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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.2k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, fingering, t h r e e s o m e, cum eating, sloppy seconds kinda?, multiple orgasms, creampie, cumshot, nipple play, tender manhandling, overstimulation, praise, this one has me hot and bothered folks

DAY FOUR

It’s dark when you wake up, still feeling slightly floaty. Beside you, Taehyung still snores away, naked bar for his pair of boxers and the sheets draped lazily over his torso. He looks peaceful, face angelic and chest rising and falling deeply. The sight of him almost makes you want to fall asleep then and there, but your throat is parched and your mouth is dry.

Perhaps sleeping the day away wasn’t wise, but still you dress in dim silence, padding down the stairs with bare feet and nothing more than Taehyung’s shirt - even more oversized on you - and a fresh pair of panties.

This is the first time you’ve really been out of your room at this hour, and you marvel at the enveloping stillness of the air. No lights, only the creeping moonlight to guide your way to the kitchen, eager to ease your dry mouth. The refrigerator light makes your eyes ache as you pull out a bottle of water, uncapping it with a sigh and leaning back against the countertop, gulping almost a third of it down before your brain starts to pang at the sudden cold.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jump at the sudden voice, glancing up to see the round, pale face of Min Yoongi peeking over the couch. In such deeply–set quiet, you feel the need to speak lowly, just enough for him to hear. “Just woke up, actually.”

He combs through the dyed honey blonde of his hair as his eyes narrow in disbelief. “Is that Taehyung’s shirt from this morning? So that’s where the two of you have been all day. You must’ve really gone at it like rabbits, it’s almost three in the morning.”

“Jesus,” you groan. “I must’ve been asleep more than 12 hours then. I feel like I’ve woken up from a coma or something, I swear.”

“That good, huh?” he says in a teasing tone as you take another sip of water.

“Go upstairs and see for yourself if you’re so curious,” you retort.

Yoongi stays silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is different. Softer. “Come sit.”

You obey silently, a little huff forced out of your lungs when you drop onto the couch beside him, cradling the bottle of water between your knees as you wait for him to say something, explain why he’d asked you over.

The blonde-haired man scoffs softly, nudging your shoulder. “Come on, I’m not telling you off or anything. If you want to go, you can go, but I thought you might like some company.”

The air is warmer here beside him. “I’ll stay,” you answer quietly.

“Three days,” he muses, his voice bringing colour to the dark room. “Why does it feel like weeks?”

You hum, unable to think of a reply that would comfort him. “What would you have been doing if you weren’t here right now?”

Yoongi’s legs are crossed, much like how Jimin always sits, but it gives off a far more casual vibe as he slumps, butt resting almost right on the edge of the cushion. “I’d probably still be up. I’d just be up alone.”

“Night owl?” you question, tucking one foot up under you so you can face him more.

“Lonely,” he answers simply, eyes focused on the table in front of him.

You don’t know what to say. Luckily, it seems like he’s not finished, but just taking a pause to collect his thoughts. You’ve been noticing that Yoongi seems like the type to mean every word he says, and consider each one carefully.

“I thought I‌ was picking a career filled with people,” he elaborates, voice flickering low like a single flame. “I guess in some ways, both health practitioning and teaching are fairly sociable jobs. But I rarely see the same person twice. There was a time when I thought I preferred it like that. I’ve never been a social butterfly like some of the guys here. But after a few years, you just feel so hollowed out by it.”

You let his words sink in for a moment, head resting on the back of the couch. “And now?”

“Now?” he repeats with a frown.

“Are you still lonely now?”

He attempts a smile. “I can’t decide.”

You frown at his sullen tone. “We all love having you here, you know? Seokjin really appreciates your help in the kitchen, the two youngest both adore you, Namjoon respects you so much and I’m pretty sure Hoseok and Jimin would’ve had a catfight in the living room if it wasn’t for your level-headedness.”

Yoongi brightens a little bit, just enough for his lips to twitch, genuinely this time. Slowly, his eyes slide over to meet yours. “And you?”

You slip the tip of your tongue out enough to wet your lips. “I- If it’s okay, I’d rather show you my appreciation.”

His eyes are molten as they search your face for any signs of hesitation. When they find none, he uncrosses his legs, splaying them apart, and leans over to press lightly at your shoulder. “Lean back,” he instructs, the soft tone replaced with a casual roughness that he usually spoke with.

You swallow, letting the water bottle between your legs fall to the floor as you lie back, head resting against the arm of the couch.

Yoongi looks down at you, distaste flitting across his features. Your heart stops for a moment before he reaches out to tug at the hem of your baggy shirt. Tae‘s baggy shirt. “Take this off,” he orders with a grumble.

You ditch it hastily, wanting Yoongi’s hands on you, and shiver at the sudden cold, lying beneath him in nothing but your panties. “Yoongi,” you whisper, back arching as an incentive for him to touch you.

Reverently, a wide hand dips down, fingertips running over your shoulder, your bare chest and stomach, and back up to cup your breast, squeezing just enough to make you sigh, wanting more. As he fondles it, Yoongi adjusts his stance, hooking one leg between you and the back of the couch, propping himself up with his other arm so that he can lean down over you.

Rather than kissing you straight away, he watches your face with a look like hunger, drinking in your every reaction as his fingers slip up to pass over the stiffened peak, thumbing it so it continues to plump up.

You let out a breathy moan, tipping your chin up towards him. The hand on your breast slips up to cup your face, big enough that the tips of his fingers dip into your hair. It’s overwhelming; his legs on either side of you, and your face cradled in his tender grasp, bracketed between the back of the couch and his arm. Finally, his face lowers enough for his lips to brush yours, and your eyes slip closed in bliss.

This close, every breath is lined with his scent, rich yet tangy like mint and caramel, a juxtaposition that suits him perfectly. His lips on yours are like fine silk, brushing so lightly that you tremble at the intimacy of it. Every movement is painfully precise, languid. His fingers gently play with your hair like he can’t quite keep them still, but his lips take their time with you. The two of you are in your own world, alone to savour every delicate touch. No one else is awake, so you let the butterflies in your stomach grow and the flutter on your lips continue, hands wandering lower to where his shirt - a white tee with the letters FG stamped in black on the front - is slightly tucked into a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He sighs heavily onto your lips when your fingers first touch his skin, tracing a line just above the waistband.

“You have no idea,” he confesses in a hush, “how long I’ve waited to feel you.”

You gasp when his head dips lower, lips brushing your ear, your jaw, down your throat to press a trail of chaste kisses along the base of your throat, his tongue darting out to flick kitten licks over your pulse point. “Yoongi,” you sigh, “you don’t have to wait any longer.”

“Y/n?”

Yoongi groans at the distant voice that breaks the silence. “Please just ignore it,” he mutters under his breath. “He’ll be fine.”

You bite your lip, ears straining to work out where Taehyung’s voice came from. It sounds like he’s upstairs, the sound lofty.

There’s only a moment of silence, Yoongi nudging your jaw with his nose to tip it back again, kisses slightly more insistent down the column of your throat, before you hear a thud.

“Y/n?” Taehyung repeats, voice calling out slightly louder into the dark of the house. “Did you go downstairs?”

Yoongi lets out a rushed exhale. “Fuck.” Sitting up off of you, he reaches down to pass you Tae’s shirt off the floor. Yoongi’s jaw ticks as you put it back on. “Just tell him you’re busy.”

You send him a look, before stepping up and out into the kitchen, taking the water bottle with you. “Down here, Tae,” you reply. His response is given in the noisy thuds of him coming down the stairs, and soon enough his face pops around the corner, brightening when he sees you.

“I woke up alone,” he says with a playful pout, hands finding your waist to press your bodies together, rocking the two of you back and forth. “Come back to bed.”

You force yourself not to glance over at the couch, feeling strangely guilty. Instead, you smile at Taehyung. “We slept all day. I feel too awake now.”

“Then let’s try out your bath! I saw some bath bombs there. Or we can make bubbles?”

You think you hear a faint huff in the living room but you ignore it, letting yourself be anchored in the slow swaying, looking up at Taehyung. “I’m sorry, Tae, I’m not really in the mood. You can have one, if you want? I don’t mind.”

“But then that’s not…” You see the wheels turning in Taehyung’s head, an excited smile tugging at his lips. “Are you sure? Thank you, Y/n! Come join me if you want!”

He pulls away from you, and an odd stir of relief stirs in your chest. “Have fun,” you say weakly, and he ducks his head to press a kiss on your forehead before turning back the way he came, jumping noisily up the stairs.

In the living room, Yoongi’s head once again pops up over the back of the couch. “Coast is clear?” he questions in a joking tone, but you can’t muster a smile. Yoongi stands up, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

You sink back against the counter, staring sullenly at the half-empty water bottle in your hands. “Why do I feel like an asshole, Yoongi?”

He’s beside you quicker than you expect, hands gently pressing under your jaw to lift your gaze up to his. “Hey, hey,” he coos gently, eyes warm with reassurance, “what’s going on in that head of yours, hm?”

You hate the way your eyes water, but you can’t help it. His thumbs are on your cheeks, brushing away the tears as they fall, and you tip your head back in an effort to prevent them, taking a shuddering breath. “I‌ feel so bad for them, Yoongi?”

“For who?”

You sniff. “Namjoon and Tae. The other day, Namjoon told me he- that he-”

“Shh, I‌ know, he told us,” Yoongi murmurs, his own eyes glistening at the sight of you in tears. “Keep going, sweetheart.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, trying to still your thudding heart. “But he likes me and now Tae is… I don’t know, but I’m worried that he might too, and then… Then I’m the asshole for sleeping with seven people at once.” You shrug with a bitter, teary laugh. “How can I act all coupley with Tae or try anything like that with Namjoonie when I know that I‌ can’t promise them anything?”

Yoongi’s lips part, moving silently as he seeks the right words. After a moment, he sighs, cupping your face one last time before lowering his hands, one rubbing at your back, making you sigh at the comfort. “I’ll be honest, Y/n,” he begins slowly, “I know all there is to know about sex physically, but- In this case, I don’t think I’m the right person to give you advice.”

“It’s okay,” you mumble, wiping your eyes and sniffing to clear your nose.

“No, no, I think you should chat with someone about this, and if I’m honest, I could use some advice too.” You give him a frown of confusion, and he grimaces with a sheepish grin. “When Taehyung called out for you, I’ll admit I wanted to beat that brat for interrupting us when he’d already had his turn. But I shouldn’t think of him or you that way, it’s not healthy. I think perhaps you and I should go upstairs and talk to Seokjin-hyung, Y/n. Do you think you’d want that?”

“He’s probably asleep,” you deflect, though you can’t deny that you could do with an expert opinion at a time like this.

“Probably,” Yoongi agrees lightly, pressing on your back to begin guiding you towards the stairs, “but I think he’d much rather you wake him up than agonise over it for hours while he sleeps.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay, I’d like to go see him. Thank you, Yoongi.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” His hand slips into yours as he leads you up the stairs, but rather than anything with deeper meaning, it just speaks of comfort, a squeeze of reassurance as he knocks on Jin’s door, across the hall from yours.

Jin answers after the fourth knock, squinting into the hallway with a yawn. “Jungkook, for the last time, I- Oh.” The annoyance on his face drops, eyes widening with concern even as he blinks slowly, still half-asleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Can we come in, hyung?” Yoongi asks instead. “Some emergency midnight counselling?”

“It’s-” Jin breaks off to look back into his room, groaning at the time. You wince, bracing yourself for a scolding. “Almost five in the morning. I once had a baker schedule weekly sessions for three a.m. before he went to work, this is nothing. Come inside and make yourselves comfy.”

Your shoulders go slack with relief, letting yourself be pulled inside by your still-entwined hands.

Jin’s room is tidy but lived in; the floors are clean of stray clothes or other belongings, but the head of his bed is laden with different sized stuffed toys and the sweet smell of french pear fills the air from a diffuser resting on the window sill. You sit cross-legged and lean against the headboard, grabbing a round white plushie to hug for emotional support. Yoongi sits at the foot of the bed, and Jin comes and tugs on a dressing gown, perfectly spaced between the two of you as he takes a seat in the middle, legs stretched out across the width of the bed.

“Now,” Jin begins softly, and with that one word you feel yourself safe under his authority, cared for. His relaxed but introspective posture, the non-judgemental warmth on his face and the inviting guidance of his tone combine together to ease the tension in your chest. You send Yoongi a quick glance of gratitude, and he smiles back. “I want to begin,” Jin continues, “by reassuring the two of you that you’re both safe, and there’s no time pressure here. No emergency. Whatever problems you’re having, let’s work through them together. I’d love to say this is entirely confidential, however-” Jin breaks off to wordlessly gesture at the blinking red light of the camera aimed towards the bed. “But, it will be kept confidential between us and not spread to the other members of the house. Who would like to explain what’s going on?”

You nod your chin at Yoongi, and he laughs softly, sitting up. “Alright then. The issue of jealousy is beginning to rear its ugly head. Y/n is feeling guilty about it, and I admit I’m not completely innocent of feeling a bit jealous myself.”

“Jealous? How so?”

“Well, look where we are,” Yoongi explains rhetorically. “Y/n’s here to have sex with seven different guys in close proximity. It seems some of the others have begun to get intimacy and romance in the equation.”

You pipe up, clutching the soft toy for comfort. “How am I supposed to reciprocate anything like that when I know I’m going to turn around and let six other guys have a go too?”

Yoongi winces at the wording. “Which is where my issue comes into play. I don’t want to think this way, like we’re all taking our turn with Y/n, because she’s not an object, but at the same time it’s hard to not feel that possessiveness.”

Jin nods, mulling it over for a few moments. “If it becomes a bigger problem, I think we’d be better off discussing it as eight, or however many of us are still in the house. It’s entirely natural to feel romantic inclinations, or possessive inclinations, or guilt over dealing with the two,” he directs the latter at you, “but of course conflict and guilt should be avoided, and in this situation we have to be careful that we monitor our emotions well. Y/n; what is your thought process when you begin to feel guilty?”

You bite your lip, leaning your head back against the headboard with a shrug. “I don’t know, it’s like… It feels wrong to act couple-y or seek out anything romantic with any of you guys because I know I can’t be loyal or commit to being exclusive. But I also can’t stop people from feeling that way. So I don’t know what to do. I’m like- I’m quite literally sleeping with the competition.”

“Okay,” Jin responds smoothly, nodding in thought. “Are you worried about feeling romantic inclinations for members in the house?”

“But then it wouldn’t be fair to the rest who are still trying to do their best in the game,” you point out.

The therapist just smiles softly. “That wasn’t the question I asked.”

Cheeks burning, you stare at the blanket underneath you. You can’t look at either of them. “…Not yet,” you admit honestly, “but honestly, yeah, I’m worried I might.” You glance up again, seeking out Jin’s gaze pleadingly, needing advice. “And what if I liked multiple people? Then they’d be directly competing against each other. It’s messy.”

“We don’t-” It’s Yoongi that speaks up, cutting himself off with a sigh. Jin nods at him to continue after he pauses in uncertainty. Yoongi scratches at his neck self-consciously. “I don’t think we’re all taking this insanely seriously and personally. Sometimes I walk in on Taehyung and Jungkook sharing porn, or Jin-hyung and Hoseok giggling away like two scheming toddlers as they try and make pancakes shaped like dicks.” Jin’s ears go flaming red at this, but he doesn’t interrupt. “We’re all well aware of how crazy this is. Yeah, maybe sometimes we feel a bit possessive over you, or competitive, but on a rational level we aren’t acting like we’re at war, you know? We don’t necessarily… have to be in direct competition.”

Jin gives him another moment in case he has anything else to add, before sending him an appreciative smile. “Very well said, Yoongi. I think as long as we’re all communicative when those issues like jealousy do arise, it won’t cause any major conflicts. Does that bring you any comfort, Y/n?”

You realise once he says your name that your eyes have stopped watering and your chest has stopped thudding so sickly. “Yeah,” you answer honestly, “it does. Thank you, guys. Though I guess- Well, even if you aren’t taking it as seriously as the Olympics, you are still competing against each other. Even if it’s just friendly fire, I’m still torn in the middle.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Yoongi shoots back earnestly.

“How does it not?” you question with a frown.

The two older men share a glance, Jin giving the slightest nod before Yoongi turns back to you. “Producer Sejin said it didn’t have to be one-on-one. If you’d like, we could show you that we can work together.”

“If you’d like,” Jin purrs, a hand reaching out to gently clasp your knee, “we could share.”

“Share me?” you ask weakly. The two of them nod, Yoongi looking nervous, Jin at-ease. “Yes, please.”

“So polite,” Jin says with a teasing smile. “Do you want to go give Yoongi a kiss for me, baby?”

Though it’s a command more than a question, you nod, and toss the stuffed toy aside, crawling forward, over Jin’s outstretched legs to where Yoongi sits, cross-legged like you were. A guiding hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in to straddle him, and you feel a thin bolt of excitement run up your core as Yoongi tilts his head back to look up at you, his honeyed locks falling to either side of his head. He’s beautiful, from this angle; lips so delicate and pink like a cherub, but with a blazing need swirling in his blown pupils. And though you can’t see him from this angle, Jin’s eyes feel like a hot brand on your back, making you shudder.

You link your wrists behind his neck and dip your head down, eyes slipping closed as you finally feel the pressure of his lips rising to greet you. Yoongi’s kisses are still soft and gentle, but the third presence in the room has lit a fire under the both of you, and each movement feels deeper, greedier.

Yoongi’s hand finds your ass as you make out, and he presses you in towards him, encouraging you to grind against him. Still in nothing more than Taehyung’s shirt and a pair of panties, you can feel him achingly hot and hard against you, stiff in the confines of his boxers.

Expecting to hear Jin speak up with praise or teasing words, you jump when instead it’s his hand sweeping back your hair that he begins with, collecting it in a handheld ponytail, tugging just slightly and exposing your neck. You let out a breathy moan into Yoongi’s mouth when you feel plush lips against the sensitive skin of your neck, fingers pushing the wide neck of Taehyung’s shirt to one side, exposing a shoulder. Jin methodically, languidly, places a chain of kisses down your throat and the top of your shoulder. Unlike Yoongi’s butterfly kisses, Jin’s touch is all teeth and tongue, making you feel dizzy with desire.

You whimper at the loss of Jin’s mouth on you, followed quickly by Yoongi pulling away, and your head spins. It’s only a moment, though, before you feel a set of hands finding the bottom of your shirt, the other set unlinking your arms from around Yoongi’s neck, holding them up so Jin can pull the fabric up and over your head, discarding it and running his palms on every inch of bare skin he can see.

Your head lolls back and eyes shut in bliss at the feeling of Jin’s slightly-rough palms stroking your hips, back, shoulders, and you feel him shuffle forward on his knees until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath on the nape of your neck. You bite your lip when he grips your hips, holding you steady.

Your breath catches in anticipation, and suddenly there’s a wet heat around your right nipple. You let out a strangled moan at the feeling of Yoongi’s mouth on you, tongue flicking endlessly over the stiffened peak. “Oh- oh god,” you gasp out, trying to grind your hips against him for some friction, but Jin’s hands hold you in place.

Jin shuffles closer again, and you feel a hand slip round to your front, pressing on your lower chest to pull you backwards, and you whine, not wanting to separate from Yoongi’s mouth, but he leans forward with you, sucking and lapping at your nipple as you fall back onto Jin’s chest, that same hand holding you steady against him as the other one traces lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

You jump when the tip of his finger first grazes against your clit, eyes opening to look down. Yoongi’s head takes up most of your vision, bobbing obscenely as he lavishes attention on your nipple, taking a moment to wet his fingers so he can flick and rub at your other one. Your chest heaves with his attention, pleasure so sharp it cuts into you. Below that, your legs are spread wide over Yoongi’s lap, your panties bulging with the presence of Jin’s hand. As you watch deliriously, he dips down and slips a finger deep inside you, the angle allowing him to grind the heel of his palm against your clit and stroke your g-spot from inside you at the same time.

You pant, toes curling when Yoongi switches nipples, his mouth enveloping your left peak and leaving the right one glossy with spit and reddened. It’s intoxicating, being between them like this, and you feel your hips begin to jerk against Jin’s hand as an orgasm builds surprisingly fast.

“Are you gonna cum like this?” Jin murmurs, and you nod hastily, choking on your ‘yes’ as Yoongi pulls away slightly, keeping your nipple trapped between his teeth so it’s tugged. “Fuck, she likes that,” Jin comments darkly, and you cry when he yanks at the hair in his hand again, pulling your head to one side so he can descend upon your neck, bites and sucks aggressive enough to make you feel like you’re being devoured.

Being pinned between two relentless sources of pleasure is enough to make your thighs tremble, and your first orgasm is almost silent, given away only by your rushed gasps and the sudden flood of wetness that coats Jin’s hand, the older man cursing as he strokes you harder, letting you ride out the high until you go lax. Post-orgasm, your nipples are too sensitive and you squeak, writhing under Yoongi’s ministrations until Jin pulls the hand from your panties and pushes Yoongi away with it.

Yoongi’s head comes up, and you moan gutturally at the fucked-out look in his eyes. Now that Jin’s hand isn’t in the way, you can again feel Yoongi’s hardness against your clothed core; he must’ve been able to feel Jin’s knuckles rubbing against him with your proximity. Jin’s hand is still hovering in the air between you and, keeping his eyes locked on yours, Yoongi leans in and captures two of Jin’s fingers in his mouth, lips pursed obscenely around the slightly crooked digits as he sucks your arousal off Jin’s hand, the older man groaning behind you as Yoongi thoroughly licks off every finger, swapping his gaze between you and Jin.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you guys are gonna be the death of me.”

Jin chuckles, pressing a final kiss to your neck, which you have no doubt will be covered in vibrant blossoms of colour in a few hours. “Let’s get these panties off, hm? If Yoongi gets any harder, he might run out of blood in his head and pass out on us.”

“Shut up,” the younger man grumbles, but once you get up off his lap he’s flinging his shirt off and pushing down his boxers, no self-consciousness as his flushed cock springs up and smacks against his lower abdomen. Your mouth waters, letting Jin shuck off his own pyjamas before slipping down your panties, a hand lazily swiping over your wet heat.

“Turn around, baby,”‌ Jin commands softly. “Let Yoongi have you first.”

You swallow as you obey, shifting so that you’re facing Jin, back arched to present yourself to Yoongi. He curses lowly, but wastes no time in lining himself up, a palm on your ass to guide you down on his cock, stretching your walls in smooth increments. He gradually thrusts deeper and deeper, slow enough for you to adjust, until you feel him bottom out, less girthy than Jin or Taehyung but more curved inside you, making your mouth hang open.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Yoongi praises. “Fucking finally.”

You giggle at his desperation, but your grin is fucked from your face with a thrust that knocks you forward, face smacking on the mattress, a moan pulled from your lungs as he rolls his hips, grinding deeper.

“Poor baby,” Jin teases. “C’mere.” You whine as Yoongi stills inside of you, giving Jin a chance to lift you up under the arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders. Upper torso lifted, your hips are now at a different angle and you cry out when Yoongi begins to thrust again, the underside of his cock now dragging against your g-spot with every movement. Jin lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, weakly sucking a hickey into his neck to make him groan, his throat vibrating under your lips.

Soon, though, you don’t even have the energy to do that. As Yoongi picks up speed, you’re rocked violently between two hard bodies, drooling onto Jin’s neck as his hand snakes down to thumb at your clit. You cry out, shuddering as much as you can between them.

Yoongi curses and grips your hips when you clench around him, holding you still so he can increase his pace even more, a low moan rumbling in his throat. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warns. “Can I come inside you, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you cry, nails scratching at Jin’s bare shoulders as he swaps his thumb out for three fingers, rubbing them back and forth frantically in an effort to get you to cum. “Yes, fuck, I’m so close, don’t stop!”

This time, when you reach your high, you can’t stop moaning, the sound muffled by Jin’s shoulder as you’re pinned between the two men, Yoongi grunting as he spills, hot inside you.

