here I thought, I’d surprise you,”

“I always check audience listings in case some company is scouting.” He shrugged before smiling slyly. “So, did someone miss me?”

“Nope,” you shrugged away, walking off to remove your coat, knowing that Jimin was sporting a spectacular pout by now. Such a spoilt baby…

“Ugh, come on, I missed you, you know…pay attention!” He whined, catching you near the couch, back to wrapping his arms around you.

Spinning you around he caught your lips in a nostalgic kiss, scorching in the way his plump petals caressed yours, trying to find a break in your armor.

You let him find it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tugged you closer, a satisfied hum escaping the pair of you, his hand drifting over your waist and back before pulling away.

“I wanted to come back ever since I got on the plane you know,” he told you.

You smiled, remembering the pained expression with which he had dropped your hand, disappearing through security with his eyes returning to you every few seconds.

“I know, I could tell.” You brushed kisses over his jaw line.

He tilted his head back before looking down at you, amber eyes glinting in the afternoon sun beaming into his living room. “Stay with me.” He whispered, a lull of command in his voice that made the dull ache in your stomach sharpen, keening you towards him.

He raised his eyebrows in a way that told you he knew his effect on you and you allowed him to bask in the knowledge. “I already planned to.” You let him know.

“Good, because I’m taking you to bed and not letting you up until we’re hungry and gross.” He said, not waiting for a reply as he tugged on your hand, leading you further into his home.

You barely had time to glance around the space before Jimin was locking the bedroom door, pressing your bodies up against it and leaning over you. Warm breath wafted over your bottom lip when he brushed his against your tingling skin.

Your hands crept up his back, moving to pink fleece on his head. It must’ve been hard to maintain it without getting it fried completely but the strands felt silky enough with your eyes closed.

Jimin walked backwards, hands drifting down to his shirt and pulling it off and moving to his windows, drawing the shades and casting the room in gloomy lighting.

“Come on then,” he grinned and you followed, pulling at your clothes until they decorated your steps towards him where he sat on his bed, watching you with his lip caught between his teeth. The strip tease probably wasn’t as sexy as you wanted it to be but at least you tried and by the looks of it, it was enough.

Jimin’s hands wrapped around your waist, squeezing with abandon. “I missed your skin, your warmth.” His eyes drifted to you lazily, his fingers moving to the band of your simple underwear. You placed your hands on his shoulders, balancing yourself as he began to tug the garment down your legs, the action even more erotic when he groaned; catching sight of your glistening slit.

Jimin’s thick fingers landed first at your knees, slipping around the back and sliding upwards, his eyes still glued to yours, minutely examining each expression or change that passed over your face. The way you tilted your head back before down again to look at his actions, the small pants; they were only making Jimin harder, wanting to rip into you with wild, wicked intentions. He held control, of course, no need to rush.

His breath hitched when his thumb finally made contact with the apex of your thighs, eyes flashing to the point of contact before up at you again. Was that a hint of apprehension?

“You’re already wet.” He mumbled, your eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening but you held fast to him.

Jimin had clearly been working out. His shoulders were broader; muscles more pronounced at you latched yourself on them while he attended to you in his gentle yet teasing ways.

And then he lowered his mouth…

You were glad that you had had the foresight of grabbing Jimin before because even before those luscious lips touched your skin, you were buckling, a rampant moan escaping you when he carefully parted your slick flesh, exposing your clit to his punishing tongue. Jimin pulled away, his tongue swirling before retreating back.

“I missed your heat.” He said before diving back in.

There were few things in your life that compared to Jimin giving head. Maybe the first time you had seen him naked, his skin glowing but still full, nothing chiseled about him as of then. Now he was harder, his planes more defined but you loved him just as much, the rake of your fingernails still shone the same and your kisses worn with as much pride as he used to.

Jimin was far into you for you to think much ahead. The way his hand migrated to hitch your leg up, placing it on the bed next to him to give him more access before dipping his fingers into you, curving the way he knew he reached your sweet spot, waiting for the groan to be satisfied before he returned to sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue pushing forward so he could collect more of your juices on his tongue.

He barely took a breath, finally pulling away and retracting his fingers from you gently, feeling the tightness of you close on his hand, trying to keep him there.

“Fuck, don’t be greedy, babe. You’ll get what you want.” He chuckled, deep and throaty. His eyes were nearly black now, pupils blown out.

You’d loved that, how he could be so fucked out even when he barely received any pleasure himself.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, studying him carefully. His cheeks were sunk in, a little more angular than you remembered. His biceps bulged where he leant on them, his thighs were thicker. You made a mental note to feed him while you had him here and another to ride his delicious legs while you were at it.

Jimin smiled a little at your scrutiny, “Y/N, what are you thinking?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching up to undo your bra, letting it drop at his feet. “I’m thinking…I want to ride you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped, you could see him clearly swallow before he was nodding. “Yeah, okay, we can make that happen.”

He began to back further onto the bed but you stopped him, placing a hand on his knees to bunch the material of his sweats and tugging at them.

Your lover gave you a wide eyed stare. “Like this?”

Your eyes ran up the newly acquired abs, placing a kiss directly on them. He clenched at the contact. “Like this,” you whispered.

Jimin was quick to lose the sweats at that, eyeing you for further instruction as you flicked your hair behind you, placing a knee on the bed beside his hip and the other on his chest, anchoring yourself as he held himself at the base, angling the tip to brush against your entrance. You sighed, the thrum of his groan as you sat down on him bracing you.

The stretch burned you deliciously, the girth of him sliding against the right spots as you tried to get him in as deep as you could.

Jimin’s back arched, the tips of his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he mumbled unknown, unheard words. His eyes opened to see you kneeling over him.

“Fuck me, please.” He begged, a hint of desperation plaguing him that you couldn’t ignore.

Raising yourself, still using your hands for support, you dropped back down, using his pants of breath as a metronome, your hips gyrating and thrusting in time with him.

Jimin lay obediently still below you, letting you fuck the both of you into a pleasurable oblivion. His skin was starting to collect sheen.

You bent over him, feeling him whimper before bracing himself against the floor and thrust up into your warmth. His hands moved up your back, digging into certain special spots before wrapping into your hair, trapping you against him as you sunk your teeth in his shoulder, hiding cries of pleasure that he could hear anyway.

“Are you close?” He asked, yanking on your hair to look at your face, contorted a little.

“So close,” You arched your back, further pushing your body into his skillful hands.

“Good, me too, I want you to come with me.” Jimin let his hand cup a breast, while the other fell where your bodies connected. His thumbs set to work, rubbing sparks of extra pleasure into your peaking nipple and clit.

You whined, back tilting as your nails dug into his thighs as you exploded on top of him, a similar groan sounding below you as Jimin let go as well.

You felt his seed flood you as you convulsed on him and you probably would’ve toppled over if Jimin hadn’t sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close while he kept thrusting, slowly letting you both come back down to earth.

By the way his hand moved back to your ass, a light squeeze placed on it, you knew you were far from done.

[artificialqueens]

Bring It On (Branjie) - Ashley

A/N: Branjie lesbian high school au inspired by the cinematic masterpiece that is the Bring It On franchise. Multi chapter. Brooke, a sophisticated and hard-working high school ballet dancer’s world is thrown upside down where she’s forced to move to the other side of the continent. Longing to express herself in any way she can Brooke turns to her new school’s cheer squad despite her off-kilter relationship with her new schools head cheerleader… ps: I haven’t written fanfiction in 2 years and know this isn’t great but I had the idea and needed to execute. I realise there is an overload of branjie at the minute and mine probably isn’t up to par but I’m having fun writing it! Drink every time there is a cliche… you’ll be mortal by the end of this chapter don’t you worry.

TW: alcohol, homophobic slur

21 hours. Brooke spent a deceptive 21 hours in the car with her parents saying goodbye to the bright city lights of Toronto and hello to the jungle of Tampa Heights. It seemed like such a long time to be on the road but when 17 years of ballet, boys, friends and family was being torn away – 21 hours seemed like nothing. Training every single day till she finally broke through with being cast as Odette and it was gone in less than one. Brooke’s blood, sweat and tears were suddenly and swiftly wiped away – all gone without a trace. Yes, Brooke could start training again in Florida but it wouldn’t be the same; she’d have slipped right down the bottom of the ladder with not a hand to pull her up. The thought of dancing anywhere but her studio left Brooke with an uncomfortable feeling- guilt? Longingness? Maybe it was just that darker voice telling her that there were always better things happening that she was not a part of. The same voice that she tried to shut out the next day as she made her way to her first lesson at R.A Charles High and scanned the room for a place to sit.

Brooke was the type of person whose cogs were always turning. She didn’t need to come into a room guns blazing. She took deep breaths, she observed, she catalogued and she always came off as pristine. That’s why the clean-cut prima ballerina surprised herself when she stood at the back of the class – the unfamiliar environment closing in on her – with not a thought about composure crossing her mind. Throwing herself into the closest seat she could, Brooke looked to her left to see one of the most visually intriguing people she had ever come across in her life. With heavy eyes, a protruding brow and a shaved head, the boy was a strange mix of breathtaking and frightening. Fascinated by his prominent features and the way in which his lips moved, it took Brooke a few moments to realise the boy was talking to her.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She asked, her confidence once again faltering and finding herself questioning every pause, emphasis and even her own accent in the simple five-word sentence.

“I said I’m Jovan, you must be new.”

“That obvious?” Brooke smiled whilst belittling herself on the inside.

“No existing student here would sit with me” the boy let out a hearty laughed that Brooke wanted to catch and keep in a jar forever.

The utter antithesis of her friends back in Toronto, Brooke’s mind dabbled across the thought that two days ago she wouldn’t have even spoken to the boy. Nevertheless, this was a fresh start, the boy seemed nice and this Brooke wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of a potential friend to show her about - apparently she had a lot of catching up to do. Hence her reason for accepting the invite to watch a film at Jovan’s house later that night despite the lack of similarities in their lifestyles. This lack of similarity between the two friends being outlined clearly when it got to lunch time and Brooke asked Jovan if the school had any dance teams or facilities; resulting in the return of the hearty laugh she’d met earlier.

“I guess you could say we do,” Jovan rolled his eyes, “Come see for yourself”.

