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recycledmoviecostumes · 3 years

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Goodness do I have a treat for all of you today. Larry McQueen, owner of The Collection has sent me a lovely sighting filled with detailed information. Because the detail is frankly incredible, I decided not to edit it and present Larry’s notes in full below:

In 1936, Travis Banton, head designer at Paramount Studios, began work on the last film he would design for his favorite clotheshorse, Marlene Dietrich. The duo had worked closely together on all her films at Paramount and created the “Dietrich style”-- a look of lavish, smoldering, hard-edged sophistication that was instrumental in creating the Dietrich legend.

Dietrich had one final film to complete her contract at Paramount and was cast in a typical Dietrich vehicle Angel, a sophisticated Lubitsch melodrama with her in the role of an ignored wife of means who has an affair with her husband’s friend. Banton designed the most opulent dress he had ever created for the star for the under-five-minute opera sequence and preceding scenes in the film. The ensemble was to become known as the “Faberge” gown and consisted of a fitted long-sleeve bodice with peplum, a matching long skirt with train and a six foot stole bordered with sable. The fabric was solidly embroidered with gold beads, pearls, rhinestones, gold bullion, gold sequins and faux ruby and emerald stones in geometric designs. According to W. Robert Levine in his book “In A Glamorous Fashion,” the costume was cost-listed on the wardrobe records at $8,000.00, an exorbitant price in the post-depression era and a price that would be over $100,000.00 by today’s standards. The expense must have caused stirrings in Paramount’s upper management in a time when the government was asking the studios to scale back the unnecessary lavishness in costume design. Banton himself once said it was the most expensive gown he had ever designed.

The ensemble is given credit in many film costume books as the most spectacular gown ever created. Diana Vreeland, one-time curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art said of the costume in the book “Hollywood Costume– Glamour! Glitter! Romance!” “When I think of detail, I think of Travis Banton’s marvelous beaded dress for Marlene Dietrich in Angel—like a million grains of golden caviar. That is one of the most beautiful dresses ever…”. Margaret J. Bailey in her book Those Glorious Glamour Years describes the dress “It was simple in lines, of Persian design, and looked like a piece of woven jewelry…” and “… caused no little trauma on the set when producers refused to give it to Dietrich for her private wardrobe.”

Dietrich had loved the gown and asked the studio if she could keep it. It is said she was so angry of being refused by the company she help save, she stormed off the set. The incident no doubt added to her disharmonious departure from the studio. She left the studio and did not return until a decade later. Acquiring gowns and props from her films- by whatever means- was a general practice of Ms. Dietrich. After her death, The German Film Archive Foundation (die Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek) and The Berlin Film Museum acquired her estate in 1993, which consisted of five different storehouses in Europe and the USA. In the collection were thousands of items from her career including fifty of her most famous film gowns. Her daughter, Maria Riva, once told the curator of the Frankfurt Film Museum, her mother was always in constant fear the studios would someday try to take back her collection and had kept the fact of its existence well hidden.

Paramount, however, retained the piece and began to put it to use. Re-using costumes was a common practice by studios to maintain an opulent look to secondary and background characters without the expense of making new ones. It is unknown exactly how many films the Dietrich gown was used in, but from photos found, it is obvious it was put to work and went through many transformations in the process. Mary Astor wore it, without the stole on the set of Midnight, 1939. The front was reworked and worn by Rose Hobart in the film A Night at Earl Carrolls, 1940. It was used in publicity photos as in that of Loraine Day circa 1944. With the sleeves removed, the stole without the fur was added to the front of the bodice as draping, it was worn by Felicia Atkins in The Errand Boy, 1961. The stole was cut in half to be used as a turban and worn with a sleeveless altered bodice by a model in A New Kind of Love, 1963. In 1974, the bodice was put back together and used by Diana Vreeland in the MET exhibition of films fashion and in 1985, the gown and stole was returned to its original configuration and worn by Barbara Hershey in the TV movie My Wicked Wicked Ways.

With all the different uses, the pieces took a beating. Many of the “re-workings” were fast and crude and some of the attempts to repair the gown involved covering damaged areas with large gold sequins. One previous ‘restoration’ involved applying glue to areas and pushing the beads back together and letting it harden. The fine chiffon backing was weak and starting to split and the patterns were separating. The costume was so fragile, it could never be worn again, but it is amazing the pieces stayed together.

