#I'm currently obsessed with vulture culture.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnaminyoons · 1 year

Text

( VULTURE CULTURE. )

ミ☆ it was supposed to be a one-time thing to get your hands on his soul.

⤷ PAIRING jhs x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 5.1k

⤷ TAGS demon!reader (& tae + jk), demonic possession, misinformed assumptions of cheating, one small scuffle, jk & reader bully each other bc that’s what heroes do

⤷ REQUESTED

Howdy! This is a first request, and I know this is a weird one, but can I request a oneshot of Hoseok finding out that his bf is actually a demon in disguise? Please and thank ya

the pretty brunet could not look more out of place in the bar if he tried.

you gaze down over the balcony's railing as the newcomer gapes up at the expensive drapery and luxurious furnishings. even from your second-storey seat, you can see those brown puppy eyes widening as they flit about nervously; it's clear he's never visited a ritzy speakeasy like this before, let alone one of kim taehyung's infamous functions.

it is a good thing there isn't much of a dress code, or he would be terribly underdressed. his simple buttoned green t-shirt and black jeans are styled with a pair of casual chuck taylors. being brushed up against by women with immaculate curls and gold satin dresses and men in perfectly-fitted armani suits, he'd certainly feel eclipsed. yet, despite the obsessive touching of his hair and rubbing of his hands, he's a definite delicacy, and anyone in the dimly-lit bar worth their salt eyes him up in interest.

"now, that is a tragedy just waiting to happen."

you scoff as you hold out your glass. "i thought comedies were more your type."

the host smiles, a hundred watts from each perfect white tooth, and tops up your wine. "i'm versatile. someone in my position must adapt to all current trends, whatever they might be."

in other words, he's a snake – quite literally. after so many centuries, he hardly tries to hide it any longer.

"besides," taehyung sighs, corking the bottle and draping himself carelessly over his chaise, "it's hard not to look when half of the room is waiting for their chance to pounce."

you swirl your glass absently.

he smirks – and he is, possibly, the only one to understand the true definition of the word. "oh, don't tell me you're about to join them. you'll be scrabbling for scraps."

you throw back the wine – "this is not an alleyway bar," you can hear him admonishing behind you – and set the empty glass down. "first in, first served, little lord. and i shall be served."

he sits properly in his seat, opening his mouth to reprimand you for your abhorrent disrespect and to threaten the connection between your head and your shoulders – but you are gone before he twists far enough around to look.

he huffs and crosses his arms. men are all the same.

the stranger's bottle-green shirt is like a breath of fresh air amongst suffocating gold and diamond. he cups a slim flute of bubbling champagne in both hands and holds it at a distance, as if unsure what to do with it. every so often, he takes a peek within and makes a troubled expression.

he's a veritable sweetheart. you can't wait to take him.

"not a fan of champagne?"

he nearly spills his drink on himself, gaze flitting about – where did you come from? who are you?

you smile. you'll be sure to make some sound when you next approach him.

"ah," he laughs slightly, glancing down at it and gesturing vaguely. "not really, i suppose."

he's even prettier up close. he tucks a dark lock of glossy hair over his ear.

"then might i interest you in something else? bottled, perhaps."

"ah, i'm not a big fan of any alcohol, really." he waves a hand and smiles, almost apologetic. "she just sort of... gave it to me, and i'm—"

"too polite to say no?"

"yeah, something like that," he chuckles breathily. his eyes drop to your chest and struggle their way back up to your face. you suppress a smile – the single done-up button struggles to maintain your decency.

you step forward to come equal with him and pluck the flute out of his hands with no resistance. placing it on a passing busser's tray, you tilt your head and say inquisitively, "i've never seen you around here before."

"that's because it's my first time." he says, "i was supposed to be my co-worker's plus-one – he comes here all the time, he told me – but i don't think he's here yet."

poor thing. left all alone for the wolves to tear apart.

"really?" a smile. "i'm not sure if i can beat his company, but i can offer mine instead. after all..." you risk brushing your fingers against the inside of his forearm. he is warm, humming with life and soul. "i couldn't leave someone so enchanting all on his lonesome."

that single touch is enough to tug at his threads, pushing spaces between his guard to slip your fingers through like a child with the cookie jar. his pupils dilate a millimetre more and a wave of goose-bumps passes over his skin.

