#like it’s endless endless examples of women staying very still and reciprocating

[miannedomusings]

Jus2′s FOCUS ON ME

OUT OF FOCUS IDOLS

Summary: This gorgeous video gives us more Jus2 than we know what to do with, and shows us the disconnect between idol and fan through the disconnect between lyrics and video

A/N: Quite possibly my favourite MV from 2019, and one that I’ve been wanting to write about since I saw it... So this is well past due, but better late than never! The points I make are based off of two different translations of the lyrics (MV and colorcodedlyrics), and I tried to consider both when interpreting.

In interviews with Billboard and Soompi the Got7 leader-maknae subunit, Jus2, describe their debut EP as a tour through the senses. Each track is dedicated to one of the classic five senses, and the song Senses encapsulates a “sixth sense”. Fittingly, it’s the song representing vision – Focus on Me – that’s paired with a music video, and one that paints a very different picture from what’s given to us through sound.

To me, the lyrics of Focus on Me conjure up a chaotic scene in a club where two people are trying to connect. It’s too loud to hear each other and so all their talking is done through their eyes. Focusing on each other, matching tempos in their dance, until it’s as if it’s only them in the room.

However, like with many of my favourite MVs, the visuals dramatically change the feeling of the lyrics. The video attached to this song contradict the words at almost every turn. It’s as if they’ve used their concept to give us a song that can only be fully understood with the use of sight – a nice touch!

I am very tempted to sit here and write out every time they contradicted themselves in this video. It’s crazy. And impressive – the amount of planning that went into this is admirable and worth boasting. But I’ll do my best to limit myself... Let’s start with one of my favourites:  

In the beginning of the first verse (and yet somehow not even the first disconnect between audio and video) Yugyeom delivers the lines,

When there’s the indescribable tension We’re parallel to each other  

while leaning to the side at an unnatural angle. It’s one of the only moments in the video where the world tilts like this, putting him entirely out of parallel with the rest of the world (as seen in the lines of the walls behind him). By twisting this line in a very literal sense, he calls into question how honest the sentiment is. The use of the word parallel implies a comparison where he and the person he’s singing to are equal in their lingering feelings. However, with the visuals it seems more like that’s the impression he’d like to give rather than the reality.

More generally, one of the ways they play with the lyrics in this video is by adjusting the camera movements based on the actions that are being described. The camera is almost never still, often feeling like it’s playing the role of us. But despite what we may want, it’s rarely on the same page as Jus2. If they say get deeper, you better believe the camera is backing up instead of diving in; if they say go, we’re taking a pause; if they say stay, we’re zooming back. Probably the least subtle of these is another Yugyeom moment, when he tells us he’ll always go where [we] are. He delivers this line while stopping in his tracks, letting the camera leave the room, door closing in our face, and being cut us off from us entirely.

Things like this are all over the verses – nearly every line. If they mention dim lights, the set is brightly lit, if they mention the moon, get ready to see the stage lighting coming into shot, and on and on. Constantly these two are painting pictures with their words that the video doesn’t deliver on.

The chorus is probably where it becomes the clearest (it’s when I first noticed it at least). The only lyrics they need to make happen (or more accurately, not get in the way of) is the single repeated line, Now focus on me. And yet, the first chorus meets us with glitching edits that switch between JB and Yugyeom so that we can’t possibly focus on either of them, as well as choreography that obscures most of their faces.  

By the second and third choruses they’ve switched up their tactics a bit, keeping the same obscuring choreography, but now asking us to focus while having a dozen people on the screen. Focusing is made all the more impossible since at least four of the dozen are the two men we’re meant to be watching – it’s tough to choose where to look, let alone maintain focus on the one that’s actually singing, tucked away several sets back as the world fills in in front of him.

The song is full of commands to focus and to look into their eyes, and yet every time these tasks are made impossible: they look away, the camera goes out of focus, there are too many versions of JB and Yugyeom for us to know where to look. All of which is topped off with distracting pulsing lights and glitches that cut into the video.

But what are they trying to tell us with these endless contradictions?

It’s with the first chorus that we’re given what we need to put the constant conflict between what we’re hearing and what we’re seeing into context. This is when JB and Yugyeom get an audience. A crowd of women sit in the stands and watch these two as they perform on a catwalk stage. But importantly, everyone in the audience wears 3D glasses – a tool used to bring two images into a focused one. And so, we can identify with this crowd as we see them trying to follow through on the same instructions as us and bring the two idols into focus.

For me, this scene takes the song to somewhere a little meta, where it feels like we’re having the idol-fan relationship laid out for us. The lyrics give us the fantasies promised by all idols to their fans, and the visuals point to a hollow truth.