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm when he pulls out, and your head spins, incoherent as you’re moved around, and before you know it, a thicker cock is being plunged into you, fucking you into oversensitivity.

As your orgasm fades, so does the fog in your mind and you become aware of the fact that the body you’re now propped up against is Yoongi, his hand in your hair and his teeth on your earlobe, tugging lightly and mumbling praises into your ear as Jin takes you from behind, filling the room with the sounds of skin impacting on skin. Unlike Yoongi’s slender, structured dick, Jin’s cock is a blunt instrument, hitting deep enough inside you that you feel him near your cervix.

“Tuh-too much,” you whine as Yoongi’s free hand snakes down, rubbing at your clit in a perfect mirror of your earlier position.

“Jin-hyung wants to feel you cum too, sweetheart,” Yoongi murmurs in your ear, voice dripping with honey, “don’t be selfish now.”

You keen, eyes tearing up at the excess sensation, Jin’s thrusts enough force to push Yoongi slightly too. Your hands curl around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin enough that he winces, but speeds up his fingers nonetheless, making you squeal. “I c-can’t,” you gasp, legs giving out.

Jin groans and you feel his arms snake under your hips, lifting you up and fucking you back onto his cock with every thrust forward. Your weight is held up by the two of them, tears streaming as you’re forcefully brought to your high a third time.

“Do we need to stop?” Yoongi asks lowly, and you feel Jin’s hips slow, Yoongi’s fingers sliding wetly over your lower stomach instead of your clit. The lack of sensation all of a sudden just makes you sob harder, shaking your head.

“Make me cum,” you plead shakily. “Wan- wanna cum for Seokjinnie.”

Behind you, Jin growls, his hands tightening, gripping handfuls of your hips as he starts up again. “Good girl,” he praises gruffly, “cum one more time for us.”

The time they stopped was apparently enough for your body to recover, because as he returns to his prior bruising pace and Yoongi strums roughly at your clit, the sting of overstimulation is gone, replaced by throbbing need. “Close, Yoongi,” you babble, writhing in the boys’ grip.

“That’s it, sweetheart, make a mess all over Jin-hyung’s cock.”

With that, you’re pitched into an orgasm so intense, it’s almost painful. You feel like your nerves are electric, making your limbs convulse. Unable to stop shaking, you clutch at Yoongi as Jin pulls out, giving your tired body reprieve. You whine when Yoongi leans you back, lying you down on the bed softly, and moments later, hot stripes of cum land on your heaving chest, Jin cursing under his breath.

The two of you gasp, unable to suck in enough breath to fill your thirsty lungs, but Yoongi, who came first, is already fully recovered. You shiver, letting out a groan as he leans down with a cat-like grin, lapping at the cum over your breasts.

“You’re fucking filthy,” Jin pants out, but continues to stroke himself slowly, managing to produce a few more drops of cum for Yoongi to lick up.

The blonde-haired boy leaves your nipples for last, grinning around each peak as you whimper, clutching his hair. Finally, once he’s done, he lifts his face up and kisses you once, deeply, so that you can taste yourself and Jin on his tongue.

“Holy fucking shit,” you exclaim breathlessly, “this show is going to kill me.”

Apparently back to his normal self, Jin pats your cheek teasingly. “Don’t be dramatic.”

You roll your head to the side, partly to escape his hand and partly to glance at the clock on his nightstand. Seven in the morning. You swear. “Fine, it may not kill me but it’ll definitely obliterate my sleep schedule.”

Jin considers this. “Fair,” he concedes. “If it helps, I’ll wake you up in a few hours so you can just call it a nap. And then we can all have a shower.”

“I am not waiting a couple hours to have a shower, thank you very much,” Yoongi huffs, pushing himself up to stand. “I have to brush my fucking teeth.”

“Hey!” the two of you cry in unison.

Yoongi rolls his eyes but a grin tugs at his lips nonetheless. “You should just be grateful I cleaned you up.”

Jin stares as Yoongi hastily slips back into his discarded pyjamas. “I’ll be sure to call you over next time I masturbate, then.”

Yoongi shoots him a dirty look. “Thanks for the fuck and the counselling,” he spits before darting out the door, slamming it behind him decisively.

Jin lets out a dramatic exhale, throwing himself on the bed so he’s lying beside you. “Men these days,” he muses sadly. “Lick up your cum once then act like they don’t know you.”

Despite your bone-deep exhaustion, you snicker along with him, feeling lighter than a cloud. “Thank you,” you say after the laughter dies down.

“For the…the sex or the counselling?”

You turn your head, glancing at him sidelong. “Would it be bad if I said just the sex?”

“Hey!”

“For both, Seokjinnie,” you say with a smile. “And for everything else, too.”

“Like what?” he asks suspiciously, chest puffing in anticipation of praise.

You hum happily, wriggling until you feel comfortable and your eyes slip shut. “Thank you for letting me nap in your bed.”

Jin huffs, but after a few moments, you feel him shift, leaning over you so he can flip the bottom edge of the duvet up and cover you. “Sleep well, little one.”

—

True to word, Jin wakes you shortly before midday, and makes sure the coast is clear so you can stumble across the hall to your room. Taehyung has luckily left by then, though a pool of bubbles rest in the tub. You try not to let the pang in your heart get to you, choosing to shower instead.

With Jin having kept you company, it’s Yoongi who’s manning the kitchen, running it like a military camp.

Taking mercy on your exhausted body, Yoongi lets you sit on the couch, watching their antics from the comfort of the soft leather.

“What the fuck are you doing with that grater, Namjoon?”

You grin at the bewildered look on Namjoon’s face as he looks up at his elder, holding a box grater with both hands as a potato wobbles on the bench beneath it. “You said to grate the potato,” the academic defends weakly.

“You- I-” Yoongi splutters, abandoning the pan he’s heating up to go snatch the metal contraption off Namjoon. “You rest it on the table like this, and then grate the potato against it. Please hurry; we need three big ones to go into the batter mix for the pancakes.”

To the left, both Jungkook and Taehyung are on drink duty, hovering over a sleek shiny machine on the countertop like apes discovering fire.

“Woah, hyung, the water comes from there,” Jungkook gasps, poking at a canister behind the machine. “And then you put the pod in and it becomes coffee. Isn’t that magic?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, leaning in so his face is directly in front of the machine, where a steady stream of coffee fills a cup below. “But how did it get the coffee out of the pod? Does the machine open it?”

“Maybe it dissolves,” Jungkook muses, and the two coo at it, staring in wonder as the stream tapers off.

“Let’s do another,” Taehyung cheers excitedly, the two boys jumping in unison when Yoongi calls out.

“You’ve made ten cups,” Yoongi snaps, wrist flicking gracefully as he flips a small potato-and-zucchini pancake in the pan. “There are only eight of us, and you don’t even know who likes to drink coffee.”

“I’ll drink them, Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook pouts, eyes wide like a doe.

“You’re one of the ones that doesn’t drink- Nevermind, fine, go ahead.” He turns back to his pan, slipping the pancake out onto a paper towel and pours more batter in.

Amongst the chaos, almost blending into the stainless steel refrigerator with his steel grey sweater, Jimin watches a pot of ramen with a desolate expression.

By the time Jin comes down and Hoseok returns from his stint in the confessional booth, the rest of you are at the table, fingers itching from the urge to dig in. They wash their hands quickly and join you at the table, allowing the food to be doled out onto plates and the conversation to flow again.

Sitting between Jungkook and Jimin, you take a sip of your second cup of coffee, courtesy of the drinks crew. Since most of them had gone cold by the time the coffee-drinkers finished their first cup, Jimin had taken the initiative to add ice and some milk to one, enjoying it as a cafe au lait, and you’d all followed suit, enjoying a refreshing drink with a hot lunch.

“How’s your week been going?” Jimin asks, and you’d be shocked at the small talk were it not for the intense look in his eyes. He’s feeling you out, appraising you just like yesterday with Taehyung.

You sit your drink back on its coaster, leaning back and letting your eyes wander over the other participants. “Eventful,” you say rhetorically, sending a grin over at him as his mouth twitches down, unimpressed. “Sorry, that’s a no-brainer. A lot of them so far have really surprised me.”

“Who?” he questions, and you can’t help but hold back a sigh. He frowns, surprised at your sullen reaction.

“Listen, Jimin,” you say slowly, appreciating the bubbly chatter that keeps your conversation private, “I appreciate your dedication to this, but we don’t always have to talk sex and competition, you know? Can we have a genuine conversation? I really want to get to know you.”

His eyes drop, face falling. It’s the first sign of what’s behind the facade, and you want to see more. When he looks up again, he’s sporting a rueful smile and you marvel at how boyish his face looks, how innocent. “Sorry. Work-mode. I think I’m… I’m starting to realise that I maybe don’t have to be on all the time. At least, not around you guys.” His eye twinkles. “I’m sure I’ll slip up from time to time and go back into it. Feel free to tell me if I’m being an asshole.”

You mock-pout, letting out a whine. “Well, I can’t say it now, because you’re not being an asshole.”

“Save it for a rainy day, then,” he remarks coolly, and you’d think he was back in his persona again were it not for the grin still on his face.

“Looks like we’ll be getting one soon enough,” you muse. “Namjoon says it’s raining all weekend.”

Jimin laughs, and the sound is like the tinkling of wind-chimes, airy and melodic. “I’m sure Namjoon isn’t too happy about that.”

“No, he seemed pretty-” You cut yourself off, staring hard at Jimin. “Why do you say it like that? Is his prompt the pool or something?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Well, you better hurry up, then,” you quip, “because Yoongi just plead the fourth.”

Jimin’s mouth drops open. “Normally I’m the one making clever entendres. I’m impressed.”

“So was he.”

When Jimin laughs this time, it’s loud enough to catch the attention of the table, everyone’s conversation halts, six sets of wide eyes on the intimidating Park Jimin, cheeks plumped and eyes crinkled as he positively giggles, freezing once he notices the attention.

“Goodness,” Jin remarks, “four days in and you’ve already broken him. He’ll be a sub by Week Three.”

Like a switch had been pulled, Jimin straightens his spine, head tilting to the side so he can level a piercing stare at his elder. “If I were you, I wouldn’t assume you’d still be there to see it.”

The table goes quiet in shock, waiting for Jin’s reaction. He simply shrugs and laughs softly, unruffled by the peacock show. “If I get voted off I can easily watch from home, Jimin. Maybe send in a question for the confessional. I bet you’d miss me.”

Like he’s realised Jin isn’t going to attack him, Jimin relaxes, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. “I’m not sure about you, but I’d definitely miss your excellent cooking.”

Jin’s ears go pink with the praise but from the head of the table, Yoongi’s mouth drops open, chopsticks going slack in his grasp. “Hey, you little brat, I’m the one that made this lunch for you all. Aren’t you gonna miss me?”

“Oh, that’s because you won’t go home before Week 3,” Jimin answers without missing the beat, a sugar-sweet smile on his rosy lips.

Yoongi’s mouth moves, but he has nothing to grumble about. Jimin 1, Yoongi 0. “Of course, I won’t,” he huffs quietly, stuffing his face with a chunk of fried pancake.

The conversation trickles back in, then, and Taehyung pulls you and Jimin into a discussion about a stray dog he’d seen wandering around, and as the eight of you sit around the table chatting long after your plates are empty, your chest feels lighter than ever.

TAGLIST

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imaginedhaven · 4 years

Text

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Four

Link to Masterpost

So glad I was able to knock out another part of this work! It is seriously so much fun to write, and I’ve loved incorporating the prompts I’ve gotten so far.

I am always accepting prompts for this work in my ask box!

Today’s prompt:

“You broke what?!?” / “Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

~*~*~

Aelin grimaced as she contemplated the call button on her phone.

“I thought you were getting along now,” Lysandra said beside her with a yawn.

“We are,” she replied, “but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to this.”

“Do you need me to call him?”

“No, that’d be even worse.” Aelin sighed and hit the button, nerves ratcheting up as the call began to ring.

“I was wondering when you’d either come back or explain why you never came home,” Rowan said by way of greeting.

“Wow, rude,” Aelin laughed. “I didn’t realize I needed to explain myself to you.”

“Aelin, you defy explanation at the best of times, but I doubt you’d willingly be awake at seven in the morning. What happened?”

Aelin glanced over at Lysandra, who gave her an encouraging nod. “I, ah, was hoping you could give me a ride.”

A gusty sigh crackled over the line. “Please tell me you didn’t wait outside the bar until just now because something happened to your car and you were afraid to wake me up.” In her mind’s eye she could see Rowan beginning to pace as he did when he was agitated, long fingers rubbing at his temples.

She laughed nervously. “I didn’t wait outside the bar, and nothing happened to my car.”

“Then why…?” she could hear the confusion in his voice even as the question trailed off into expectant silence.

“Well, ah, I’m not exactly allowed to drive right now.” Aelin bit her lip, glancing over at Lysandra again for support.

Before she could continue to explain, he let out another sigh. “What, exactly, did you do?”

“Rude of you to assume it’s something I did. I mean, you’re right, but I still feel like it’s rude.”

A sudden flurry of sound on the other side of the line indicated that he had placed the call on speaker. “I’m getting my shoes on, I can be there in about ten minutes,” he said.

“Um, I’m not at the bar.” Aelin winced, knowing he was unlikely to react well.

“Aelin,” he said, voice dangerously low and smooth in a way that made her knees weak even though she was already seated. “Where, exactly, are you?”

“I’m… kind of at Orynth Regional,” she admitted.

“The hospital?!” Rowan shouted, and Aelin winced and held the phone away from her ear for a few moments. When she finally brought it back he was still talking. “What. Happened.”

“Well, um, apparently I broke my ankle.”

Rowan’s response was immediate and too loud again. “You broke what?!”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” Aelin said, feeling more than a little defensive. “I just, the break is on the side I use to drive, and they’ve got me on painkillers so they won’t let me drive home anyway, and Lysandra lives on this side of town and she’s already exhausted from staying up this long so I don’t want to inconvenience her even more.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, and she sighed in relief. “I’m guessing your car is still at the bar?”

“Yeah. Sam said it’ll be fine for the next day or two, and we can arrange something between the four of us for getting it home later when everyone’s awake.”

The next few minutes were a brief exchange of the information Rowan would need in order to find her, and before long they were hanging up. “Guess you can get some sleep now,” Aelin said to Lysandra. “He’s only about fifteen minutes away.”

Lysandra responded with another yawn. “You don’t need me to stay until he gets here?”

Aelin shook her head. “I don’t think I can get into any more trouble than I already have in the next few minutes, you’re fine.”

“Okay, but promise you’ll call me if you need me?”

She promised, and then her friend was stumbling out of the room. Aelin relaxed back against the hospital bed and closed her own eyes, hoping to gather at least a little strength for when Rowan showed up.

If she woke up when Rowan came to pick her up, she didn’t remember it. Her next clear memory was being carried through the door of Aedion’s house and gently deposited on the couch, careful hands stuffing a few pillows underneath the boot locked around her right ankle. She struggled briefly to open her eyes, and when she finally did manage it he was looking at her, concern clear in the set of his brow and the tightness of his jaw.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, grimacing when the sentence sounded terribly slurred even to her own ears.

“You must be exhausted,” he replied. “Sleep for now. We’ll talk later.”

She barely registered the feeling of him covering her with a blanket before sleep returned to claim her.

~*~*~

When Aelin woke up several hours later, she was greeted by a painful throbbing in her ankle as well as the sight of a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication from their bathroom, with a note beside them in Rowan’s precise hand. Let me know if you’re in enough pain to need the prescription filled when you wake up, he had written. The pharmacy didn’t want to release a controlled substance without your permission.

While she was contemplating the level of pain in her ankle, Rowan’s head poked out from the entryway to the kitchen. “Now that you’re awake, are you going to tell me how you did this to yourself?” he asked as he walked toward her with a small plate in hand.

“It’s really not that exciting a story,” she replied. “I turned wrong while we were wiping down the bar.”

He set the plate next to her, and she glanced at it, blinking when she saw perfectly even thin slices of apple and at least two kinds of cheese with some crackers. “I don’t know how you usually handle being hurt, but I can’t manage anything more complex than this the first day when it’s me. And I don’t think you’re supposed to put weight on that for the next few days at least, even though it’s in a boot.”

She carefully picked up one of the apple slices. “These are impeccable knife skills,” she remarked. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or afraid for my life.”

“I do know where you sleep,” he said, voice dry but eyes bright with mirth.

“And I’m sure you’ve promised yourself you’d stab me once for each thing I’ve left out of place,” she grinned.

“Twice if it was clothing,” Rowan agreed mildly. “Unfortunately, I lost count of the exact number over a month ago.”

“Hm, I guess that means you’ll just have to start over at not stabbing me,” Aelin declared with a laugh before biting into the slice of apple with a happy little hum.

“I suppose you’re right.” Rowan carefully folded the blanket that she had dumped onto the floor at some point while she’d been sleeping, draping it over the back of the couch.

“I’m always right,” she replied before focusing her attention on the food he’d brought over to her.

Once she’d eaten, she moved to get up and at least carry the plate into the kitchen. However, she was met with a firm hand on her shoulder and a fierce glare as Rowan took the plate away from her. “You’re not supposed to be putting weight on that yet,” he reminded her sternly.

“It’s called a walking boot for a reason,” she protested, but he was already halfway to the sink.

“It’s called a walking boot because you can walk with it on once your doctor clears you to do so,” he retorted. “Your discharge paperwork says no weight on it today at all, and that if you feel up to it tomorrow you can try walking then as long as you use the crutches you came home with to bear some of your weight.”

Aelin blinked. “You read my discharge paperwork?”

“Only the care instructions,” he admitted. “I doubted you had, or that you’d remember even if you’d looked at them.”

“Oh.” And there it was, the same fluttering warmth she’d first felt when she’d come home to him having fallen asleep waiting for her. Had he always been this attentive to what she would need, and had she simply missed it because she kept misinterpreting the way he spoke? Or was he trying as hard as she was to change how they interacted? Honestly, she wasn’t sure which option she would prefer.

When she looked up again he was looking back at her, brows furrowed and frowning slightly, and belatedly she realized exactly how long they had spent in awkward silence. “I don’t remember if I read them or not,” she admitted, “so thank you.”

Relief shone clearly on his face then, only to be quickly masked by amusement. “I should’ve guessed,” he teased. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself.”

“Oh, well if you’re going to mock me I’m going to leave,” Aelin replied, moving once more as though she was about to stand just to see how he would react.

As she had suspected, he immediately set a hand against her shoulder to keep her on the couch, green eyes bright with a combination of irritation and worry. “So help me, if I have to tie you down to this couch I will,” he growled.

Aelin smirked. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she retorted, watching with glee as Rowan’s face did its very best to go pale and blush hotly at the same time.

“I hate you so much,” he muttered as he tucked her back into her makeshift bed.

“No, you don’t,” she teased.

Rowan sighed and turned on the television, clearly aiming to give her something to watch as a distraction. “No, I don’t,” he admitted as he found her small collection of classic films, turning to offer her a selection.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Aelin said without even glancing at the titles.

“Oh?”

“You can pick the movie if it means you’ll stay in here.”

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure you would want me to.”

“Who else would I call if I need to get up and my obnoxious roommate won’t let me do anything alone?” she grinned. “Besides, I could use the company.”

As she watched, Rowan frowned thoughtfully. “I do need to try to get some work done, but I can set up in here instead of at my desk.”

“Please?”

Rowan left, but quickly returned with a small stack of paperwork and his laptop. As the movie began to play, she found instead her attention was more drawn to him getting situated in a nearby armchair and donning a pair of glasses she hadn’t known he possessed, muttering to himself as he became more absorbed in whatever it was he was doing.

This time when sleep rushed back in to claim her, it was because of the warmth and comfort she was surrounded by rather than the medications she’d been given.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

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evansfm · 3 years

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she’d forgotten just how much she LOVED it : the deafening sound of a crowd to her right and a live band to her left . everything fell away the moment the house lights went dark and the stage lit up ; her view of the world was distorted through a camera lens , and her trigger finger was fast on the shutter button . she’d been told before , time and time again , that photography was something ANYONE could do . . . point , shoot , move on to the next . but years of experience taught her it was more than that . to be the best behind a camera , you had to know PEOPLE . . . you had to recognize minute moments of pure , unfiltered human emotion and grab them before they disappeared forever . and evan was the BEST with a camera in hand , something she was still trying to convince herself of .

self - doubt was buried deep when she was in the moment , though , focused on her surroundings . live music was the closest thing humanity had to MAGIC , she thought , the way it could bring strangers together in intimacy . . . the way it could make you feel like you were floating if only for a couple of hours . she did her best to translate that into her photographs , but the artists she worked with always made it EASY . they loved their work as much as the fans in the crowd did , and it was evident in the way she watched every musician she’d had the pleasure of working with pour everything into every performance . saint valentine was no different , no matter how BIG they’d gotten over the past several years .

and they were big . the o2 was the biggest venue evan had ever shot in , and though she’d been the only one backstage , it seemed she wasn’t the only one in the pit , trying to get that coveted money shot of nicky haven at the mic . he was notoriously UNFRIENDLY with cameras , never a fan of being in front of them or having them in his face while performing . it was precisely why evan arrived early that day , camera bag zipped up and tucked away . for the first few hours , she just hung out with the four of them , getting to know them and letting them get to know her . by the time they reconvened in a side room set up with evan’s photo gear , she knew to have nicky’s younger brother –– a roadie that tagged along on all of their tours –– nearby . she knew that their drummer –– with her long , black hair and dazzling smile –– was the only one who could get a laugh out of him . that he was a bit sweet on her . she knew that he looked at his band like family and that he hardly trusted anyone else .

so she cleared the room .

it was like that with all four of them ; she’d spent the morning getting to know them , the afternoon shooting what she now knew to be the cover for their next single , and the evening doing what she knew best . she carved out a space for herself in their lives , if only for the night , and made it so hardly anybody noticed when she lifted the camera to her eyes . backstage , then on stage , then in the crowd . photographing live music like riding a bike , because she never forgot how to do it , and she’d only gotten better as time went on . . . evident in the way they’d CHOSEN her to document their first ever sold out arena .

it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced from a creative point of view . occasionally she’d find herself at shows this big , mostly when she was younger –– beck had always been a big fan of mumford & sons , something evan still quietly carried with her . but back then she was one of thousands , a face in the crowd that kept watch on her brother , rarely so unabashedly joyful . being there on the job , though , was completely different . . . having the means to wander where she pleased , slipping effortlessly through an electric crowd , shooting from the shadows of a stage bigger than she imagined . it reminded her of why she picked up a camera in the first place , pausing magic moments in time and turning them into tangible things to be kept forever .

even more , though , it put her world –– her life in london –– into perspective . moving through concrete halls of the arena as it emptied , making her way backstage , she flipped through some of the raw images she’d gotten in the last couple of hours . her feet felt light , and her stomach was alight with fluttering from excitement . this was what she was BEST at . this was what made her heart feel full . the thought of her desk back at nme , the all-staff meetings and assignments with restrictions or specifications . . . it looked a lot more like what she was SUPPOSED to want . it was logical , working with the safety net of a publication . it felt like a step backwards , a step towards the life she was building in galway , before everything wonderful about manchester happened .

“ admit it , ” evan peeked up from her camera screen –– beaming –– to see all four members of saint valentine as they lingered outside of the packed green room . nicky had his arm flung around his younger brother , and a crooked smile pasted on his lips , “ that was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before , right ? ”

“ consider me minorly impressed , ” evan said , tucking her dslr back into her bag . her hands instinctively cradled the film camera around her neck .

“ more like majorly . ”

“ are all american musicians t’is sure of themselves ? ”

“ no , ” lindsey , their lead guitarist named after fleetwood mac’s very own –– and certainly living up to it –– ruffled his shaggy hair with a towel , “ nicholas here just has a massive ego to compensate for other shortcomings . ”

an unintelligible grumble sounded from the taller boy , lost in the scuffle of nicky trapping him in a headlock and dragging them into the green room . spencer , their bassist , now back in his wire-framed glasses groaned and followed the both of them , uttering weak words of protest . only izzy hung back , beautiful black hair damp from a hard night’s work and finally pulled back into a long ponytail . evan wondered a few times how she managed to keep her vision clear on stage . she flashed a dazzling smile after the three of them , then turned back to evan .