"o-oh, i couldn't take your time like that. you know how it is. he might come along at any moment, and i—" he interrupts himself with a sharp, soft breath as you trail your fingers further up his arm. it's just the slightest press of your will against his. his pulse quickens.

you frown, playing up the sympathy. it isn't as if you don't feel sorry for the poor thing – not even the hardest of them could, seeing him idling in the corner by himself – but it's always difficult for your kind to get much going in terms of strong emotion. you've just had the time to perfect the act. "awfully rude of him, inviting you here and making you sit alone. if you're not opposed to the idea... why don't you wait upstairs with me? they say i'm quite the conversationalist."

"no," he breathes, "i wouldn't mind that at all. i'd love to. thank you."

you can't help but laugh, catching one of his gesturing hands. he's the sweetest thing, gazing up at you like some god. in a way, you suppose you all are, creating and destroying in a snap of the fingers. you can't believe someone would go to all the trouble of luring him here, only to drop him in the hands of those who already collect their fair share of poor souls.

"no need to thank me. it's an honour," you murmur, lifting his hand to your lips, "to be your entertainment for the night."

a light, brushing kiss to his knuckles, and he shivers. he gives way a little further and you hide your smirk behind something more pleasant. you'll have him, easily, by the end of the night.

—

you close the front door of the penthouse apartment softly, easing the lock into its place. the tv is on, switched to a railroad documentary and set to a low volume.

there's a body on the couch. you wander closer.

his eyes are closed, shifting under fine-veined eyelids and long dark lashes. under his head is a too-soft pillow, folded in the middle for substance, and his hand curls under his temple. he breathes, soft and sweet, with the blurred sinking memories of deep sleep.

the tv turns off. nobody touches the remote. he shifts and his brow furrows. after a pause, his eyes crack open, and he blinks sleepily up at the tall shadow in the corner of his vision.

"angel?"

you brush his messy hair off of his forehead and hum softly, crouching by his side. "hello, sweetheart. why are you not in bed?"

"wanted..." he yawns, scrunching his nose and rubbing his eyes. "wanted to wait f'you."

you glance back at the drawn curtains over the windows. "it's nearly three, hoseok. how long have you been here? your neck will hurt tomorrow."

he sighs and rubs his cheek into the pillow, pouting up at you with the remnants of sleep hazing his dark eyes. "s'okay. seeing you will make it all better."

sighing softly, you smile and press your lips to his forehead. he hums in cosy contentment, and you slip your arms under his shoulders and knees to carry him like a new bride. he shivers as his blanket slips off of his limbs, and his bare skin bears the brunt of the sharp cold.

"where were you?" he murmurs, blinking slowly.

"work," you say simply. "overtime to sucker up to my boss."

"i asked one of your friends, angel. he said you left early."

you pause in the darkened hallway. your grip tightens on hoseok. "which friend?"

"kim seokjin."

bastard.

"ha-ha – what a jokester, that one. i really was doing overtime. i left him early."

you place him gently on the bed in the dark bedroom and draw the blankets up, waiting for him to lay back. he doesn't; instead, he stares up at you, his large black shirt hanging off of his shoulders. the soft white tag sticks up at the nape of his neck – your initials are scrawled on it in fading, feathering permanent marker.

"do you promise?" he asks softly.

you lean forward and press your lips to his temple, sweeping his hair behind his ear and brushing your fingers over his cheek. when you open your hand, a small round ceramic bird with orange and teal plumage nests in your palm. he can't help but giggle slightly, accepting the little trinket with a fond smile.

"i promise," you say, folding his fingers over the bird. "go to sleep. i'll join you in a moment."

when you tug the sheets up, he lies back and shifts against the fluffy white pillows, placing the ceramic bird on the bedside table. he tucks his face into the blankets and gazes at your retreating figure through the enveloping shadows.

"angel."

pausing in the doorway, you glance over your shoulder.

his eyes flicker up to the little bird, watching over him while he sleeps. his gaze shifts to you beneath the blankets. "how did you do it?"

his voice is so soft, yet so bright. in all your years, you've never met anyone quite like him.

you hum and lift a finger to your lips. "magic. sweet dreams, sweetheart."

the door closes behind you, sinking the bedroom into warm darkness.