In December of 1990, Paramount put the gown up for auction at Christies New York as part a larger collection of ‘star wardrobe.’ Larry McQueen and his late business partner, Bill Thomas, who were respected experts in the field of film costumes and had compiled one of the finest collections of the medium under the name “The Collection,” were retained to help inventory, authenticate and price the collection and were overwhelmed to see, what they believed to be, the most exquisite film costume ever created. They were successful in purchasing it for a total cost of approximately $23,000.00, one of the highest prices at the auction. As excited as they were to own the gown, the reality of its condition soon set in. Due to the age of the garment, poor storage and multiple alterations, it could never be dressed on a mannequin because it would not support its own extreme weight.

In 1999, four years after Bill Thomas died, Larry McQueen began the process of restoring the costume. Museum experts in preservation and restoration were consulted and much debate occurred as to whether the integrity of the gown- however poor that integrity was- should be tampered with. It was finally decided by Mr. McQueen that instead of leaving it as it was- a box of un-showable beads- the ensemble should be restored. Getson/Eastern Embroidery, who was then owned by Annie Dernderian, was approached with working on the gown. The firm had worked on the original costume and luckily had many of the beads, sequins and stones used on the original construction.

But, restoration of the garment proved far more difficult than planned. Even though the gown had only taken weeks to create, it would take years to restore. Every inch of the beadwork would have to be attached to new chiffon backing and the patterns pulled into shape and lightly tacked. Then the patterns had to be permanently hand stitched, replacing any missing stones or beads. Previous poor repairs would have to be removed. Missing areas or areas that had been glued would have to be replaced. Many of the original silk threads that attached the beads were breaking and would have to be reinforced with new silk thread. The stole, which had been cut in half and then stacked on top of its self and re-sewn, had to be taken apart, attached to a new backing and the beading attached and corrected. Photographs of Dietrich wearing the costume were enlarged to determine what was an original pattern and what had been changed. Luckily, the patterns did repeat themselves, so where a pattern was missing, a template of an existing pattern was made to re-create the missing one. The task would involve going inch by inch and would involve thousands of hours and great expense. But, determined to see the gown restored, Larry McQueen had the work begun.

The gown could not be taken apart and beaded flat as it was originally constructed, so a special frame with a sling had to be constructed to allow access to the inside of the garment to work from the front and the back of the fabric. Beads and sequins that had to be removed were sorted and reattached in to same location if possible. Only a four-inch area could be worked on at one time and each area was photographed before and after to document the work done. The project was daunting.

The entire fabric of the costume is composed of repeating geometric shapes somewhat like a paisley pattern. Each shape is outlined with small pearls or faceted rhinestones. Beads, pearls or sequins in different combinations fill the center portions of the design. Throughout, are patterns that contain a small grid work of bullion threading and each square filled with small pearls, sequins or a combination of sequins and gold beads. The background is of solid gold rocaille beads and the gown is sporadically studded with emerald and red glass beads. Literally millions of beads were used to create the fabric of the ensemble.

After one year, only the bodice was approaching completion, most of the work done by Annie Denderian. But the expense was mounting and it was becoming impossible to find qualified people who had the patience and time to spend on the garment. Mr. McQueen decided that if the costume was to be completed, he would have to take over the bulk of the hands-on restoration. Having the background and more importantly the motivation to see the gown completed, he was mentored by Ms. Denderian, learning and perfecting the techniques to painstakingly re-attach the patterns and began work on the dress. Almost one year to the date of beginning the work- working faithfully five to eight hours a day- the skirt and the stole were completed. To add strength, bias tape reinforcing and a new silk chiffon lining was added by the costume house of John David Ridge and the stole was re-bordered by using existing sable by Judith Moss at LA Fur Center.

McQueen stated that he probably would have reconsidered restoring the gown had he know the time, patience and expense it was going to take, but then quickly adds that he would have done it anyway. It was just too important. In working that closely with the piece, McQueen was amazed how in touch you get with the people who originally created the garment (a process difficult to understand unless you have restored someone else’s creation). You could tell when someone was having a bad day and cutting corners. You could tell when someone was struck with genius. You could see the differences in workmanship and technique between the various beaders. You could see the time spent on details in areas that no one would ever see. You become very close to the garment and understand it.