“ dudes , am i right ? ”

evan’s gaze shifted from her to trail after the three of them , jostling each other about as people began to swarm for congratulations . despite the lightness in her chest , there was something small missing . . . an ounce of longing gripping at her stomach –– she missed all four of them .

“ absolutely ridiculous , ” she laughed before her gaze shifted back to izzy , “ you , miss , could out-drum just about ANY of t’e musicians i’ve worked wit’ . absolutely killer . ”

“ don’t flirt with me when i have no chance , connely , ” deep brown eyes sparkled in jest as she added , “ i know kiv o’niell’s got first dibs . ” shared laughter filled the hallway , “ you coming in ? we’d love to have you . ”

“ um , ” evan turned once more , peering into a hectic , happy room . a smile settled on her lips , “ i’ve actually got plans , but tomorrow ! i’ll stick around after tomorrow . ”

izzy studied her for a moment , giving a slow nod and an understanding smile , “ he’s in boston , right ? ”

“ not yet , ” evan sighed , not bothering to ask how she knew . she was sure she’d slipped it into conversation at some point that day , “ toronto . t’ey play boston in a couple days . reckon i can catch him in between press rounds if i time it right . ”

“ well , go on . we’ll see you tomorrow . bring that magical little machine with you , too . ”

“ you got it , ” evan lifted two fingers to her temple in a small salute , not needing to be told twice . her feet were moving before she’d even finished .

maybe it was the confetti fluttering about in her stomach . maybe it was the realization that perhaps nme wasn’t the dream she thought it was . maybe it was the sight of three boys jostling each other around after a good show . her only instinct , her only real thought , was to call kieran . to tell him all about how she’d gotten an infamous trouble maker to open up , how her photographs would be used as cover art for a stand alone single , how nothing quite compared to being in the thick of a live show . . . and how 20,000 people with a band she didn’t truly know couldn’t hold a candle to THE FOUND in berlin . . . let alone the found later in their career . it could’ve been the endorphins , the adrenaline , but evan felt certain in what otherwise seemed like a whim : being confined to a desk wasn’t it for her . she didn’t know what came next . . . leaving nme or locking down her own studio or heading out on tour with another band , but she knew she wanted to tell him . she was happier than she’d been in WEEKS , and the only missing piece was kieran .

even if things hadn’t been picture perfect with them lately . distance was easy when they were just an easy drive away from each other , but with an ocean , a tour , and ever changing time zones working against them things had been . . . more difficult than what they were used to . evan tried to chalk it up to overthinking when she felt a hollowness in her chest after he missed a call . . . or worse , after her mentions flooded with a girl she wanted nothing to do with . she’d been familiar with the nastier side of the internet for a long time , if only because of her proximity to four boys rising to fame , but after she and kieran made it clear to EVERYONE that they were far more than friends , things had only gotten worse . it was easy to ignore before bex . easier to brush away as though it were nothing but a nameless , faceless few who put their opinion where it didn’t belong . but now , with evan in london and kieran ( and bex ) in the states . . . things were BRUTAL . especially as more and more usernames tied to the found’s opening act wandered into her tags or her mentions . she’d kept it to herself , for the most part , knowing that he couldn’t really do anything to change it . . . but it wasn’t like bex , herself , was helping . she couldn’t help the occasional curiosity that came when she couldn’t sleep , only to find a clip from bex’s story , fawning over kieran the way she had shamelessly back in manchester as evan was standing right there .

she learned quickly to monitor her time on social media ; these days she mostly only used it when work required it of her . the last thing she needed was an array of new tagged posts on instagram , all having nothing to do with her and everything to do with her boyfriend . she’d known for some time about the rumors , and since stumbling across them she’d tried her best to tune them out . it did nothing to soothe the things she’d been actively working to unlearn over the last several months . the things her father , who left his entire family for another one , left behind . the things a boy , who she’d thought would be her first love despite his constant need to make her feel inadequate , left behind . kieran walsh was everything those men could never be . . . but it was easy to let the mind run wild when he was thousands of miles away .

even with the recent distance –– with the missed calls and miscommunications –– she still ached with missing him . she still wanted nothing more than to tell him about the night she’d just had , the one he’d been SO SURE would go well . she wanted to tell him that he was right . . . and that maybe she’d leave her desk behind to start something new . so she moved quickly from the empty bowels of the arena to the crowded lobby areas , smiling at but aptly dodging anyone who recognized her by CHANCE , kieran walsh’s girlfriend . she poured out into the parking lot with the rest of them , and only when she was exhaling as she flopped into the driver’s seat of her car did she pull out her phone .

‘ hey , checking in with you babes . are you alright ? do you need me to come over ? ’ isla’s message sat at the top of a mountain of notifications , every single one from her work email address . . . and her personal .

‘ COMMENT REQUESTED ’

evan’s brow furrowed as she typed back to isla : ‘ great actually ???? why ’

but the answer to that question was tucked away in the emails flooding her inboxes . over a dozen emails from over a dozen different publications were reaching out , hoping for her thoughts on an article linked at the very end of each .

she’d been walking a tightrope over the past few weeks , balancing in the breezes that tried to sway her off center . work . distance . arguments . rumors . however all of it was stuff she could handle , for the most part . . . this , though , was like someone took a pair of scissors and snipped the rope as she was standing in the center of it .

‘ ‘I DON’T KISS AND TELL : Bex & The Found’s Kieran Walsh Confirm Rumors are True ’

it was nothing she hadn’t seen before .

" Rumors have circulated all over the internet throughout The Found’s wildly successful North American tour, and for weeks all we’ve gotten were vague answers from Bex and silence from Kieran . This past Saturday , however , it seems the pair –– speculated to be growing intimately closer over the course of tour thanks to Bex’s ever present social media presence –– finally decided to make it known outside of their inner circle . . . those rumors may not have been rumors after all . Summer in Toronto is warm , but these two were hot (and heavy?) outside of Everleigh . . . ”

and then her vision began to blur as a photograph came into view . she blinked , turned up the brightness on her phone , and held it closer as she stared and searched for some sort of flaw in the composition . . . a tell tale sign of photoshop , a detail that proved it only LOOKED like them , but wasn’t . . .

but she found nothing . only bex and kieran swept up in each other’s arms in an intimate looking moment , a moment no one was meant to see . the telephoto lens caught her smile perfectly , beautiful as ever as hooded eyes looked over at kieran . what’s worse was . . . it looked like he was smiling too . wrapped up in each other the first photo , walking away from the club’s exit together in the second .

nausea began to settle in as she stared , unable to read any other part of the article surrounding the photographs . things began to fall into place , one by one . the way she’d picked up the phone –– maybe she truly didn’t remember evan , because maybe evan didn’t exist at all in the states –– , the copious number of videos and photos evan had been tagged in but never got around to seeing , the secret keeping , the missed call . THE MISSED CALL . it was that night . . . when time got away from him and he texted instead of calling . she hadn’t understood then , but she had a hunch now that maybe . . . maybe it was because bex was there , laying on the side of the bed that should’ve been HERS .

her chest began to rise and fall in rapid breaths , every cautionary tale and lived experience flooding her lungs at once . everything from the past few weeks toppled over onto her chest because she’d been RIGHT to worry about bex . she’d been right to feel like the place she left in the boys’ lives was being filled with a girl who had eyes for kieran . she was right to tell kieran to be CAREFUL with that one . . . because it wasn’t insecurity , and it wasn’t being a JEALOUS girlfriend . it was instinct , and her gut feeling was never wrong .

or maybe it had been , when it told her it was SAFE to allow herself to believe that love stories didn’t have to turn into tragedies . . . that not every man would hurt her the way declan had or leave her as her father did –– trading her in for a newer , more expensive model .

but kieran , with his arms wrapped around bex and a smile on his lips , had done BOTH . . . and hadn’t even had the decency to tell her before telling the world .

am i worth so little ? she thought , am i so easily replaced ? so easily unloved ? how could i be so stupid . . . so naive ?

her phone screen was a blur without definition , clear droplets hitting the glass like the beginnings of a slow summer rain . her clothes suddenly felt too tight , frantic breathing ripping at the seams of her shirt . her stomach lurched and turned and somersaulted , unsteady and queasy and . . .

she shoved her door open , slipping out of her car and kneeling just on the other side of it . tucking her hair behind her ears , grasping curls in a ponytail behind her neck , she threw up on the pavement of the parking lot . it brought no relief , though . in fact , her cheeks were still stained with tears . her chest was still heaving with labored breath . her head was still racing . . .

when did it start ? did he put up a front at first or did he immediately find himself in need of a distraction . . . one that was close in proximity and ready and willing . why wouldn’t he just BREAK UP with me ? being dumped would’ve been easier .

was he bored with her ?

was he in need of someone smarter ? someone prettier ? someone more accessible ? someone who knew the life of a musician far more than she could ever understand ?

she stood , wiping her mouth with the back of her hand .

maybe it was a misunderstanding . . . a doctored photo . . .

the parking lot was nearly empty . . . how long had she been like that ? motionless in her car as tears puddled over the article until she had no choice but to move . . .

evan’s lashes fluttered , blinking away tears as they came ; she had no idea when her hands had begun to shake , but they trembled as she pulled up her recent calls . his name sat there near the top of the list . . . maybe if she called , he’d tell her it was a fake . a rumor . a mistake . or maybe bex would pick up again , still wrapped in his bedsheets in the midst of an afternoon off of press . her thumb hovered over his name .

kieran had WATCHED her change for a boy who didn’t love her . he’d seen the aftermath of a broken heart . he’d witnessed the hurt she felt when it came to her father , the anger . and yet there he was , crystal clear in a photograph breaking her heart for the world to see .

kieran , who swore he loved her . who swore she had nothing to worry about . who swore that she was just a jealous girlfriend the first time evan brought up her discomfort with bex . who swore he’d come home to her .

it was worse than declan , because she hadn’t loved him this much .

it was worse than her father , because she’d never really promised to stay .

her thumb tapped the screen and she brought the phone to her ear ; the shrill ring came three times before anyone picked up .

“ evan ? ”

“ mam , ” she huffed , voice cracking as silent , angry tears finally broke into a choked sob , “ can you –– . . . could you –– . . . i t’ink i –– ”

“ evie , my sweet girl , take a breath , ” her voice was sharper now . evan imagined her sitting upright in bed , spine straightened with worry , “ tell me what’s going on . ”

“ he –– . . . kieran –– ”

“ is he OKAY ? ”

“ YES , ” she shook out her free hand , slight frustration creeping in and only fueling the tears , “ yes he’s . . . i mean he looks . . . i t’ink maybe he’s ch-chea– ” she couldn’t even get the word out ; she was going to be sick all over again .

“ oh , evan –– ”

�� could you just –– could you PLEASE come to london ? ”

there was a pause , agonizingly long .

“ i can be t’ere tomorrow . ”

#𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷 + musing .

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stewblog · 3 years

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F9: THE FAST SAGA

“F9” is one of the stupidest movies I’ve ever seen. I loved every single minute of it.

I admit that it’s a bit difficult to know precisely how to review something like “F9,” the ninth entry in the impossibly long-running “Fast & Furious” franchise. Though the first few films always had their own tinges of absurdity fueling them, the series has long since blown past anything resembling a “grounded” tone or plot. When the main characters who started out boosting TVs and DVD players are now wrapped up in plots that are equal parts Mad Max and James Bond, how does one critique that?

My approach to any review is to simply engage the film on its own terms, but after 20 years and nine films I wonder if even that level of scrutiny really matters. But as the movie rockets forward, it becomes increasingly clear the creative minds behind this series have fully thrown caution to the wind, delivering a film that may in fact be impervious to criticism.

At minimum, though, it’s clear that returning director Justin Lin, producer/star Vin Diesel and the writing collective of Daniel Casey and Alfredo Botello wanted to give audiences as much movie as possible. The first major action scene involves Dom (Diesel) using a bridge rope to swing his Dodge Charger like Tarzan from one cliffside to the next and things only get more absurd from there so I’d say they more or less succeeded. Suffice to say, there is no concept too silly that Lin and Vin won’t fully commit to it, going so far as to literally launch two long-standing team members into space using a rocket-propelled Pontiac Fiero.

That commitment extends into the actual storytelling as well. It’s been obvious since the fourth film that these movies are really just soap operas with sports cars and explosions, but “F9” embraces that soapy opera-ness with a big ‘ol bear hug not once but *twice*, playing the “long-lost brother who’s now actually a bad guy” and “this character you loved and thought was dead is now alive and well” cards near-simultaneously. One would think that for all of Dom’s posturing on the importance of “family” that he’d at least in passing have once mentioned that he’s got a brother, estranged though Jakob (John Cena) may be. But leaving the reveal until nine films in only amplifies the absurdity.

Part of me is convinced that all of this ridiculousness is simply Vin and Lin pushing forward with a series of dares as to how far they can push things. Because it feels increasingly clear that they looked at everything people would joke about over the last decade - “Bring Han back from the dead! Go to outer space! Family family family!” - and then defiantly dropped it all into here but cranked up to 11. That it all (mostly) works is nothing short of miraculous.

But then, there’s also an undeniable strain of self-awareness propelling the proceedings. On more than one occasion, characters question out loud whether they’re actually immortal superheroes. Everyone making these knows how stupid it’s all getting, and they embrace it with a passion. Pushing the limits of what’s actually credulous is now, it would seem, largely the point. Whether that works for you is mostly a matter of preference and frankly I don’t blame anyone who considers it all to simply be A Bit Much.

That said, pushing the limits of what can be stuffed into a “Fast & Furious” movie does take its toll. This is especially evident in the fact that Charlize Theron’s return as the villainous Cipher is mostly wasted. She films most of her scenes in a warehouse and we never once see her share the screen with Dom or any of the main crew, making me wonder why they even brought her back in the first place. You have the woman who took center stage in a “Mad Max” movie and in two movies you have yet to put her behind the wheel of a car? Baffling. Then again, Dame Helen Mirren practically begged to be cast in the series and it took making a third appearance for her to finally get to drive (in a delightful scene shared with Diesel), so here’s hoping Fast 10 is when Theron gets to do the same.

Oh and while he plays the heel better than I expected, it still felt a bit of a waste to keep John Cena so po-faced serious for the entire movie. His talents lie in his comic delivery and in playing the good guy.

Still, what we have with “F9” is a film that works often in spite of itself. This should collapse under the sheer weight of itself with massive, increasingly ridiculous setpieces, to say nothing of the *wild* shifts in tone as it careens recklessly moment-to-moment between scenes of po-faced seriousness and whatever wacky action scene often follows.

And yet it doesn’t. Or maybe it does. I honestly don’t even know anymore. My affection for these movies certainly has its limits (looking at you “Hobbs & Shaw”), but I’m so largely in the tank for the ridiculousness of each escalating entry that it’s hard to know. All I do know is that I had a blast watching this and I can’t wait to see how they choose to end this ridiculous saga.

#F9 #family #vin diesel #fast & furious 9 #fast & furious #fastandfurious #charlize theron #john cena

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maiassensibleblog · 4 years

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Dear theatre people, this is what I mean when I say theatre is elitist...

(All views expressed are my opinion).

I’ve been considering whether now is the right time to post this but when theatre comes back (which it will, it must), it cannot look how it looked before. I love theatre with all my heart, it is the part of my life that heals the most. But the industry drives me crazy.

I want to address the questions: Why don’t people go to the theatre? And why don’t people care about theatre? My perspective is from a West End theatre goer who is working class, not white and not straight. I am not involved in making theatre and do not desire to be involved.

To answer this huge question, I’d like to start with two definitions:

Elitist: Relating to or supporting the view that a society or system should be led by an elite.

Inaccessible: Unable to be reached.

I often see people asking “why don’t people go to the theatre?” with only responses related to accessibility. When we talk about accessibility, we need to consider barriers such as ticket prices, geographical location and ableism. An awful lot of people are not stopped by accessibility, but they do not go to the theatre. Why? Theatre is elitist.

Elitism is the feeling that you do not belong in a space because the people who are there are different from you and often appear to think they are better than you. In my opinion, this is the reason that the general public do not care about theatre. Elitism is built into the theatre world and this has only been highlighted recently through the BLM movement (I don’t need to go into this here, you’ve all seen it).

From a personal perspective, I’m privileged to have been going to the theatre since I was tiny. We didn’t have a lot of money but my mum was really good at finding deals on tickets and I grew to love theatre more and more as I grew up. I go around once a week and see a lot of off West-end stuff. I, a seasoned theatregoer, feel elitism every time I go to the theatre. I will elaborate on these in the sub-topics below but I wanted to point out that I am somebody who is relatively confident around the elitist feeling, imagine if you aren’t. You just wouldn’t bother and that is what we’re seeing.

Tickets

The first thing I would like to discuss may seem to sit between accessibility and elitism but getting affordable tickets sits in with elitism in my opinion. I am often asked how I can afford to go to the theatre so often and my answer is always I know where to look. Why do theatres feel that it is acceptable to hide their cheap seats? The only thing that is achieved here is keeping theatre for those who know where to look.

If you have not be brought up around theatre folk, you don’t know that day seats exist. Even when theatres advertise and say something like “£15 day seats available”, people who do not know anything about theatre will not have a clue what that means. They won’t know the difference between a digital lottery and a regular in-person day seat, they won’t know how to press buy now just at the right time on TodayTix to get a rush ticket. Having cheaper options does improve accessibility but the way it has been done doesn’t serve to reduce elitism.

Put yourself in the shoes of somebody who has never been to the theatre before. They see a poster for a musical that looks amazing, they google it, they see decent seats for £100+. They decide to go for the £30 option in the Gods. They feel ripped off and don’t bother again OR they know that those are crap seats and don’t bother at all. There is nowhere on that main booking page that mentions cheaper, good seats. That is telling people that they only deserve good seats if they’re rich. That is elitist.

Image

My next two points spill into each other, but they are not the same thing. What do you think of when you think of somebody who goes to the theatre. We all just thought of the same old, white couple. They tut at young people who talk at interval? Yeah we all know the type. It’s amazing that these people, who usually have disposable income, go to the theatre and spend money there but they are coming anyway. Why are you therefore using them to advertise?

Some theatres do this amazingly (Bush, Soho, Young Vic, loves) but most don’t. Some shows have gone too far (looking at you Heathers West End transfer) but think: What is the demographic that you think would want to come, but isn’t? If you’re trying to attract non-theatre goers, they have to see themselves in those who are recommending it.

Obviously, some known reviewers have to be included to keep the regulars in but theatres must start including a wider range of reviewers, they must be open to criticism from young people, queer people, Black people... Then, they must show the faces of these reviewers in their advertising, they must include their views using their vocabulary. And once you get these voices (and start respecting them), theatres must start taking these views into account. A mainstream producer actually listening (and properly listening) to the views of not the mainstream critics? That is revolutionary. That’s showing you’re willing to change.

Etiquette

This is the big one. Theatre etiquette is elitist. I’m sure many people know what I mean by this: Hushed tones even when the show isn’t on and you’re in the bar, FOH using theatre-y vocabulary to usher people places (even things like “the house is open” mean nothing to people who aren’t in theatre), expected restraint to reactions towards what’s happening on stage. I’ve never been to a theatre that doesn’t use vocabulary that would be alienating to non-theatregoers. Only a few theatres don’t have that feeling of “we’re better than you” hanging in the air.

I have been told that I do not match up to people’s ideas of expected theatre etiquette twice outside of fandom things. I remember them both. Once, I was laughing at funny moments during a funny play. The second time I was talking to my friends excitedly at interval and had some older theatre-goers tut and ask us to be quiet (hun, it’s the interval). As I mentioned, I go to the theatre all the time, I generally conform (even when I hate it). Imagine how you’d feel if you didn’t know the nonsense rules.

The solution? Dismantle the rules.

People dismiss panto because is does this and it’s the least elitist theatre out there. Stop getting on your high horse about people openly enjoying themselves. And to those panicking, very few people are actually going to chat their way through a whole show they’ve paid money for.

We need more relaxed performances. We need more for disabled people but we also need more for young people, where they can react to what’s going on during the show and whisper to each other about it.

We need more sing-a-longs. Musicals can create an amazing fandom this way. Six is doing an amazing job because they’ve fostered this environment. Imagine a Hamilton sing-a-long. Just sit in that for a moment. Imagine a person who had never been to the theatre before and has heard a few songs of the soundtrack getting the feeling of a gig from the theatre. It’s powerful and it needs to happen.

Shakespeare

Nothing exhibits the elitism of theatre more than Shakespeare. The sheer prevalence of it. And, I’m going to say it: Nobody fully understands what’s going on.

Why, as an industry, are you all so obsessed with a sexist, racist, homophobe who died in the 1600′s? People alive today are writing plays about stories that people want to hear, in a language that people can understand. Commission them.

That is all on that.

Secrecy

There’s certainly something to be said about keeping the magic of theatre alive by keeping tricks a secret. I totally appreciate and love that about this art medium. You watch things happening in real time that look like magic and it’s beautiful.

However, the secrecy around productions has gone too far. Why are full on HQ recordings of shows being filmed for them never to see the light of day? I have seen the argument that people will not feel the need to watch the show if they have seen a recording but I have only seen that argument from people who work in theatre. Listen to the people who just go to the theatre. I don’t know what I can actually say to convince the industry of this, but theatre people will still come because there’s nothing like live theatre.

What you will do by releasing a good recording is open the show to the masses (and make money from it). You will essentially be building a fandom. People can watch football on TV but choose to pay for a ticket to go watch live because it is a different experience. People can listen to a band but choose to pay for a ticket to go to a concert because it is a different experience. It is the same thing. You honestly need to get over this because I think this is a massive reason why this elitism still exists.

Also why not release HQ footage even as a trailer? Stick it on YouTube for free, get ad revenue and advertise.

These are just a few things that need to be taken into consideration when theatres re-open. Theatre must come back better and stronger than it was before and it must get more people in the room. The people will need art.

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. - Toni Morrison

#theatre #theatre culture #west end #broadway #elitism #opinion

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orenstern · 4 years

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I’d like to admit that I’ve never in my life read the Diary of Anne Frank. I’ve stood outside her house before, almost 14 years ago, and could feel something of her echoes, but never had before or since seen her words or witnessed her mind.

Up until a week ago, that is, when I chanced upon a copy of her diary. I picked it up the very moment I saw it, an instant reaction and so quick I forgot to realize I’d always been innately afraid to read her work, her letters to self. Because it somehow always seemed to me like, of all the work available by now-dead writers, her diary entries would feel the most like ghost stories, like real life talking to a ghost. It’s always scared me, the notion of talking to this particular ghost. No other ghost ever proposed to raise in me the slightest feather of a concern let alone fear.

But she always had.

And I can’t even remember having seen a portrait of her until last week. As hard as that might be to believe.

Where she was concerned, it has been like living in a house where all of the mirrors had blankets covering them. And believe you me, I’ve been in many houses where real life people were still living there and it was just precisely that, blankets over the mirrors, and the inhabitants were just looking at me without a hint of shame, sorrow or remorse in their eyes. Without any hint of knowledge of the display they had erected. If it fact it was them who had erected it. Just, this is the way it is here looks in their eyes.

The fucking things you see over a life. The understated non-plussed near-miss, oh boy did it hit though I am yet unstruck, horror you sometimes see. And how often it doesn’t even faze you. You just step over it like you would any old mound of dirt, not at all an active grave, except the low key and surpressed knowledge reminding you that all the earth is an active 5 billion year old Grave and Tomb and Monument and Pyre all wrapped into one, and all the universe a 20 billion year old same thing.