—

it's a lazy, golden evening, and the sunset bathes in the rippling waves somewhere behind an indigo horizon.

hoseok's supposed to come home any time soon. he's a kindergarten teacher, and while you're not sure how he deals with those snot-nosed brats on the daily, he seems to love his job, speaking fondly of the children he watches over while their families work hard to make sure they always have food on the table.

when the doorbell chimes, you don't have your guard up. you don't even check who it is.

a boy barges into your apartment as soon as the door cracks open.

he stops in the hallway, arms crossed and spine so straight you think it might snap if he cranes his neck too far. he picks up a red rose sealed inside a bell jar and rolls his slitted golden eyes, turning it this way and that.

"you've gone native," he remarks, tattooed knuckles rolling a souvenir coin. he sets them back on the shelf and turns to you.

you widen the door. "get out."

"i haven't even told you why i'm here."

"i already know." a headache builds behind your eyes. "what would you like me to say? i'm ever so sorry, i will not do it again?"

"yes," he sniffs, "but with less sarcasm. my feelings are easily hurt. all this?" he gestures broadly with both arms. "it's not a good look on your otherwise pristine record. i'll tell on you," he threatens.

"what are you – five years old?" you shut the door harder than necessary; he won't leave until he has said his piece. he never does. "just because i am the favourite and you are not doesn’t mean you are allowed to stomp on my sandcastle."

"it's a shitty fucking sandcastle," he snaps, stepping forward and jabbing his finger into your chest. "it deserves to be stomped on."

"you deserve to be stomped on." you push him backward into your apartment, away from the thin walls. "whose skin have you stolen tonight? this poor boy... not usually the type you usually like to wear, jungkook."

"he's temporary." he huffs, lifting a pair of sunglasses from his t-shirt collar to his head. "he was the only one around who was wearing a pair of these. you should consider yourself lucky. skipping alongside these humans with these deadlights—" he gestures sharply at his face "—is a sure-fire method of getting a one-way trip to the nearest church."

"stop being so self-conscious, kitten. your eyes are really quite adorable."

he hisses.

you raise your hands in mock defence. "lower your hackles. as much as i enjoy our stimulating conversations, i have more important matters to attend to. you wished to tell me something?"

"you're stupid and i hate you."

arching a brow, you say, "nothing different, then. is that truly what you came here to relay?"

"boss is gonna flay you alive when i tell him what you're really doing," he says smugly. "fraternising with the humans? letting them call you 'angel' and calling them 'sweetheart'? it's so disgustingly lovey-dovey and – ugh – human. you can't even love."

you glance at the clock, ticking away on the wall, and turn back to the kitchen, where a tray of unbaked cookies sits by the preheating oven. opening the oven door hits you with a melting heat and you slide the tray in, setting a tomato-shaped timer for fifteen minutes.

"perhaps not," you respond eventually. "not in the way they do. but i protect him, and i think of him when we are apart. for me, that is love enough."

you place the tea towels aside to keep an eye on the cookies, tracing your fingers over printed bees and flowers. hoseok had been enamoured with their little fat bodies and smiling faces, and the pleasant memory of his joy tugs at your lips.

"our boss cares little for my activities up here. i still get the job done," you continue, turning around and leaning back against the counter. you inspect the child he parades around in. mid-twenties, fairly solidly-built. he wears a black denim jacket with three pins over the heart: a nearby university's coat of arms, a metallica logo, and a rectangular rainbow flag.

what a shame. he seems sweet, radiating innocence overshadowed by jungkook's intrinsic aura of impending doom. unless jungkook was kind enough to knock him out of the mental driver's seat, the boy will be fraught with strange tremors and muscle twitches for the next few weeks, as well as the fuzzy memories of this encounter. somehow, you doubt that jungkook gives enough of a damn about mortals to worry about the post-possession panic induced in them.

"you get the job done for now. i hope you know what you're getting into – you know we're not supposed to tangle with humans." he shrugs, golden feline eyes following you as you move about in the kitchen, cleaning up with a pointed noisiness. "he's still mortal."

"oh – so you care about me, do you? how cute."

"i don't!" he says hotly, scowling. "just stating the obvious."

"sure."

"i do not!"

"very well, kitten." you rest a hand on your hip, the other bracing against the bench. you lift a brow. "would you like a cookie? i've become quite proficient."

he frowns. "no, i would not. anyway, didn't you just put them in?"

"you forget the extent of what i can do."

you reach into the oven with mitts decorated with – jungkook nearly gags – another scene of embroidered bustling bees gathering pollen. straight out of the oven, you pick up a single lovely golden-brown cookie, risen just perfectly. you hold it out on a palm.