Making their way into the cafeteria it was already evident to Brooke who Jovan was going to show her, a gaggle of girls clad in tight blue cheer uniforms. Skirts short. Pony’s high. Legs lotioned to perfection - this was the first time Brooke lay eyes on the Amazons. Before she could fully take them in they were already up on the table performing for the school- not an eye glancing anywhere but the three girls.

“My names big Silky, yeah, get out my face, cause when I shake it, it’s like a hurricane.”

The three clicked their hands and stomped their feet so in sync they commanded everyone’s attention - especially Brooke’s.

“My names Akeria, yeah, you use three wishes, you see me shake it, cause I’m delicious”’

Though both pretty and commanding- it was immediately clear to Brooke who the leader of the trio was. Her dark hair was tied back in a pony showing off her strong bone structure and deep brown eyes. A few strands of hair falling out of place to frame her face just perfectly. She was a butterfly emerging from the group, simultaneously dark and feminine. The royal blue of the uniform impeccably matched her skin tone; the girl exuded a sense of confidence, significance, importance. A wave crashed over Brooke and she was finding it incredibly hard to stay afloat. Despite having such a petite frame she managed to show dominance over the other girls and steal away any eyes that wandered away from her- “my is names Vanjie, yeah, I like to party, and when I shake it, the kids say hi mami” she jumped from the table down to the floor and flipped seemingly effortlessly onto the ground in front of her.

Before giving a flirtatious curtsey and sitting back down with the other Amazons, the girl made dead eye contact with Brooke and winked - for the first time in years Brooke felt utterly aware of herself as though she was stood fully naked. There was that wave again - Brooke was now without a doubt drowning. Her inner monologue questioned why she was so drawn to the girl and why that wink sent her into internal hysterics before being snapped back to reality by Jovan’s voice; “And that is R.A Charles’ answer to dance,” he laughed before shaking his head in clear disdain at the cheerleaders, Brooke noting something in his tone deeper rooted that she was afraid to question. Despite having a deep curiosity about “Vanjie” she held back from asking Jovan with fear of losing the only potential friend she had at her new school so kept quiet for the rest of the day - her thoughts nonetheless congregated with images of the girl. Every lesson she innocently scanned the class, telling herself it had nothing to do with the cheerleader yet being contrastingly disappointed every time her face failed to appear in any of Brooke’s classes. Brooke was a bee already trapped onto a flower’s pollen despite only one ounce of exposure to it and no suggestion as to why it pulled her in so much. Brooke was feeling the power of instant attraction coercing her in a way she had never experienced before, even if she couldn’t quite discern herself what that attraction was. Yes she had looked at girls before and felt a desire to be liked by them, a want to be friends with them but this was different - whatever it was Brooke felt about the girl, it was more than a want, it was a need.

***

Although Brooke had the preconceived notion that Jovan’s bedroom would be nothing like her old one in Toronto - clean and organised with her wardrobe colour coordinated with sections and subsections for patterns and materials, her windowsill gleaming enough to see her own reflection - she didn’t expect this. Chaotic. The walls had so much writing scrawled on them that you could barely make out the words and letters, everything blending together like one silver line drawing. If Brooke could describe it in the simplest of literary ways it would be if an interior designer on ket and an interior designer on weed made a room together whilst also drunk- even her attempts to describe the room in a simple simile overcomplicating itself in Brooke’s mind. The utter antithesis of what she had seen of the rest of the house with its clean-cut simplicity, something Brooke was a lot more accustomed to.

“Where’s your family tonight?” Brooke asked, trying her best to get to know her new friend.

“My moms working late and my stepdads out with a friend, I don’t know about Vanessa.”

“Vanessa?”

“My stepsister,” Jovan replied, his tone implying he had no interest in discussing her further, once again pushing Brooke back into that space of holding back, not wanting to get on the nerves of her new friend. “Want some?” he pulled a bottle of vodka from under his bed.

Although Brooke’s automatic answer to this question had always been a firm yet polite no, she was an athlete, something made her want to say yes. Whether it was the fact that she’d essentially been picked up from her old life and dropped somewhere completely new or unfamiliar, the fact that she knew she wouldn’t be able to dance the way she used to, Jovan’s blunt and innocent way of asking or simply that she wanted to fit in, Brooke didn’t know. Maybe it was a combination of all of it - nothing to hold her back.

***

She felt warm. And cold. Not particularly drunk. Maybe just euphoric. She didn’t know, and she couldn’t work it out. It scared her, the thought of not being in control of herself and her thoughts, yet she also felt relaxed, like it didn’t matter. A walking oxymoron of paranoia and level headedness she made her way out of Jovan’s room and downstairs to find some food, leaving her new friend giggling to himself on his bed and staring at the ceiling as though it were that of the Sistine Chapel. Walking into the kitchen she was surprised to see someone already raking through the fridge. Immediately transported back to the school cafeteria, Broke was frozen, sheepish, suddenly self-conscious of everything: her stance, her smile, the body she’d treated as a temple for years. It was her. Turning around with a diet coke in each hand, the cheerleader started talking without fully taking Brooke in, “Jovan how many freaking times have I told you not to loiter in the doorways like some sorta ant-” she stopped mid-flow as she looked up to see Brooke.  “Oh.”

“Hi,” Brooke smiled at the girl, feeling the weight of the world on her head when she titled it the slightest degree, scared she’d sound utterly pissed if she spoke anymore, she just smiled at the girl - in the end looking even more pissed.

“I know you,” the girl, Vanessa, grinned. Brooke’s head was stuck in a loop. I know you. I didn’t imagine it. I know you. It was hard to fathom how those three words sent Brooke in such a tailspin - all she wanted to do was walk over there rip the scrunchie out of her hair and hold her. Never in her life had she felt such an instant attraction. And too a girl. Always too focused on ballet to spend time dating, Brooke was not one to fall into the trap of romanticism, yet her she was throwing herself headfirst into the rocky waters for a girl who spoke 3 words to her. Vanessa. The butterfly. The beautiful sea witch who stole her voice. Slinky, small and seductive - Brooke was under her spell.

Stuck in a trance, Brooke and Vanessa’s session of eye-fucking was interrupted by the sound of voices coming into the room. Thud. Vanessa’s coke hit the floor.

“Vanjie can you hurry up I don’t want to be stuck waiting around with your faggy brother?” A boy Brooke hadn’t seen before sighed, glaring impatiently at Vanessa.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Jovan muttered under his breath before rolling his eyes and grabbing Brooke’s wrist to take her upstairs. “This is my friend Brooke by the way, thanks for the hospitality” he scoffed as they left the room. “You can’t go home tonight, you’re way too drunk”

“Your sister is the cheerleader?” Brooke asked mid-stumble up the stairs to which Jovan laughed in response. “And that’s her boyfriend?”

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” he sighed before tucking Brooke into his bed and making himself comfortable on the floor; Brooke asleep before they could even say goodnights.

***

Brooke woke up startled about where she was, and even more startled to see her peculiar looking friend sat watching her.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a weirdo?” Brooke squinted at the light above whilst sitting up.

“Every day,” Jovan laughed, throwing Brooke a toothbrush and sachet of paracetamol, “Hurry you’ll need these.”

Immediately disgusted at the bitter aftertaste of alcohol in her mouth and the thought of going to school without having showered nevermind completing her full morning routine, Brooke dragged herself to bed and allowed Jovan to show her the way to the bathroom.  Looking at herself in the mirror she began to pick apart her general ruggedness that morning, god she looked rough. Hearing the door creak open, she was surprised to see Vanessa stood in front on her instead of Jovan, looking like a Disney princess just rolled out of bed with her hair perfectly coiffed and not a bag under her eyes in sight. Keeping her cool she tried to continue brushing her teeth normally as Vanessa grabbed her own brush and started to clean her teeth. Switching glances between the mirror and the girl next to her, Brooke only realised how aggressively she had been brushing until Vanessa began to imitate her, spitting and giving Brooke a quizzical look. Soon they were enthralled in their own mini-contest, Vanessa remaining stone cold and she sped up and brushed harder before giving the sink one final rinse, dropping her toothbrush in a draw and walking out without uttering a word in Brooke’s direction - gone with the flick of her hair. Vanessa - 1, Brooke - 0.

***

It was not until 5th period on the Thursday of that week that Brooke saw Vanessa again. Gym class. On being informed that her teacher was absent that day, Brooke was told that her class would merge with the neighbouring one for a game of dodgeball in the gymnasium. Low and behold there was the girl she’d been unable to escape for the past two days, the centre of gravity in the room, her hair in its signature ponytail, tanned legs on show. Too distracted by Vanessa’s presence she hadn’t even noticed she’d walked into someone until she heard: “watch where you’re going, white girl.” Looking up she matched the voice with one of the two girls Vanessa had been dancing in the cafeteria with the Monday before, Silky. Unsure of how to react Brooke just backed away but only seemed to make matters worse. “Hey Vanjie,” the girl yelled, “think I’ve found an easy target for today’s game,” she mimicked throwing a ball at Brooke. Expecting Vanessa to at least acknowledge their meeting on Monday before or encounter the next morning with even a smile or look, Brooke was surprised to see the girl simply laugh at her friend, acting as if Brooke didn’t exist. If there was one thing Brooke thrived upon it was being underestimated, her competitive nature from years of ballet rising inside of her. She was channelling every piece of fear and fight that she’d felt in her battle to become Odette last term. Let the games begin.

Though putting up a fight, the cheerleaders were no match for Brooke- twirling, kicking and behind out of the way she managed to dodge every throw until she was the last one on her side, opposed by none other than Vanessa.

“C’mon Vanjie!” She heard the girls friends chant from the sidelines, determined to stick it back to the popular girl, Brooke clenched the ball between her hands. All of a sudden she saw the opposing ball fly towards her legs, quickly leaping into a box jump it swung right under her body, Brooke took the opportunity of Vanessa being off-guard to throw her own ball mid-air - colliding forcefully into the other girl’s chest. One point to Brooke, she thought to herself as she watched the girl walk over to her friends and chat frustratingly with glances in her direction.

“Hey white girl,” Vanessa’s other friend, Akeria, shouted over. Contemplating on ignoring her, Brooke realised she would probably only make trouble for herself walking away from the most popular girls in school so doubtfully decided to make her way over to them.

“You’re pretty flexible,” Akeria said as she came over, eyeing Brooke in a peculiar way, as though he was looking up and down an outfit she was going to try on.