There are two main elements in the dream that idols are selling: there’s the fantasy surrounding the fan, and the fantasy surrounding the idol.

Starting with the fan, the fantasies presented in this song feel personal. They’re singing to you, they’re matching tempos with you, and just as you try to focus on them, they promise that it’s only you. But of course, it isn’t just you. There are many you’s listening and being swept along by these sentiments.

A reality of the idol-fan relationship is that it is uneven. There is an endless sea of fans admiring each single idol, and inevitably this creates a connection that differs depending on the direction it’s travelling. From a fan’s perspective it can feel as though a connection develops on a personal level; if you pay enough attention you’ll pick up on their personality, their sense of humor, their quirks. But this connection can’t be reciprocated. Not to say that idols don’t love their fans, but the connection felt for a group of people too big to easily quantify can’t reach that same individualized level. However, the lyrics ignore this and tell the listener sweet lies.

The video on the other hand points to reality. It does a good job of visualizing this with the audience present in the first chorus. They all have black hair, wear black clothes, and slowly fade into the black background as they stretch into the distance. They’re not indistinguishable (different hair styles, different clothes) but they do blend together into an impersonal mass.

Despite the audience’s focus on the stage, JB and Yugyeom don’t give them any direct attention, instead performing for the camera. They’re singing to a you, to their fans, who are right there, but instead they commit to the performance and the camera. They prioritize the connection with the person watching the video – this makes it feel more personal for the real audience watching through a screen while showing us how impersonal it really is.

The trouble with having so many you’s to sing to is that their attention has to be split. We see this in how they ignore the audience in favour of the camera, and in the way they sing, Let me love you. Both times this line is featured, we see Yugyeom and JB break from facing forward, rotating each time they deliver the line. It’s as if they’re trying to direct their love outward in all directions so that every fan can feel it coming their way. The visual feels especially cold since for the majority of the video we’ve heard them sing to just one person as they hold eye contact with the viewer.

Similarly, when delivering the most potent fantasy –  only you and me  – we get reminders that it can’t be true. The line gets delivered as we travel through shots that are filled with back-up dancers and multiple iterations of the Jus2 members – hardly a private setup – creating a long-take shot that ends with JB reflected in mirrors that also show us the camera. Despite the high frequency of mirrors in this video this is the only time we actually see the camera, and it immediately dismantles the idea that this song is dedicated to a singular you listening.  

The attention given to the camera by Jus2 makes this song feel intimate for the watcher. But the way that the camera disobeys the lyrics, and the brief reality check that there is a camera between us and them reminds us that we are only one of the you’s and that there is much more distance between us and them than we like to think.

Turning to the fantasy surrounding the idol the video shows us that just as we are not the “you” that’s being sung about, the idols are not exactly the “I” either.

In this song most of the lyrics focus on the person they’re singing to rather than themselves. Even so, the video still gives many hints that these two idols aren’t quite what they present themselves as. For example, the video features many shots populated with multiple JBs and Yugyeoms, all appearing to exist within the same space. The multiple versions of them remind us that these idols have many personas ready to be presented, while also showing that picking out which version is real is an impossible and futile endeavour.  

These many selves take the stage during impossible long-takes that demonstrate that this video has been edited and crafted to appear perfect. Just in case the illusion is too seamless for us to catch onto, the video is also interrupted with jarring digital edits that feel that we’re watching the video open into another reality.

After taking many close (frame by frame) looks, I’m quite sure that this teal interruption is actually a shot of the same room again, just empty. It feels like we’re getting a peak at the truth, a reminder that this is just a set, that it doesn’t stretch nearly as far as they’ve suggested, and that in a way the idol isn’t really there. The video actually begins with a tour of the sets that will be featured. They feel especially cold when we see them without anyone in them, and serve to remind us that all of this has been constructed with a purpose in mind.  

If we consider the audience, the 3D glasses play into this fantasy as well. 3D glasses are designed to create an illusion. They combine two 2D images and give the impression of something 3-dimensional. Similarly, much of what we see from idols creates the illusion of something deeper. There is an inevitable degree of separation between us and them and so we need our glasses to create a fuller picture. We piece together what we’re given to create something that feels more tangible. But the final 3D image is entirely dependant on the pieces provided and is ultimately just a clever trick.

Similarly, when watching this video we are dependent on the camera. We want to move towards Jus2, do as they ask, but we can only go where the camera lets us. And throughout this video the camera is backing away. We move further and further from the idols in every shot, creating extra distance between us and them.

Throughout this song we are presented with the fantasy of having a real and personal connection with these idols. The video shows us these illusions and then points to their cracks to remind us of the truth: that no matter how many times they ask us to focus on them, we’ll never know if we’re focusing on the real thing.