"i told you, i don't want one."

you tilt your head. "i cooled it for you."

after a moment of silence, jungkook sighs. he mutters begrudgingly, "does it have chocolate in it?"

"no. it is safe."

he takes it. he inspects it like a petri dish, and it is only when you turn your back on him that he nibbles on the edge with cattish canines.

"taehyung tells me you spend a lot of time with this mortal," he mumbles through a mouthful of warm buttery goodness, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. "says you bring him to his menagerie every weekend for something he thinks is a date. that's dangerous."

you roll your eyes; jungkook knows it, despite staring only at the back of your shoulders as you transfer the cookies into a container. "those pests know better than to hunger for what is mine. taehyung's concern is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"look – taehyung says the guy has an incredible soul. white as an angel's feather. makes even him, restrained and classy and whatever, salivate just a little. you can't be so blinded by what you call love to be immune to their desires." he snatches another cookie from the container when you place it neatly on the edge of the stone countertop. the glowing sunlight shifts from behind a thin cloud and he relaxes in the warmth, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms before him – it takes a moment before he visibly remembers the purpose of his visit.

"anyway,” he continues, “might be a grand idea to keep track of him for a while. bringing a soul like that back home would entail a pretty bonus."

"i am working on it, kitten."

jungkook shrugs. "don't kill the messenger. plus, whatever plan you're working on seems to be taking its sweet time – you are more of an idiot than i thought you were if you think you can stave off their attacks forever. you're a fool in any case," he sighs, the humming evening sunlight bringing him an indiscreet pleasure. "the boy must learn about you at some point. you weren't always so docile, baking cookies and drinking out of cups with cute cats on them."

"you should be pleased by the latter," you retort, crossing your arms. "i am always thinking of you, kitten, even when you are not here to suck favours out of me."

"rather rude of you to assume that's all i'm here for." he grunts, swinging his legs off of the stool and standing. "accept my advice or not – i don't give a rat's ass what you choose."

"then why did you come here?"

"i – for – because i'm—" his frown deepens and he scowls furiously, a fist darting out to twist in your collar and drag you down to his height. "because you're downright stupid for fucking with romance. he can never love you once he realises what you are!"

you wrench yourself out of his grasp with an icy glare. to his credit, jungkook does not back down.

"i have had enough of you, jungkook," you growl. the sun seems to waver, darting behind a cloud, and the resulting abrupt darkness slashes a sliver of uncertainty across jungkook's features. "leave."

"not until you promise me that you'll end things with him. their lifetimes are a blink of the eye to us."

"i will not."

he throws his hands into the air. "and what about me, huh? i could be fucked just by coming here if the others find out. your reputation won't protect you for much longer."

"what does that have to do with anything?"

"i'm sticking my neck out to warn you! there's only so much you can do before everyone realises that you've mellowed out, and i'll be seen as a traitor for alerting you of them." he glares. "you need to tell him what we are. it'll keep him safe."

"no."

"yn," he says, flabbergasted. "what is wrong with you?"

"religiously, temporally, or physiochemically?"

he grabs your collar and judo-throws you to the floor, knocking a grunt out of you at the impact. "break up with him, i swear to all that is unholy," he struggles to keep his grip on you, " and stop lying to him!"

you toss him aside, pressing an arm over his throat. he wriggles and whimpers. the pressure doesn't hurt – you're too soft to hurt his vessel – but he makes those big eyes, pupils dilated until only a sliver of gold remains, and bucks his hips and jerks on your shirt in attempts to regain control.

"alright, jungkook," you say quietly, placid and dangerous, "i will let you off today because you are young and do not know better. but the next time you—"

"yn?"

you stiffen. you turn slowly over your shoulder.

hoseok stands in the doorway, head tilted and expression almost... crushed.

oh, shit. shit.

you get off of jungkook with as much dignity as you can muster and straighten your clothes, running a hand over your hair. "hello, hoseok."

jungkook staggers to his feet, shoving his sunglasses onto his face. you glance at him and pat down his wrinkled shirt and messy hair. hoseok watches, expression indiscernible.

"hi. good to meet ya. oh, would you look at the time, i was just—"

you drag him into a seat by the back of his collar and point at him. "sit," you hiss, and he scoffs. begrudgingly, he grabs a cookie from the container and nibbles at it.

gently, you take hoseok by the arm and lead him to the bedroom. he stares over his shoulder at the stranger in his kitchen. "hey... will he be...?"