“Thanks, I guess,” Brooke replied, she may be intimidated by the girls but she had always portrayed confident and never let her cracks show.

“You know were holding tryouts for the Amazons tomorrow, one of our girls broke her leg and we need a replacement before we compete, you should come along,” Silky smiled at Brooke, showing a completely different side to when they had first entered the gym.

“Just because she’s flexible doesn’t mean she can cheer,” Vanessa joined in the conversation, “I highly doubt this girl’s gonna be able to yell or flip,” she added as though Brooke wasn’t even a part of the conversation.

“Vanjie, we need a new girl or else we can’t compete,” Akeria made faces at her friend that Brooke could clearly read as “what are you doing!!!!”

“I’m sorry girls and no offence Brandy but I think you’re underestimating our hustle. Cheer is hard work and I don’t think she’s cut out for the team,” Vanessa fake smiled before turning on one heel and strutting away from the group.

Brooke was stunned at Vanessa suggesting that she had little work ethic, she wanted so badly to follow the girl and give her a piece of her mind…along with a piece of her full stop. Because no matter how much a of a bitch the girl Brooke had spent the last four days enthralled with turned out to be, she only wanted her more and more. She was going to find a way to be up there with the Amazons. And she was not going to back down.

[roger1na]

careful ch6 - john deacon x reader

summary: you are a ballet student at the royal ballet academy. To pay for your tuition, you work part-time at the celebrity gossip magazine, Seven. One fateful day you’re sent to interview a band on the rise, Queen, post-concert and fall in love with the sweetest man on the planet.

word count: 2.8k+

warnings: swearing

author's note: it's over 16k now, i'm legally allowed to call it a slowburn :,). aa i've had so much fun with all of this writing and this series wow thank u for all the sweet comments<3. also i know -15% about swan lake so it's probably hideous to read about that. (i tagged some people who didn't ask, so if u want to be untagged just shoot me a message).

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8]

chapter six

The alarm pierced the silence of friday morning at 5am. You snoozed it groggily and buried your face into your pillow. You hadn’t slept properly at all. With the nerves of the show and the nerves of the promise you’d made to John.

“You didn’t pick up on the subtext that I’m definitely kissing you the next time I see you?”

You hadn’t kissed anybody in years. And back then, it was probably totally different. Maybe nowadays they wanted only tongue. Sometimes you slipped a glance at whatever your co-workers were righting. Kissing and sex were at the top of the list of celebrity scandals and sometimes they terrified you. What the hell was the world doing?

A piercing call made you jump. It wasn’t your alarm, but your phone ringing in the living room. The floorboards were cold as you raced barefooted to answer it.

“Y/N!” Rose shrieked in your ear as soon as you. You winced and held the phone further from yourself.

“Rose, what the fuck.” You groaned annoyed.

“She broke her leg!”

Your mind was struggling to connect the dots. Everything was hazy in the morning and you just really wanted some coffee.

“She broke it. It snapped in half like a fucking twig.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Frances! The prima!”

Slowly, the pieces were beginning to fit together. “What happened to her?”

“Freak accident! She was hit while driving. Or being driven around like the spoi-”

“Rose! She’s injured!”

“Oh yeah! You know what that means don’t you?”

“Rose you’re going to have to stop with the guessing games, I just woke up,” you mumbled and rubbed your forehead.

Rose shrieked on the other end impatiently. “Y/N you don’t get it. You’re the understudy.”

The phone slipped out of your hand as your arms went numb. Holy shit, you thought. If the original prima was unavailable, you’d be the one dancing. You were going to dance as Odette. That was your moment. It took a few seconds and then you screamed.

“Rose! I’m going to be dancing as a prima!” You were jumping around in hysterics. Then you paused for a moment and picked up the phone. “You didn’t have anything to do with the accident, did you?”

Rose giggled. “Of course not.”

“How come you’re the one calling me, not the studio or the teachers?”

“You never gave your number to the studio. I think half your documents are missing, you really need to get your shit in order. You’re going to be prima.”

“I’m going to be a prima!”

“Yes! Now get ready you dumbass, you’ve got a crowd to win over!”

You hopped around in excitement a bit more until you rushed to shower and get dressed. The sun was slowly peeking from the horizon and you grinned at your reflection in the mirror. Adrenaline coursed through your veins. It’d all been worth it. All of it.

London was only rising when you stepped into the musty tube carriage. Drunks coming home from nights slept away from their own beds and people in similar situations like yours, where work and life just started early. You flipped through a stranded newspaper, relieved that you didn’t find your own name among the pages.

You thought about John and how proud he’d be when he’d see you. He didn’t know about the news. Would he recognize you with heavy show make up and an tight bun? Would he wear a t-shirt and jeans combination? What did he know about ballet? Nerves coiled in your stomach, but you let them be. It was your day.

Across the city in a tiny student flat, John Deacon lay awake. He had tossed and turned all night thinking of you, your dance and your promise. He followed the cracks in the paint on the ceiling with his eyes, eyes tired but mind not letting him sleep.

The fact was, John Deacon had fallen in love. With your absent-minded gaze and with your babbling. With the way you stared off at him when you thought he couldn’t see. With the perfect way your palm fit into his. With the way your voice made him want to write a thousand embarrassing and poor quality love songs. And as he breathed and lay awake and pondered the great mysteries of the universe, he was brought back to the first night you had met.

Your eyes had glinted in the multicoloured lights of the show and you had been so mesmerised by the act on stage. And when you knocked on their dressing room door with confidence, John had almost felt apprehensive towards you. Like every interviewer, you were going to spin your own story without listening to them. But then you talked and listened and laughed at his jokes and suddenly the light caught your hair in a new glow and John came to love the confident interviewer in you. Not stuck up, not cruel and not fake. Just confident.

He loved how you let life take you but didn’t stand for its bullshit. How you were so vocal about issues in the workplace and misogyny in dancing and the issues in falling in love with an art and a person at the same time.

Overall, he just loved you. And sometimes it felt so stupid, so foolish to lie awake and dream of your peachy lips and rose scent but today of all days, the butterflies felt good. They felt promising.

The day wore on. With little sleep he walked to the studio, enjoying the fresh air and trying to ignore the growing fog in his mind. The boys couldn’t stop yelling today. He just sat in the corner, pouring over his notes for the song that you suggested he write.

It was called Misfire and it was exactly what it sounded like. He laughed when he thought about how you’d react to the lyrics. How you’d have a hesitant smirk at first, and then you’d be bouncing to the music, like the little ball of joy u were. Along the margins, he’d scrawled notes for another song he wasn’t quite ready to pull together. Words like sunshine, and my best friend jumped out from the messy handwriting, but otherwise it was almost illegible.

“He’s got her show today,” Freddie whispered over coffee. Brian and Roger were giving each other the silent treatment over Dear Friends and John was silent in the corner, scribbling his notes down. “Do you think he’s writing her a love song?” He continued.

“What, Deaky?” Brian looked up from his cup. “He doesn’t seem the type. His first song for Queen being a love song.”

“Bri’s right. He’ll write something silly. He’s like that.” Roger added. The argument diffused as fast as it had started. “You forget he’s only twenty two.”

“Twenty three in two weeks, right?”

“Yeah.”

They all looked at him simultaneously. John felt their stares and looked up, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” they all replied in unison.

“You excited about seeing Y/N today? Do you need a suit?”

“Freddie,” John rolled his eyes and snapped his notebook shut. “I have a suit. The funky checkered and white one.”

“Aw,” Brian leaned on his hands. “Will Y/N like it?”

“Shut up, you all,” John walked over and took his coffee, black with one sugar, and took a sip. “I’m perfectly capable of going to see a ballet on my own. No need to be babied.”

“But you’re so small!” Roger grinned but John gave him a death glare.

“Bring her roses,” Freddie advised him. “You always give roses to a ballerina after a performance.”

“Gee, Freddie, you seem to know so much, why don’t you go instead? Kiss her for me as well.” John stuck his tongue out.

“You’re going to kiss her? John that’s first base!” Brian teased.

“I hate you all.” John groaned.

“We love you too,” they replied in unison once more.

“And she’s going to love you too,” Freddie grinned.

After an exhausting day of teasing for John and training for you, evening was drawing nearer. The girls were all in one room, putting glitter and makeup on each other’s faces and brushing up hair into tight buns.

“Y/N’s man is coming over today,” Rose told a girl who was dancing next to her, a she was applying mascara.

“Rose,” you warned her slightly.

“Ooh, who is it?” The girl, Pamela, blinked fast, adjusting to the mascara.

“This guy, he’s called John.” You mumbled, incredibly flustered suddenly.

“John Deacon.”

“Who the hell is that?” Beverly, the girl who danced as Odile asked.

“Only the bassist of Queen.” Rose bragged.

“Rose! Shut up, we’re barely dating.”

Rose mouthed, it’s because she’s a prude behind your back and the rest of the girls giggled.

“Well, Y/N, I hope your man can behave at a ballet show, if he’s from a rock band.” Pamela pumped her brows up a bit.

“He’s great! Calm, sweet, but so energetic.” You told them.

“Fantastic.” Beverly clapped her hands together. “I hope he’ll enjoy our show.”

“And what comes after it,” Rose teased. You frowned at her but didn’t reply. The bustling of the crowd outside was finally heard through the walls of the dressing room. Some children, younger siblings and all that, parents, boyfriends, girlfriends, dedicated friends all walking into the auditorium with an excited buzz.

Among them was John, fiddling nervously with a bouquet he’d bought for you. Red roses, almost blooming. He hoped they’d last through the show. Some people did a double take when they saw him, perplexed not only by his imposing height but also his long hair. A young girl came up and asked for an autograph, scribbled on the program they were handed at the entrance.

The auditorium was huge. Seats for maybe thousands. He elbowed his way to the front rows, hoping to have the best view of your dance. You’d told him you were dancing in the background with your friends Rose and Pamela and that when you wore identical makeup, it was almost impossible to separate you, except by Rose’s red locks. He had promised you he’d be able to recognize you among clones and you had playfully shoved him on the shoulder, although you were very happy.

The lights dimmed and the show started, delicate beginning notes being played on the piano. And then the main character he was told was called Odette danced on stage.

His breath stilled. It was you. You with your tight stage bun and glimmering makeup, so strong you were almost unrecognizable. But it definitely was you. You danced with a sorrow in your step. He was told that the story was really quite sad, and he saw it in your mourning movements.