It would be easy to end this little (little?) essay here. But there’s an interesting twist that happens at the end of the song that suggests these illusions can maybe be overcome. As I’ve said, all through the video the camera is moving backwards, constantly away from JB and Yugyeom. There are only two parts of the video where this isn’t the case: the very beginning and the very end.

In the beginning it feels like we’re winding up. Moving deeper into the set so that we can make our long trek back. But in the final shot of the music video we are told, don’t hesitate, and we don’t. The camera zooms forward, passing several aloof clones, working through multiple rooms that seems to be separated by out-of-focus barriers, and after breaking through the final “wall” we find the last versions of JB and Yugyeom. And finally, they make real and direct eye contact with the camera.

In the camera’s final resting spot all extraneous details are gone. The background is close and plain. The lighting in this room feels more real as well, casting shadows on their faces and giving them a bit more warmth than we’ve seen before this. At last we are able to focus on them. This final moment feels like we’re given a look at what we were promised, and what we could have if we knew how to break through to them.

Interestingly, the other shots that are shown with the camera moving forward are of the empty sets at the start and a lonely shot of Yugyeom where for once he doesn’t appear to be performing. Since it is with the start of the lyrics that camera begins its retreat, it feels like these moments, when we are moving closer, are more honest. They are before the fantasy has started, they’re before the sets have been filled with dancers and perfect clones, and before Yugyeom feels he’s being watched. To me these create the impression that they are trying to tell us that they feel just as separated by these illusions as we should. By putting on their idol personas they create a separation that pushes them as far from us as us from them.

With this opening in mind much about this video feels different. The crowd with their glasses who are always watching but never able to really see them feels worse for the idols than for us (so close to others wanting to give them attention, but not being able to engage). The commands from Jus2 to focus on them and to come closer sound more like actual requests, except they don’t know which “you” they’re talking to either. And the very last shot feels like they might be playing out their own fantasy instead of ours.

It may be worth ending this by mentioning that when describing the visual impressions each song on the EP gave the members of Jus2, Focus on Me was described by JB as “fog”, and by Yugyeom as “like a smoke, fume”. These descriptions fit nicely with the ethereal, pulsing music, but they also fit nicely with the video. Though the visual quality is crystal clear with its stark lighting, high contrast, and sharp choreography, their descriptions feel at home with the murky realities.

thanks for reading!

MUSINGS MASTERLIST

#my.musings #jus2 #got7 #focus on me #jaebeom #jaebum #yugyeom #kpop essays #explained #analysis #my.got7

[writer-rochelle]

Statesman: Ablaze  Ch.2: Off the Grid

(a/n: here is chapter 2 of the one thing im super frickin proud of. thank you @pomelloe-me​ for bullying me in our shared google doc to make sure i get things done. ily <3)

“Can you leave the window down? My car smells like fucking fried chicken, and while it may be your fave food it's not mine.” Alicia said, shutting her car engine off. Pom chuckled, obliging her friend’s request. Both women stretched, their joints popping, as they clambered out of the small car and started their walk up the small driveway. 

The Agents had opted to live as far away from the brewery as they could, wanting to make a safe and work free environment for them to escape to. It was a pale green  3 story victorian house with white accents, and a small front porch. Two white rocking chairs moved slightly in the wind, and a white porch swing on the far right end swayed with them. A black and white rip n dip doormat sat under a black double front door, the words "go away" floated next to a white cat flipping any visitors off. A purchase Pom had made while online shopping in the wee early hours of the night. One that Alicia and Dena had found rather hilarious and Carey had simply shaken her head. 

“I’m gonna murder your boyfriend, he’s as dumb as a fucking rock, I swear it!” Alicia exclaimed, walking towards the front door of the shared home, twisting her head this way and that in a vain attempt to pop her still stiff neck.  She could hear Pom curse at her under her breath. “What was that? Use your words miss ma’am” Alicia teased, knowing Tequila was a nuisance for Pom. He had been Alicia's friend first, and one-day on a whim she had invited them to a carnival accompanying the rodeo that was in town. Soon, the three of them were inseparable. Tequila however soon developed feelings for Pom, his endless pining no secret to anyone. The ex-rodeo clown meant well, and when he wasn't trying to convince the southern beauty to go two-stepping with him, the two got along very well. 

“I said he ain’t my fuckin’ boyfriend,” Pom responded, she was frustrated but smiled all the same. She reciprocated the crush but put her job as a Statesman agent first. She refused to let anyone or anything jeopardize her career. The brunette removed the brown cowboy hat sitting on her head, using it to fan herself in the heat, waiting for Alicia to unlock the front door. 