So I picked up the book. And I gazed at the front cover for a good long while. At her portrait. At Anne. I looked at her portrait for the first time, and I transported my mind back to her house, and I imagined she and I were standing there together, side by side. Outside. Looking at her own house in silence, together. And we both walked away, together, headed for a fast train to Paris, by way of a stroll along the Prisengracht, and short interlude at the Van Gogh museum. No other manifestations than that. I did not even imagine our bodies or our faces. I just remembered having done that before, peering out from the windows of my own eyes, with a companion by my side, and imagined this time, Anne was there with me doing the same.

And then after these thoughts, I opened the book. But I turned immediately to her very final entry. And I read only this Tuesday, August 1st, 1944 entry.

I’m sure I am not the only one who has read her writings and recognized themself in her words. But for certain, what she had written seemed and felt like something I’d written at least a thousand times. Her precise sentiments, and word choices, her very style. Parts of her style is my style. I must have picked that up either from writers who were familiar with her writings or just plucked it out of the wind somehow or some other way. But still that was not the eerie part.

The eerie part was the last two paragraphs. Which I copied down by hand into one of my own journals, with a blunt non-sharpened 3 inch pencil with no eraser no less, was all I had at the time. It was eerie because for at least a decade but more and more lately like the curvings of a quadratic formula, I’ve been hearing the phrase “Set Intentions” like you might hear during guided meditation or whenever someone wants to Exalt the Secret of Manifestation to you.

And I wasn’t at all going to share any of this with anyone. I had no plans to say any of this outloud to write anything on it or engage it any further or even ever again. I wrote the passage in my journal and I’d figured I was fully intending to never ever look back at that passage, or talk about it, or allow myself to recall it, and otherwise resolved to keep the blankets over this mirror forever.

But then I was scrolling this evening and just saw someone had shared a picture of Anne. And that too was a first for me to witness. Now I saw her face twice in a week, at the bookends of the week, both on Wednesdays at roughly about the same time of day. Happy to call that coincidence. Very happy to call it that.

But, I had also been just on a smoke break from my own writings, a letter I was writing to a loved one and the tenor of the letter of where I had left off when I stopped for my smoke break had just moved onto omens.

Oh boy, right?

Well now, still happy to be coincidentally maybe now just only synchronistically having this experience. But given it all, I’d resolved to share.

And by share, I’m not sure I can bring this all into any firm sense of things that could make it any less eerie. Though I will try. And if I don’t fully strike the right note in this attempt, I will know it, you won’t have to tell me, but I will publish the attempt anyway as an earmark of this encounter, and double back on it maybe whenever it is that I have found the right note or chord to strike or strum.

I’m thinking of two things, one I was going to save for my letter when I moved past omens. And one I was going to tell a friend of mine after watching a movie he recommended that I still have not told him. So I will choose neither and tell you both of them in this writing.

Most importantly, this is not at all about victim blaming, please have the courage to see past that, as Anne apparently might say that, at least, one of your two voices, if you only had two, would have such ability. And this, even if that means this courageous voice disappears after only 15 minutes.

First, I can remember back to a time when I am not more than a few months older than my son is now, maybe six months older. I am lying in my little boy bed, in my little boy bedroom in the house I grew up in, a little cape style enhanced cottage. It is night. The walls are blue. The headboard is all white and soft and plush to the touch, and riveted by silken buttons, smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye, though woven round by very fine white thread.

I am laying on top of the covers. This is colorful Snoopy and the Peanuts bedding. It’s not exactly yet bed time. But it must still be before the Vernal Equinox because the sun has been down for a good while and its not yet past my little boy bedtime. And the room is lit golden by a single 40 maybe 60 but really probably 40 watt incandescent bulb. It’s gold in there, it’s almost orange that low gold glow. And I’m laying at angle on the bed. And I’m pointed feet first at the east corner of the bedroom, which is also precisely lined up with Cardinal East. And I shit you not, but on this evening, a few weeks before my actual birthday and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on my original due date, I was thinking to myself, “I must be dreaming in this life. I am going to remember this moment forever. When I get older. And I believe I am going to wake up someday from the distant future back here in this moment, back here in the age, back here just the way I am now.”

I’ve not tampered with this memory at all since then. I’ve remembered it precisely and often ever since. I’ve referred back to it thousands of times. In a sense, I in fact have never left that room or that night. I built it into every single night since. Like one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. And this before I had ever heard Row Row Row Your Boat. And this before I had enough speaking skills to say these thoughts outloud even if I wanted to but enough language understanding to think them and remember.

So that’s the first thought.

The second thought, it’s about that movie my friend suggested I watch over the summer. It was a horror movie, a new one. You may have watched it yourself. Called Ghosts of War.

My feedback to him the day after I watched it was pretty simple. A. I enjoyed it. B. The sniper I think is my favorite. C. It reminds me I have another horror movie That I do not mention to him by name then, but I only say that it is in the genre of horror that is not shriekingly scary, or rather does not rely on shriekingly scary moments. Because it does contain a couple of those potentially frightful jolts. But that is not it’s best foot forward. This type of horror is not the exciting amusement park kind. This type of horror is the kind that enters your bloodstream and stays with you and haunts you over a long period of time, long afterwards. The kind of horror you might find yourself waking up from sleep even a year or more later and not feeling right and having witnessed. D. I might get back to him someday with more commentary. Oh and E. I really enjoyed seeing Billy Zane. Particularly as the dichotomy of American Doctor and SS Colonel.

But wouldn’t you know shortly after I finished writing down that passage from Anne Frank’s final entry, pledging to not look at it ever again, I found myself in another room talking to a person about that actual movie that ghost of war reminded me of that I didn’t tell my friend what that movie was. To this new person I did say its name. It is paranormal activity. The first one. I said that movie is the first time I had witnessed a genuine horror film, That has the capability of genuinely haunting me for a long long period of time, in my adult years. And it doesn’t contain hardly any,if at all, shriek moments.

The horror of that movie is it’s power to slowly and steadily and surely wrap itself around your heart with fear and anxiety, and with full command, Sustain you in that state while flexing and relaxing it’s own valves, to show you who’s boss and who is in command.

Furthermore I told this person, that such a film as this paranormal activity is is not a film to watch when you are in a heightened state of consciousness. You’ve got to be half asleep at the wheel half dead inside to properly survive that film. Because in the final moment, and I admitted this to that person, when you see the demon at last, he jumps straight into your eyes. Straight into you. That movie is perhaps the ultimate act of transgression, that I’d ever seen to that date. And I admitted to this person that it took me a good long while of concerted and methodical effort, to rid myself of that motherfucking demon. Such is the exquisite accomplishment of that particular horror movie. I spared my friend this story, because I’m pretty sure he would’ve shit his pants if I told it to him in person. I think I’m only about 30% joking about that.

But tomorrow being that some stories stay with you longer than others. Some stories you actually have to exorcise from your mind. it’s very good training. Especially if you happen to frequently find yourself in other peoples houses and those houses have all the mirrors draped over by blankets. And those other people walk about aimlessly as though they have no idea how odd that appears to be. if you know what I’m saying. And if you can believe what I’m saying is actually true.

But no I don’t think I’ll ever tell my friend about the paranormal activity story. What I will tell him is another thought I had about ghosts of war. That I think on some level in someway we are all ghosts of every war. Wars that we’ve seen and wars that we haven’t seen, either depicted in books or movies or for trade for real on the news both of foreign lands and domestic. And even wars in our own mind, common place words with our neighbors or friends or family or loved ones. I think in someway we just are ghosts of it. Carrying the crosses of it.

And I remember a story I wrote or a poem maybe it was about a universal snake and a universal monkey. The universal snake head swallowed the universal monkey. Seemingly defeated him in battle. Seemingly killed him. Seemingly was digesting him. But unseeming to the universal snake, the universal monkey to this day will not die. And for all eternity the universal snake has had indigestion on account of the universal monkey’s eternal will not to be extinguished. They say it ain’t over til it’s over. They say don’t stop believing. I say that’s probably very good advice and we should all listen to it. The Monkey is listening to it right now, and has been forever. That monkey won’t quit. That monkey is in a pickle but he’s got a slim to none chance and yet he won’t quit.

How this works back to ghosts to war and how we’re ghosts of war with everyone, and how this works back to Anne Frank. It’s up to you what you wanna believe in, I believe in the fact that God won’t ever let us really kill each other. We might see it happen with our own eyes. Right before us. But I believe that even as it happens it also instantly unhappens.

We have the ability to look backwards in time and forecast forwards in time but we only have the ability to live in one moment of time at a time and that we called the present. We have no idea what actually happens in previous moments of time once we’ve moved past them. Except how they exist in our mind. But for all we know in a moment that someone apparently kills another, whether it’s a person to a person or an animal to an animal. How do we know it doesn’t on happen once we’ve left that moment? Natural law has a place in this world. So natural law gets its way in this world. But there are such things as the overlapping thesis of all the different laws. And divine law is a thing in that overlapping thesis. Just as well as natural law is. So it is totally possible that once we make a mess of things, the Custodian comes along to fix it.

It’s possible along the same probabilities or maybe even slightly better than Lloyd Christmas’ chances of getting the red head which he eventually did.

To another person who overheard me talking to that first person last week about paranormal activity, the next day she came to me with concerns. I listened to these concerns. And my response was what you do is up to you. Including whether or not you trust yourself or not. If I were in your shoes I would try to trust myself. Even as everyone around me might seem intent on leading me to betray my own trust. if I were in your shoes, I would choose to believe that no one actually has the power to do that. No one actually has the will to want to see you fail, to fail yourself. Because that would be them wishing them to fail themselves. And while they might get away with that in one moment in the next that moment is wiped clean. If I were in your shoes I’d be telling that to myself every moment I had these concerns you are telling me about.

I further said, and I stop talking about if I were in her shoes. I further said what you think is happening is happening. What you understand about what is happening is only ever coming into focus more and more. You may not have all the Time in the world, but you do always have the luxury of patience. There’s no rush when it comes to the process of understanding. Something tells me we’ll repeat the lesson infinitely if necessary. something also tells me that won’t actually be necessary. The lesson will come clear eventually. Have faith in that and likely all of your fears and concerns will be abolished. The probability of it being otherwise, however great it seems, as Pascal very effectively demonstrated, infinitely pales to the seemingly tiny probability, the Boson particle infinitesimally small and impossible to fathom yet there it is nonetheless almost something you can now actually reach out and grab but even still something you can see if only by way of prediction probability, of it not being otherwise.

So that in other words no sword actually ever really falls upon the neck but he’s only ever caught by the Hand.

I’ve been waiting to wake up to this reality ever since my two-year-old self woke up to that reality and said I will be waking up here someday again.

But I did tell that second person, be careful the stories you tell yourself. They could be like that movie demon that enters your mind and poisons your body, like that story I told last night. The mind can make almost anything real. That’s a quote from a movie also, but it comes from somewhere. Didn’t it? So possibly probably in all likelihood whatever story you tell yourself whatever imaginary though you have as an objective: if somewhere in this universe. Somehow manifest itself. Somehow find a way to be born and become true. Often a lot faster and more hellishly than you thought possible.

The mind is it’s own place. It can make heaven out of hell and hell a heaven. I don’t need to read the whole diary of Anne Frank, to know beyond what her final entry says. That she was equally gifted at doing both. And that, my friends, is not victim blaming. That is just what it is.

And so behold the final two paragraphs of her final passage:

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

#Anne Frank #Diary of Anne Frank #set intentions #Ghosts of War #manfesting #summoning #positivity #be careful what you wish for #mysticism #book review #movie review

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nomanwalksalone · 4 years

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ON ATHLEISURE, AND SECRET SARTORIAL SINS

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

A recent piece by David Isle steered me to The New York Times’ oddly behind-the-times prognostication about the death of the necktie, to be replaced by the suit with open shirt. For the NYT, precision about pretentious details and wrongness about the larger picture are par for the course, but even for the Gray Lady (or as Gore Vidal termed her, the Typhoid Mary of American journalism), announcing the birth of a look that was current 15 years ago is a new low. (Will it recommend untucked striped shirts next?) Today the suit without tie look is a tired cliché, as passé and dubious as a Judith Miller byline, the businesswear equivalent of what a notch-lapel tuxedo worn with a dark necktie is for black tie. Nonetheless, the article spurred me to think about a topic I’ve brought up when Isle, Léon Philippe and I get together to Netflix and chill (What? We watch movies and hang out over drinks. Are you suggesting this means something else?).

Those of us who are not The New York Times’ readers or reporters may have noticed that in recent years the fashion for tailored clothing has led to a renaissance of the necktie, a reflowering of an accessory whose death has been predicted since the rise of business casual workplaces 20 years ago. Now natty ties, the more soporific the pattern or obscure the maker, are fashionable, at least to a segment of the population. Indeed nattiness, itself – for avoidance of the word “dapper,” is momentarily fashionable.

Any moment has its end. My fear is that fashion, having swept the suit itself (not simply the tie) to the forefront of menswear for the last 15 years, will wash it back out again. The current wave of dressiness has surged to the point of flamboyance. Excess breeds avoidance. So it is that the so-called tailored look became in its more debased recent exercise cinched, curtailed and shrunken, singularly uncomfortable-looking (think the suits in the more recent Bond films). A debasement of what tailored clothing is, a caricature of what is supposed to be clothes made to fit an individual’s body. We’re already seeing fashions chafe at this priggishness in what is supposed to be “the coming thing,” as Brisco County, Jr., would say: that awful neologism “athleisure.”

This portmanteau word is a portmanteau fashion, a fusion of athletic (wear) worn for leisure, a descendant in spirit of the tracksuit chic that’s been around the dark alleys and mob social clubs of fashion since the 1980s. Now, however, fashion media are recommending that track pants (or even, another nasty portmanteau word, moga pants) be mixed with sportcoats and suit jackets, in the name of a comfort that would have been there all along, if only we were wearing clothes, tailored or not, that fit.

As so much else in fashion bears out, there’s nothing new under the sun. This year’s The Rake recommends stretchy knit jersey (similar to the usual sweat pants material) to wear in or with tailored clothing, something Gentry magazine was proposing 60 years ago. And, as for wearing sweats with tailored clothes, the picture above shows that none other than America’s best-dressed president in living memory, Ronald Reagan himself, would occasionally sport the look in an unguarded moment. Well, maybe he thought Star Wars was guarding him.

It’s true that no matter how well your tailored clothes fit – and ideally, well-fitted tailored clothes should feel as effortless as pajamas – comfort is always a compromise. Stretch and elastic replace precision of cut or make with the easy pleasure of stretchy approximation – that’s why it’s easier to fit into shoes that have elastic sides instead of laces or buckles. Of course, over time the stretch gets stretched out - if you keep the garment that long - and the points that stretch may not always be the most flattering. Like Reagan, I may have swapped suit trousers for a pair of warm-up pants at home once or twice. Some have gone even farther. #Menswear idiot savant the Duke of Windsor wrote that he preferred to drop trou and walk around in nothing but his shirttails at home. While he explained (if I recall correctly) that it was to keep from wrinkling his suit pants, he may have been free-balling, since he had many suit trousers made with underwear pre-buttoned inside (I have the unkind suspicion that was because he may otherwise have been too dense to remember to wear it).

Where does this roiling tide of ridiculousness, rolling from extreme to extreme, leave us? I don’t know about you, but I’ll be wearing what I usually wear, like I was a decade ago when dressiness was the province of a few enthusiasts on our secretive specialist forums and “sartorialism” was an unborn neologism, content now to become once again a mildly foppish eccentricity on the sidelines. I don’t believe in timeless style, I believe in wearing what I like. Don’t sweat it.

Quality content, like quality clothing, ages well. This article first appeared on the No Man blog in May 2016.

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sunnyborabora · 5 years

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Ghost stories (Yoongi x Reader)

You are a medium, being able to see and talk to ghost since your birth is cooler than it seems and now you are just traveling around the country, people calling you from every where so that you can solve they supernatural problem. But what you are going to face is way different than everyt thing you’ve seen before and the worst is that you have to team up with Min Yoongi and his two acolytes. Medium reader x Ghost hunter Yoongi

It was mean to be posted for Halloween... What can I say except that lmao you can never count on me djhgjdvskjvkjv

Warning: Horror theme, ghosts and demons, possession, a little bit of blood, the reader is kind of a crackhead, smut (please don’t have sex in a haunted house)

You got off your car the cold air hitting you harder than you thought. It was already late but you got stuck into traffic jam all day and you did all you could to come to your client house as soon as you could. Two cares were parked near the house two, one being a black van. You draped your large black scarf around your long dress. You walked toward the house, wind blowing in the branches. The moment you step a foot on the wooden stairs you felt something passing beside you. You turned around, but you didn’t see a thing except the sand of the desert surrounding the house. The only thing that could be heard now was the wind and the sound of your high heels on the wooden porch. You knocked three times. You heard a ruffle behind the door. It opened and you saw a woman. She was small and seemed tired.

« Mrs Lincoln ? I am Y/n L/n, sorry for the delay, I was stuck in traffic. - Oh don’t worry. I am happy that are here. » You entered and you noted that the inside of the house was the exact same temperature than outside. A chill ran down your spine. There was definitely something wrong. « The supernatural investigator are already here, but you didn’t miss anything » she said while tying her scarf more tightly around her neck. You realized that she had a thick coat on, and she seemed to shiver every now and then. « The supernatural investigator ? », you did not expect that. You entered the living room and you saw four other people. All men. « Good evening, sorry to be late, I was at the other side of the state when my assistant got your call. -No problem, I am Eric, I live here with my wife. » You smiled at him, reaching his hand to shake it. You shivered, something felt suddenly off. He wasn’t wearing as many clothes the others you noted, but he seemed tired. « Miss L/n, this is mister Min, mister Jung and mister Kim- - Call us by our names, we are going to spend some times together now I am Hoseok, and with Namjoon we are in charge of the electronic part, this is Yoongi our leader. » You reach for his hand, smiling, his powerful aura giving off positive vibes even in this weird atmosphere. « So you are ? » The last man, Yoongi ?, asked you a stern look in his eyes. « I am Y/n, the medium mister and miss Lincoln called. », You smiled. His aura was a deep red and it seemed soft. The total opposite of the man itself, his expression not giving any friendly vibes. « A medium ? » He said like you just told him some joke. He pushed back his glasses, crossing his arms. You raised your brows. « Aren’t we hunting some ghosts ? » You were used to people being septic, even your clients were in need of reassurance. The only thing that was different this time. You were used to working alone. The man named Namjoon, who was really cute, smiled and said : « She is right Yoongi, and the more we are the faster we’ll solve this case » He met your eyes and blush as you wink at him playfully. « This is a serious matter. We are doing science, not witchcraft. -You can call me a scientist if it’s what’s bothering you that much » If looks could kill, you’d be dead on the spot. But you simply smiled. It was true joy to play with pretty boys like that. He seemed annoyed more than anything. « Did you explained them what phenomenons were happening in the house ? Does it bother you to tell me everything. -Actually it would be a great idea to tell the entire story. We are going to record it this time if it doesn’t bother you. » You all sited around the table, you were sitting next to Yoongi in front of the couple. Hoseok was just behind them, setting up a camera to film you, he was also adjusting a microphone just above the Lincolns. Namjoon was doing the same thing just behind you. You looked up at Hoseok who had settled a pair of headphones on his ears. He nodded his head, making you sign that you could start. « Okay, I am Min Yoongi, we are the 30th October, it’s 8 pm, and I am with Namjoon, Hoseok, miss L/n, and we are interviewing Eric and Sadie Lincoln. » You watched around you and saw nothing. But even if the fire place was lighted, and the fire was strong you still weren’t able to feel any heat. « Tell us everything since the beginning. -Where can we start ? -The first thing that you could think of, that made you feel uneasy maybe » They seemed to think. « Humm, then it should be as soon as we arrived in the house. When we were moving in, I felt not so welcome in the place anymore. -The thing is that we bought this house at a sale at auction. It was really cheap, and we didn’t have to do that much work inside. Seems too good to be true now… - After it was more of a… Feeling of being watched. Sadie was the first one to hear the footsteps. -It was like someone was walking behind me, following me around the house. At first, it was staying distant. But with the weeks passing, the… Presence was coming closer. -The next step I would say, was the missing objects. Literally everything was changing places. Even when no one was in the house. -It lasted a while I would say… But then the presence, the manifestation… It becomes more violent. -Our bed sheets would be dragged suddenly out of the bed. Doors would open them self slowly. -We thought it was just coincidence. But Then I started to get scratches, bruises all over my body. Once I woke up with bruises like fingerprints all around my throat- » She stopped talking as tears were starting to roll on her cheeks. You looked into your purse, finding a little pack of tissues that you gave her. She smiled at you and this is when you saw it. The dark shadow behind her. It was latching onto her body without mercy. « It is openly violent then ? » You asked still watching over her shoulder. As you speak, like you had predicted, the shadow reacted to your voice. It violently got of Sadie’s back and disappeared in the darker corridor. « Yes. It has become dangerous… We feel like it wants to hurt us… And the worst… It’s messing with our mind… -Messing with your mind ? -It has a very bad influence on us. Since we are here… We’ve been angry, almost violent against each other… -And… I started to have dark though ts… -Dark thoughts ? » She marked a pause. « I tried to kill myself twice… » You took her hands in yours trying to comfort her. The more you were listening to their story the more you were worried. « How long have you been in this house ? -We’ve been living here for three months » You couldn’t help but gasp. Yoongi looked at you weirdly. « Why are you asking this ? -Those type of phenomenons… They are normally are displayed on several months, even a year. Three months, this is nothing… -What does it mean. -It’s really aggressive. It’s hungry… » Yoongi nodded readjusting his headband on his forehead. « I think we are good with the recording. Do you want to ask something else Yoongs ? Y/n ? » You shook your head. You have heard enough. Yoongi got up and at that precise moment the fireplace smother. The room was suddenly dark. But you still were able to see a little. Suddenly you felt something. You got up almost knocking your chair down. « Namjoon, Hoseok, can you film ? » You asked. « Yes, we are behind you » Namjoon told you. You were seeing something at the end of the corridor. Something that wasn’t human. It was scratching at the floor, long claws almost digging into the wood. « Do you see that ? -No miss L/n… What do you see ? » It was Yoongi. « I see a silhouette. I can’t see its face. It has long nails, it’s scratching the floor… Oh my god... » The silence was heavy. You turned around to see the cameras, and then you Yoongi. You pointed your ear with your finger, making him sign to listen. His eyes widened. He was hearing it too, the scratch. You pointed at the corner were the monster was hoping that the camera would catch something. Suddenly everything went quiet. The atmosphere was heavy and your ears were ringing from the lack of sounds. « Help ! Oh my god ! » You turned around at the same time as Namjoon and Yoongi. You all ran up the corridor, Namjoon throwing his camera at the ground to be faster. He arrived first but what could he do when Sadie Lincoln was floating in the air. « Get her down ! » Was screaming her husband but it didn’t do anything. Hoseok was trying to get her down but the spirit was too strong. « Do you see it ? » You turned around. Yoongi was looking at you. « Yeah, it’s holding her. » You had to act fast. You ran toward the table, climbing it. There were moment to ask yourself question, and it wasn’t now. But you really didn’t plane to become a WWE super star today. You still jumped in the air, grabbing Mrs Lincoln. Namjoon and Hoseok succeed into grabbing Sadie as you crashed to the ground. « Sadie are you okay ?! Sadie !? » You got up with a hiss, your knees cursing your stupid ass. You took Yoongi’s hand getting up with difficulty. « She doesn’t answer. Is she okay ? - Is she breathing ? -Yes, she seems okay, she just doesn’t wake up. » You took a deep breath. « She might be in shocked. You have to leave this house. Get as far as you can. Whatever this is, it’s draining you from your energy. I am already tired and I’ve been here for two hours at most. You’ve been here for three months. -She is right. We don’t need you to stay here if we want to investigate, and it’s not going anywhere. » You nodded, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea if you stayed in this house longer too. « Hoseok, Namjoon and I, we are going to install all the material, cameras, microphones everything, what we need is to collect evidence. Even if we don’t need further proof to stay. »

You knelt down next to Sadie. Caressing her forehead, you saw how she looked tires, new bruises were appearing around her eyes. You were sure they weren’t here before and that they weren’t caused by the fall. She slowly opened her eyes and you saw, the suffering, the pain, death. « Y/n ? Are you going to stay ? » You raised your head toward Namjoon. He was holding a camera, probably already planning the setup. « I am not quitting the case if it’s what you are asking. -No I meant… Where are going to sleep ? You are not going to stay in the house ? -Oh no ! I won’t advise anyone to stay here after what I just saw. I am probably going take a room in a motel not to far away. -We are staying in motel 6 miles away from here. If you want to », this time it was Hoseok, he was also smiling at you. You smiled back at him answering simply : « Yeah thank you ». The next thing you did was help Mister Lincoln to carry his wife in his car. She had gained consciousness again but was really weak. You advised them to not take anything with them, literally everything is soaked in this dark energy that they should leave in this house. « Take some pause on the road there to sleep, but don’t come back here. Call me when you arrived. » He nodded before taking the road. You looked back at the house, and for a moment you thought you saw a dark silhouette standing there in the deserting night. You feared for the men inside so you started running. You almost knocked over Namjoon when you entered. « Oohh easy tiger ! -Are you all okay ? I- -Yeah no problem Y/n, we are fine ! We’re almost done with the setting of the stairs. Do you want maybe visit the house ? -Yeah, hmmm, it’s a good idea ! I am going to visit the floor, like that you’ll be able to do your work downstairs without me blocking you. -You won’t block us, and don’t you think it’s dangerous to go upstairs alone ? -Don’t worry about me ! It’s not the first time I do this. » You went up the stairs crossing Yoongi on your way up. He stopped you a disapproving look on his face. « What are you doing ? Don’t go upstairs, we just set up everything. -I know, but I need to see the house. I’ll be nice I promess », you said, trying not to me too sarcastic. As you were walking up the stairs you heard him say something but you didn’t paid attention. The stairs were silent, almost too silent as three men were supposed to be moving and talking just below you. It was composed of four bedroom, all pretty big. Three of them were empty, the main one, the one where the couple was supposed to sleep, was just composed of a bed, a wardrobe and a small cabinet that seemed pretty ancient. You entered the room scanning the place, it seemed lifeless, as if no one had been living in it. You watched under the bed, in the wardrobe, no monster in sight. But as you were going to walk out, the little cabinet opened itself. You turned around, to see. And you saw. « Who are you ? » It was squatting next to the little cabinet. It’s skin was the color of charcoal, long claws were pointing at something inside the cabinet. It was smiling at you, a big toothless smile. It was terrifying. It was the first demon you ever saw. You were used to deal with ghosts but you were almost sure it wasn’t one. It suddenly got up, so tall it’s slender long limbs were towering you. It was advancing toward you and as much as you wanted to run away you couldn’t.