You were so graceful, he couldn’t help but be in awe that he was so lucky to have you. Occasionally, when the music turned to a minor key and the dance turned into sadness and pain, he felt tears brimming in his eyes. When Freddie gushed about ballet, he had been skeptical at whether it was truly possible to convey such intense emotions through dance, but when he saw you in action, all his doubts dissipated.

You received a standing ovation. Well, from John. Everybody was clapping heartily, having enjoyed the show. Some people had stood up with John, others were wiping their eyes. Some children had already began an excited gabble to their parents about the show.

John beat the crowd outside, managed to get to the front of the buzzing people. He couldn’t stop his grin. He heard the girls chattering to themselves on the other side. Somebody screamed in joy and everybody laughed.

You were only separated by a pair of sturdy oak doors and a dimly lit hallway where at the end every dancer was cursing their sore legs and undoing tight hairdos. Rose helped to take out all your pins and you did the same for her whilst gushing in excitement.

“That went really well, don’t you think?” You smiled at her as she tried to to remove some of the glitter plastered on your face, with little success.

“I think so, yes,” she paused for a moment, tilting your head back to get some of the stuff off your neck. “Did you see him?”

You looked at her and smiled. “Well, uh no, not really, I got so caught in the stage and the motion and the music. But I felt him, y’know? Like, his dopey grin just shone to me.”

“Aw, Y/N’s been turned into a sap,” Beverly joked, pulling on a sweater and trousers.  

“Excuse me, you would too, if you were around him.”

“I wish I had someone,” Pamela wiped off her lipstick and grimaced.

Rose looked at her quickly, flushed a bright red only you noticed and then turned back to you, smiling sheepishly, saying nothing. You studied her face and caught her eye but didn’t say anything.

“You ready?” She whispered as you glanced in the mirror one more time before nodding and leaving the dressing room.

The chatter was becoming more obvious the more you neared the exit. Pushing the heavy doors open, a pang of hot air hit your face and then you were out and you heard the excitement and the little children and your eyes were searching the crowd.

When you saw him, with his lopsided bowtie and gorgeous red roses he was holding, your heart stopped. He was grinning, ear to ear, flushed with pride. John thought you were so beautiful, breathtaking, with your hair just taken down from a tight stage bun, show make up still glimmering slightly on your face.

Cupid twisted the arrow he’d embedded into your heart and common sense was thrown out of the window. The feeling of being in love embraced you and left your heart soaring. Nothing could stop you as you ran up to him and before he could open his mouth to congratulate you, you took his face in your hands and on tiptoes you kissed him, slightly missing the center of his lips but hitting the mark all the same.

He kissed back, almost dropping the roses. It wasn’t ferocious or possessive, it was sweet. He tasted of cigarettes and red wine and the smell of his cologne flooded your nose. It was like a dance, synchronised, almost practiced. It was perfect, passionate and soft.

When you pulled away, slightly out of breath, he was starstruck, eyes shining. “Wow, I-” he blinked and laughed. “If I got a kiss everytime I went to your shows, I would’ve come sooner.” You giggled and took the roses.

“Thank you.” People were staring, but you didn’t care. “Really, it means a lot.” He was still grinning like an idiot and you were sure the same grin graced your face, eyes squinting, nose wrinkly, all in the glory of being in love.

He giggled then he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. “You were so amazing dancing, I kept thinking I know her. You’re my favourite celebrity.”

"Oh, I'm hardly a celebrity," you laughed, blushing.

He handed you the roses after one more kiss and you marveled at how good they smelled. He had held them so close to him that part of his cologne had gotten stuck to it as well, and you revelled in the scent.

More people came up and congratulated you, a bit intimidated by John’s presence but happy for you all the same. A small child ran into you for a hug and gushed about you being their favourite princess. He was pulled away from you by embarrassed parents.

After the crowd had cleared a bit, John laced his fingers with yours. “Can I take you out to dinner?”

“Of course,” you smiled at him softly and on your tiptoes, kissed his cheek. You felt like you were in the best place. Warm and comfortable with his hand in yours, his hair tickling your face as he leaned down and whispered more compliments to you about the performance to you.

He lead you out, where the evening had darkened to night, making jokes and acting like the happiest man on earth.

“John?”

“Yes love?”

“Thank you,” you grinned as his eyes found yours and sparkled.

“What for?”

“For the roses. And the kiss. You’re a great kisser.”

“Oh?”

You nodded with a serious expression.

“Well, I’m not actually really sure how I think of you as a kisser, can I kiss you again? Just to be sure?”

You giggled and let him softly cup your face with his hands and lean down to kiss you gently. He pulled away fast and had a mockingly thoughtful expression on his face and he smacked his lips. “Hm, I’m not quite sure yet,” he teased before leaning down again. You giggled into the kiss, arms wrapping around him.

Your heart fluttered, but not from nervousness or confusing feelings which had been far too present for the past three weeks. Your heart was fluttering because you were in love and you were happy and okay with it. You were more than okay with it. You loved it.

***

@fourmisfits @deakysgirl @im-happy-at-home @obsessedwithrogertaylor @itsametaphorbriansblog @rhapso-kei @deacontaylormaymercury @queenmylovely @imgonnabeyourslave @weirdestmentalityphilosopher @thefatbottomedmay @heyyyyyyyleykiyoko @brujademente @painkiller80

[eurekq]

so here they are.... my revamped darlings. naohiko, rika, amane, and maya are new! im going to put all their bios under the cut, they’re mostly copypasted from the old ref though except for the new kids :P i really like naohiko, he’s basically an amalgamation of every percussionist i’ve ever known lmfao