“Whatever you say!” Alicia sang, throwing the door open. Pom followed the woman into the entryway, shutting and locking the door behind her. The smell of delicious food wafted towards where the two girls stood, as they began dispensing the arsenal of personal weapons they had into their designated shelves in the entryway. Pom hung her hat on the hook on the wall next to the door. Alicia groaned, taking her box braids out of the ponytail she had forced them into, massaging her scalp. 

"I don't know how you can stand having those things pulled back like that!" Pom said, emptying her pistols before placing them back in their holsters. 

"Trust me, one I'm gonna shave my head, and I only kept them in because I spent so much on them for that one assignment. Why waste money? Carey Ann, is that your cooking I smell?" Alicia called, making her way further into the house. She paused a moment, kicking her shoes off in the mudroom off to the left. 

“Yup! I’m in the kitchen, y’all! Make sure you leave your shoes in that mudroom, I just swept!”’ Carey called out to them from the direction of the kitchen. 

Whatever she had been making since she had come home had made the house warm and cozy, the warmth of the oven lightly combating the aircon. Carey was the oldest of the four women living in that house. She had recently moved to New York, assisting Agent Whiskey in running the New York office. Occasionally, she would return to their humble abode in Kentucky. Most household responsibilities fell on her, their other roommate Dena had been away for almost a year on assignment in Europe seeking out an alleged brother agency. Usually, Pom and Alicia were left to their own devices, sticking to take-out orders, or the occasional soup and grilled cheese combo Alicia cooked up. It wasn't often Alicia or Pom cooked, let alone cleaned. It was nice to have their Agent Mom back in town.  

Pom hastily unzipped the sides of her boots, sliding them off to reveal her cute space patterned socks, ‘The best feeling ever is taking your shoes off after a fuckin’ long day of work.’ she thought to herself. Pom’s hair stuck up in odd angles, no secret the hat that had been resting on her head all day. She combed her fingers through it, the brown tresses fell to her shoulders in thick, uncontrollable waves. 

“It’s good to see you here, and not on a fucking screen, ma’am.” Alicia snooped through the pots on the stove, hungrily eyeing Carey’s homemade fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and mac & cheese warming idly on the stove. Alicia only two kinds of southern cooking, her Grandma Beaulah's, and Carey's (a close second).  

"Yeah, bitch. I thought you might have forgotten about us.” Pom called out from the living room, where she had placed herself comfortably down on the couch, flicking through something on her phone. She sighed, still no response from Whiskey. Had she upset him without realizing it? ‘Fuckin’ Whiskey, I wish he could’ve told me instead of ignoring me like a dumbass.’ she thought, shutting off her phone and tossing it to the other end of the couch.

“Well, if y’all acted 24 and 25 years old and not little children, you wouldn’t need me to come home to cook and clean for y’all. Dena hasn’t even been here and she still keeps her room clean!” Carey teased, swatting Alicia’s hands away from the food. Even if she had been present, Dena and Carey were definitely the neatest of the four. Carey had tried in vain to get the other two younger women to help, even going so far as to leave everything to pile up. It had taken a roach crawling across Alicia's face one night in her sleep to finally get them to step up. Now they kept a chore list on a dry erase board in the laundry room, and the katsaridaphobic agent no longer left dirty dishes in her room. 

“Girl, they’re clean. And for the record, Pom and I do take care of ourselves! For example, I did all the laundry in the house and Pom got rid of that possum that was living in the roof. Perfectly responsible.” Alicia said smugly, giggling as Pom chimed in quietly from her spot on the couch about the ‘Cunt ass possum that tried to eat her fucking face even though she had given him a slice of ham as a fucking peace offering headass’. 

“Pom, why don’t you come join us instead of mumbling with your colorful vocabulary from the couch; the food is ready.” Carey laughed, shaking her head at her roommate's antics. She grabbed the rolls out the oven, before removing her apron and oven mitts. She moved to pull a pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge, and then stood back proudly to admire her work. Dinner was served. 

“You sound like my fuckin’ mom,” Pom uttered as she hoisted herself up from the couch, making her way into the kitchen to wash her hands. 

“I may as well be. But enough bickering, I missed y'all two!” Carey said, carrying her plate of food to the table where Alicia already sat eating. 

“I’m not really hankerin’ for anything, but thanks, Carey. I love you…fuck head.” Pom told Carey with her unique version of affection, leaning against the island in the kitchen and removing her rusty-colored jacket from her body. Pom's jokes and colorful nicknames were her own brand of love, and while it was offputting the first time she called you something like "hoe bag", you learned to acknowledge the underlying "I love you".  