« What’s your name ? What are you doing here ? » It puts his claw in front of its mouth to silence you before disappearing. You walked toward the cabinet hoping to find answer. All you find was a bunch of pictures. You could see the portrait of a woman. It was dated by 1922 and was giving the address of the house. You took a picture of it. You knew better than to take what didn’t belong to you. You found a page of an old newspaper. It related the story of an orphanage which had been destroyed by a fire. You also took a picture. You soon were over with the visit. There was no attic thank god because you hatted them. You walked down the stairs to find the three men gathered around the fire place. « So did you finished ? -Oh hey ! Yeah we are done. -What happened tho, did you ran a marathon upstairs » Funny how everything this man was saying was annoying as fuck. « What do you mean ? -We heard someone running. -I didn’t run. And I didn’t hear something running » The three of them looked at each other. « I really don’t like this » said Hoseok. « Do you know what type of ghost this is Y/n ? -I don’t think it’s a ghost. It doesn’t look like one at least. -What is it then ? -I don’t know… A demon maybe ». Hoseok squealed. « A demon !? -Yeah, never met one before. But I know someone who dealed with some. I should call them. -What does it look like ? -Completely black skin, so tall it almost touches the selling, long claws, toothless smile -I am so fucking happy I can’t see those shit… -If we do our job well we might » You closed the house, making sure all the cameras were on and the left. You followed them until you reached the hotel. You choose a room next to theirs, working at the same place, it would be easier. « Really you don’t have to help, I can carry them » you said to Namjoon and Hoseok who had insisted in carrying your luggages. « Y/n it’s nothing ! We’ll help if we can ! » The three of you laughed until you arrived to the room, where a very grumpy Yoongi was waiting for you. You really wondered when this man wasn’t irritable. You entered your room and settled down. You were drowned off of your energy. Your brain was a shamble, and you were wondering what you were going to do. You had the time to take a shower and change clothes before someone come knocking at your door. « Hey, we were wondering if you were angry. We ordered pizza. -Oh thanks ! But I have a lot of work I should get- -Well if you come we’ll be able to discuss the case. » You smiled and accepted. You followed him, Namjoon was working on his computer and Yoongi was spread on the bed, his long hair out of his face even if he wasn’t wearing his headband anymore. They all seemed to have had the same idea as you, and had taken a shower. « Come on Y/n sit ! » You sat next to Hoseok on the ground, your stomach finally growling. You took a slice, happy to finally eat. « Did you find anything else ? On the case ? -Actually, I m probably going to do some research on the house first. -That would be a first step. We’ll be back tomorrow at the house to see what the cameras had registered. -I find something in the main bedroom, in a little cabinet. » Yoongi rose from his position on the bed. « A cabinet ? -Yeah… -There’s no cabinet in the main bedroom. Just the bed and that old dresser. » You looked at him weirdly. « I saw one tho », you looked for your phone in your pocket, « Look I took pics of it » Indeed, there were the pics of the document you found inside the cabinet. « What… We didn’t see it when we were in the room… -That’s fucking creepy », Said Hoseok, shaking his head, still a piece of pizza in his hand. « I’ll look at the camera tomorrow » said Namjoon, « I think, whatever is in this house, reacts to you more than to us, it obviously wants something from you ». You shuddered at that. « Great ». You kept eating, as you were all talking more casually. « We met in high school ! We all dropped after two years of uni, it wasn’t really for us… -That’s funny ! I wish I could have a group of friends like this. -Yeah it was a good timing ! » Namjoon laughed looking at Hoseok. « And how did you start investigating ? -That’s because of Yoongi » You turned your head toward him. He was munching on his pizza, his puffy cheeks making him look younger than he probably was. « Ahhh, why always this story ?! -Come on ! It’s a cool story ! » He turned towards you, looking exasperate as if he already had told this story a million time. « My house was haunted when I was a child. So when I grew up I started investigating the story of the house. It was our first case. After that, like nothing was really interesting to me, I thought it was a good alternative. -And what happened to your house ? -An old woman had died in this house at the beginning of the century. She had hidden a sort of treasure in the house and forgot about it. I just found it for her and she left. My parents are still leaving in there. -Wow ! That’s impressive ! -And you, Y/n ? How did you come up to being you know- -Well I am just seeing ghost since I was a kid. My mom has this ability too, she never done anything with it but, I don’t know, I thought I could be helpful to others. -That’s so cool ! And terrifying ! -And you a saw them all the time ? -Yeah basically, when I was younger I used to not recognized them, I thought they were just people, weird and very confused people. Now I know how to recognize them. -Oh my god, if you saw one in the motel, you’ll tell me hmm » Hoseok started to look suspiciously everywhere. You suddenly grasped. « Oh my god Hoseok be careful, you’re gonna sit on one ! » He jumped out of the bed, screeching. You laughed followed by Namjoon and even Yoongi. You ended up talking for another good part of the night, planning what you’ll do tomorrow. You decided to let Hoseok and Namjoon go to collect the videos, while you and Yoongi were going to do research on this house. You ended up falling asleep on the floor, Namjoon had passed out on the bed in a weird position, Hoseok was sleeping on the (siege), he’ll probably be sore all over in the morning. Yoongi was also on the floor, his head carefully placed on a pillow, he wasn’t that far away from you. You had a dream this night. A weird dream. You saw the house, as flames were everywhere. A woman was standing here, you could only see her back but you understood what she was doing. In her closed fist, was a bloody piece of flesh, she was clenching it screaming things you could not understand. Suddenly everything swung and went completely black. The only light was a little light bulb just above your head. « Burn it ». You turned your head but there was nothing.

« Burn it » Two arms emerged from each side of your head, long black claws clasping around your mouth. The only thing you saw was the woman standing in the light before the monster take you into the abyss. You woke up with the horrible feeling of falling. Yoongi was on his phone, looking at you weirdly. « Are you okay ? -Yeah... » You were breathless, like you just ran a marathon. « I just had a bad dream… -Must have been intense damn… -It was » He kept looking at you, the only light being his phone screen. « You wanna take some fresh air ? -I should, I’ll be right back… -Wait » You heard him get up. It was cold outside, but it felt good against your burning skin. « It wasn’t a dream right ? -I mean… It was… But it was weird. -Did you see the demon ? -Not really. » You didn’t say anything else. You thought that a bit of fresh air would calm you down but it wasn’t working that well. You didn’t know what was happening with you and Yoongi, that tension between the both of you. You were mixed between jumping his bones or strangle him. Which was powerful coming from someone you just met. He put his hand on your forehead. « You’re hot -Thanks » You suddenly wanted to kill yourself. He watched you incredulous. And you did what everyone would do in this situation. You panicked. « I should go back to my room ! It’s late, and we have a lot of work to do tomorrow ! » You tapped his back and entered your room. It took you one hour to go to sleep again, not so much because of the dream, more because you were a fucking dumb ass. You woke up early in the morning and you decided to go in town to get everyone breakfast. It was fairly desert at this hour, even if you were sure it wasn’t crowded any hour of the day. You came back an hour after to find Namjoon outside the room drinking what looked like coffee. « Hey, sleep well ? -I don’t know in what position I fell asleep but fuck that » You laughed. « I went for breakfast ! » His smiled at you and you smiled back. You stayed outside, eating with Namjoon the breakfast you had taken from the city. « What you eating ? » You saw Yoongi’s hand first, as he was aiming for the coffee cup. You didn’t realise his fingers were that long before. You shook your head. « You're leaving soon ? -Yeah the earlier we got the footage the earlier we can analyze them. -Be careful when you are there » you said worried. « Don’t worry about us Y/n, We’ll be fine ! », He patted your hand. You turned around but Yoongi had left. Namjoon and Hoseok left soon after, and you started your research. Yoongi was in their room, and you in yours. You tried to find information on the house but nothing came out very concluding. All you find that was interesting was the fact that there have been witch trial in town centuries ago. Witches have the tendencies to attract demons. And then you remembered the dream from last night. The woman… She could have been a witch. You took a pencil and a paper and started scribbling something. The face of the witch started to appear as you were drawing her. Her slender silhouette becoming more and more recognizable. Once you were done you couldn’t stop yourself and took another piece of paper. This time it wasn’t a woman’s face that appeared this time. No eyes, black charcoal skin, big mouth full of sharp teeth. « Y/n ! Come hurry up we have something ! », Hoseok entered your room suddenly. And indeed they had found something. They had looked at the footage and the camera had registered two moments where they had been movement. The first time was at 11 pm, it was the door of the closet that had opened itself. Nothing too alarming. « It could be anything. » But the second one took you aback. Your heart stopped beating for a moment you thought. As your ayes were widening. It was a silhouette, entering the house. « Y/n are you okay ? » Fuck fuck fuck. « Do you know who this is ? » You opened your mouth but nothing come out. You were too shocked, busy looking at the woman that was in your dream yesterday, walking up the stairs, entering the bedroom and looking for something in the ghost cabinet you had found the pics in yesterday. « Y/n ! Fuck what is it ? » You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. She turned around, looking at the camera. There was two black holes at the place of her eyes. She smiled and mouth something before disappearing. « I- I- -What is it ! Talk ! -Yoongi, leave her some space ! » It was Namjoon. « I saw this woman before… -When ? Where ? -Yesterday… In one of my dream… -Your nightmare ? » Yoongi had calm down. You simply nodded, still looking at the screen where you were seeing the woman, still facing the camera. « What nightmare ? Y/n ? -She had a nightmare during yesterday… What was it ?… -This woman… I think I know who she is…. » You stood up suddenly, storming out of the room. When you came back a second after Namjoon was at the door. « Look ». You gave them your drawings. « Fuck, when did you do this ? -When you were gone… I- I couldn’t help but think about it… » Hoseok took the drawing and looked at it. « It’s exactly the same thing. How… Oh, fuck… » He had look at the other drawing. « The fuck is this -It’s what it looks like ? The thing in the house ? -That’s what he showed me at least… -It looks nothing like I’ve seen before… -It’s terrifying, fuck, how do you get rid of this…. » You didn’t feel really good. « I don’t know… -What was happening in your dream ? -The- the house was on fire, and she was standing in front of it… Then everything, it went black, and I was alone. Then » You gulped « something grabbed me and I woke up ». The three of them looked at you. Hoseok looked terrified, Namjoon worried and Yoongi, well you couldn’t tell. « We need to know more about this house, about this town before doing anything else. This must be the key to what is happening. » You all started to do research, Namjoon and you were looking at books, old newspaper, and you didn’t know how but Yoongi had succeeded into finding some of the church archive in town. He said the librarian was nice enough to let him borough them. « You didn’t steal them right ? -No, Namjoon what the fuck » Namjoon still looked suspicious, but the archive were actually pretty useful. It confirmed what you had seen on internet. « So the entire town was infested with witches. And this fucking house ! It was a coven ! -Technically it was an orphanage for young girls… -Sounds like the perfect cover to me. », Hoseok said as he was holding your hand for dear life. You smiled at him. « Not all witch are bad you know, I know some of them that are very nice, some are even my friends. -Are you a witch too ? Oh my god please say no… -No I am not don’t worry. » That’s true you were not a witch. You never perform any sort of witchcraft. Your gift, it was just there since your birth. « I have an idea. Tonight, at midnight, we’ll do what I do best! » You closed your books, smiling at them. « Calling some ghost ». The house was even colder than the day before. You were all sitting in a circle in the living room, Namjoon at your right, Hoseok on your other side, Yoongi in front of you. « No breaking the circle, don’t take anything they are going to say personally. We need to finish the seance before leaving. Is everyone ready ? -Can we ask her question ? -I don’t know if she’ll agree to show herself. To you or to me. Just ask, no insulting question, and we’ll see. -You don’t use a Ouija board ? -Don’t think I need it this time. » You all joined your hand and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath in. « I summon you spirit of this house. I feel you, you are here, and I am asking you to show yourself. » Nothing happened. « Carolina Emilie Steinfield, you tried to contact me before. I am reaching out for you. We need your help. Show yourself. »

The candle blew out under the light wind. You felt Namjoon trembling. You opened your eyes and you saw. In the middle of the circle, she was. « Keep your eyes close » you said as the ghost put her finger in front of her mouth. « Y/n, is she here ? -Hmmm, I don’t know… Just keep your eyes closed... » She was like you saw her in your dream, without the two holes that were puncturing her head on the video. She seemed young, younger than you, soft feature, dark eyes. She touches your head and you saw. It was only snippets of information, flashes in front of your eyes. You saw women, in a circle. Blood. Long claws. And fire. Burn it. Burn it all. « What do you mean ? -Y/n, who are you talking to ? » You couldn’t answer. It was too much for you. But you were understanding. You were seeing. You felt yourself fall. « Y/n ! Fuck wake up ! » You opened your eyes and everything was a blurry mess. You couldn’t talk or move. « What’s happening ? » The flashes had stopped but you were suddenly very tired. « I saw it » you simply said. « Saw what ? », said Yoongi. You could feel his hand on your shoulder, his contact was making you shiver. « The witch, I know... » You blacked out. You woke up in the motel room, Hoseok laying next to you, munching on some french fries. « You’re awake ! Oh my god ! -Y/n ! » Namjoon fell on your other side. You smiled at this. « Damn, please don’t do that again » Yoongi sat on the bed in front of you. He seemed relieved. « What happened ? -You fucking convulsed, I swear I thought you were going to die. -Damn awesome… -At least you didn’t pee yourself… » You slapped Namjoon arm with the strength of a baby. « I saw the witch. -Yeah, we figured that out… -She gave me a vision, this was the first time this happened like this… -What did you see ? -They were indeed a coven. One day they performed a ritual to summon something, but it went wrong. -What is that thing ? -A demon. It has nothing to do with a ghost, it’s way more dangerous. -How do you get rid of this ? An exorcism ? -I don’t think so… The rituals had been done in the living room. When the witch died the demon couldn’t leave, it stayed enslaved in the house. » The voice of the witch was still ringing in your ears. « So ? -She told me to burn it. -Burn the house. -I mean- If you say it like that... » Yoongi seemed to think about something. « That makes sense. Demon can’t go around without being attached to something. If the thing he is attached to disappear he will be forced to go back to where he belongs. -Yeah, that sounds logical. -What about the spirit tho ? -They’ll go away. The demon is forcing them to stay. Once it’ll be gone they’ll go away. -You are sure we are not freeing a demon in the outside world ? -No, I am sure. -That’s true, how can we trust the witch ? They are the one who summoned it. -I don’t think they wanted to summon it, they wanted to bound him to their will. Use it’s power. -Now that they have been slaughtered anyway, they have no interest in keeping the demon here. -Well… I might call the Lincolns, to tell them that we are going to burn their house... » You winced at this. Yoongi had Mister Lincoln on the phone early in the morning, and he told him everything. Mister Lincoln was worried, his wife was still asleep, ever since their departure. You understood that something was wrong. You needed to act as fast as possible. « She is like a coma… This isn’t normal. -It’s the demon, she stayed to long near it. It feed of her for too long. -She is not possessed ? Please tell me she is not… -No I don’t think so. The demon can’t leave the house. » Yoongi laid on the bed. Namjoon and Hoseok were out for food. « Everything, this story… It’s fucking crazy -I know right… I thought I was just going to see some ghost, not an all ass demon coming right from hell. » He snickered at that. « Did you sleep ? » You asked looking at him and seeing he was very tired. « A bit, not enough probably ». You moved on the right side of the bed, making him sign of moving next to you. He looked at you incredulously, before understanding. He was going to refuse, but then he moved toward the spot on the left. He took of his glasses and you threw the cover on him. « I swear you look like a kitten -Shut up… -No really… You cute or whatever ». He groaned and hit you from under the cover. You cried out. « Hey ! I just got possessed by a ghost have mercy ! » He turned around but you could the blush on his cheeks. « Ok kitten, sleep well ». He wanted scream you could see it. But he simply put his head under the cover in embarrassment. You received a call two hours later. You answered, trying not to wake up Yoongi. « Ms. L/n ! » It was Mister Lincoln. « Please, help me, my wife, she- she escaped ! I don’t know where she went ! She took the car and left ! -When did she left? » You looked around you, Namjoon and Hoseok were looking at you. You put him on speaker. « She left just after my previous call. I did not call you right away because I thought she could just have woken up. But when we started looking for her in the house she wasn’t there, the car was gone, I-I don’t know what to do… -I think I know where she is going » Namjoon took his vest and you understood. « She is returning to the house of course ! -Yes she heard us talk about it over the phone, we said we wanted to destroy it. -The Demon is using her. -We have to go, burn this shit down before it’s late » All of you got out the hotel, jumping into the vans, you had no time to take your car. Namjoon was driving, way faster than it was probably authorized but non of you cared. But you couldn’t help but feel bad. In fact, you felt terribly guilty. You were the one who told everyone that there will be no problem. That the demon would not be able to reach her or follow her once she’ll be out of its range. It was your fault.