The gown is truly a testament to the artistry of early Hollywood. Mr. McQueen is confident the care, attention and over 3000 hours spent in its restoration would make its original creators proud. He hopes that if he leaves any legacy to the field of film costumes, one of his main accomplishments will be the “Faberge gown” survives in the splendor it was originally created and will be shown and appreciated for generations to come.

Costume Credit: Photos, copy and all the above incredible info provided by The Collection of Motion Picture Costume Design: Larry McQueen

E-mail Submissions: [email protected]

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest

Note: If you’ve not checked out Larry McQueen’s The Collection, I highly suggest you do so. It’s incredible!

#Marlene Dietrich #travis banton #mary astor #larry mcqueen #the collection #costume drama #costumes #period drama #fallen angel #midnight #a new kind of love #the errand boy #my wicked wicked ways

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maracujatangerine · 3 years

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Do we have art or face claims or moodboards for Lydia and Coriander? :) :) :)

That is a very good question! ❤️

Here’s my description of Lydia and Coriander.

Here’s a (totally awesome) drawing of them that @whumpzone has made for me. (Thank you!)

I have a face claim for Coriander! I imagine him a lot like this:

(This is apparently a British actor called Alex Pettyfer. I have seen other pictures of him, but it is only in this picture that he looks like I imagine Cory.)

I haven’t found such a good face claim for Lydia, but perhaps something like this. She has a bigger nose and a warm brown eye colour with flecks of gold.

Picrew for Lydia and Coriander from this picrew:

Here’s a face claim for Brutus. I imagine him a lot like this, though he has tattoos on both underarms, one is a tattoo with red and white flowers, the other the WRU code.

I finally found a face claim for Dr. Indira Kumari! This is an Indian actress called Sonam Kapoor. (I think Indira looks less serious and somewhat less glamorous, but otherwise this is pretty close. :)

I couldn’t find the names of the photographers, apologies to them!

I myself have - unfortunately - approximately zero skills when it comes to drawing or other visual arts. But if someone would like to do anything like that, it would be totally awesome. 💗

Here’s a second version of @whumpzone’s drawing of Lydia and Coriander (the first version can be found here). And a lovely scene from Lost Property.

Here’s some amazing fan art of Coriander and fan art of Lydia by @whumpdreamz.

I’m not sure if I should tag in this, but it is very Lydia and Coriander-related, so I will. 🙂 Thanks for the great ask @distinctlywhumpthing

Tag list: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper

#thank you for the ask!#thank you #faceclaim #lydia and coriander

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kettle-on · 3 years

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(Oh woops, this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but I got carried away. Still not super happy with it, but I figured I'd post it sooner than later, before I changed my mind completely!)

Monty Python and the Barbados Fic

Eric x Michael x OFC

Chapter 4

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Evenings at Heron Bay were lively, silly, rowdy, and populous. The Pythons had decided they would have guests to dinner every night, and surprisingly this proved not too difficult. Apparently Barbados was hopping with friendly famous faces at this time of year.

Mick Jagger continued his regular visits with Jerry on his arm, and one or two pairs of glamorous mystery Misters and Misses. It was revealed through many rounds of Charades that the Rolling Stone had an extraordinary talent for both miming and deciphering interpretive dance. His rendition of “the eruption of Mt Vesuvius” was met with roaring applause, and his “Sex Pistols” brought the evening to an un-toppable peak.

Things would take a turn, however, when an entirely sober Graham introduced a favourite game of his called “Poor Pussy” in which the chosen “pussy” approaches guests and, through meowing and distinctly feline behaviour, must make the guest laugh whilst they attempt to pet pussy’s head and say with a straight face three times: “poor pussy.” When one does laugh, they become the new “pussy.” This last rule changed quickly when it arose that multiple “pussies” had taken over the room, and hardly a word could be spoken from the guests through their laughter.

Perhaps the most uncommon news, however, came from casual chat. A visiting Keith Moon explained his plans for a new house in Malibu, anxious for acres of privacy and leaving behind his celebrity neighbours. Jagger the Charades king told of all-night New York City parties, to which Graham countered: “At least in London, one has the good sense to wrap up before sitting down to breakfast.”

Y/N was sure that, had she been keeping a list, she’d have been privy to the business of every star in modern comedy and rock and roll.