“Well at least stay and sit with us, I’ve got something to tell y’all,” Carey said, patting the chair next to her. She needed to tell somebody about how she and Jack had recently started seeing each other. She figured he had already told Tequila, and felt justified in telling the girls. Pom sat down in the chair with a grunt after placing her jacket on the table. 

“Oh do tell, this wouldn’t happen to do with a certain mustached cowboy would it?” Alicia batted her eyelids, and suggestively wiggled her eyebrows. Pom knew exactly what this conversation was going to lead to. She wasn’t a fucking idiot; she noticed every small exchange between Carey and Whiskey, it was just something she had an eye for. The two had known each other for over two years and had recently started to go out with each other seriously. It was a wonder they hadn't started fooling around sooner.

“W-well...about that” Carey giggled nervously, maybe she wouldn’t tell them after all. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Carey Ann! Are you fucking Ole Jack Daniels?!” Alicia exclaimed, pointing her fork accusingly at the shorter Agent. Pom couldn’t help herself from letting out a loud chuckle, moving her long legs to sit cross-legged on the chair. 

“Alright, fine. Whiskey and I may or may not have been seeing each other exclusively for the past year while I’ve been back and forth from New York.” Carey said, casually taking a sip from her glass of tea, the clinking ice cubes being the only sound for a brief moment. 

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Agent Rum pronounced with great amusement, looking over at Carey with a menacing smile. 

“YAS BITCH, OH MY GOD! Tell us everything, and I do mean everything!” Alicia said, standing up and playfully pulling Carey into a noogie. 

The girls laughed, Carey pushed Alicia back into her chair before smoothing out her blonde curly hair. Carey was glad that the girls hadn’t reacted negatively like she thought they would. She had missed this comradery with the girls while staying in New York; she leaned forward fully retelling everything that had been happening. It was nice to finally be home. 

* * * * * 

Pom Graham was awake earlier than the rest of her housemates, as usual. Most nights she would stay up until midnight listening to her favorite kinds of music and trying to gain motivation to do her beloved hobby of painting. But she never slept for long as her natural body clock woke her up just a few short hours after she fell asleep. Still, she was always filled with so much energy. 

Pom tip-toed out of her room and down the flight of stairs in hopes of not waking her friends. She was already dressed in her usual outfit that the others rarely saw her out of. The living space downstairs was decorated with rustic, but comfortable furniture and pots of greenery scattered around. Photographs and posters could be found on the walls. 

She threw herself on to the couch in front of the large, technologically advanced television. With a press of a button on the remote, the screen came to life with the morning news channel. ‘Boring.’ Pom thought, ‘Carey must have been watching it last.’

“The daughter of beloved Kentucky senator, Xavier Dobios, is still missing and it’s sending everybody into quite the state of distress…..” Said the monotone voice of the news reporter on the TV. Pom scoffed at his words. 

“Fuck off, ‘beloved my ass’” Pom returned in a sharp whisper, smiling with amusement. She clicked another button and the kid’s channel started to play. Pom never really liked to watch television, but when she did, she would always turn on the channel that entertained her most.

“Good morning, Pomegranate.” Came Carey’s sweet but groggy voice from the doorway leading into the kitchen. Carey was dressed in cute, pink pajamas and her hair was quite the mess. She let out a big yawn. 

“Mornin’, you’re up early,” Pom responded, turning her head to give Carey a nice smile. Carey walked back into the kitchen to start preparing coffee and breakfast for herself and her housemates. 

“What do you want for breakfast? And I know you don’t like coffee, so what do you want to drink?” Carey asked from the kitchen to Pom. She sat there thinking for a moment before answering. 

“Peanut butter toast. And some water. Bless your heart, Carey.” Pom returned gently. Carey was surprised to see how calm she was. She was used to seeing the hot-tempered, mischievous, and swearing version of Pom. But she appreciated seeing this side to her too because Carey knew that’s who she really is. Pom never failed to make her laugh and smile. 

Carey made food and coffee with the sound of Pom watching the kid’s channel playing in the background. Alicia probably wasn’t going to be awake for a few more hours but Carey poured her a cup of warm coffee just in case. 

“I don’t know how you have so much energy all the time, Pom,” Carey said as she sat on the couch next to Pom, handing her the plate of peanut butter toast and a glass of water. She sipped on her own cup of coffee just the way she liked it. 

“I’ve consumed so much fuckin’ sugar in my life that I’m constantly on a sugar high.” Pom joked to her friend, smiling. Carey laughed, the sound mixing the soft sounds of the old Victorian settling over them. It wasn’t often they got a morning to themselves, and they knew they’d have to head to work soon, but for now, HQ could wait.

“GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!” Alicia yelled, bounding in the kitchen shattering the quiet moment the girls had settled into with their breakfast. Carey and Pom sighed, watching as she effortlessly leaped onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her gray sweatpants slung low on her hips, her lilac sleep shirt wrinkled, and her braids still wrapped up in the bonnet on her head; she looked crazy.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing?!” Carey said, standing up and rushing to try and push the taller woman off. 

“I have some good news, bitches! Dena’s coming home sooner than we thought!” Alicia was elated, it had been almost two months since Agent Sangria had been in contact with Statesman, and more importantly her roommates. She had been advised to keep all communications, few and far in between. Should there be a brother agency, it would be in Statesman's best interest to not alert them of their presence in their territory; what if they were a rogue organization? The return of the lively Latina was definitely a cause for celebration. 

“Wait, how do you know?” Carey asked, realizing that Alicia wasn’t budging off her pedestal. She looked over at Pom who looked just as puzzled as she was, no one had any recent contact with Dena. Everything had been dark. Pom got off the couch to get closer to them.  

“Well, as y’all know, I spend most of my free time in the lab with Ginger. And I was able to create a concealable communication device!” Alicia said proudly, taking what looked like a normal bottle of concealer. But the girls knew better, Alicia was a crazy tech wiz and inventor. Her and Ginger both could put Tony Stark to shame.

“How does that shit even work… it’s fuckin’ makeup.” Pom questioned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had set foot in the lab, or the last time she wore makeup. Pom would rather be training and being troublesome with the male agents than behind a vanity or in a lab coat. 

“Listen, I know it looks a little out of sorts but I promise it works! And the cosmetic part of the contraption is fully functional.” Alicia opened the packaging and did a swatch of the makeup on her arm. A perfect match.

“Say we can’t take any phones or even our glasses with us? Who’s gonna suspect a woman with a compact mirror and bottle of concealer? The idea is we use the idea of the fragile female that men have created against them. But my feminist spiel aside, I talked to Dena and she should be here by the end of next week!” Alicia got down from the counter, slipping her “concealer” into the front pocket of her black backpack. 

Pom leaned against the counter as she smiled, "You’re a genius.” She said to Alicia softly.

“I’m no Ginger Ale, but I try! Also, I’ve been making a bat prototype for you in the lab! I meant to surprise you for your birthday but I can’t wait any longer.” Pom smiled at this. Alicia started to continue but paused. The Statesman designated ringtone grew louder from where it was playing on their tv. Well, duty calls.

The three agents made their way into the living room, Carey grabbing the remote from its spot on the ottoman. Once they had all settled themselves on the comfy couch, she pressed the answer button. 

“Good morning, Angels!” Champagne greeted; the great window behind his head visible on the tv screen. It wasn’t uncommon for Champ to contact them while they were at home; saving more discreet missions for the four of them to take care of. It saved time, resources, and quite frankly more lives than if they were to send Whiskey, Tequila, or any of the other male agents instead. Hence the moniker, “Angels”.

“Good morning, Champ!” Alicia crowed, shifting to sling her legs across Pom and Carey’s laps making herself comfortable. Pom hastily grabbed Alicia’s feet from her lap and started to tickle them with no remorse, and her loud and mischievous laughs filled the room. 

“Would y’all stop? Jesus Christ.” Carey said, pushing Alicia’s legs off the couch and inserting herself between her and Pom. “Sorry, Champ, continue please!” Carey said, turning her attention back to the man on the screen. Pom was holding back her laughter as best as she could. 

“Well, when y’all are done horsing around, I have something for y’all to take care of. As you know, the senator is hiding his daughter trying to make it seem like she’s been kidnapped. Tonight, he is hosting a gala to impress some of the big wigs in the country and gain more support. I need y’all to infiltrate the gala and expose this sun’ a bitch before he can carry this tomfoolery on any longer.” 

“Do I gotta dress all fancy and shit?” Pom asked, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She had makeup, she hated dresses, and if she didn't hate her unruly hair getting in her face, she'd hate doing it too. 

“I would prefer it if you did. The senator is very conservative, and has a strict dress code for this event.” Champagne said. Pom sighed angrily at this. 

“Awe, c’mon, Pomegranate. I thought you liked playing dress up.” the screen expanded to show that none other than Agent Whiskey sat next to Champagne at the grand mahogany meeting room table. 

“Whiskey!” Pom exclaimed with joy. A big grin was on her face now. She tucked her messy waves of hair behind her ears. Pom could feel her heart racing with pure happiness. Whiskey was the closest thing she had to a father, and she practically glowed in his attention. 