« Stop sulking, we are here », Yoongi said, not throwing you a single look. He was right, you had to go into action. « Fuck, isn’t it the car they used to leave ? -It is... » You all rushed toward the house to see the door was open. « Shit. -Mrs Lincoln ! It’s Y/n ! Where are you ?! » Nobody answered. « I got it », Hoseok said, two buckets of gasoline in his hands. « We have to find her before we do anything. -We should split. -No ! No, you know what happen when people split in horror movies. They die ! -But we have to hurry ! We’ll go faster if we split in two groups ». Hoseok looked like he was going to faint on the spot. « If you feel slightly bit dizzy or anything get out. You find her, get out of the house. -Please don’t burn the house while we are still inside tho. » Namjoon and Hobi started to look downstairs as you and Yoongi got upstairs. Everything was good, as good as they could be, until you went to the attic. You had not found a trace of Mrs Lincoln presence nowhere upstairs. Namjoon and Hoseok had not called for you one bit, meaning that they didn’t found her either. She was necessarily in this house, you’ll find her. The attic was dark, but strangely clean. No dusty boxes, no spiders. It was empty and it was even more terrifying like that. « Y/n ». You turned around. Yoongi was looking at his feet, seemingly breathless. « Are you okay ? -You know when you spoke about feeling dizzy ? » He looked at you, and it was like a fire started consuming you. You needed to run, to get out of here right now. But as the last string of logic was passing you didn’t want to leave at all. « What is happening Y/n ? » He was suddenly so close to you. His breath on your face, as you were feeling the heat of his skin against yours. « You look so cute », it really, really wasn’t the moment to say that, you knew it, but you couldn’t help yourself. He kissed you, roughly, feeling you return the passion just as hard. Your tongues met twisting around each other before you started nipping with your teeth. What was going on ? Why were you suddenly making out with the cute guy you literally met two days ago ? Why were you unable to move except for moving forward toward his body, to feel him more. You cried out when Yoongi suddenly bit your neck, and your hips trusted against his, rubbing against his thigh. You had never felt this way before. It was only this primal desire to feel him, to be with him. It was more powerful than anything. You could feel it, against your thigh, how hard he was. He was in the same state as you. « Fuck. What’s going on ? » You were lost, but just the thought of Yoongi pressing against your thigh like that made you wetter and wetter. Feeling like he wanted you, it was everything. Your brain was so slow, it was impossible for you to think, you were just able to feel Yoongi. It was the only thing that mattered. Already, you were able to imagine him remorselessly plunging into you, thrusting hard and fast, making you gasp, moan and call out. You couldn’t help but thrust your hips forward again, rubbing up against Yoongi’s erection, turning him on even more. It felt good, you made him feel so good. He was like drunk in everything that was you. Your scent, your voice, your eyes the way you were rubbing on his cock. It felt so good even through the fabric of his pants. A moan escaped his lips before he could stop it, and it solicited something inside you. You bit his neck hard, and he felt like he could cum on the spot. He pushed you back, and you fell on the wooden floor. He would have felt guilty but you didn’t seem to mind for one bit. And honestly, looking at you from his spot, above you, as you were laying on the floor, your hair scattered around your head, your eyes closed, your lips red and bitten. He was unable to feel sorry about anything. He never saw anything that was as beautiful as you. You were sultry and dangerous. So fucking dangerous. He couldn't have resisted even if he had wanted to. But hell, he didn't want to. He wanted to take you, right here, on the floor of this damned house. He wanted you to scream. He pressed another bruising kiss to your lips, and you moaned up against him. « Please » you demanded, kicking him off of you. « I don't want your kisses, »You pleaded. Yoongi's eyes darkened, but he knew you were right. He didn't want yours, either, at least not only that. You both wanted something else and you were going to have it. He placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. Your hands reached down, and quickly you undid the buttons of his pants, sliding them down his thighs. You struggled with his boxer before he decided to help you to take them off. His cock stood erect between the two of you, thick and throbbing. You looked down at it, and a small moan escape your lips. « You want it right ? », Yoongi asked. No more words were spoken, you simply nodded eagerly. He smirked and it was his turn. He didn’t take the time to take off your dress. He pushed you on your back, his hands grabbing your dress collar and ripping it apart. You gasped, as if him taking off your clothes was making you able to breathe again. He pushed your long dress up your thighs, exposing you to the cool air. Your underwear was thrown somewhere where it won’t bother you. Placing one of his hands on your thighs, he pulled your legs apart, looking down between them. You were wet, so wet, your pink folds glistening. He wanted to eat you up, fucking devour you. But he couldn’t. He needed it right now. It was stronger than his will. He positioned himself between your legs. Yoongi grabbed your hips so hard, it will bruise but fuck every time he was touching you, you were like set on fire. He trusted up into you, making you moan throwing your head backward in pleasure. You couldn’t help it but wrap tightly your legs around his back to keep him closer. He trusted inside you hard, his mouth in your neck. In and out he pistoned, filling you with his member. You were like two animals, the only thing that was important was the feeling, the electricity running through you, the heat of the contact. The pressure was building between your legs as his thickness filled you over and over, as your scream were starting to get louder and louder. You were arching your back, the pleasure almost too much to handle. He took you in his arm, and he sat on his calves, you on top of him. Your thighs were burning from the movement but you couldn’t help but move up and down and it was magnificent as he was hitting just the right spot. His cock was curving into your upper wall, making you moan and writhe. It was making you see stars before your eyes and lips parted and legs trembling. Yoongi held strongly to you, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he helped you fuck yourself on his cock. It was like you had put a spell on him, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of you, and he could never. He couldn’t think clearly, but a small part of his mind was telling him that he could deny everything he wanted later, it would never be the same anymore. He was the one making you moan and writhe, and he couldn't help but feel good, proud about it. You cried out sharply when he pushed you hard against the floor. He wanted more, faster. He pounded into you, making you scream. He kissed you, and you felt something. Something else than just the burning, sick passion, borderline obsession that was overwhelming you. You didn’t resist, savoring his taste. « What are you doing to me -Yoongi, fuck- -Yes, Y/n, I feel it baby- » Your nails bit into his arms. He pushed himself as deep inside you as he could, as if he wanted you to feel him, feel him so deep inside you, to leave his mark. Right now you felt like you’ll never be able to be satisfied by anything and anyone else in your life. When it will stop you’ll be left sad and empty. Yoongi was feeling the same but you wet and warm, surrounding his cock was feeling so good that he wasn’t able to overthink this. You loved the feeling, too. The pressure was so great between your legs, so intense. You were clenching without knowing, and you felt like you could come at any second. But it was far away, out of reach but still so close. You were teetering on the edge, almost about to climax. Almost about to release all of your built up tension and stress and rage. About to scream. He leaned in close to you, so that your lips were brushing together. Yoongi’s arms tightened around your back, pulling you closer to him until your body was crushed up against his. Your nerves were turning to fire within your body, and you felt yourself throbbing around him. And then you reached your climax, and it crashed in waves inside your body. You screamed your eyes wide open. On the ceiling, here it was. Black, long tongue pending out of this mouth now full of theeth. It was smiling at you. Yoongi came after that. He released every every bit of himself inside you, as his orgasm took his body completely and a roar was torn from his throat. His hips began to still. « Stop sulking, we are here », Yoongi said, not throwing you a single look. He was right, you had to go into action. « Fuck, isn’t it the car they used to leave ? -It is... » You all rushed toward the house to see the door was open. « Shit. -Mrs Lincoln ! It’s Y/n ! Where are you ?! » Nobody answered. « I got it », Hoseok said, two buckets of gasoline in his hands. « We have to find her before we do anything. -We should split. -No ! No, you know what happen when people split in horror movies. They die ! -But we have to hurry ! We’ll go faster if we split in two groups ». Hoseok looked like he was going to faint on the spot. « If you feel slightly bit dizzy or anything get out. You find her, get out of the house. -Please don’t burn the house while we are still inside tho. » Namjoon and Hobi started to look downstairs as you and Yoongi got upstairs. Everything was good, as good as they could be, until you went to the attic. You had not found a trace of Mrs Lincoln presence nowhere upstairs. Namjoon and Hoseok had not called for you one bit, meaning that they didn’t found her either. She was necessarily in this house, you’ll find her. The attic was dark, but strangely clean. No dusty boxes, no spiders. It was empty and it was even more terrifying like that. « Y/n ». You turned around. Yoongi was looking at his feet, seemingly breathless. « Are you okay ? -You know when you spoke about feeling dizzy ? » He looked at you, and it was like a fire started consuming you. You needed to run, to get out of here right now. But as the last string of logic was passing you didn’t want to leave at all. « What is happening Y/n ? » He was suddenly so close to you. His breath on your face, as you were feeling the heat of his skin against yours. « You look so cute », it really, really wasn’t the moment to say that, you knew it, but you couldn’t help yourself. He kissed you, roughly, feeling you return the passion just as hard. Your tongues met twisting around each other before you started nipping with your teeth. What was going on ? Why were you suddenly making out with the cute guy you literally met two days ago ? Why were you unable to move except for moving forward toward his body, to feel him more. You cried out when Yoongi suddenly bit your neck, and your hips trusted against his, rubbing against his thigh. You had never felt this way before. It was only this primal desire to feel him, to be with him. It was more powerful than anything. You could feel it, against your thigh, how hard he was. He was in the same state as you. « Fuck. What’s going on ? » You were lost, but just the thought of Yoongi pressing against your thigh like that made you wetter and wetter. Feeling like he wanted you, it was everything. Your brain was so slow, it was impossible for you to think, you were just able to feel Yoongi. It was the only thing that mattered. Already, you were able to imagine him remorselessly plunging into you, thrusting hard and fast, making you gasp, moan and call out. You couldn’t help but thrust your hips forward again, rubbing up against Yoongi’s erection, turning him on even more. It felt good, you made him feel so good. He was like drunk in everything that was you. Your scent, your voice, your eyes the way you were rubbing on his cock. It felt so good even through the fabric of his pants. A moan escaped his lips before he could stop it, and it solicited something inside you. You bit his neck hard, and he felt like he could cum on the spot. He pushed you back, and you fell on the wooden floor. He would have felt guilty but you didn’t seem to mind for one bit. And honestly, looking at you from his spot, above you, as you were laying on the floor, your hair scattered around your head, your eyes closed, your lips red and bitten. He was unable to feel sorry about anything. He never saw anything that was as beautiful as you. You were sultry and dangerous. So fucking dangerous. He couldn't have resisted even if he had wanted to. But hell, he didn't want to. He wanted to take you, right here, on the floor of this damned house. He wanted you to scream. He pressed another bruising kiss to your lips, and you moaned up against him. « Please » you demanded, kicking him off of you. « I don't want your kisses, »You pleaded. Yoongi's eyes darkened, but he knew you were right. He didn't want yours, either, at least not only that. You both wanted something else and you were going to have it. He placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. Your hands reached down, and quickly you undid the buttons of his pants, sliding them down his thighs. You struggled with his boxer before he decided to help you to take them off. His cock stood erect between the two of you, thick and throbbing. You looked down at it, and a small moan escape your lips. « You want it right ? », Yoongi asked. No more words were spoken, you simply nodded eagerly. He smirked and it was his turn. He didn’t take the time to take off your dress. He pushed you on your back, his hands grabbing your dress collar and ripping it apart. You gasped, as if him taking off your clothes was making you able to breathe again. He pushed your long dress up your thighs, exposing you to the cool air. Your underwear was thrown somewhere where it won’t bother you. Placing one of his hands on your thighs, he pulled your legs apart, looking down between them. You were wet, so wet, your pink folds glistening. He wanted to eat you up, fucking devour you. But he couldn’t. He needed it right now. It was stronger than his will. He positioned himself between your legs. Yoongi grabbed your hips so hard, it will bruise but fuck every time he was touching you, you were like set on fire. He trusted up into you, making you moan throwing your head backward in pleasure. You couldn’t help it but wrap tightly your legs around his back to keep him closer. He trusted inside you hard, his mouth in your neck. In and out he pistoned, filling you with his member. You were like two animals, the only thing that was important was the feeling, the electricity running through you, the heat of the contact. The pressure was building between your legs as his thickness filled you over and over, as your scream were starting to get louder and louder. You were arching your back, the pleasure almost too much to handle. He took you in his arm, and he sat on his calves, you on top of him. Your thighs were burning from the movement but you couldn’t help but move up and down and it was magnificent as he was hitting just the right spot. His cock was curving into your upper wall, making you moan and writhe. It was making you see stars before your eyes and lips parted and legs trembling. Yoongi held strongly to you, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he helped you fuck yourself on his cock. It was like you had put a spell on him, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of you, and he could never. He couldn’t think clearly, but a small part of his mind was telling him that he could deny everything he wanted later, it would never be the same anymore. He was the one making you moan and writhe, and he couldn't help but feel good, proud about it. You cried out sharply when he pushed you hard against the floor. He wanted more, faster. He pounded into you, making you scream. He kissed you, and you felt something. Something else than just the burning, sick passion, borderline obsession that was overwhelming you. You didn’t resist, savoring his taste. « What are you doing to me -Yoongi, fuck- -Yes, Y/n, I feel it baby- » Your nails bit into his arms. He pushed himself as deep inside you as he could, as if he wanted you to feel him, feel him so deep inside you, to leave his mark. Right now you felt like you’ll never be able to be satisfied by anything and anyone else in your life. When it will stop you’ll be left sad and empty. Yoongi was feeling the same but you wet and warm, surrounding his cock was feeling so good that he wasn’t able to overthink this. You loved the feeling, too. The pressure was so great between your legs, so intense. You were clenching without knowing, and you felt like you could come at any second. But it was far away, out of reach but still so close. You were teetering on the edge, almost about to climax. Almost about to release all of your built up tension and stress and rage. About to scream. He leaned in close to you, so that your lips were brushing together. Yoongi’s arms tightened around your back, pulling you closer to him until your body was crushed up against his. Your nerves were turning to fire within your body, and you felt yourself throbbing around him. And then you reached your climax, and it crashed in waves inside your body. You screamed your eyes wide open. On the ceiling, here it was. Black, long tongue pending out of this mouth now full of theeth. It was smiling at you. Yoongi came after that. He released every every bit of himself inside you, as his orgasm took his body completely and a roar was torn from his throat. His hips began to still.

« Yoongi ? -What the fuck just happened?! » He pushed himself out of you, like you had electrocuted him. He was in shook, like you. You remembered everything, but it was like you had lost every bit of free will. Your breaths were ragged, harsh, you were both fighting to get your heart rates to slow down. « Fuck… Mrs Lincoln! » You jumped on your feet, your legs wobbling. You almost fell down. You put back your underwear as running toward the hatch. Your legs wobbled and your head was pounding. You had something to do. You jumped out through the hole, landing in the corridor. At the end of it was Mrs Lincoln. « Y/N ! What the fuck - » Yoongi was behind you in a second. « She has a knife » In her hand there was indeed a bright blade cover in blood. « There’s blood on it fuck... » You walked toward her, and she smiled. Her eyes were black, her little frame trembling. She was covered in bruises even on her face now. You were thankful for your mother who insisted in you tacking self defense classes when she learned you were going to travel through the country to hunt ghosts. It made you able to stop her hit. You really didn’t want to die today. You knew she was going to have a great strength. She was possessed after all. You made her fall on her, but she kicked you before you could do anything else. « Let me go ! » Something screamed, a distorted voice coming out of her tired body. Yoongi was restraining her. « Namjoon ! Hoseok ! Help ! We got her ! » You weren’t enough of two to restrain her. Namjoon arrived, and you understood the blood. He was holding his shoulder. « Are you okay ? Namjoon ? -Yes, fuck she attacked us by surprised but nothing too bad. Just- » He took off his hand off his arm, more blood come goosing out. « We need to get out, and drive you to the hospital. » Easier said than done, as Mrs Lincoln was literally pulsing in your arms. You, Yoongi and Hoseok were holding as good as you could but the demon was not going to surrender that easily. « Get off me ! » She pushed you with such strength that you fell down the stairs. « Ouch » You were opening your eyes seeing Namjoon coming at your rescue. But something gripped your feet, and suddenly you were being dragged away. You were thrown in the kitchen, the door closing behind you. « Y/n ! Y/n open the door ! » But you couldn’t. « It’s blocked I can’t ! » You turned around trying to find a way to escape. People were staring art you. Women to be more precise. « You are going to burn the house ? » The witches. « Yes. We are going to destroy it. » The one that you had seen in your dreams walked toward you. « The demon, it hurt you » You looked at her strangely. « No I- wait… What happened to me and Yoongi ? -He is like an incubus. Using your deepest desire and attraction against you. -Fuck… » She tended her hand to ward you. Her face looked sad. « You have to stop it. Now. -I am going to destroy it doesn’t worry. I’m going to free you. -We shouldn’t even ask you that. We were the one guilty. We deserved that eternal damnation. -No one deserve this. The couple that bought this house just wanted to be happy. They didn’t deserve that, neither did you. -The woman, she is going to die. -Why ? -It won’t let her leave the house. -Please, help me, help her. She is innocent. » They looked among themselves. A blond one looked at you and smiled. « Child. Your powers are greater than you think. I wish I would have used mine like you are using yours. -She is right » The kitchen door opened itself. « Go, we are going to allow you to go out of the house » You nodded and sprinted out of the house. Yoongi was looking at you like you had grown another head. « Who were you talking to ? -No one let’s go. » You took his hand and started running. At the front door, Hoseok and Namjoon were struggling. « She won’t pass the door, every time she stay- -Try again. -I just told you- -Just do it ! » And Hoseok stepped outside and as soon as he was outside the woman fainted in his arms. He looked at you incredulously. « Hurry up we have a house to burn. » It was actually way more difficult that you thought. But you covered the first floor and gasoline so it should do the job. Yoongi took of a lighter out of his pocket. He looked at it and handed it to you. You lighted it up, and threw it at the porch. The house caught fire at a supernatural speed. No amount of gasoline could have done this. You all ran away not to get injured. « It’s over… -Yes. » You shuddered, not so much from the cold, than from all your nerves letting go at the same time. You felt a hand slipped into yours. You didn’t need to look to know it was Yoongi. He was trembling to. Namjoon took your other hand. Around the house, the coven was forming a circle. All the witches were gathering in a circle, holding hands, murmuring something. The house screamed, the roof suddenly collapsing on itself. They turned around and looked at you, and you felt like crying. It was over. You closed your eyes, feeling little tears falling on your cheeks. Everything is going to be okay.You heard it the voice, for the last time. When you opened them the witches were gone. « Everything is going to be okay » You turned around, to see Yoongi looking at you. You squeezed his hand and smiled. « Of course ».

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #reader x yoongi #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts min yoongi #min yoongi #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #ghost story au #horror #min yoongi scenarios #min yoongi fanfic #medium reader #ghost hunter

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

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“Make it for the soldiers”

The three-time Oscar winner is back with a new book—Chasing the Light: Writing, Directing, and Surviving Platoon, Midnight Express, Scarface, Salvador, and the Movie Game—and turning its pages is like entering a Stone movie. The one-time infantryman had a single condition in granting HUSTLER this Q&A: “Make it for the soldiers. You’ve got to make it interesting to them.” Movie stars are often household names, but Oliver Stone is one of the few screenwriters and directors to have a high public profile. Now he’s released a new book, and it’s a rip-roaring, rollicking read, full of tense drama and trauma. The 342-page memoir focuses on Stone’s life through the age of 40 and sheds light on what forged Hollywood’s movie maverick and makes him tick.

After the Allies liberated Paris, his father—Colonel Louis Stone, who served on General Eisenhower’s staff—met the Parisian Jacqueline Pauline Cezarine Goddet. In December 1945 they married, which Stone wryly writes was “possibly the greatest mistakes of their lives,” and sailed from France to live in New York, where Louis, a Yale graduate, resumed his Wall Street career as a stockbroker. Stone reveals how their divorce affected him and, for the first time ever, describes in detail his combat experiences in Vietnam, where he was awarded the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. Coming under fire in Indochina’s jungles ignited an intense mistrust of government and hatred of war that actually compelled Stone to become a filmmaker. As the Chasing the Light subtitle indicates, the book zooms in on four movies and provides a behind-the-scenes peek at Stone’s maneuvering through Tinseltown’s machinations. Stone scored his first Hollywood triumphs as the screenwriter of 1978’s Midnight Express, winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe. Like his script for 1983’s Scarface, Midnight Express lampooned the so-called War on Drugs. This set the stage for Stone to tackle President Reagan’s secret war in Central America with 1986’s hard-hitting Salvador, followed later that same year by his grunt’s-eye view on the Vietnam War, the no-holds-barred Platoon. At the 1987 Academy Awards ceremony, Stone was in the rare enviable position of competing against himself in the Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen category for both Salvador and Platoon. Although he won neither, his boyhood idol Elizabeth Taylor did give Stone the Best Director Oscar for Platoon, which also won for Best Picture. The book’s curtain closes as Stone earns his sublime moment in the limelight, emerging as one of the movie industry’s most celebrated writer-directors of all time. His future body of work—1987’s Wall Street, 1991’s The Doors and JFK through 2016’s Snowden—are only mentioned in passing, if at all. An exception is 1989’s Best Picture-nominated Born on the Fourth of July, for which Stone was awarded his second Best Director Oscar, for helming this searing cinematic biopic about maimed Vietnam War vet Ron Kovic, whose relationship with Stone began during the period his memoir covers. HUSTLER interviewed Stone when he returned to Los Angeles in between trips to Europe to promote his book. In this candid conversation Stone opens up about the Vietnam War, drugs, censorship, Edward Snowden, Larry Flynt, Jackie Kennedy, his new Kennedy assassination film and so much more. HUSTLER: How did Chasing the Light come about? Did you write any of it while sheltering in place? OLIVER STONE: No. I was finishing up in that phase. I wrote it over two years. It was final draft, checking things, draft edits, around February, March… I was working on other things, documentaries and so forth. In your memoir you write about your time in Vietnam. Have you recounted those personal experiences extensively before? No. No, I haven’t. In interviews I’ve shared some of it. But no, this is all fresh material. The movies were dramatic presentations. I talk about Born on the Fourth of July and my relationship with Ron Kovic [the paralyzed Vietnam War vet portrayed by Tom Cruise in the 1989 feature]. And a lot about Platoon. Because both were written in 1976 [the year Kovic’s book was published], which falls in the period I’m covering in Chasing the Light, up to 1986. They play a significant role—the failures of those two films to get made haunted me. You were wounded twice in Vietnam—where you served with distinction as an infantryman, winning a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. So what do you think about President Trump allegedly calling dead soldiers “losers” and “suckers” and stating that military parades should exclude wounded vets? It’s a strange statement. I don’t know if he made it, but it sounds very bizarre. Obviously, I don’t agree with it. On the other hand, I don’t believe we should be over-glorifying our veterans either, because that leads to other sets of problems, which we’ve seen in the spate of recent wars. To prepare for this interview, I watched Scarface again. In your book you mention that you were probably conceived in Europe, your mom was an immigrant from France, and it struck me that Scarface is very much an immigrant’s saga. How do you view the Trump/Stephen Miller immigration and refugee policies? I abhor them. I do believe in immigration—it’s what the American way is about. This country has been built on immigration. Even in this lifetime of mine we’ve had such a new spate of immigration from different countries, Third World, Asia. It’s remarkable. In Scarface we talk about Latin Americans who are coming into Miami, some good, some bad. It’s a rich mix, and that’s what had given America its experimental nature. There’s no fixed America in my mind. It’s 250 years—it’s a constantly changing soup. Scarface, like Midnight Express, is drug-themed. Your memoir is quite candid about your own use of substances. What do you think of the War on Drugs? Who won? [Laughs.] It’s a ludicrous objective. It should not be called a “war.” Listen, I partook of drugs. I’ve been very honest about it. It started for me in Vietnam. I smoked it in the base camps, in the rear, when we came back. I smoked it to relax. I go into the reasons for it. It helped me get through that war as a human being. Very important to me. I respect it. I also talk about drug use later on in my life, like cocaine—which I don’t think worked for me at all, and I said why. So I’m on both sides of it. But I do think it’s an individual issue, of individual responsibility and education. The treatment for it is not punishment but hospitalization or medical help or psychiatric help. The War on Drugs is a waste of money, and again, it’s political. I saw that in Scarface, the birth of the Drug Enforcement [Administration]—very political, huge budgets; it’s growing every year. The Reagan war and all that—they call it a war. Everything in America is a war. But we don’t win any one of them. Have you encountered political censorship in Hollywood for your movies’ dissident politics over the years? You posit that Henry Kissinger and Alexander Haig being on MGM’s board may have affected an early effort to make Platoon. Yes. It’s been a long haul. And I emphasize the word may, because you never know when they turn it down. They never tell you, “It’s because of political reasons that we don’t want to make your film.” They never say that. They couch it in economic terms or, “This is too depressing.” “It’s blah-blah A, B or C.” You never know. In this case, it was a very easy deal for them to make. Dino De Laurentiis was behind it—as my producer he was financing the film. MGM had a distribution deal with Mr. De Laurentiis, and they didn’t live up to it. He was making very risky movies at that time, like Blue Velvet. MGM had to make a minimal investment in distribution costs, and they did not do it. Why? Well, I would assume that the president of MGM at the time, Frank Yablans, said that he had gone to the board and they had turned [Platoon] down, but I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. Because they sometimes don’t even bother to go to the board because they don’t want to take any heat. On the board, of course, were two very conservative men on Vietnam who I’d classify as war hawks. So, I mean, it became a political issue. I do believe that; I have no proof. Also, the Pentagon passed on the film, calling it completely unrealistic. This is an important issue because the movie is realistic. I was there, and I saw it on the ground. I was in four different platoons, in four different units, in three combat platoons. I served in the south and in the north and saw quite a bit of action. And I’m telling you, three things I wrote in the book, about the three lies in Vietnam, I believe apply even today to all fought wars. One is friendly fire. American soldiers get killed by their own side, by small arms fire, artillery and bombs. It’s not precision bombing. About 20 percent of the casualties, wounded and dead, comes from friendly fire. This is a very important point, because it is buried over and over again by the Pentagon in their after-action reports. Recently, the Arizona Cardinals’ Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan, and there was a whole mess in trying to get to the reasons for his death. Of course, that was a celebrity-type killing, but this goes on all the time in every war. In Vietnam, in the jungle, you can imagine the asymmetric aspect of it. When fire happens, you don’t even know where the fire is coming from. People are firing—you don’t know if it’s coming in or out. And various things like that are happening all the time. I believe my first wound came about through friendly fire. The second lie I talked about was killing civilians, trashing villages. Racism was really a huge factor in that. We treated the civilians mostly as enemies, as people who were supporting the enemy. [Secretary of Defense] Robert McNamara estimated three to four million Vietnamese killed. The third lie, the biggest one of all: “We’re winning the war.” We heard that lie again and again and again. It was fed to the American people. Even from the beginning, we never had a chance. In Neil Sheehan’s book A Bright Shining Lie, [Lieutenant Colonel] John Paul Vann made it really clear, in 1962 this was a hopeless situation, a hopeless war, because true patriotism was to fight for your country. This was a war, as he said, of independence that was fought against us as colonizers in the wake of the French. Inflating body counts, lying about enemy movements, CIA involvement in the war, no question about it. Misguiding the war. Often bad information, among other things, about the My Lai massacre in March 1968, when 500-plus villagers were killed in cold blood by [U.S.] units who were told that the enemy would be in the village. Not a single enemy bullet was fired in that whole day. And this was investigated by the Army itself, by an honest [lieutenant] general named [William Ray] Peers. He didn’t believe it at first. He thought it was bullshit, that the Seymour Hersh revelations were bullshit. He went in there and investigated thoroughly and came up with the conclusion. That’s what my movie I wanted to make on the My Lai massacre is about. He indicted 20-plus officers all the way up to the top of that division. He indicted the general of that division for his negligence. It’s a disgusting story. But it happens all the time in war and is covered up. Covered up for the dignity of the family, for the dignity of the death and so forth and so on. “How can you criticize the military?” You know, that horrible kind of righteousness, which prevents us from seeing what war is. Although you’re a decorated Vietnam veteran, the Pentagon denied you any support for Platoon—and, I assume, for your other Vietnam War-related movies. Yes, that’s correct. But other directors such as, say, Michael Bay, who never served in the military but who make pro-war, pro-military films, are given permission to shoot at U.S. bases, use of armed services personnel, access to high-tech equipment, etc. What do you make of this double standard? Does it violate the First Amendment? I don’t know about that, but it’s certainly a violation of morality. It’s much bigger than Michael Bay—there’s a book that came out in 2017, National Security Cinema: The Shocking New Evidence of Government Control in Hollywood by Matthew Alford and Tom Secker. James DiEugenio, who works with me, has covered this issue separately in another book, Reclaiming Parkland. These two books cover the involvement of the Pentagon in Hollywood. Alford and his coauthor talk about 800-plus films that were made with Pentagon cooperation. You’d be stunned at some of the films made. Among case studies are Pearl Harbor, Black Hawk Down—which is basically a whitewashing of the affair in Somalia—Charlie Wilson’s War, Hotel Rwanda, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rules of Engagement, The Terminator, 13 Days, United 93, Wag the Dog. Talks about people like Tom Clancy, of course a big military supporter, and the CIA too. TV series such as Alias, Homeland and 24—which had a tremendous effect on the American public in glorifying the CIA, making it seem like it was a backstop for our security, which is a lie too. It undermined our security. All this is much bigger than Michael Bay. In Chasing the Light you mention “surveillance” a number of times, and of course you made 2016’s Snowden. On September 2, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit ruled that the NSA’s warrantless mass surveillance—which Edward Snowden exposed—was illegal and possibly unconstitutional. What do you think of that, and what should happen to Snowden now? [Laughs.] It’s obviously correct. Snowden should be brought back to the country. I don’t know if he should be pardoned for his wrongs—because he never did anything wrong. He should be pardoned immediately, as should [WikiLeaks’] Julian Assange. The fact is, the NSA has been breaking the law for so many years. We owe it to George Bush and that administration. That was reported on as early as around 2004, but buried by The New York Times until after the election. The Pentagon Papers was released by The Times because they hated Nixon, but I guess with Bush, they gave him a pass. Terrible. It [NSA’s bulk surveillance] has resulted in this sense of unease—you’re always monitored, we have to check our behavior, we’re under control. This is a disaster for the world. Also, other countries have responded accordingly. The World Wide Web is very dangerous. It goes back to the worst days of J. Edgar Hoover. Free speech is a recurring theme in a number of your films. How were you involved in the making of 1996’s The People vs. Larry Flynt? I was a producer. It was written by Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander. It was their script. Milos Forman developed it with them. I did feel that Larry Flynt had a case—he won the case [against Reverend Jerry Falwell Sr.]. I’m glad. I’m proud of the movie. After Platoon was released, you quote Jacqueline Kennedy, who wrote you and said, “Your film has changed the direction of a country’s thinking.” Your movies presented a counter-narrative to the Reagan regime’s reactionary agenda. Modesty aside, do you think that Salvador, Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July may have helped stop Reagan and Bush from turning their Contra Wars in Central America into full-fledged Vietnam-like invasions? I don’t believe that they did. What happened was the fortuitous fuckup by the CIA when Eugene Hasenfus was captured after his plane was shot down. He was a contractor—he was in Nicaragua supplying [weapons to the U.S.-backed anti-Sandinista Contras]. It leads to the larger story of Oliver North, Reagan, George Herbert [Walker] Bush and the Iran-Contra affair. That’s what stalled them. Not that it was revealed in its entirety—that’s another story, of course, that’s been buried by The Washington Post’s Katharine Graham, who has been lionized in another kind of movie. But basically that scandal at least was enough to stop the momentum of an invasion, and Reagan did not have the power, the ability, the credibility anymore after October ’86. Which of course helped Platoon too, because it came out right in that juncture, and that revived Salvador, which was rereleased. Both films had an impact, but whether that would have changed the course of Reagan without the accident with the CIA—I don’t think so. Tell us about your new film, JFK: Destiny Betrayed. It’s a four-hour documentary, and it has the facts. More facts than ever. We deal with everything that happened after—in terms of documentation—since [JFK] came out in 1991. Very interesting. Because the assassination records review board, which was created from the JFK film with the JFK [Records] Act—although it was stymied by many restrictions, it did manage to release a fair amount of documents. Not all. And in those documents there’s quite a bit of information, including, of course, Operation Northwoods, that the Pentagon was operating to undercut Cuba. What are some of the highlights you learned since 1991 about the liquidation of President Kennedy? Well, I think you have to wait for the movie. [Laughs.] But certainly the ties of [Lee Harvey] Oswald to the CIA. That’s more explicit. Certainly, the evidence. We revisit the original evidence presented by Mark Lane but with new witnesses; new characters have come forward. Many people [didn’t] talk, but they start talking after the movie in the 1990s…People talk. All these informational signals come from all directions. You explain that your book title, Chasing the Light, refers to a moviemaking term. But does it also allude to your personal quest for enlightenment? And if so, have you attained it yet? Well, I’m much older [now] than when the book ends. But certainly that is an important moment, in 1986. After wanting to achieve a dream of writing and directing since I was 22 and being rejected and defeated many times, having some success along the way, and after having almost given up at 30—finally, at the age of 40, I really had a breakthrough of major proportions, with two solid movies back to back that really convinced the world, as well as myself, that I was a writer-director. It was a core victory for me and an important fact. That sets the tone for the foundation of my character. There’s going to be changes, more detours, pushes and turns in the story, but certainly, it’s established in 1986. So your memoir ends in 1987. That means a lot of your other classics are yet to come. So, in that grand Hollywood tradition, will there be a sequel to Chasing the Light? Well, I hope so. I do hope so. I hope the book does well enough to justify it. What’s next for you? I have two documentaries. One is the JFK documentary, four hours long, that won’t be out for a year. Another one is unedited, about the future, the need for clean energy, which includes nuclear energy. It’s based on a book I bought called A Bright Future: How Some Countries Have Solved Climate Change and the Rest Can Follow, by Joshua Goldstein and a Swedish scientist, Staffan A. Qvist. I understand you’re traveling these days. I’m about to promote the book in Paris. I just came back from Italy, France and Germany… It was big in Italy—they loved me. [Laughs.] Much better than in the United States.