basic premise: 16 fresh-out-of-highschool prodigies are invited to star in well-respected and widely-watched big brother-esque reality tv show, which takes place on a cruise ship. what they weren't expecting was for the show's 25th season to be a killing game! the students: CHOUMI YUKIYAMA: exceptional among even her fellow shsls, choumi made her historic mark on ballet by becoming the world's youngest ever prima ballerina at the age of 13 and japan's first ever prima ballerina assoluta at 18. fans flock to her ethereal, angelic grace on stage as well as to the percieved sense of otherworldlyness surrounding her albinism. on the darker side of her popularity, repeated sexual harassment from fans and male dance partners alike has hardened her world view to make her not quite cold, but definitely reserved in her emotions. she adapts fairly easy to stressful situations and pushes through pain with almost no visible outward struggle due to her all too common experience with dancing through foot and ankle injuries. because of this she usually ends up taking initiative in difficult scenarios if no one else steps forward. she is also a quite talented hobbyist figure skater and is fluent in both english and russian. REN KIKUHARA: a fairly odd florist in that instead of ordering flowers to arrange into bouquets, every flower he sells is grown himself. although this means that his selection is seasonally and fairly regionally limited, he has an incredible talent for working with plants and can even sometimes coax out-of-zone flowers to grow. he's fluent in hanakotoba and is surprisingly good at flirting through flowers without it seeming cheesy, although he doesn't do it very often. people often remark that his bouquets often seem to have more love and life in them than store-bought ones. ren is a calm and kind soul and prefers listening to talking, with what he does say always seeming to be just the right words for the situation. MARIKO MIKAMI: mariko was a sickly child, and spent a large part of her elementary school years in hospitals. around the age of seven, she began folding paper cranes as something to do, and wished to live normally after she folded her 1000th. she soon recovered, and feels that she owes her life to origami. she is precise and calculating in everything she does, which shines through in her art: every delicate, artful piece of origami that she makes is creased and folded perfectly. she also dabbles in wet-fold origami. she's most famous for her dry-fold though, and her pieces are well known for their complex, precise, mathematical beauty. she refuses to fold paper cranes anymore, feeling that they are too sacred for her to touch after they saved her life as a child. a calm, slightly disconcerting smile is always on her face, no matter the circumstance; her manner is polite for the most part, if i a little aggressive. MOMOTAROU KOBARA: momotarou, born into a rich family that fufilled his near-every want, made a name for himself in the world of collecting at the age of just eleven by, through luck and love for the series, collecting every pokemon card. from then on he set onto collecting just about anything non-perishable: pins, collectors set bandaids, vinyls, etc. he has exceptional luck in finding deals on ebay and other sites. he cant really be called a hoarder, since he likes to have just one of everything; he resells, gifts, or uses any duplicates. his mood swings between a dreamy, chilled out, flirtatious persona and periods of numb depression when it hits him that his whole life revolves around material possesions and that he has no real human connections. SARA KUROKAWA: a talented young woman from a long line of popular backalley tattoo artists. she combines traditional symbolism and youthful influence in her designs to make something new and more appealing for the younger generation, and is a huge proponent for tattoos being shown off for fashion rather than hidden away in the traditional style. sara does have (illegal) tattoos done by her older siblings on her arms despite the minimum age being 20, although her being homeschooled, looking older than her actual age, and having a tendency to wear long sleeves year round has led her to encounter few problems. she and her family are among the many who simply choose to ignore the statute requiring a medical license to tattoo. sara is a fairly rude person in a backhanded way, acts stereotypically catty and even a little deranged sometimes, and enjoys making herself the center of attention, whether through her appearance (dyed pink hair and white contacts) or the things she says. the only two things that can break her shell and make her excited and genuine are tattooing and piano, which she has played from a young age and loves. NAOHIKO KINZUMI: the son of a concert pianist and a professional jazz drummer, naohiko shortcutted the usual pots-and-pans percussion stage most children go through and spent most of his childhood hitting actual drums. blessed with perfect pitch and a natural feel for rhythm, his parents enrolled him in private music lessons at age five, and he joined onto his first indoor percussion ensemble at age 13. a fast learner, naohiko can play most all percussion instruments at a professional level, including both tuned and auxiliary. he is especially known for his drumset skill, specifically being able to match the speed and complexity of most double kick pedal rhythms with just one foot, and his delicate grace at bowed vibraphone. naohiko is loud, brash, and fun, with an infectious smile and sense of humor that draws people in. despite the flashiness of his drumset playing, his favourite instruments are actually the weird obscure ones, like the waterphone, mahler hammer, and "bucket of loud objects to be dumped on the floor". HARUMI HAMANAKA: harumi is a sweet and bubbly girl, if almost cloyingly so. her good luck is a fairly stable force (nowhere near as chaotic as komaeda, for example), generally acting in the favor of wishes of people around her. her mother intensly wanted for her to be on the show because of the exposure it provides, and this is what harumi attributes to her being selected. despite the way her luck operates, shes no doormat and in fact has an overwhelming force of personality, and her sweet demeanor can become rather passive aggressive if challenged on pretty much anything. SHOU KATSUKI (PROTAG): pushed to succeed in the game from a very young age, shou is japan's reigning chess champion, a FIDE-certified grandmaster, and went to international competition the year before the killing game. he played through to the finals with influenza, which worsened through the matches due to lack of treatment and culminated in debilitating pneumonia that left him in the hospital and unable to play for first. because of this, he's cultivated a sort of inferiority complex that he tries to cover for with self-confidence, which actually comes off as condescending rudeness. he has a natural talent for cause and effect analyzation and is good at planning ahead. he gets flustered easily over trivial things and is a sore loser, but tends not to crack under actual pressure. shou doesn't like to be associated with his family due to the intense pressure they put him under only to steal his winnings the second he began to succeed and thus prefers to be referred to by his given name, even by near-strangers. he does genuinely love chess, but his favourite board game is actually risk. (no one ever wants to play with him, though.) RIKA FUJIMIYA: originally scouted as a young child for her unique eyes and birthmarks, rika's first minor film role at the age of nine left the director stunned at her acting capability. as someone who grew up with a very murky self image and a difficulty interpreting social situations, rika lived most of her early life essentially "acting" the way she believed others would respond well to, which resulted in her easily adapting to doing the same for the cameras. she went on to have a very prolific child acting career without really settling into a niche. As a teenager she took her first steps into stage acting, playing juliet capulet at 16 in a moving and extremely impressive performance, and later at 18 performing a striking and memorable female hamlet. her deep and rich voice has also landed her several voice acting roles. her personality offstage has solidified a lot more since her younger years, although she doesn't go out of her way to talk to anyone, fan or otherwise. when approached, she is polite, gentle, and humble, although she has trouble separating her image as a celebrity from that of her as a person and thus it is extremely difficult to get to know her. KENJI MINAMOTO: an eccentric and a bit airheaded olympic fencer whose strange insistence on not wearing protective gear during practice (he believes it makes him better by giving him a stronger motivation to not get hit) has earned him many a scar over the years, and has left at least half of his joints in braces at any given time. he follows his own bushido-esque moral code (the details of which he will not tell anyone), although he will not put himself above whapping the occasional really annoying person in the ankles. his épée is his best friend and he carries it most everywhere. most of the scars on his face and hands are actually from trying to put in his very sharp industrial piercings while drunk. despite his oddities, his light-footed and elegant ambidextrous fencing has been compared by many to a graceful dance, and although in many respects he comes across as dumb, on the court his mind is laser-focused and unbelievably quick and analytic. AMANE BECKE: a more lowkey type of talented than her fellow contestants, amane hasn't won any major competitions, been on tv, set any records, or anything of that sort. she does, however, run what is widely considered the best bakery in japan. based out of nagano and the daughter of a swiss pastry chef, amane has a natural talent for baking nurtured through over a decade of dedication and love for the craft. she excels at interesting flavor combinations, but her true genius is in her classic, feel-good baked goods. many say that the things she bakes just taste like home and warmth. amane is as warm and sweet as her creations, but with a spark of wit and mad-scientist-y genius that make her an entertaining joy to watch work, if a little overbearing to talk to. EISUKE ITOU: eisuke grew up sewing clothes for his younger sisters barbie dolls, and he particularly loved dressmaking. he gained exposure in his first year of highschool by handmaking gorgeous outfits for his class's booth at the school festival, and, through application to various junior fashion competitions, he was eventually noticed by a big-name designer in paris. however, he found learning french next to impossible and has spent the year prior to the game in relative isolation, unable to have any real human conversation. his psychological state was fairly severely impacted by his long hours spent sewing and designing on internship with no company to get him by, and he is now debilitatingly socially anxious and finds conversation difficult and awkward. MAYA HANABAYASHI: maya spent her early teens with only a passing interest in survival-based media, having enjoyed hunger games and similar media, but not to the point of obsession. however, when traveling on a plane with her father back from visiting family in las vegas, she found herself in a similar situation when their plane went down in a heavily forested area of california, leaving a seventeen year old maya as the only survivor. with only a swiss army knife and a lipstick-shaped stun gun gifted to her by her father to feel safer during their stay in vegas, she survived alone in the woods hatchet-style for six months until late fall, when the fallen leaves made her campfire coincidentally visible to a very observant park ranger on firewatch. after being rescued and returned home to japan, maya found it extremely difficult to readjust to normal life. her thick and warm camo jacket, more a fashion statement when she was wearing it originally, was lifesaver to her during the cold spring, and she she can't bring herself to separate from it even with multiple rips and burns in the fabric. she has refused multiple book deals due to still being heavily traumatized, but after a long period of deliberation decided to go on the show as a way of finally moving forward and acknowledging it. maya isn't exactly socially anxious, but rather closed off and disconnected. JUN TENSEI: born jun harada, many believe that his spiritual connection is the real deal, but a few critics hold that he is most likely just an incredibly talented bluffer. the real truth about him is unknown, but many say that his seances do accurately reflect the personalities of their deceased loved ones and help them feel at peace. he is deeply religious, but not to any one traditional faith (although he does use traditional christian symbols such as crucifixes and items such as holy water on occasion). he believes strongly in the power of the soul and its ability to exist beyond death. his voice is soft and almost hypnotic, and he has a penchant for gentle teasing and riddles. he comes off as pretty shady to most, but he's fairly harmless. TOMOKO KAITA: a peppy and outgoing astrology guru who can read your deepest flaws and strengths with just your date and time of birth. known worldwide for her extremely accurate personal horoscopes. despite this, she strongly believes in the ability of an individual to defy their fate through hard work and self improvement. she dislikes giving negative horoscopes, and does her best to focus on the positives that the stars hold in store. her smile brightens the whole room! she is intensely loyal to her friends, to the point of self-sacrificing emotional labor. YUU IROIKE: yuu iroike isn't even his real name, and it's a mystery as to how show staff even tracked down his mailing address to get him on the show. he's a well-known public figure for painting huge, sprawling, colorful murals in tokyo, yet who he really is remains unknown. he paints faster than his murals can be scrubbed away, and has somehow never been prosecuted for vandalism because his graffiti is generally considered an improvment. he's sly, mysterious, and teasing in person, and gets a bit of an itchy trigger finger when he hasn't painted in a while. His skill with spray paint is so great that it seems as if the paint bends to his very will.

[bby-bxrnes]

Badass Ballerina

Ship: Bucky Barnes x Dancer!Reader

Summary: You present yourself as a major tomboy, with no girly side to be seen. You fight like the boys, swear like the boys, and drink like the boys. But then, one night, Bucky sees a side of you that you keep hidden from everyone else.

Words: 2477

Warnings: Major fluff, ridiculous swearing, really creative swearing, alcohol consumption, teeny bit of violence (sparring w/ Steve), really tooth-rotting fluff, crappy knowledge of dancing

A/N: Honestly, this was super self indulgent of me and it’s kinda a mess but hey, it’s cute so I hope y’all enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Tony had announced a new member joining the team, the rest of the Avengers weren’t sure who to expect. They certainly didn’t expect her though. She arrived, dressed in dark colors, a leather jacket adorning her frame as well as some worn in boots covering her feet. At first, they thought she might be like Natasha, silent and brooding, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She was far from silent, she had the wit and sass of Tony and Clint combined. She was quite intimidating yet everyone on the team loved to be in her presence because she always had something funny to say. She was close with everyone, but no one knew much about her past. One particular person in the compound had made it his mission to peel away that rough exterior and see what was underneath.

The first time Bucky had watched her fight, he was mesmerized. She hadn’t opted to spar with Natasha, but practically demanded to spar with Steve. Steve was rather hesitant, easily being twice her weight and a foot taller than her, but she had been stubborn, so he finally acquiesced. “Don’t hold back on me, old man.” she had taunted, drawing her hands up to guard her face. Steve just chucked and shook his head, matching her stance. They circled for a moment, a confident smile plastered on her face. Surprisingly, she struck first, lunging forwards and landing a solid punch right to Steve’s sternum, successfully knocking the air out of him. “You’re getting slow, c’mon gramps.” she laughed, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. Steve smirked and started trying to jab out at her, but she was able to block all of his attempts, countering with blows of her own. 

She moved with such grace, but power at the same time, an at-ease smile on her face the whole time. Her and Steve were now fully going at it, trading kicks and aerial stunts, the rest of the team whooping and cheering at the entertaining fight. Even with his super-soldier stamina, Bucky could tell Steve was getting worn out, but Y/N showed no signs of slowing. With one attack, Y/N had done a classic Natasha move, clamping her thighs around Steve’s head and threw her body weight around, slamming Steve to the mat. She was able to wrestle him over onto his front and pull one of his arms into a submission hold, eventually making Steve give a few desperate taps with his free hand. She climbed off of him and offered her hand down to him, helping the now exhausted Captain America up to his feet. The smile she gave everyone ignited something in his chest he hadn’t felt for a long time, and he knew that this girl was going to be trouble for his heart.

To say that she had a dirty mouth would be an understatement. Her swearing vocabulary was enough to make Steve flush and shout “Language!” from across the room. It caught everyone off guard at first, such foul language coming from her should’ve been expected, but Bucky couldn’t help but stare in amusement whenever she let out a string of colorful expletives. She was absolutely unashamed of using otherwise insulting names to address her friends, the more crude the name, the closer the person was to her. 

Tony, Clint, and Sam were usually called fucknut or something creative like that, while her ruder ones such as cockmuncher and ass-eater were reserved for Bucky, who she had adopted as her best friend. “Fucking goddamnit, cock eating, mother-shitting asshole!” was one of Bucky’s favorite phrases he had heard her yell during a rather grueling mission where one of HYDRA’s monkeys had tried to grab her ass. Steve, of course, had frozen where he was at the filthy words flowing through the comms, causing him to almost get knocked out, had Bucky not been nearby to save his ass. She would swear at anything and everything, especially if Steve was nearby, she loved to get a rise out of him.