The next morning came too early once again, but Y/N was this time drawn to the bedroom window. From here she could see the team of gardeners hired to keep Heron Bay looking lush and groomed. She couldn’t help but feel that with each day that passed she was floating further and further away from what she remembered normal life to be like.

Not wanting to disturb a sleeping Eric, she made her way to the morning room that looked out to the curved courtyard. At one end of the room was a large painted screen of columns in some beautiful ancient scene. Each table surface in this room was topped with a floral arrangement, antique candlesticks, and photographs of visitors and houseguests. Decades of beautiful faces and elegant dresses, men in uniform, and posed portraits looked back at her from their frames.

What was this world? she had long wondered. Painted screens, stone pediments, beaches, house staff, tennis courts, and private ponds. Marriages, affairs, and cover-ups. Churchill, the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord and Lady Something of Somewhere Unpronounceable, and movie stars and rock n roll gods. And who was she in all of this?

From the near distance, she heard puffs of exertion and approaching steps. Michael had committed himself to continuing his disciplined daily morning jog and here he was returning.

“Ah,” he panted, “Morning.”

“Good morning. Nice run?”

“Well,” puff, “it’s not Holloway, but it’ll do.”

When he caught his breath, he noticed her uneasiness. With a smiling face and a tone he’d learned from his mother, he suggested:

“Tea?” --

It was much later that night that Y/N found herself again wandering the corridors alone. The afternoon had passed with a visit from Eric’s friend Ricky Fataar with whom he’d made The Rutles the previous year, and his wife, Heron Bay’s proprietress Penelope Tree. The couple had dropped in for what they called a “business luncheon,” and extended an invitation to the Python household out for a “business dinner.” The two Terrys and Eric accepted, (the Terrys hoping they might throw in a bit of “money talk” regarding their upcoming film budget) and by the time the day’s activities had come to a close, the outward dinner guests had yet to return.

In the rare quiet of the late-night, Y/N knocked on the door to the room where Michael was staying, and a friendly hum invited her into the room. A single lamp lit up the walls and floor, and a Michael in repose who was making edits to his well-kept journal.

“Do I recall correctly you said you’d brought a small library with you?” asked Y/N from the door.

“I did, indeed!” he responded, setting his journal on one of the nightstands next to the bed. “What’s the matter – can’t sleep?”

Y/N shook her head with an apologetic smirk.

“I see, and what sort of thing are you after?”

“Something, uh... gentle, I suppose. Something to escape.”

“Escape? From here? A tropical island and you’d like to escape – now that’s puzzling.” He drew back the thin blanket that covered his lower half, and swung his mostly bare legs over the side of the mattress.

“No, no,” she started, “Just something to, y’know, get out of my head for a bit.”

“Mm, is there something troubling you?” Michael eyed the three stacks of books casually adorning a side table, and inspected the choices of titles.

“Just feeling a little…” Y/N searched for a believable excuse, “homesick.”

He was not convinced. Putting his book task on pause he raised his eyebrows, requesting her further explanation. Y/N both appreciated and hated this look. Michael, though the gentlest and kindest of the troupe, would not let anything go unexplained or hidden for long, and his generosity and patience invited her to open up.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m just getting in the way, y’know? You’re all working hard on what I’m certain will be a brilliant film, and what am I here for?”

“You’re on holiday,” he declared with what he hoped was an assuring smile.

“A holiday from what? What do I even do?” She felt the agitation rising in her voice. “It’s like I just exist day in and day out with no purpose or point. No goals and no…”

Michael’s stare was intense and he waited for her to continue.

“…future.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper when she noticed she’d drawn his undivided attention. A quiet Michael was a rare thing, and the silence stilled the air between them.

“So, I thought... maybe a… a book might help,” she attempted, but Michael was already smoothing down the bedspread, offering a space beside him which she gratefully filled.

“Is this what it’s like being famous?” she asked heavily, taking a seat. “Always surrounded by extremely talented, important people, and constantly comparing your own worth and accomplishments?”

“I suppose it is, yes. Sometimes.” Michael was usually very good at telling the truth in a palatable way.