-Ed Rampell, Hustler, Jan 16 2021

#oliver stone #hustler #ed rampell #army #the vietnam war #chasing the light

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keepyourpantsongohan · 4 years

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Ayesha Liveblogs Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card S1

Not to be someone born in the 90s but wow this is a change from the more simple animation style new anime truly likes things shiny, intensely bright and round lmao

Ah I guess the prologue is just a reanimation of the original anime finale? That’s fair it helps you reintegrate if it had been nineteen years for you

“That way, you’ll realize who you consider to be your Number One” Eriol’s advice has gotten less cryptic since he stopped lying

“The person I love the most... is you” Lmao didn’t Syaoran ALREADY do this confession in the final battle this is like in Naruto the Last where Naruto just forgot that Hinata had already said she loved him

Fdshkfjhkjdfhksjhfkjh wow Yukito appearing with a flower background and shine effect and softened face is this a style choice or is this just Toya Vision™

I think Toya’s voice IS different rest in pieces I still respect u bro

“How do I feel about Syaoran” [Pan across Syaoran in floral background] It is a style choice how very shojo manga of you

I’m really very confused by the references to Tokyo Tower bc I’m pretty sure they were battling at Tsukimine Shrine did I miss something??

No I just checked it was definitely at the shrine in the anime did THEY not check or were they like ‘hmmm not enough drama only Tokyo Tower for our battle backdrops pls’

This is the third or fourth flower backdrop in the first ten minutes jkhkdjhg the floral effect artists said ‘I WILL BE SILENT NO LONGER’:

I DO NOT understand the chronology of this the bear exchange was the last scene in the anime is this before or after the finale???? If it’s after then why is Syaoran still in town

Rjhkjhgkj is the entire point of redoing this episode so Sakura could also give Syaoran a bear

“Toya was too embarrassed, so he had me bring it over and went back to his room” Lmao @ Toya sending his boyfriend to be nice to his sister in his place

If this show does not stop the floral cutaways I will not be able to take it seriously it is Ouran High School Host Club levels of intensity jdshfkjshdfkjhsdk

“Will you wait for me?” “Yes! I’ll wait! I’ll be waiting!” I think they threw out all continuity just so they could establish that these feelings were for sure mutual for the setup of the sequel series

That, or the original series so heavily discarded manga continuity that they are trying to walk it back to something more accurate without any real explanation

Rffkghkfghkdfhgkj if they’re referencing the original anime bear scene what was the point of that stupid prologue SO WHAT IS THE TRUTH

“My name is Mike. I’m from Portland” LOL references to Americans in anime are always so funny

“Now I can stay in Tomoeda forever” did u bring ur mom and sisters orrr

Gosh I’m actually quite thrown by how quickly this romance escalated it took them 57 episodes to just use each other’s first names and now it’s taken them one (1) episode to Commit 4Ever At Age 13

HAHAHA do they have smart phones now? Always on the cutting edge

“I Am a Stuffed Animal” some of the quirky captions ARE worth it

“Make sure you tell him... even the smallest things” Yue has become more of a romantic since he got closure and a part-time boyfriend

“I never knew! Thanks for telling me!” “Never change, Li-kun” kjhgkjhdkj STILL MY GULLIBLE BOY some things don’t ever change

Is that a dragon?? They are really expanding this magical universe

It bears repeating the polar opposite levels of pacing from the two shows it’s only episode one and they’ve already established so many new rules and powers

I don’t blame them for it though bc they have to put forward some kind of plot progression

There were so many visual effects in that scene I couldn’t even tell what was happening lmao it’s like reading manga battles

“But why are these things happening in Tomoeda again?” I mean not to point fingers but Syaoran’s arrival is fairly recent

“Did Wei-san come back with you” “No, just me. But he said he’d come to check on me in a while” HE’S 13?? CHILD. WELFARE. LAWS!!!!

“I wish that I could’ve used it as a reference” “For what?” “To make something that would look wonderful on you” LMAO now that Syaoran and Sakura are a thing He is Included in the outfits

“’Great to have you’ so you can do what?” don’t bully ur sister Toya, u r both happy with your respective relationships now

WHAT ARE THE STAKES OF KERO PRETENDING TO BE A PLUSHIE TOYA IS LITERALLY DATING THE MOON

I understood “Gale” but what exactly is a “Siege” card this feels a little abstract

“We managed to keep him in the dark” did u tho? Again. Moon boyfriend

“So it happened in her room” Did u put a protection spell on that bear or something Syaoran

I genuinely do not tire of Syaoran and Sakura’s shared gullibility this couple is morosexual solidarity

How convenient that Sakura’s new key just announces whenever there’s a new clear card to collect lmao

I meant what I said about Toya’s love language being touching Yukito somewhere above the shoulders

“You’ll find out when the time comes” Dfddjhfjkdhf Toya what are you going to DO

Two cards in one episode is quite a bit for ep 3 I guess they’re trying to give her some more fighting options lol

Is the implication of the way Sakura just happens to be coming across magical phenomenon that Clow Reed didn’t make his cards but just harnessed magic that existed in nature

For no reason other than my own suspicion I think that something funky is going on with Syaoran’s powers

“That person was almost the same height as me” I mean so was Eriol

“Sakura and the Lovely Transfer Student” we know by now transfer students mean that shit’s about to get real

“And then you slept with your belly uncovered” “I did not!” Toya’s gentle bullying to distract Sakura is always weirdly sweet

“Your brother is so funny Sakura” CHIHARU’S RIGHT STAN TOYA

SHINOMOTO ARE YOU SHITTING ME JHDFGHDGDFDD WHY DOES IT RHYME

“I hope we can be friends” if I know anything about this show this means she’s going to do something very shady immediately

I wonder if this will be the season that Tomoyo’s filming of everything Sakura does finally becomes plot relevant

I do think it’s weird that Sakura trusted a new key without questioning it

“I’m changing back” LOL @ YUE TRANSFORMING INTO YUKITO JUST TO AVOID PEOPLE I’M STARTING TO REALLY LIKE HIM

DGSJGSJDGDJGSFFSJDHJS YUKITO APOLOGIZING FOR YUE LEAVING RUDELY THAT’S MY POLITE AND HANDSOME MAN WHO HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE

I KNEW Syaoran was being suspicious!!! Talking about Sakura with Eriol in secret phone calls

“I came here to be ready for that time, when it comes” current theory is that Syaoran has NO powers and that’s why he is not running out of his classroom for teenage battles with the Forces of Nature

“How much has Yukito-san been eating?” “Not as much as he did when you were in elementary school, but he still eats a lot for his size” This must be a strange conversation for their dad to listen to but I like how this is code for Does Yukito Have Magical Chakra Exhaustion

“Um, I just... Phone call” said Sakura, as she was forcibly moonwalked away right in front of her friends’ eyes

LOL is Tomoyo being unable to film Sakura going to be a recurring joke

“Don’t worry about it” “I have to, when it’s about you” Syaoran really going Full Boyfriend Mode huh

I’ve never questioned it in until precisely this moment but who pays Kero’s phone bill?? Is it Tomoyo? Who is the account holder for this stuffed animal did she establish Kero as a legal person

“Momo-chan, let’s be friends okay?” I feel like this has to be immediate foreshadowing for Momo being alive

[Cucumber cut incorrectly] “Gotta show Yuki” hjkfhksjdhfkjhd rude of Toya but the caption kills me

Ddjkhfkjdhfjkdhfkjh the pure juxtaposition of this energy:

Tomoyo: They have other things to do

Chiharu, thinking that it’s a romance thing: [Winks]

Syaoran and Sakura: [In the shadows while threatening music plays]

“I didn’t feel... anything” oh NO why r their magic senses NOT tingling

I feel like I have been had, they had an episode called the “Song of the Moon” and Yukito didn’t even show up?? Rude

SCREAM this magical FaceTime call is much funnier than I could’ve imagined

“Yukito is in a recitation club, which he takes very seriously” GDGJFGJGJHGDG Yue very respectful of not occupying Yukito’s time with magical shenanigans LMAO

“And we’ll make them the cutest oxygen masks you’ve ever seen” Tomoyo, like the background effects artists in this anime, will not be stopped

Well colour me inaccurate I guess Syaoran can use his powers and he can do a fancy new sword thing

I like this flying scarf it’s the first of the new cards with a personality

Poor Syaoran always so serious to being a Teenage Wizard is hard

Wow I bet there’s NOTHING weird about the fact Akiho lives in Eriol’s house it’s just pure happenstance (said no one)

“Could we um, go out together?” I think this is the first time someone has explicitly scheduled a date in all 80+ episodes

I really do enjoy Toya’s never-ending list of temp jobs lmao

“Still going on, huh?” Toya’s older brother senses are unparalleled

LMAO IS THIS A 15 YEAR OLD BUTLER

Ghgjhfjfjhfjh what is the scale for these heights why is Kaito twice the height of these 13-year-olds

Unsubtle shot of this man’s pocket watch echoing Sakura’s dream

I’ve never seen a more Rich Person Reaction than Akiho getting upset that Katio, a service worker, stated that taking care of her was his job hfkjdhfkjh

“I came to Japan because there was a book I wanted”

1. VERY Rich Person thing to say

2. Wow I wonder which of you has a MAGICAL BOOK that’s been doing weird things lately

“What language is it” “I don’t know, but I’ve learned to read it” me when I hear people speak South Asian languages LMAO

Why does everyone keep referencing the Time That’s Coming? Toya, Syaoran, Eriol... they’ve all caught Mizuki’s affliction of vague and unhelpful prophecies

*One more go to jail Mizuki for the road

I hope that these stupid FaceTime calls with Yue are in EVERY episode from now on

Does the fact that he’s listed as Yue-san in Sakura’s phone mean that there’s a phone for each personality omg

OMG I just realized the ep title (Sakura’s Thrilling Aquarium Visit) must be a throwback to “Sakura’s Heart-Racing First Date” which was not a date but took place at an aquarium. Cute!!

GJHGSHJGFSGH Yue is me whenever people talk about video games:

Kero: Hey, Yue, play an online game with me

Yue: [Hangs up immediately]

“I made you wait” “Nah, I got here too early. It’s still twelve minutes before our meeting time.” I think she and Yukito had this exact exchange in that early ep

“She doesn’t have magical powers, but she’s oddly perceptive” I hope that Meilin’s one and only magical power is precognition lmao

Omg every time someone in this show speaks English I am so thrown

“I wasn’t sure how I should look at him” awww Syaoran trying to re-establish himself in the family

I guess this aquarium HAS changed in that it developed a security system for when the tank breaks [youknowwhathatisgrowth.gif]

LOL I guess it’s convenient to have an invisibility cloak when ur breaking and entering I was wondering how they were going to deal with their criminal behaviour in the age of cameras

Ep 10. Sakura’s Unbelievable Juvenile Detention Centre

Weel weel weel looks like Sakura isn’t the only one with new powers nice ice Syaoran!! I missed their tag team fights

OH MY GOD IF THIS PHOTO ALBUM ACCEPTS THE CONTINUITY OF THE SECOND MOVIE THEN SAKURA AND SYAORAN HAVE ALREADY! DONE! THEIR! CONFESSIONS! WOULD YOU PICK A LANE

“You want the person you like to eat good food” Besides the fact Kaito is twice your height and therefore probably an adult... u should not make advances on people u employ - this is all very bad-vibes-no-jutsu

I am shocked that it took this long for Sakura to notice that her new cards paralleled the old cards

Syaoran is staring at Kaito like he murdered his spouse in a previous life

“So he has Moon magic too?” UHHHH WAS SYAORAN’S MAGIC ALWAYS MOON-BASED I FEEL LIKE THAT’S NOT CLEAR

Also very unclear why Eriol keeps leaving her on read if he’s talking to Syaoran what

I love how Kero has independent friendships and communications with both Yukito and Tomoyo lmao

How many times has Penguin Park been destroyed by now

“Perhaps your dream is gradually progressing” Progressing into what exactly the Battle of the Nice Thirteen-Year-Olds

Why is it that magic in this universe comes with above-average athletic ability LOL

Once again, without a body/personification, these cards seem harsh

Kaito seems like too much of a red herring a la Mizuki so I’m going to assume the other presence we see is someone we either haven’t met yet or smth really fucked up with the rest of the main cast

I’d lose my mind if it was Toya but I genuinely hope not he’s too nice

I honestly missed Meilin ever since she chilled out a bit she’s very fun

“The emoji in her message definitely looked thrilled” [Bob Dylan voice] For the times they are a-changin’.....

“I don’t know when it’ll happen, but when it does you’ll know” Toya.......

Toya’s absolutely nonplussed reaction to his Moon Boyfriend never ceases to amaze

Yukito: [Sighs and floats into the air to wrap in a wing cocoon]

Toya: [Sitting and staring unfazed]

Also am I crazy or was that transformation on purpose bc it really had the energy of ‘Fine if you won’t talk to me maybe you’ll talk to Rude Magical Me!!’

“Did I change again?” GUESS NOT LMAO

Also it’s fun how as different as Yukito and Yue are, their shared brain cell says ‘TOYA COMMUNICATE WITH MEE’

“But ever since Syaoran came back, he’s had something important on his mind” People don’t give Sakura enough credit for her emotional intelligence

Can we take a minute to appreciate Sakura’s outfit fashion ICON

What is this Furry card that makes u dress up in ears and a tail lmao

“I’ll treasure [these cookies]” “I’d rather you ate them” LOL

My Furry card prediction gets more and more accurate with each passing second (even a broken clock’s right twice a day)

Uhhhhh Syaoran what did u sell to the moon devil to be able to cut through the space-time continuum

Sakura: NO THAT’S MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SYAORAN

SCREAM this family and their circle of hair cutting (also if Yukito cuts Toya’s hair, does Toya cut Yukito’s? Or does it not grow bc magic jfhkfh)

“I’m pretty sure that was middle school English” Sakura hearing English is me hearing French LMAO

“Sucks, doesn’t he?” MEILIN PLS

Djhfjkdhkjfhjk Tomoyo’s immediate rage at being the centre of attention

SAKURA DOING MAGIC RIGHT IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE OMG

“Surround the entire mansion” Very subtle Sakura I’m sure no one in your whole town will notice

“I hear her father specializes in archaeology, so he might have some interesting books” “Have I mentioned Sakura-san’s father to you before?” [Dramatic cut in music] WELL

Oh my GOD did Kaito just turn back time bc he regretted what he said immediately? Honestly a mood

Also: BITCH

“You’re so alike, and not just because of your names” I have to say I’ve been thinking since her first appearance that Akiho looks like Nadeshiko so if they’re not related I will be surprised

“Sometimes watching good people makes me feel sad” well damn Meilin

I’m going to guess this Teenage Robot is the equivalent of the fight card that Meilin fought upon her introduction

Aw HELL YEAH SAKURA AND MEILIN TAG TEAM FIGHT WOOOO

“Aren’t you and Syaoran doing too much for those you care about, and forgetting to care about yourselves?” WELL DAMN MEILIN U R THE NEW TEENAGE SUPERHERO THERAPIST

“Can I call you ‘Sakura’ from now on, too?” AHHH THESE KIDS

LMAO AMAZING IT TOOK 13 STRAIGHT EPISODES FOR MOMO TO EVEN TWITCH

“We are indeed progressing... toward that time” I feel THREATENED

Once again I cannot stress strongly enough how much I love physical comedy

Sakura: They don’t seem to be causing any harm

The dessert rolls:

GOD the roll cakes eating each other to form one giant monster Babushka doll roll cake jhfjkdhgkdjhgkj incredible

EXCUSE ME MA’AM WHY WAS THERE A DEMON GIRL IN THE REFLECTION OF THIS SHATTERED CARD

“Please laugh again” Akiho is v nice I really hope Kaito isn’t mean

“Once a magical contract is formed, it can’t be broken, unless something really serious happens” [Quirrel voice] Can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is?

“What do you feel” “I think it’s a card” Very observant Sakura I think they gathered that

When Sakura gets all four of the base elements is Momo going to turn into a 200 pound giant rabbit

I like that every time Toya is concerned about Sakura, Yue appears suddenly to discuss the matter seriously with him [Gay and Wondorous Life of Caleb Gallo voice] He’s in this relationship!!

“When you’re angry or upset, it shows on your face, even if you don’t say it” Yue IS in this relationship woooow

“When humans realize they’re talking to a fox, they won’t sell you mittens. In fact, they’ll catch you and put you in a cage.” UH who is the fox in this metaphor not Sakura I hope???

Years later Syaoran is still winded if Sakura makes too much eye contact khgkghkjg

The fact that Yukito reads at a children’s hospital... truly one of The Nicest Not-Humans On Earth

Well with each passing episode we have less and less reasons to trust these cards and Kaito the Young Magical Butler

Ever since Kaito reversed time, I cannot shake the persistent thought that Akiho IS Nadeshiko. That’d be weird but u know... I’ve seen this show do weirder

“Your sweets look better” “No, yours!” Grandpa witnessing this date

“Also if Sakura-chan goes to college or wants to do something else, he wants to help” TOYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Any further, and you won’t be able to return” NADESHIKO BE MORE SPECIFIC

“It was my robe” Wait what ur family is a magical society or smth and somehow u don’t know Akiho??? How in the whomst

Everyone in this anime is like, ‘Haha Yue looks mad’ as if Yue does not look mad every second that he’s alive

KHKJHKFJHKJFHJ GRANDPA MASAKI REALLY GONNA GIVE SAKURA A HOUSE AND TOYA NOTHING LMAO WHAT’S IT LIKE TO BE THE LEAST FAVOURITE GREAT-GRANDCHILD LOL

“Nadeshiko would talk to things that weren’t there, and try to reach an understanding with things that couldn’t talk” 91 EPISODES LATER AND MR. KINOMOTO FINALLY ACKNOWLEDGES MAGIC?? OKAY

AND HE KNEW BOTH SAKURA AND TOYA HAVE HAD MAGICAL PROBLEMS FOR 3 YEARS!!! MR. KINOMOTO WHAT KIND OF HANDS-OFF PARENTING

“I want me to tell me [about your pain] too” wow this is the CALL-OUT EPISODE

“The house they live in was once torn down and replaced with an amusement park” were the continuity errors of accepting the second movie... A PLOT POINT?!?!?!