“Alright, fuckers! Who wants to play a game?” she yelled, walking into the common room with several bottles of various alcohol in her hands. “Who thinks they can drink me under the table?” she smirked, glancing around at her friends, a challenging glint in her eyes. “I’m down.” Clint said, lounging comfortably on the couch. “I’m game.” Tony had said, being nearly as competitive as Y/N. “What about you, Buck? You too chicken?” she taunted, waving the bottles in front of him. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to join, doll. I can’t get drunk on regular alcohol, only that stuff that Thor brings from Asgard.” he said, slightly grateful that he had an out. “Well, lucky you, I had the big guy send some down, just for you.” she said, handing Bucky an unlabeled bottle of yellow liquid that seemed to be practically glowing. “Alright, I’m in.” he huffed, laughing at the malicious smirk on her face. She grinned wolfishly at her three challengers, passing Tony his favorite whiskey, and the vodka to Clint, keeping the tequila for herself. 

The four of them went shot for shot, Y/N electing Natasha to keep count. Clint tapped out after finishing half of the bottle, claiming that he’d rather not wake up hating himself. Next was Tony a few shots later, claiming that Pepper would kill him if he got absolutely shitfaced without ‘proper supervision’. Bucky was honestly surprised at the fact that she was easily keeping up with him, and the two ended up drinking till they were both out of alcohol and pretty drunk, but neither were ready to tap out yet. “You have now won the position of my new drinking buddy.” she had proclaimed, ruffling Bucky’s hair drunkenly. They both woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, but when they saw each other in the kitchen, they fist-bumped and murmured “worth it” at the same time.

Bucky awoke in a cold sweat, contents of his nightmare slowly leaving his mind as his trained ears picked up a foreign sound this late at night. He threw the covers off of himself and slid a pair of sweats on before emerging from his room out into the dark hallway. Bucky was confused as he heard the soft classical music drifting through the dark compound. He assumed everyone had been asleep, but was proven wrong by the soft sounds bouncing off the walls. He began his adventure, following his trained ears to find the source of the music. He stopped outside what was usually used as a training room. He tried to listen over the soft music for a hint as to who was inhabiting the room, but all he could hear were soft footfalls. 

He opened the door slowly, being as silent as possible so he wouldn’t disturb the inhabitant. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the silhouette of a woman dancing in the dark of the room, the only light source was the moonlight that filtered in through the ceiling to floor windows that covered the wall opposite him. The figure continued to dance, completely unaware of Bucky’s presence. He was transfixed as the girl effortlessly balanced in her pointe shoes, moving gracefully across the floor. The music came to an end and the ballerina finished dancing, her chest heaving softly with her breaths. “Wow.” Bucky breathed, causing the girl to turn to him. “Bucky! What are you doing here?” she called, the voice finally giving away who it was. “Y/N! I didn’t know you danced.” he said, completely stunned that the most tomboy member of the team was so graceful. 

“Bucky, I swear if you tell a soul about this.” she threatened, sitting down and beginning to unwrap the ribbons that secured the dainty shoes to her feet. “I won’t. It’ll be our secret. That was so beautiful, Y/N.” he breathed, walking over and sitting next to her. “Thanks dorkwad.” she snorted. “And there’s the Y/N that I know.” he laughed, watching as a huge smile overtook her face. “I used to dance, y’know. Back then, in the 40’s. I haven’t for a while though.” he said, smiling softly at the memories that resurfaced. “I started dancing when I was little. Boys used to make fun of me and push me around because of it. So I started hiding it, dressing like boys, acting like boys, and it became a part of me. But I’ve always loved dancing, you just kinda lose yourself in the music, and it’s so freeing.” she said, eyes lighting up with passion. 

“I’ve wanted to dance again, just haven’t found the right dame, y’know?” he said, lying through his teeth. He already found the girl he wanted to dance with again and she was sitting right next to him. “I’ve actually never danced, y’know, regularly. Never found a guy who wanted to dance with me.” she said, face falling. “I can try to teach you. It’s been a while, but I could try, if you’d like.” he offered, standing up and holding his hand out to her. She smiled and nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her up. Bucky still wasn’t used to this softer side of Y/N, he was used to her being boisterous and loud, swearing like a sailor. He went over to where her phone was plugged into the speaker and put on his favorite song, a song he loved to dance to in the 40’s. 

He walked back over to her, the jazz flowing through his veins, filling him with a familiar warmth. She stood, looking uncharacteristically nervous, Bucky giving her a soft, reassuring smile. “Here, your right hand on my shoulder, don’t worry, you’re fine.” he instructed, noticing her hesitancy to touch his metal shoulder. He placed his left hand gently on her hip, taking her left hand in his right hand. “Loosen up, Y/N. Feel the music, let it move you.” he said, feeling her tense, then relax into his hold. “Follow me.” he whispered, swaying gently, before taking a step, Y/N following. They repeated this motion, him stepping and her following, before she got the hang of it. They danced barefoot, just enjoying the other’s presence. The song slowed to an end and the two of them stood, still swaying, eyes locked together. 

At one point while they were dancing, Y/N’s hands had shifted to lock around Bucky’s neck, Bucky’s arms now wrapped around her waist, holding her form close to his bare chest. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, Bucky was still stunned at this version of Y/N, all quiet and pliant, almost craving the closeness of Bucky. “Y/N?” he whispered, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Hm?” she hummed, not moving from her position. “I-I’ve got something to tell you.” he breathed, heart hammering in his chest. “What is it, Buck?” she asked, pulling her head back to look him in the eyes. “Earlier, when I said, I hadn’t found the right dame to dance with, I was lying. I found my girl.” he whispered, watching her face fall. “Oh. Why aren’t you out there dancing with her then?” she asked, attempting to worm her way out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her. “I am. She’s right here in front of me.” he finally confessed, his blue eyes searching her Y/E/C eyes. 

“What?” she breathed, a little disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. “Y/N, I- I think I love you. I have for a while.” Bucky said, dropping his forehead to rest against hers, eyes slipping closed. “Oh, Buck.” she sighed and he immediately assumed the worst. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” he said, this time he was the one trying to escape, but she just tightened her grip on him. “No, dumbass. If anything you should’ve told me sooner. I’m bad with emotions, I haven’t dated anyone for a while cause I couldn’t let anyone in. But it’s different with you, Buck. You are just so goddamn trustable.” she laughed dryly. “I think I love you too, Buck.” She said, hands cupping his face and making him look at her. Bucky couldn’t help the huge smile that overtook his face, making her smile so bright that it’s radiance could’ve rivaled the sun’s. 

Bucky gathered all his courage and leaned down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. She kissed back instantly, a sigh of content leaving her lips. When they broke apart, their foreheads stayed rested together, eyes locked, swaying to the music in their own heads. “Can I take you out on a proper date sometime?” he asked, laughing at the face she pulled. “Nothing too fancy, right? I still fucking hate dresses.” she groaned. “No, nothing fancy. If you wanted, we could get some really greasy pizza and go mini golfing.” he laughed. “Sounds perfect to me.” she hummed, pressing another kiss to his lips. He eventually had to let her go so she could gather her things, but he walked her back to her room, the both of them parting ways with a sweet kiss, leaving both of them giggling like teenagers when neither of them wanted to walk away first. Bucky decided to finally give her one last kiss before continuing down the hall to his room, sneaking a glance back at her, smiling when he saw her still watching, he waved one last time before entering his room and falling with a happy sigh onto his bed. 

The next morning he was relaxing on the couch having an argument with Sam when she waltzed in, stealing a pop-tart off of Steve’s plate before plopping herself directly into Bucky’s lap. Bucky was surprised at first but smiled happily and wrapped his arms around her waist, accepting the piece of pop-tart that Y/N held out to him. To say that everyone was shocked at this development would be yet another understatement. The two seemed to be in their own little world, joking and laughing like normal, but the little occasional kisses they shared confused everyone. “What the fuck.” Steve exclaimed, successfully grabbing the attention of the two lovebirds. “Did Captain Righteous just swear? I did it! I finally got Cap to swear!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in boisterous laughter. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh with you, watching everyone just stare at you. He knew they were absolutely caught off guard. Just yesterday she was calling him all sorts of crude names, but now, here she was sitting in his lap kissing him. As she joked and laughed with everyone else, slowly bringing everyone back to reality, Bucky was overwhelmed with love for her, his own Badass Ballerina.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything List: @rick-morty-reblogs @myattemptatfanfic @feelmyroarrrr

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Movies I saw in 2017

So, I thought it would be fun to list all the movies I went to see to a movie theatre last year and maybe say a few words about them. In total I saw 24 movies last year, and when you read the list, you’ll see that I have quite a varied taste in movies.

January

1.      Collateral beauty

This movie actually premiered already in the end of 2016, but I had time to go see it in the beginning of 2017. I remember that it was quite a beautiful movie, and the story wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought that it would be more about how Will Smith’s character interacts with Love, Death and Time, but actually it’s more about his friends interacting with them.

February

2.      Vaiana (originally Moana)

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I wasn’t that thrilled about Vaiana, though maybe I would warm up to it after watching it a few times. I’m not saying that it’s a bad movie, not at all, but personally, I just wasn’t that into it.

March

3.      Hidden figures

This was a thought-provoking movie. To me, it seemed incomprehensible how difficult white people made black people’s lives. And for seemingly no reason. But it was nice to see them succeed and knowing that it was based on true story made it even more amazing.

April

4.      Beauty and the Beast

Again, I wasn’t so thrill about this movie. I think I liked the live-action version of Cinderella more. But still it is a nice and funny movie with some amazing songs.

5.      Your name

This is absolutely one of my favourite movies in 2017. It was so beautiful and surpricing, and I’m totally speechless!

May

6.      Pirates of the Caribbean: Salazar’s Revenge

I think this movie is better than the previous Pirates of the Caribbean movie. One thing that made this movie special to me was that I don’t really go to movie premieres, but this time my holiday was just starting and I decided to celebrate it by going to this premiere here where i live. It wasn’t any special event, just a first screening of the movie here, but it was still nice.

June

7.      Everything, Everything

This movie managed to have the ending I was expecting and still surprise me with it at the same time.

8.      Wonder woman

I liked that the fight scenes weren’t overly bloody, because that’s what I usually dislike in action or war movies. Otherwise I don’t think I have much to say about this movie.

July

9.      Despicable me 3

This movie I went to see with a friend. It is a funny movie. Minions were great! I don’t have much else to say.