Nevertheless, this acknowledgement only supported her anxiety. Her face fell and she closed her eyes, sensing exhaustion was on its way. She silently prayed for one of Michael’s rambling speeches, and he intuitively delivered.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he began. “None of this comes with the expectation that you’ve earned your right to enjoy things. You don’t need to have won a Nobel Prize or sold a million records to deserve fine cutlery. But when you’re well-known, everybody wants to know you and bring you lovely things, whether or not you think you deserve them. When that happens, I think what helps is to recognize what’s there for you, and appreciate that there are all these things you can access if you’d like to. What’s important to remember is that you have options, and lots of good ones, too.

“And as far as goals and a future, well… I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re already building a future just by living. And learning, and asking questions, and thinking, and wondering, and loving, and caring.”

Y/N had stayed quiet. The past few weeks of indulgence, creativity, and celebrity drama had left her feeling in a way excluded, and far away from herself. It wasn’t something she found she could explain to Eric without seeming ungrateful.

Michael continued:

“So right now, you’re on holiday somewhere you’ve never been, and learning how the other half lives. And what am I doing? Well at the moment I’m enjoying a few weeks on a beautiful island, with marvelous weather, with my wonderful friends. Together, we’re finishing up a script for a film which, if all goes well, we’ll be making later this year. That’s my job, and it keeps me working, but I’ve got the rest of my hours and days, too, and that’s when I’m living. That’s when life happens, you see, in the in-between time.

Y/N had secured a point of focus on the floor, and found it fitting that Michael’s was one of the few rooms in the building with wooden floorboards instead of the palatial stone. In this room she could be almost anywhere in the world, and at this moment she was happy to be somewhere closer to home.

“There’s no rush,” Michael added, noting her half-daze. “Life is short, but... there’s so much of it. You can stop and start and chop and change as many times as you like. It’s all life,” he slowed his pace, carefully observing her softened expression, “and it’s all yours.”

Y/N leaned back onto her elbows and contemplated her bare knees.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she mused. “Hm. I’ve got a lot of time to fill, haven’t I?”

Michael gave a warm hum of agreement and joined her sideways, propping his head on an elbow, attentive as ever.

“And what are you going to fill it with first?” he asked.

This prospect was suddenly overwhelming, and it showed in her eyes. She took a breath and decided to choose levity for a change.

“I could work on this tan, I guess,” she playfully suggested, kicking a leg up and indicating her knees, “What do you think?”

“Very nice,” he approved. In fact, he had long admired her knees, and was grateful to the January Barbados weather for getting them out of trousers and wool tights. The previous summer at many a pub garden evening, he’d envied Eric’s long fingers resting atop Y/N’s knees, giving an occasional squeeze, and more than once catching sight of a slow glide up a thigh, disappearing under a skirt hem.

“Looks like you’re off to a good start there,” he said, allowing himself an extra-long, fully permissible eyeing up of her legs.

“And you?” she asked, “What’s next in the in-between time?”

“Well, I thought I might see what life by the ocean is like. I don’t see it very often. They’ve got waterskiing down at the bay - I might give that a go. I doubt I’ll be any good, but at least then I can say I’ve done it. Obviously a very valuable skill in London. I can see it: there I am, shooting across the lakes of Hampstead Heath. Or better still, an aquatic commute! I could start off from Blackfriars in the morning, and be in Molesey by tea-time, how’s that?”

Y/N laughed, tired from the day but grateful for Michael’s silliness. She liked this. Why couldn’t Mike be around more often? Or could she have a mini-Mike to keep in her purse and take out for impromptu pep-talks and compliments, please?

“I wonder,” he said carefully when her laughter died down. “Rather than in the way, do you think perhaps you might be feeling a bit overlooked?”

This caught her off guard. Overlooked? She never felt ignored or unappreciated. On the contrary, Eric’s attention and gestures of love came in spades. But what was it for? What really did she have to offer? She hardly expected to stand out next to her accomplished and celebrated partner and his career, nor did she wish to dull his accomplishments or stifle him. Stability would be very nice, but so too would making a name for herself be. So what did she want – life or recognition?

“Maybe,” she finally said in a small voice, too tired now to analyze any further.

How fragile she now seemed to Michael. She had opened her heart to him, and the sense of duty and the care with which he held it felt so natural. He wished he could hold it for a little longer.

Stroking kind fingers down her forearm, he took her hand, willing her out of her trance. With a closed-eyed focus on her hand, he drew her knuckles to his lips.

“So I’ve got options,” Y/N re-stated.

“Mhmm,” sounded Michael, whose lips were still appreciating her fingers.

“And I’m building a life every day,” she continued.