“Howdy darlin’, you ready to join your old man on the dance floor?” Whiskey tipped his hat, grinning at the young agent. 

The adopted father and daughter duo were the best partnership to come out of Statesman; Whiskey having taken Pom under his wing, saying that he saw himself in her. A troubled girl who needed a little guidance and TLC, and had unfathomable potential. Whiskey had promised Pom’s mother that he would ensure that the young woman would be taken care of while she was in the states. A promise that had been well kept. 

“While I’m all for sappy reunions, I need you, girls, to get gussied up and make your way to that gala ASAP! I’m sending Whiskey to pick y’all up at 0800, We got a party to crash.” Champagne said, ending the video call. 

Alicia stood and looked at her phone, an invitation addressed to a Penelope Vontrapp, and associates lit up her screen. “Well Miss Pom, or should I say Miss Penelope; it looks like you get to play the part of the daughter of some rich oil tycoon.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not wearing any fuckin’ makeup!!” Pom said while jumping off the couch to sprint up to her room before the others could stop her. 

“YOU’RE LUCKY THEY’RE MAKING A BIG DONATION IN YOUR HONOR! OTHERWISE, I’D BE FORCING YOU INTO A DRESS AND PUTTING SOME BLUSH ON THOSE CHEEKS!” Alicia shouted up the stairs, knowing that Pom was going to put on the same suede pantsuit she wore to all Statesman functions. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone forced her into a dress, and Alicia knew better than to even try and wrestle her into one.  

“Will you curl my hair, please? May as well get some joy out of tonight.” Carey remarked, making her way up the stairs. Alicia noticed the sad air around her friend, she stopped reaching out to grab her friend's arm. 

“What’s wrong? You were all chipper early, now you’re all….” Alicia made a fart noise with her mouth, hoping it would bring a small smile to her Carey’s face. 

“It’s nothing, I promise. Just forget it, okay?” Carey pulled her arm away, continuing up the stairs. But it wasn’t really anything. Was it right for her to feel a little envious that Whiskey hadn’t acknowledged her? Had Champ told him something? Or was she just overthinking? Either way, they had a mission to focus on, and this worrying and pining could wait. 

(a/n: thank you all for reading and standing by while i get in the swing of things. i now have a masterlist, and post with who and what yall can request will be coming soon. <3 roach)

#Statesman:Ablaze #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal #kingsman golden circle #statesman

[sunaddicted]

The Office (00q)

This is my fill for Prompt 35 of the Anonymous Prompt Exchange: nonnie, I hope you liked it because I had a blast writing it <3 

The Office

“There must be a mistake” James whispered, fingers tentatively caressing the sleek surface of M’s metallic desk -  his desk. But how could that be possible? He was an agent and a damned good one at that - especially if one closed both eyes when presented with his equipment destruction records - and his talent lay in brutal strength and an uncanny ability to escape Death’s clutches.

  Resurrect from Hell, even.  

Sucking up to higher ups and filling in endless piles of paperwork had never been in the picture; even if James would have managed to survive until retirement - an admittedly higher possibility since the new Q had started handling his missions - the only alternative career in MI6 that he had envisioned for himself, it had been training the greener agents.  

James Bond, the infamous 007 with a penchant for making embassies explode and falling in bed with the wrong women, would never be a pencil pusher.   Never .  

“Believe me, I checked the email three times and hacked into the higher ups’ computers to make sure that a virus didn’t send it out” Q answered and, judging by his expression, he didn’t seem to be particularly persuaded by the new development either “There’s no mistake: you’re the new M - if you’re taking the job, of course”

“But..” James couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been so speechless; even when Raoul Silva had tied him to a chair and made some frankly disturbing insinuations, he’d had a cheeky answer ready on the tip of his tongue “Why not Mallory?” He inquired  in rhe and, despair clear in his voice.

“The higher ups wanted someone with extensive field expertise to cover the position and, while Mallory has been an agent in his youth, he doesn’t quite have your experience” Q explained, almost as if trying to convince himself of the words he was saying “The PM specifically said that in his opinion, some mistakes could have been avoided with an experienced agent at the lead of the agency”

“Then why can’t I.. I don’t know, monitor missions when I’m not in the field”

Q arched an eyebrow “I thought it was pretty clear that you’re being retired from active duty?”

James loathed it when the younger man used that snooty and posh voice with him, it made his hands prickle with the need of bending the brat over and show him why exactly he should have had more respect for his elders “I’m only 42” He pointed out.