10.   The Circle

When I went to see this movie, I was the only one in a movie theatre for 100 people! This movie really made me think a lot. I don’t necessarily agree with the main character about making every bit of our lives public, and I didn’t really understood what exactly was the secret her boss was hiding, but I think it’s a good thing if a movie makes me think.

August

11.   Valerian and the City of Thousand Planets

I don’t have a lot to say about this movie. I didn’t think it was an amazing film, but it wasn’t totally bad either. But it was an ok action movie, and they are nice to watch sometimes.

12.   Spider man: Homecoming

My friend really liked this movie. Also, my favourite Avenger is Iron man, and I knew he was in this movie, so I decided to go and see this. I didn’t see Iron man as much as I would have liked (I think Peter Parker thought the same), but I think this movie was funny and better than some other Marvel movies that have come out in recent years.

13.   Cars 3

I draw plank with this movie. I remember its story, but I can’t remember if I thought it was funny, or how I felt about it afterwards.

September

14.   The Beguiled

I was somewhat conflicted about whether I go to see this movie or. On the other hand, I can’t stand horror movies or very gory movies, and by its trailer I thought that this could be like that. On the other hand I was really fascinated about its story and what was going to happen. IN the end, I decided to go to see it, and it wasn’t as scary and gory as I was afraid it could be, but it definitely wasn’t a happy movie. But that’s ok, because I was expecting that. What surprised me before the movie started was, that the audience was mainly middle aged women. As I was expecting to see some kind of mild horror movie, I didn’t think that they would be the main audience group.

15.   Tulip Fever

As I wrote in this blog after seeing this movie, I really liked this. I think it was beautiful and the story didn’t rely on some easily fixed misunderstandings.

October

16.  The Big sick

I really liked this movie. It felt so realistic, which it probably was too, because it was based on a true story. It also felt “small” somehow, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. More like that it was realistic (as I said already), and not so shiny and over the top like many big budget romantic comedies are.

17.   Victoria & Abdul

I have written here about my thought about this movie also, but during this year, I’ve realised how interesting it is to see movies and tv shows based on true stories. If they follow the real story really closely, they are often not clichéd and predictable.

18.   My Little Pony the movie

This movie was exactly what I expected it to be. It was hilarious and happy. Sometimes it was obvious that it was based on a tv show that I hadn’t seen, because it didn’t really introduce the characters and their back stories, as it was expected that the audience knows them already. Some of the ponies in the main group seemed to be a bit unnecessary since they didn’t really have a meaning for the story, but they probably had to be there since I guess they were part of the main group in the tv show too.

19.   Yösyöttö

This is a Finnish comedy about a man, whose wife leaves him right after the birth of their son, because she realises that she really can’t be a mom. The movie then follows the man as he tries to adapt to his life as a single father of a new born. I don’t really like Finnish movies that often, because usually they are so depressing and sad, or then people swear a lot in them, but I think this was ok.

November

20.   Thor: Ragnarök

My friend really loved this movie. For me, it was a bit too sci-fi. I like the previous Thor-movies (or at least the first one, I think I might not have seen the second one) more because they happened mostly on Earth, but this one was situated almost entirely on a planet in other dimension(?) or something.

December

21.   Murder on the Orient Express

I didn’t really like this movie’s portrayal of Hercule Poirot. He seemed somehow OCD, and that’s not how I see him. The role of Johnny Depp was smaller than I expected. Well, I mean, that yes, his character was important for the story, but he had less screen time than I was expecting.

22.   Star Wars: The Last Jedi

I’m not a big Star Wars fan, but there was so much hype around the first one of these new films that I thought that I should probably go see that. That’s kind of the reason I went to see this one too. In the last movie, when Han died, I thought that Luke and Leia are probably going to die in these following movies. It seems that I was right.

23.   Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle

This movie was one of my favourites last year! I’m going to write about this more in detail in a post of its own, but I try to summarise my thoughts here. It is quite perfect combination of humour and action and the action scenes aren’t too violent or gory for my taste. Jack Black performance was hilarious!

24.   Ballerina

I’ve seen many negative reviews about this movie, and I don’t really understand why. I didn’t think it was that bad. Obviously it had some unrealistic bits, but come on, what movie doesn’t have those? Especially if it’s aimed at children. The only thing that I would have liked is that I would have liked to know more about why Camille’s mother wanted her daughter to become a ballerina. Why not something else?

Well, here they are, all 24 movies I saw last year, and some of my thoughts about them. I don’t know if this is actually interesting to anyone but me, but here it is anyway.

[ultralifehackerguru-blog]

New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/jennifer-lawrence-new-light/

Jennifer Lawrence, A New Light

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

She may be the highest-paid actress in the world, but Jennifer Lawrence has had a tough year: an emergency landing, a romantic breakup, and her (reluctant) first nude scene, for this month’s Red Sparrow. It all has her looking to the next phase in her career—and life.

It is nearing dinnertime as I wind through the streets of Beverly Hills, passing the storied haunts Craig’s and Tower Bar on my way to the home of Jennifer Lawrence. She has offered to host, and who would turn down an invitation to hang out with this supernova? At 27, she is the highest-paid actress in the world and the youngest person to have earned four Oscar nominations (she won best actress for her work in Silver Linings Playbook) and three Golden Globe awards. Her potent combination of talent, beauty, charm, and chutzpah makes her seem like a throwback to an earlier era. And her authenticity is a refreshing, much-needed antidote for a world drowning in a digital sea of meticulously curated social-media accounts, photo filters, and sponsored tweets.

Yet, for all her successes—in addition to her critical accolades and awards she has starred in a pair of multi-billion-dollar franchises, The Hunger Games and X-Men—she is at a defining juncture, when youth fades and adulthood begins, a transition that has stymied many promising acting careers. Lawrence, however, is the rare prodigy whose next chapter could be more interesting than the first. Lawrence is imbued with insatiable curiosity, professionalism, a work ethic, and extraordinary natural talent. She may be the last true movie star to emerge from Hollywood before the industry stopped making them.

CELEBRITY. CULTURE. POLITICS. Get what’s new and what’s next. Subscribe to Vanity Fair today.

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

So, what does maturity look like for the world’s most famous ingénue? Let’s start by having her cook me dinner—roast chicken, to be exact. (I supplied the alcohol—wine and vodka, as I wasn’t sure what the menu or mood would be.) “I’ve done this a few times, but I’m not superconfident,” says Lawrence, casually attired, without a trace of makeup, in her kitchen. “I have ramen, so either way we’re fine,” she says, only half joking.

While the chicken is in the oven, Lawrence makes us martinis (my drink of choice) in the style that Michael Fassbender, one of her X-Men co-stars, taught her—a drop of vermouth swished in the glass, then tossed out before the vodka goes in. The French-style house is her first major purchase, made back in 2014, a perfectly appointed, comfortable environment and exactly what you would expect from this gal from Kentucky: vintage mixed with modern. A gorgeous custom curved long sofa in the den, we both agree, is what she should try to salvage first if a California fire were headed her way.

Lawrence admits that her style is ever evolving and that she is in the process of redecorating. “My bedroom looks like Vegas meets . . .” Her voice trails off. “Well, you never want to decorate anything before you’re 25.” A portrait of her dog and constant companion, Pippi, commissioned by her mother, hangs in the gym, which is well equipped but doesn’t run the risk of overuse from this openly disgruntled exerciser. As she takes me on a tour of the lush grounds outside, she admits having been in the pool only once, on her birthday—the downside of a career lived on the road.

This month Lawrence stars as Russian prima ballerina turned Soviet operative Dominika Egorova in Red Sparrow, a spy thriller based on the best-selling novel by former C.I.A. agent Jason Matthews. After an injury ends her dance career, Lawrence’s character is recruited by the government to join an elite squad of officers who use psychological—and sexual—warfare to extract secrets from state enemies.

About seven years ago, when Lawrence co-starred in Jodie Foster’s filmThe Beaver, the director told her that one day she would look back on her film roles and see a pattern. It was Lawrence’s good friend Laura (more on her later) who identified the archetype even before Lawrence did, noting that the actress tended to play “white trash with too much responsibility.” Sure enough, in her early films, including Winter’s Bone and the Hunger Games quartet, Lawrence embodied what she calls “the young-adult maternal figure.”

During a shoot at this 24-acre biodynamic farm, Lawrence modeled the latest in ranch dressing.

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

The character of Dominika presented Lawrence with an opportunity to break from her past in more ways than one. “Red Sparrow really scared the hell out of me because I get nude,” says Lawrence, who first balked at the idea. “I tried to do the movie without nudity but realized it just wouldn’t be right to put the character through something that I, myself, am not willing to go through.”

Lawrence, who had personal photos stolen and uploaded to the Internet in a hack, in 2014, said that she was wary of potential criticism over her artistic choice. “My biggest fear was that people would say, ‘Oh, how can you complain about the hack if you’re going to get nude anyway?,’ ” Lawrence says, referencing the stolen photos, which were meant for her then boyfriend, Nicholas Hoult. (The man responsible for the hack was prosecuted and sentenced to 18 months in prison; Lawrence’s stolen pictures will live forever on the Internet.)

But the actress draws a big distinction between the involuntary release of her photos and her decision to shed her clothes on-screen. “One is my choice.” That choice ultimately proved to be empowering. “I got something back that was taken from me, and it also felt normal,” she says.

It helps that the director of these potentially uncomfortable scenes was Francis Lawrence (no relation), who has worked with Lawrence since she was 22 and started making the second film in the Hunger Games quartet. Though she was particularly nervous about filming a violent shower-room fight scene, she says Francis immediately put her at ease. “He looked me right in the eyes like I had clothes on and then all of a sudden I was like, ‘Oh, O.K., it’s just like I have clothes on.’ Everybody here is professional. You’re still at work. One look just made me comfortable. It didn’t make me feel naked.”

Francis wasn’t the only person on the Red Sparrow set to watch Jennifer grow up—many on the production team were also Hunger Games alumni. “They all knew me since I was a baby,” says Lawrence. After wrapping the nude scenes she teased the camera team: “I hope you guys feel creepy.” (For all her dramatic accolades, comedic timing may be Lawrence’s true gift.) The director says he always had Jennifer in mind for the part. “First and foremost, she’s a terrific actress,” he says. “What excited me the most was just how different it would be for her—the way she looks and the way she behaves and the way she sounds . . . that was really, really exciting to me.”