DAMN U KAITO I REALLY WANTED THINGS TO BE OKAY FOR AKIHO

“But I’ve got a great poker face” “Yes you do. But Yue does not” JKHDKJGHKJSHGKJHDKJGHSDJGHKJH BY DIALOGUE ALONE IT’S LIKE WHENEVER ANYONE SEES YUE’S FACE TWITCH IT MEANS HE’S HAVING AN EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN

Yue: Evil magic looming overhead is bad for your wifi signal actually

“I will obtain these new cards. So I can use the relic I took from the association to activate that magic spell” Kaito really laying out his motivations out loud in a library. Insensible. Vague and probably misleading. 1/10 villainous monologue

Sakura’s powers are WILD she can duplicate the strength of her magic

“Power that’s too strong will bring unhappiness to its owner” SYAORAN :((

I feel like the only way this can end is Toya giving Sakura magical noogie so she doesn’t have to carry all of her powers like the reverse of what he did for Yue-kito

THERE IS TOO LITTLE TIME LEFT IN THIS SHOW FOR ALL THE ANSWERS I NEED THERE’S ONLY 20 MINUTES AHHHH

THERE ARE 12 MINUTES LEFT AND STILL NO ANSWERS!!! WHAT HAPPENSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I GOT ABSOLUTELY NO ANSWERS OH MY GOD?!?!?!?!

#ayesha talks anime #ayesha liveblog ccs #liveblogging #long post

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insanityclause · 4 years

Text

Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

A Director Making His Mark in More Ways Than One

LONDON — The director Jamie Lloyd was giving me a tour of his tattoos. Not the Pegasus on his chest or the skeleton astronaut floating on his back, though he gamely described those, but the onyx-inked adornments that cover his arms and hands, that wreathe his neck, that wrap around his shaved head.

When I asked about the dragon at his throat, he told me it had been “one of the ones that hurt the least,” then pointed to the flame-licked skulls on either side of his neck: his “covert way,” he said, of representing drama’s traditional emblems for comedy and tragedy.

“I thought maybe it’d be a little bit tacky to have theater masks on my neck,” he added, a laugh bubbling up, and it’s true: His dragon would have eaten them for lunch.

It was early December, and we were in a lounge beneath the Playhouse Theater, where Lloyd’s West End production of “Cyrano de Bergerac,” starring James McAvoy in a skintight puffer jacket and his own regular-size nose, would soon open to packed houses and critical praise.

Running through Feb. 29, and arriving on cinema screens Feb. 20 in a National Theater Live broadcast, “Cyrano” — newly adapted by Martin Crimp, and positing its hero as a scrappy spoken-word wonder — capped a year that saw Lloyd celebrated on both sides of the Atlantic.

In London last summer, his outdoor hit “Evita” traded conventional glamour for sexy grit, while his radical reinterpretation of Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal,” starring Tom Hiddleston, was hailed first in the West End, then on Broadway. Ben Brantley, reviewing “Betrayal” in The New York Times, called it “one of those rare shows I seem destined to think about forever.”

When Time Out London ranked the best theater of 2019, it gave the top spot jointly to all three Lloyd productions, saying that he “has had a year that some of his peers might trade their entire careers for.”

Lloyd, who is 39, did not spring from the same mold as many of those peers. There was for him, he says, no youthful aha moment of watching Derek Jacobi onstage and divining that directing was his path. Epiphanies like that belonged to other kids, the ones who could afford the tickets.

If there is a standard background for a London theater director — and Lloyd would argue that certainly there used to be — that isn’t where he came from, growing up working class on the south coast of England, in Margaret Thatcher’s Britain.

The first time I laid eyes on him, chatting in the Playhouse lobby after a preview of “Cyrano,” he was the picture of working-class flair — the gold pirate hoops, the pink and black T-shirt, the belt cinching high-waisted pants.

He looks nothing like your typical West End director. Which of course is precisely the point.

What’s underneath

“It’s quite often said of him,” McAvoy observed by phone, once the reviews were in, “that he strips things away or he tries to take classical works and turn them on their head. I think he’s always just trying to tell the story in the clearest and most exhilarating way possible.”

The “X-Men” star, who put the number of times he’s worked with Lloyd in the past decade at a “gazillion,” calls theirs “probably one of the most defining relationships that I’ve had in my career.”

Yet Lloyd himself is on board with the notion that his assertively contemporary stagings pare back stifling layers of performance history to lay bare what’s underneath.

Like the tiger and dragons that he had emblazoned on his head just last May, though, the unembellished nature of his shows — as minimalist in their way as his tattoos are the opposite — is a relatively recent development.

Lloyd’s first “Cyrano de Bergerac,” starring Douglas Hodge in 2012, was also his Broadway debut. It was, he said, “absolutely the ‘Cyrano’ that you would expect,” with the fake nose, the hat, the plume, the sword-fighting.

There is, granted, sword-fighting in the new one — but the audience has to imagine the swords.

Lloyd’s productions, including a lauded revival of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s “Passion” in 2010, long marked him as a hot young director on the rise. But he sees in some of his previous work a noisy tendency toward idea overload.

The pivot point came in 2018, with a season that the Jamie Lloyd Company — which he formed seven years ago with the commercial producing powerhouse Ambassador Theater Group — devoted to the short works of Harold Pinter. The playwright’s distillation of language forced Lloyd to match it with his staging.

That immersion led to what the director Michael Grandage — one of Lloyd’s early champions, who tapped him at 27 to be his associate director at the Donmar Warehouse — called Lloyd’s “absolute masterpiece.”

“I had quite a lot of ambition to do a production of ‘Betrayal’ in my life,” Grandage said. “And then when I saw Jamie’s, I thought, ‘Right, that’s it. I don’t ever, ever want to direct this play.’ Because that’s, for me, the perfect production.”

Playing dress-up

Charm is a ready currency in the theater, but Lloyd’s is disarming; he seems simply to be being himself, without veneer. Like when I fact-checked something I’d read by asking whether he was a vegan.

“Lapsed vegan,” he confessed immediately, with a tinge of guilt about eating eggs again.

Pay no attention to any tough-guy vibe in photos of him; do not be alarmed by the sharp-toothed cat on the back of his head. In conversation, Lloyd comes across as thoughtful and unassuming, with an animated humor that makes him fun company. If he speaks at the speed of someone with no time to waste, he balances that with focused attentiveness.

His father, Ray, was a truck driver. His mother, Joy (whose name is tattooed on his right forearm, near the elbow), cleaned houses, took in ironing and ran a costume-rental shop, where young Jamie would sneak in to dress up as the children’s cartoon character Rainbow Brite.

“It’s very embarrassing,” he said, squelching a laugh.

Seeing professional theater wasn’t an option then for Lloyd, whose grown-up passion for expanding audience access — one of the things he has made himself known for in the West End — grew out of that exclusion. His company has set aside 15,000 free and 15,000 £15 tickets for its current, characteristically starry three-show season, which will also include Emilia Clarke in “The Seagull” and Jessica Chastain in “A Doll’s House.” At the 786-seat Playhouse, that adds up to just over 38 full houses.

Lloyd, who was studying acting at the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts when he decided he wanted to direct, found his way to theater as a child by acting in school shows and local amateur productions. Twice he was cast as a monkey; in “The Wizard of Oz,” thrillingly, he got to fly.

The details of his early days have always been colorful — like having a clown as his first stepfather, who performed at children’s parties under the stage name Uncle Funny. But Lloyd is quick to acknowledge the darkness lurking there.

“It sounds a little bit like some dodgy film, because he was actually a really violent man,” he said. “And there were times where he was very physically abusive to my mum. There was a sort of atmosphere of violence in that house that was really uneasy. And yet masked with this literal makeup, but also this sense of trying to entertain people whilst enacting terrible brutality behind the scenes.”

This is where he locates his own connection to Pinter’s work.

“A lot of that is that the violence is beneath the surface,” he said. “And on the top there is this sort of, what I call a kind of topspin, a layer of cover-up.”

Long relationships

Lloyd was still at drama school when he staged a production of Lapine and William Finn’s “Falsettoland” that won a prize: assistant directing a show at the Bush Theater in London. Based on that, Trevor Nunn hired him, at 22, to be his assistant director on “Anything Goes” in the West End — a job he did so well that Grandage got word of it and hired him to assist on “Guys and Dolls.” While Lloyd was doing that, he also began directing in his own right.

The costume and set designer Soutra Gilmour, who has been a constant with Lloyd since he cold-called her for his first professional production, Pinter’s “The Caretaker,” said theirs is an easy relationship, with a “symbiotic transference of ideas.” Even their creative aesthetics have evolved in sync.

“We’ve actually never fallen out in 13 years,” she said over mint tea on a trip to New York last month, just before “Betrayal” closed. “Never! I don’t even know how we would fall out.”

Of course, the one time she tried to decline a Lloyd project five years ago, because its tech rehearsals coincided with the due date for her son’s birth, he told her there was no one else he wanted to work with. So she did the show, warning that at some point she would have to leave. Now, she says, he understands that she won’t sit through endless evening previews, because she needs to go home to her child.

Lloyd and his wife, the actress Suzie Toase (whose name is tattooed on one of his arms), home-school their own three boys (whose names are tattooed on the other). Their eldest, 13-year-old Lewin, is an actor who recently played one of the principal characters, the heroine’s irresistible best friend, on the HBO and BBC One series “His Dark Materials,” whose cast boasts McAvoy as well.

Enter the child

Lloyd’s interpretation of “Betrayal,” a 1978 play that recounts a seven-year affair, imbued it with a distinctly non-’70s awareness of the fragility of family — the notion that children are the bystanders harmed when a marriage is tossed away.

Its gasp-inducing moment came with the entrance of a character Pinter wrote to be mentioned but not seen: the small daughter of the couple whose relationship is imperiled. In putting her onstage, Lloyd didn’t touch the text; it was a simple, wordless role. With it, he altered the resonance of the play.

To me, it seemed logical that Lloyd’s production would have been informed by his experience as a husband and father — and maybe also as a child in a splintering family. How old had he been, anyway, when his parents split up?

“Five,” Lloyd said. “The same age as the character would be.” He paused. “Oh God, yeah, fascinating. I’d not thought about that. Exactly the same age.”

If that fact was of more than intellectual interest to him, he didn’t let on. He volunteered a memory, though — of being a little one “amongst these kind of big giants, and I guess what we can now see as the mess of their lives.”

Blazer-free

Doing “Betrayal” in New York, Lloyd was struck by how eager Americans were to chat about his tattoos. Still, he told me after I texted him a follow-up question about them, he hadn’t expected his appearance to be such a talking point in this story.

It’s not just idle curiosity. It’s about what the tattoos signify in a field where, in Britain as in the United States, the top directors tend to have grown up very comfortably. It’s about who is welcome in a particular space, and who gets to be themselves there.

For a long time after Lloyd started working in the theater, he wore a blazer every day: a conscious attempt to conform in an industry where he felt a nagging sense of difference.

“Every other director at the time was from an Oxbridge background,” he said, “and looked and sounded a particular way. I spent a long time pretending to be like them.”

It was a performance of sorts, with a costume he donned for the role.

It was only about seven or eight years ago — around the time he left the Donmar and started putting together his own company — that he stopped worrying about what people might think if he looked the way he wanted.

“My dad had tattoos” was the first thing he said when I asked him about his own.

“I guess it’s partly getting older,” he mused, “but it’s just sort of going, ‘You can’t pretend to be someone. You’ve got to be who you really are, in every way.’”

The tattoos that have gradually transformed him are from a different aesthetic universe than his recent work onstage. Yet the impulse, somehow, is the same.

In shedding the blazer, in inking his skin, Lloyd has peeled back layers of imposed convention to show who’s underneath.

And should you spot him at the theater, where he is hard to miss, you’ll notice that he looks just like himself.

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lins-fandom-hub · 4 years

Text

a friend’s demise

Boring title, I know.

@dat-silvers-girl and I talked through a potential alternate storyline in my MC’s multiverse, which I decided to write out in hopes of serving her character justice. Hearing about both of her game plays being banned by JC made me seriously angry, and there’s nothing more I would want to do than at least put out there how angry and empty I felt. But at the same time she had the idea and brought it up to me, so it’s perfect.

So this is for her.

This story takes place in Rowan Khanna’s POV.

---

The explosion still rang in my ears amidst the present solemn silence.

I glanced through dry eyes at my best friend wounding a long piece of pale lilac ribbon through her fingers, twisting it tightly to the thinness of a thread, relaxing the material when the strain was too tight. Through the fuggy film of her glasses I could see her red puffy eyes, the spark of life and joy now absent. Her ponytail, messily done in the morning before the funeral, now dangled limply near the end of her black hair—and I knew I couldn’t blame her for looking like a cold, empty zombie. No one would have known how quickly they would lose a friend.

“She didn’t have to go,” Clara muttered thickly, clearing her throat to rid it of the phlegm. “She had no reason to.”

I didn’t know the deceased as well as she did, and I could only imagine how she was feeling right now. I only remember tutoring her a few times in Potions and Transfiguration when she was struggling for the past few years. I’ve seen her with Clara a few times, though. They even played against each other in Quidditch once or twice overall—Clara as a Chaser for Gryffindor, and she as a Beater for Hufflepuff.

Sarahi Silvers. That was the name I caught on the jersey; that was also the name I caught on her gravestone.

“I don’t understand, Rowan,” Clara finally said, dropping her hands and turning to me. “All my plans were solely for Ben and Merula’s ears—how did you even remotely catch wind of what we were up to? And why did you follow me? Why did she follow me?”

It hurt to see the hurt in her eyes, the anger flashing in the tears that boiled at the brim, and I shook my head numbly.

“I hope you don’t get mad at me,” I murmured after another long stretch of awkward tense silence. “But I had a good reason for following you—I just can’t explain about her—”

“At least tell me why you did what you did first. I only kept ‘R’ a secret from you so that you would be safe!” Clara shouted. “The lesser people involved, the better off we all will be, right?”

“Remember that day at the train station, Clara? The day we went to get love potion ingredients so you could make the trade for an invisibility cloak?” I reminded her. “I told you that I wanted to do the right thing, and worrying about you and caring about you was the right thing. So when Charlie ended up telling me everything about ‘R’, I had to know that you weren’t getting into anything that would cost you your life.”

“But you’re not invincible either, Rowan! If anything, you could have been killed last night!”

“I know. You have every right to be mad at me right now, but you should know that we all do care about you. And you can’t blame Sarahi for doing what she did last night, either…”

The cold mist settled over my ankles like a blanket of frost, but I knew any sign of movement would give me away. I knew Clara only wanted to keep this between herself, Ben, and Merula, but I knew of their plan before they even stepped foot out of the castle. From a single black quill sitting innocently in Jacob’s room, with a transfigured message from ‘R’ asking him to meet them in the Forest Grove, they figured out that not only was Jacob in danger, but the rest of the school potentially could fall under defenceless mercy. I had no idea what they did to prepare, but they seemed prepared to go after ‘R’—at least, Merula was ready to go after Rakepick for the brutal Cruciatus Curse she cast on her in the Buried Vault.

I watched from behind the tree as Clara knelt by a bush and lifted up the low branches, eyes widening as they registered on something on the ground I could not see.

“Ben, Merula, I found something!” she called out.

“What—” Merula ran over to Clara immediately, flinching when she saw what Clara was looking at. “No, don’t touch that! It’s cursed!”

“What do you mean, that necklace is cursed?” Ben inquired, heading over to the two girls now. So that was what was under the bush—a piece of cursed jewelry that might have been of no use to Rakepick.

“That necklace is one of Rakepick’s dark artefacts. She showed it to me once,” Merula added upon seeing Clara’s confused face. “You can touch it if you don’t believe me, see what happens when you do.”

“No, I believe you,” Clara replied hastily. “It’s just…Dumbledore told me he had Rakepick’s Dark Artefacts stored at the Ministry of Magic. If she infiltrated even the one place that has greatest security measures…”

The cool night air suddenly plunged into a deep freeze, and I winced as the bark beneath my fingers began to gather a fine layer of ice.

“Then we’re in deep trouble.”

“No kidding, Lin!” Merula jerked her head at the fluttering black cloaks that surrounded the group. “Look!”

I have never seen them before in the flesh, but I would recognize them anywhere—Dementors, evil beings that sucked the happiness out of any specimen that could express even a sliver of happiness. Hovering in midair like nightmares that haunted the living daylight out of any of us, they closed in on the trio, forming a tight ring around them, obscuring them from view.

From behind me, I thought I could hear a twig snap, but I didn’t want to look back.

“Dementors! They’re surrounding us!”

“Too many!”

“Expecto Patronum!”

I watched with wide eyes as a silver unicorn emerged from Clara’s wand, cantering towards the nearest Dementor with its head bowed and goring it through with its horn. Silently, I applauded her. At least she had a powerful happy memory to fuel her powerful defence.

But even her strength had its limits. Too soon, they were wearing out, and yet the Dementor's ranks seemed to replenish with each attack.

“I can’t keep this up anymore,” I could hear Clara wheeze. “My Patronus…not powerful.”

“And when you drive one back, another takes its place,” Ben noted quietly.

“We’re screwed. Now what?!” Merula cried.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A silver lioness appeared out of nowhere, leaping towards the trio and roaring to the skies, driving every Dementor away with an ever-growing shield as thin as a bubble.

“What the…who was that?” I heard Clara ask.

Imagine everyone’s surprise when out of the shadows stepped none other than Madam Patricia Rakepick. Her fiery red hair gleamed under what little moonlight remained, her symbol of Ra polished to a shine. She towered over them like the Dementors did, save for the fact that she was robed in scarlet instead of obsidian black.

“YOU!” Merula screeched—but barely had she raised her wand when Rakepick knocked it aside, blowing her down with a simple non-verbal spell.

Non-verbal spells…they were hard to execute with as much precision as spoken incantations. How in the world could Rakepick exercise this kind of advantage against the rest of us? Either way, it was clear that the confrontation with the Dementors had completely worn the trio out, and Rakepick eventually struck them down like flies, or severely incapacitated them to the point where they were limping to face her.

At least, Ben was still standing and wincing with pain racking his body where countless blows struck.

“That will teach you a lesson!” he said.

“Take this lesson to your grave!” Rakepick countered, raising her wand. “Avada—”

“NO!”

My eyes barely registered a blur of black, yellow, and white running past me—and before I knew it, a girl about my age had lunged toward Rakepick with an almighty yell, tackling her to the ground.

“Ben!” I shouted then, running toward him as fast as my numbed legs would take me. “Clara, Merula…”

It was then when the trio saw me for the first time—Clara in shock, Ben in anger, and Merula with disgust.

“And here I thought Copper was the Crup puppy sticking around,” Merula drawled. “What are you doing here, Khanna?”

“DUCK!”

TWANG!

The point of a throwing knife sank deep into a tree near Clara’s head, and she didn’t emerge from it entirely unscathed—she cupped a hand to her ear, where the point of the blade nicked her skin.

“You—” Rakepick growled as she tried to throw the girl off her back. “Who are you? What do you want?”

That was when I saw the girl in a better light. Black hair splayed wildly over her brown eyes and pale wheatish skin in the fray, one fist curled around the curse-breaker’s gleaming red hair and the other holding another small knife like the one embedded in the tree.

“Sarahi?!” Clara exclaimed. “What are you doing here?!”

Sarahi did not answer her friend for a few seconds as she landed a roundhouse kick at Rakepick’s spine, sending her flying away from the group. Then she turned to her.

“I told you I could help with any physical fight, didn’t I?” Sarahi responded, pushing the hair out of her eyes. “You helped me find a place here at Hogwarts without making me feel like a waste of space. Now it’s my turn to return the favour.”

“Wait—that’s not—I didn’t—”

“Expulso!”

Somehow, given the harsh impact of the kick, Rakepick still managed to pick herself up, aiming her wand at Sarahi who ducked as the spell flew past her ear, blasting another tree to smithereens.

“Sarahi, you have to get out of here!” Clara shouted as best as her hoarse throat could manage, but she might as well have been screaming into an empty void. Everyone watched with wide eyes as Sarahi grabbed Rakepick’s arm with her free hand, pivoted her feet, and threw her with all her might to the ground, knocking all the wind out of Rakepick with a loud thud.

“Run!” Sarahi screamed back at us. “All of you—go!”

“No!” Ben shouted. “This was my fight! I was supposed to protect you!”

“No one’s going to protect anyone if we end up dead, Copper!” Merula snapped.

“Aahhh!” Sarahi suddenly exclaimed as Rakepick’s hand closed around her ankle, sweeping her clean off her feet as she landed hard on her butt.

Physical fighting was not unheard of in the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world…one would only rely on such means of combat if they were left with no other choice. Anyone who didn’t have a wand would end up delivering a good punch in the nose, but what good would a bleeding nose be against the deadliest of all Unforgivable Curses? Yet there she was, scratching at Rakepick like a cat at a scratching pole with her free hand while the knife trembled in her tightened grip while Rakepick grabbed at her hair to slow her down.

I have never seen a stranger fight.

“Is this even allowed?” Ben inquired. “I would have loved to see Clara defeat a dragon this way.”

“This is not the time for commentary!” I hissed at him. “We need to get her out of here!”

Just as the words flew out of my mouth, though, I saw the blade plunge downward into Rakepick’s arm, the point sinking deep into flesh rewarded with the sinful scarlet fluid.

“You—” Rakepick growled again, pointing her wand at Sarahi who attempted now to choke her with her bare hands.

“Sarahi, forget her!” Clara screamed. “You have to go now!”

“NO! YOU GO!” Sarahi cried. “All of you go!”

Clara looked just about ready to argue, but I could tell she was in no shape to fight any more. I eventually dragged Clara by the arm while Merula took Ben, but just as we began to head back to Hogwarts I saw Rakepick raise her wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light enveloped the girl who was in the midst of drawing another knife from her robes; the force blasted her away, and for a moment I thought I saw her mouth morph into a silent scream before her body landed limply on the hard-packed earth, the knife she had just unsheathed sliding off in another direction. At the same time, I saw a scarlet bottle of something fly through the air, landing on the girl where it exploded with a loud BOOM on contact.

I thought I would never hear the end of Clara’s howl of pain after Rakepick Disapparated without another word.

“No, Sarahi can’t be blamed,” Clara realized after a while. “She must have followed you for the same reason you followed me. She...wanted to protect me too."

"And you're sure Sarahi knew nothing about 'R'?" I asked her.

"Positive. The only time I ever mentioned anything even remotely related to this was when I told her Merula had the mindset of a killing machine."

"Well, whatever the case, she must have seen you as someone very important, just like everyone else is," I remarked hollowly. "She must have looked up to you, too."

"Did you know her well?"

I shook my head. "I only tutored her once in a while in Potions and Transfiguration for the last few years. But I had no idea she knew you. She must have known that we were best friends, though."

"Who wouldn't? It's always been us since the beginning. Even the most unwary of students would know," Clara pointed out with a nod, glancing down at the ribbon still crumpled in her hands. "I just wish I could have given her more than just a few words and a simple birthday present. I mean, I could tell she liked it but…"

"You wish you had more time with her?"

"Mhmm. There's so much about her I still don't know."

She eventually fixed her ponytail and tied the ribbon over the elastic, where it now gleamed on her head with a few creases like a tin foil crown. Then she wiped her glasses and sighed, her hands balling into fists.

"They did it, then," Clara finally remarked bitterly. "'R' successfully took a friend's life. But we will take what should have been theirs, had there been no enemy in the way of defying them."

"What are you saying, Clara?"

Clara looked over at me, a storm gathering in her eyes, and for a moment I thought I saw lightning flash in the clouds that formed in her irises.

"We will avenge her in our own way. And once we do, there will be no stopping the storm."

#sarahi silvers #rowan khanna #merula snyde #ben copper #clara lin #hphm #hogwarts mystery #an alternate storyline #patricia rakepick #sarahi did not deserve this #save sarahi silvers #cursed vaults #forbidden forest #so this at least had to tell everyone how mad I am

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