"he will be fine." you shut the door behind him. "i'm very sorry for him, he can be quite a handful—"

"are you cheating on me?"

your eyes widen. "no. no, not at all, sweetheart—"

"hoseok."

a tight smile tugs at your lips and you nod, running your hand over your hair again. "right. i am not cheating on you, hoseok. you trust me, do you not?"

he watches as you take a seat on the edge of the bed. "that depends on what you say next. yn, i love you, and you've been nothing but gentlemanly to me since, but you have to understand that there's very little room for interpretation when i come home to find you on top of a man – god, barely that, he hardly looks old enough to drink. and when he makes those – sounds – and moves like that, you can't blame me for where my thoughts go."

"i-i know, and i'm sorry." shit. "but you have to believe me – i would never do such a thing to you. i care for you, infinitely deeply, and you have made me happier than i ever thought possible. your love has made me kinder, more empathetic, so please, hoseok, believe me when i say i tell the—"

"answer the damn question," he whispers, closing his eyes. "just say yes or no, yn."

you rub your hands together. "no. he... his name is jungkook."

he crosses his arms. you hurry on. "he is – something of a brother to me. he's... i'm..."

there is no easy way to break this news.

"i am a demon."

a beat.

"that remains to be seen," hoseok says cautiously.

"no, i – i mean it literally. personifications of humanity's primal fear of the strange and unknown."

hoseok makes the face you expect. you have insisted the equivalent of telling him that a jolly old man in a red suit indeed squeezes down chimneys at the end of the calendar year.

"have you been drinking?" he asks carefully, brows arched. "maybe you should lay down. i'll see this 'jungkook' kid out."

"i'm not inebriated. it is a physical impossibility."

eventually, he sighs, pressing his fingers into his eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids. "okay... okay. say that i believe you. prove it."

you stare up at him, at a loss. you are bound to this form until you relinquish it permanently, and you have grown quite attached to it. hoseok waits patiently, lips pursed.

an idea springs to mind. you jump to your feet, startling hoseok, and you apologise for it as you open the bedroom door. "come. i have proof."

in the kitchen, jungkook glances up at your entry, eyes darting down to the cookie in his hand. two more have disappeared from the container since you last saw him.

"show him your eyes," you order.

he recoils as if shot. "what the fuck? no!"

"hoseok wants proof, and you have it. you wanted to help me break the news to him, so now you will help," you say matter-of-factly. "sunglasses, please."

hesitantly, he pulls them off, only to screw his eyes shut and bury his face in his hands. "no... they're embarrassing..."

"jungkook."

he groans and reluctantly – very reluctantly – lifts his head. he parts his fingers to reveal one golden eye.

"contacts," says hoseok flatly.

"what—? you asked for proof. his adorable eyes are not proof enough?"

"don't call them adorable..."

"i don't understand," hoseok says. "can't you just, i don't know – whip out a tail? wings? horns, maybe?"

you shake your head. "it does not work like that, i'm afraid. jungkook, uncover your face. or – you can show him your teeth."

"no," he hisses vehemently.

"then no more whining, or i will not bake for you again. remember that i don’t make threats."

he grumbles, dropping his hands. you pull out a brightly-coloured hedgehog with ribbon spines and small gold bells. hoseok stares at it, rightfully confused, until you explain, "watch his eyes."

you shake the toy in the corner of his vision and the bells tinkle. jungkook's head turns faster than normal. he glares. "that won't work on me again."

you shake the toy once more and chuck it at hoseok's feet. his head snaps to it and hoseok's eyes widen – just like jungkook's pupils.

jungkook takes a moment to register what you've done. his pupils shrink again as he scowls, crossing his arms and returning fully to his seat. "bastard..."

"do you believe me now, hoseok?" you ask.

"yeah."

you pause, befuddled. "really?"

he shrugs, tossing his messenger bag onto the couch behind him. "well, you have this odd way of speaking. i thought it was charming; i don't know many people who would use 'inebriated' rather than 'drunk' in a casual conversation, you know, and sometimes your little magic tricks feel a little too magic."

"yeah, man," jungkook pipes up, "relax a little. even i don't sound like i'm stuck in a period drama, and i haven't been topside since i met charles the third. the spanish one," he adds.