“I get my happiness from my friends and my house,” Lawrence says.

“She is one of the most intuitive people that I know,” adds Francis. (Lawrence’s Red Sparrow co-stars include Joel Edgerton and acting icons Charlotte Rampling and Jeremy Irons.) “She’s kind of a savant when it comes to human behavior. When she’s acting in a scene, it’s not something that’s been rehearsed or practiced—it’s really fun to watch, and it’s pretty magical.”

The director also sees an authenticity in the offscreen Jennifer Lawrence. “I think a lot of people think the behavior portrayed in articles and interviews—when she falls and all that kind of stuff—has been fabricated by her. It’s really not. She really is who she is and who she presents herself to be. There’s sort of a blunt quality. She doesn’t really hold back in terms of beliefs and being goofy and she just says what she’s thinking.”

Another thing that isn’t fabricated: Lawrence’s oft reported resistance to dieting and working out. To accommodate his star, Francis arranged to shoot the ballet scenes in Red Sparrow first, so that she would be in her best shape. (The movie was shot in parts of Austria, Hungary, Slovakia, and the U.K.) He adds, “She really trained a tremendous amount. She worked with a ballet coach for three months and did a lot of exercise.”

For Lawrence, the issue of body image and weight is a particularly sensitive one. Last fall, as the Hollywood sexual-assault reckoning gained momentum, Lawrence revealed in painstaking detail an incident in which she was asked, early in her career, to stand nude in a lineup of other actresses in front of a producer who judged her body and pressured her to lose weight. “I’ve always wondered what it would take to get me to really diet, to really be hungry, because I’ve never done it for a movie. For Hunger Games, they told me to lose weight, and then I discovered Jack in the Box. Red Sparrow was the first time that I was really hungry, and disciplined. I can’t be in character as an ex-ballerina and not feel like an ex-ballerina.”

Jen’s next act? The 27-year-old can see herself as a television executive.

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

Though she tried to maintain that dancer’s level of control, once she was done with the ballet sequences, all bets were off. “I can’t work on a diet. I’m hungry. I’m standing on my feet. I need more energy. I remember having a meltdown, freaking out that I had eaten five banana chips.”

Nourishment came in a European form of street food. “I discovered this Viennese kielbasa sausage in an uncircumcised French-bread roll, with pickle relish,” she says. “I had that almost every day in Budapest—which you can see, because I continue to grow in the movie,” she says, laughing. “Dieting is just not in the cards for me.”

 Back in Lawrence’s kitchen, she plates a delicious meal: perfectly tender chicken with onions, potatoes, and green beans. And then we sit in the kitchen and talk about what almost everyone else is talking about around the table. “I’ve always thought that it was a good idea to stay out of politics,” says Lawrence. “Twenty-five percent of America identifies as liberal and I need more than 25 percent of America to go see my movies. It’s not wise, career-speaking, to talk about politics. When Donald Trump got sworn into office, that fucking changed.”

She’s joined the board of Represent.Us, a bipartisan grassroots organization that aims to root corruption out of politics. Fellow board members include directors Adam McKay and David O. Russell, who directed Lawrence in Silver Linings Playbook, Joy, and American Hustle,and the advisory board boasts a number of activists from all political stripes, including Democratic, Republican, and Tea Party leaders.

Now that she’s politically woke, Lawrence isn’t holding back her opinions. “It did steamroll, thanks to my personality,” she admits. “If I’m thinking something, I’ve made it very clear I’m going to talk about it. My family obviously hates every time I talk about politics because it’s hard to see your kid get criticized and they live in Kentucky, where nobody is really liking what I’m saying.” (Kentucky, where polls closed at six P.M., was one of the first states Trump won in 2016.)

Although Lawrence divides her time between New York City and Los Angeles, her southern upbringing gives her a different perspective. She maintains close ties to her hometown of Louisville (her parents still own a house there, and each Christmas she visits children at the city’s Norton Children’s Hospital), and she understands viscerally the reasons why Donald Trump’s candidacy resonated with many Americans. Here’s “a big powerful man in a nice suit, pointing at you and going, ‘I’m going to make you rich.’ It’s so appealing,” she says. “The Democrats made a huge mistake by chastising the Trump supporters, and that was disgusting to me. Of course they’re not going to vote for Hillary Clinton; they’re going to vote for Donald Trump. You laughed at them when their plight is very real.”

But she scoffs at the criticism of Hillary Clinton as a “career politician.” “I’m like, ‘I want a career politician!’ I wouldn’t hire an assistant if they didn’t have experience; we’re talking about the president of the fucking United States!”

A Kentucky native, the actress looks right at home among horses.

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

Two thousand seventeen was a fitful year for Lawrence. It started with negative reviews for Passengers, her outer-space movie co-starring Chris Pratt. The film wasn’t a financial flop—it made $300 million worldwide—but Lawrence, who garnered a career-high $20 million payday, couldn’t distract from the movie’s troubled plotline.

In June a private plane she was flying on, from Kentucky to New York, at 31,000 feet suffered double engine failure and was forced to make an emergency landing. (No one was injured.) Over dinner Lawrence told me the terrifying experience sent her into therapy for the first time to combat the post-traumatic stress she was dealing with. And every time she got on a plane in the aftermath, to soothe her nerves she watched Disney movies on rotation. “Thank you, Emma Watson, for Beauty and the Beast,” she says. “I’ve seen it six or seven times. If anybody has any questions about it, come to me.”

She also ended her relationship with director Darren Aronofsky. The two met making the allegorical Mother!, a controversial film that critics loved—Lawrence won praise for her performance as a young tortured wife and mother—but one that audiences rejected as too complicated. “I thought it was genius, a masterpiece, and . . . a cry for Mother Earth seemed right and cool. He was the perfect filmmaker to do it with.”

Although they are no longer romantically linked, they are still friends. Lawrence prides herself on healthy relationships—and healthy breakups. “We have an amazing friendship that started before the movie, then we had a partnership with the movie, and then we had a romance that came from the movie, so when you strip the romance away, we still have immense respect for each other,” she says. “As cliché as it sounds, we were good to each other. I read stuff all the time that I think would be perfect for Darren. And I think we’ll work together again.”

Lawrence has strong friendships—fellow actresses Emma Stone, Brie Larson, and Amy Schumer, to name a few, as well as a very tight group outside the industry she has known for more than 10 years. “When I was doing X-Men—that was right when Hunger Games was starting to come out—everyone just starts looking at you like you have something on your face, and the whole world starts reacting to you differently,” she remembers. “If I was not living with a best friend at the time, I don’t know what would have happened, because every day I came home, and it was the exact same: we’d talk about boy drama, and we’d talk about her [life].”

“She is one of the most intuitive people that I know,” says director Francis Lawrence.

One member of that group, Laura, whom she had met when she was 17, was with her when Vanity Fair photographed Lawrence in December. I saw something on that shoot I have never seen in 20 years of living in Hollywood. Upon arriving, Lawrence’s dog, Pippi, defecated on the property almost immediately after getting out of the S.U.V. Laura, who was helping Lawrence that day, reached in her purse, pulled out a plastic bag, and then did the unthinkable. She handed the bag to Lawrence, who proceeded to pick up her dog’s poop.

Hollywood is home to an egomaniacal industry where movie stars tend to be enabled and coddled, and at a certain point actors begin to surround themselves with sycophants and paid pals. I have watched Lawrence grow up in this community, and it gave me such a sense of pride that the world’s biggest movie star is still humble enough to pick up her own dog shit.

Lawrence provided some of her own insight: “Being an actor, you become a professional at talking about yourself,” she says. “And it’s not even our fault—we do it for months and months and months at a time. But I have my girlfriends and I’m genuinely interested in their lives.”

When Mother! was doing poorly, Lawrence initially was disappointed by the public’s indifference to the film. She remembers thinking, “ ‘Did you guys not get it? I gave my body, Darren gave his fucking heart, he bled for that script, and you don’t get it.’ It’s a little sad. And I remember letting it be sad for a couple of days, and then I was like, ‘You know what? This is not where I get my happiness from. I get my happiness from my friends and my house—they’ve brought me so much sanity.’ ”

In The Hunger Games and Winter’s Bone, Lawrence played the “young-adult maternal figure.”

Photograph by Inez and Vinoodh; Styled by Jessica Diehl.

Working steadily since the age of 16, Lawrence uncharacteristically has some time on her hands. She is signed on to star in a film with Italian director Luca Guadagnino (Call Me by Your Name), but with the script still being written, there is plenty of time for Lawrence to explore other opportunities.

 After our dinner we leave the dishes in the sink and head to her living room, where there are two stockings hanging from the mantel—one for her, and a miniature one for Pippi—and a Christmas tree. I ask about future projects. Lawrence has made no secret of her love for television—especially reality programming. She’s become unlikely friends with Kardashian matriarch and “momager” Kris Jenner, who posted on Instagram a picture of a mini toy Porsche she received from Lawrence. In November, Lawrence gave interviewers everywhere a run for their money when she grilled Kim Kardashian West as part of a guest-host stint on Jimmy Kimmel Live.(Sample questions: “Have you ever been cheated on?” And “Do you think it’s a coincidence that [ex-boyfriend] Reggie Bush’s wife looks just like you?”)

Over glasses of red wine I ask Lawrence, “If you could make your own reality show, what would it be?”

“I’m happy you asked,” she says, a Cheshire-cat grin crossing her face, “because I have actually been toying with the idea of becoming a billionaire and I’d like to start my own TV network.” Because of her viewing habits—heavy on Real Housewives, all things Kardashian—she declares, “I am pretty much a television professional at this point. And I have a brilliant idea for a reality show called Breakup Island.”

She goes on: “I can’t tell you the details, but there are very distinct cast members like The Bachelor, between the ages of 20 and 50, who you stay with and care about.”

Lawrence has obviously given this a lot of thought, but she plays coy. “That’s all I’m willing to disclose about Breakup Island because I really think it’s going to happen,” she says. “My agent was laughing at me when I told him. But I am clearly obsessed.”

Lawrence leans back on the fainting couch, her face lit perfectly by the natural firelight. She takes another sip of her wine, and after a beat, with the confidence of a mogul, she says, “Seems like a natural next step.”

(C)