“And you’ve failed your last Medical check-up, Bond” Q retorted, one hand slamming down on the desk; sometimes, the Double-Ohs’ stubborn streaks drove him mad and Q realised that maybe he was a little too attached to his agents - that he cared too much about a handful of people who risked their lives on a daily basis “This is the last shot MI6 is giving you; your body is not at its best anymore and Psych isn’t going to clear you for active duty either after what happened at Skyfall” on the last word, Q’s voice had thinned to a barely there whisper: no matter what Eve and James himself said, he felt guilty about most of what happened and blamed himself everyday for being so overconfident and naive when battling against someone as Raoul Silva “They have already stripped you of your Double-Oh status”

Stripped of his status . After decades of sacrifices for Queen and Country, just like that, the higher ups had taken away from him the title that he’d earned himself after two killings, while they played mind games and drank tea in their ridiculously decorated offices. Anger boiled in his stomach, an ugly and heavy ball of resentment that roiled and he had to fight to keep down “This is ridiculous” He hissed, turning away from Q -  don’t shoot the messenger , James had to remind himself; after all, none of what was happening was Q’s fault “I don’t know how to do this job”

Q sighed and sat down, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose so that he could rub at his tired eyes; in the past weeks, he’d been working hard and long hours to somehow make a sense of the whole Skyfall disaster - his first real mission as a Quartermaster and it had gone worse than pear-shaped “I didn’t know how to do my job either” Sure, he had been the best minion in Q-Branch but he didn’t have a clue about how to work in a team and direct people so that they would seamlessly work towards the same goal. It had been hard and frustrating, more than once he he had been tempted to go to M’s office and plead her to find a substitute: he’d longed to go back to his comfortable anonymity.

“But you’re still doing what you’re good at” James spat out, shoulders tensing under the sharp cut of his baby-blue suit.

“Sometimes? Yes” Q nodded “But mostly I deal with paperwork and bullshit politics more time than I actually spend coding; my worries aren’t anymore about whether the project I’m working on will be approved, now I worry about whether the project I’m approving is affordable and as safe as possible for people to use; instead of working alone on an assignment, I have to lead a team. I could go on making examples to show you that I’m not actually doing the job I applied for once out of uni anymore”

James turned around, arms crossed over his chest “Why did you stay, then?”

Q shrugged “I don’t know exactly. I suppose I care more about the lives I can save, rather than staying in my corner and coding the day away”

It made sense, in a way; James could appreciate the younger man’s sense of duty, his desire to protect and serve their country in any way he could. It also made him feel a little ashamed about the fact that he was protesting so much and kicking up such a fuss when he was clearly needed - but it was so difficult to accept the idea of going from a field job to a desk one; James knew himself and he was quite aware of the restlessness that licked up his spine whenever downtime between missions lasted too long “Are you sure that there’s no way to get out of this?”

“Without being booted out of MI6? Yeah, I’m pretty sure” Q answered earnestly; they hadn’t known each other for very long - barely a year - but their working relationship had been fundamentally built on honesty, which had led to a reciprocal trust that Q cherished quite a lot. He wasn’t going to start lying now and ruin months worth of collaboration - especially if James ended up accepting the post and became, to all effect, his superior-  just to be merciful and fill the other man’s head with false hopes.

“You’re smiling like a loon” James pointed out as he cocked his head to the side to curiously study the other’s face, focusing on Q to momentarily ignore the despair that was filling him.

Q grinned “I just realised that I’m not going to be your superior anymore”

James huffed to cover up a chuckle “Has anyone ever told you how much of an oddball you are?”

“Amongst other people here and there, you have - every single day” Q winked cheekily “I’m rather proud of that”

“Of course you are” the older man rolled his eyes and let himself fall in the other guest chair, falling silent behind the colleague he thought the most as an actual friend. If there was an amazing thing about Q, it was the fact that he wasn’t one of those people who felt the need to fill silence with useless chit chat; he usually whipped out his mobile and tinkered with it or quietly sipped at his tea, while James did his thinking in peace.

“Do you think I can do it?” He asked. James was honestly surprised by the insecurity in his own tone of voice: he’d never felt less than secure in his footing in MI6, it was a disquieting feeling realising that he didn’t feel certain about his position in the agency anymore.  

“With some help to get used to the bureaucratic part of the job, yes - I think you’d make a very good M”

James was curious to know about the reason why Q thought that of him, but he didn’t ask and figured he would do so later when he’d inevitably feel inadequate to fill in the former M’s shoes and could use a boost to his ego. In the end, James just picked the lock of the cabinet in which he knew Olivia Mansfield had kept the good scotch and poured them both a healthy dose “Thank you”

“You’re welcome” Q clinked their glasses together “You can always trust me to tell you when you’re being a dickhead”

#team00 #my writing #my fic #james bond #0079 #q #quartermaster #au #james is m