"that's a lie."

"that’s a lie," jungkook concedes quickly, "but it gets my point across, and that is the important part."

hoseok glances at him and he reaches for his sunglasses. you slide them out of his reach, and he could coax them out from under your hand with a little demonic urging, but he doubts you'd let that pass.

he sighs. he gestures vaguely as he rises to his feet. "i hate the tension in this room. i'm done here."

you move towards him. "don't you dare, jungkook—"

his eyes roll back. he collapses into your arms.

hoseok squeaks. you shake your head and attempt a smile for him, bouncing the limp body in your arms and placing him lengthwise along the couch. "he should be fine. when he wakes up, it will not be jungkook."

"does it hurt? do we need to call an ambulance?"

"he may be disoriented for a moment, but it should pass. he might want some water – bottled. thank you."

when the boy wakes up a few moments later, lifting his heavy head from the pillow beneath it, his groggy gaze meets yours. his eyes slide closed.

he bolts upright.

"hey, hey," hoseok says softly, gentle smile warm and welcoming as he eases to his knees. "you're alright. my name is hoseok, and this is my boyfriend, yn. are you okay?"

he swallows, fawn-brown eyes flickering about nervously as he scoots back into the corner of the couch. "ah... hi. i like your shirt."

hoseok beams, smoothing down the mushroom-patterned cotton. "thanks. thirsty?"

he licks his lips and nods. his gaze slips, unfocussed, every so often as hoseok pushes bottled water towards him on the coffee table. he grabs it as if he's been stranded in the desert for days.

he downs half the bottle in one go, panting as he rubs his eyes. "what... what happened? i was... heading to the bar, and..."

hoseok's eyes widen as they dart to yours. you sigh, taking his bottle from his twitching hands and twisting the cap on for him. he mumbles a sleepy thanks as he accepts it back. "how's the headache? we can turn off the lights if you prefer."

he waves a hand rather than shaking his head. "s'fine, just... feels like someone put my brain under a dough mixer. the hook ones. d'you have ibuprofen? feel like 'm gonna explode..."

hoseok stands to grab some from the cabinet. you tilt your head at the boy in front of you. "you should not accept drugs from strangers."

he sighs, curling up on the couch and closing his eyes. "i know... i dunno. feel like i can trust you – s'weird. like you're really important to me, somehow. dunno. please don' chainsaw me in half..."

he's already dozed off by the time hoseok returns with an unbroken box of painkillers. he sets the box down on the table and gently slips the water bottle from his loose grasp, setting them both on the table.

hoseok frowns at the boy on the couch. "did he say you were important to him?"

you shrug, tucking your feet under the chair neatly. "jungkook cares little about how he leaves. it is likely he forgot a part of himself when he left so abruptly." you hum. "it is good, however, to know that he trusts me so much that a mortal with a remnant of him feels secure enough to fall asleep around me."

you raise your eyes from the boy napping in your home; hoseok gazes back with an odd, lopsided grin, leaning against the backrest of the couch. "what is it, sweetheart?"

he shakes his head, laughing softly. "it's strange that you say you're a demon, the embodiment of all that is scary and evil, and you light up like a christmas tree at the idea of being trusted completely."

"well, demons are rare to trust," you try to reason, but hoseok's smile only grows. he steps closer and tilts your chin up.

"you're just a big softie," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. he tastes like vanilla chocolate lollipops, sweet and warm. "my softie."

#hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok x male reader #jung hoseok x male reader #hoseok x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #bts fanfic

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indiaalphawhiskey · 2 years

Note

Something I don't understand about these articles that bring up Larries and their 'conspiracy theory' is that it draws more attention to it and could create new Larries. People who have never heard of Larry will read those articles and be curious and look it up and see youtube vids, blogs and etc. If they are on the fence about Harry's sexuality then they definitely will. So there is just as much chance people will read into it as them laughing it off. The fact that Vulture is paying to promote their trash article hating on Harry and using a clickbait title about his acting and then mentioning the 'conspiracy theory'. Like are they completely dumb? If they want to bury the 'conspiracy theory' then don't mention it at all? I don't get it. Why are these so called critics all going after Harry and writing hate pieces on him and barely acknowledging that there are other actors in the movie too? I'm guessing that they come from WB's side trying to ruin him after messing up DWD promo, or Sony who are terrified of him 'coming out' or even competitors. The hate campaign against him is getting weird, and now they're paying to promote it? Why is his PR team nonexistent? Shouldn't they be planting some positive stuff about him?

Hey, love.

I’m gonna go to the second part of your ask first.

I really don’t think Warner Bros would send a PR “hit” out on Harry like that, for multiple reasons. First, studios and record labels don’t work the same way, in that Harry’s not under an exclusive contract with Warner Bros. and so they have no reason to want to keep him in line or under thumb the way Sony used to in One Direction, nor do they have the power to. He’s employed for one movie, and essentially, because it was a bad experience for Harry (and everyone), WB would have everything to gain by maintaining a cordial, professional relationship with him, if they intend to work with him again in the future. (And, considering how much they’re relying on his brand to keep this movie afloat in theaters, it’s likely that, however they feel about his acting chops, they recognize that the smarter business move is to have someone like Harry (and his fan base) as an open option for the future.)

Second, he didn’t actually do anything he wasn’t supposed to. “Screwing up DWD promo” is a fandom opinion, because we know what he’s like when he actually wants a project to succeed. In terms of his professional obligations though, he did everything he was hired for (and, unfortunately, more). He didn’t speak out of turn, or bad mouth the movie. In fact, he spoke about it in as effusive a manner as he could, given the quality. He played a good little stunt puppet, and even allowed them to piggyback on his music to make bank, so they literally have zero reason to “want revenge”, even in light of the contrast with My Policeman promo.

Rather, I’m pretty sure the disdain from critics boils down to nothing other than the gatekeep-y nature of the industry. Critics are never welcoming of musicians who want to work in acting - literally never - and this is something we foresaw. We always knew Harry would have to be utterly flawless in his role (impossible, three movies in) in order to receive even a modicum of critical praise because they were always going to be exceptionally hard on him, as they are on other celebrities who try and make the leap. The only reason he was spared during Dunkirk was because criticizing him (simply for being Harry Styles) would be tantamount to criticizing Christopher Nolan’s casting decision and that wasn’t a hill critics were willing to die on, especially for a minor part in an ensemble cast.

This, however - pop culture’s current obsession scoring two leading (and one queer!) roles in the same year, with two directors who are still finding their feet - this was fair game. And, it sucks because I think critics would have been so much more willing to go into My Policeman with some room to be surprised, if not for the absolutely overexposed media catastrophe that was DWD. But it’s just too tempting now, too sweet, too (seemingly) justified to be able to tear him down for just having the audacity to throw his hat in the ring, because after that circus, no one is expecting him to be any good. More importantly in entertainment, no one is expecting anyone (of note) to come to his defense. So, even if he holds his own, it’s not ever going to be enough (not now, at least).

This is not to say the criticism of Harry’s acting isn’t warranted. I’ve read some very fair critiques, especially pointing out the contrast between him, and David and Emma. But that’s the thing: rarely are these articles criticizing the actual acting. Rarely do they even seem to get the objective of the movie, if they deign to mention the movie at all. Instead, they’re focused on the Harry of it all and it’s making me laugh because they’re doing the one thing they make fun of fangirls for: they’re making it… ✨all about Harry Styles.✨

And, as for the Larry stuff…

One, their PR teams never did seem to get the memo that if you wanna prove Larry isn’t real, stop trying so hard to prove Larry isn’t real. It’s their twelve year struggle; we’re still waiting for them to catch on.

Two, I’ve said before that fan girl hysteria is an easy and juicy scapegoat. In a bid for attention (which is entertainment media’s main goal), the easiest people to pooh-pooh are young women. Nothing will get you clicks like making fun of a predominantly female fandom, because you have the patriarchy fully in your corner. So, you get the clicks and you get the bonus points of the Jack Chambers-es in every basement high-fiving you with both Cheeto-crusted wank hands.

The caveat, though, is that we silly fan girls turned out to be just a little too right about Olivia Wilde (shocker!) so its still too soon to try and sell the whole “they hate her/her movie cause they fancy her boyfriend” shtick again. So what did they do? They pivoted on the hysteria strategy, and the next best narrative to fans who would fully shank your girlfriend out of jealousy is fans who are so crazy they believe you’re gay and in a 12 year closeted relationship with your former band mate.

Just another day in the fandom. Sigh.

#iaw ask #iaw anonymous #My Policeman critiques #fandom discussion #Hollywood discussion #entertainment industry discussion

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