"Every day,” he repeated, his thumb now taking over addressing her knuckles.

“And mine is no less important than anyone else’s?”

She knew the answer, but the question brought their eyes to meet, and he held her gaze with tenderness.

“I think anyone who meets you feels lucky that they did. I know I do.”

Y/N felt whatever was left of her distress dissolve with a heavy breath. She had been heard, and she knew with certainty that her cares were safe with him.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and he enveloped her shoulders with a tight grip. His voice was low in her ear:

“You know, if it was a book you were after, I rather thought you’d have asked Terry.”

Y/N wasn’t going to bother mustering the energy to protest or to come up with a nonsense reason why she’d chosen to see Michael. She was here now, and she was perfectly content with it.

“I’m very glad you didn’t,” he confessed, and having exhausted all words, he began a slow exploration of her neck, starting with nuzzling the delicate space beneath her ear. Sensing no resistance, and hearing her approving sigh, he continued down to her shoulder, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses as he went.

He was kind and patient and open, Y/N remembered as she felt herself giving over to the moment’s tenderness, her curiosity duelling with her fatigue.

With restrained eagerness, he moved along the underside of her jaw before,

“Stop stop,” she hushed.

She was fighting with her enjoyment, but this was not a good time to discover feelings. All she wanted now was comfort and sleep. She looked at her kindred Michael half-apologetically, and he shifted aside, making a space for her to lie down and sleep. He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled the sheet up to cover their spooning bodies.

Out on the patio under the moonlight, Eric lay on a lounge chair, gazing into the sky and contemplating several things: Ricky and Penelope’s marriage, Mick and Jerry’s affair, and the concept of unfaithfulness. And the very nature of frivolity, and luxury, and everything he learned from the swinging sixties of liberation and self-indulgence. And, unexpectedly, Michael.

He wriggled in his spot, unable to relax. I need to write this, he thought. He worked most things out through writing, and now he would turn to his typewriter, get his musings out on paper, and try to make some sort of sense of his brain soup.

#cinnamon levels of spice #Mike Palin chatterbox #monty python fanfic #eric x michael x reader #eric idle fanfic #michael palin fanfic #barbados fic #jenny's writing

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thebooksaidthat · 4 years

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5 Contemporary Book Recommendations with WLW relationships!

As promised, this is my list of 5 book recs with FF centered relationships! They’re in no particular order and I hope it’ll motivate you to read some good queer works of art!

1. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32620332-the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo

Synopsis: Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. When she chooses unknown magazine reporter Monique Grant for the job, no one in the journalism community is more astounded than Monique herself. Why her? Why now? Monique is not exactly on top of the world. Her husband, David, has left her, and her career has stagnated. Regardless of why Evelyn has chosen her to write her biography, Monique is determined to use this opportunity to jumpstart her career. Summoned to Evelyn’s Upper East Side apartment, Monique listens as Evelyn unfurls her story: from making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the late 80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way. As Evelyn’s life unfolds—revealing a ruthless ambition, an unexpected friendship, and a great forbidden love—Monique begins to feel a very a real connection to the actress. But as Evelyn’s story catches up with the present, it becomes clear that her life intersects with Monique’s own in tragic and irreversible ways. --> I read this a few months ago and I remembered myself just putting my Kindle down onto the bed and looked into my imaginary camera man’s face thinking about the ending. I loved everything about this book, the friendship, the romance and the style of writing tied them up nicely. Also, apparently there’s going to be a TV series coming soon in the future so yes I’m 110% confident I’ll be crying with a bag of chips at the end too ;’) Seriously though, do yourself a favor and read this! 2. The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53066661-the-falling-in-love-montage

Synopsis: Saoirse doesn’t believe in love at first sight or happy endings. If they were real, her mother would still be able to remember her name and not in a care home with early onset dementia. A condition that Saoirse may one day turn out to have inherited. So she’s not looking for a relationship. She doesn’t see the point in igniting any romantic sparks if she’s bound to burn out. But after a chance encounter at an end-of-term house party, Saoirse is about to break her own rules. For a girl with one blue freckle, an irresistible sense of mischief, and a passion for rom-coms. Unbothered by Saoirse’s no-relationships rulebook, Ruby proposes a loophole: They don’t need true love to have one summer of fun, complete with every cliché, rom-com montage-worthy date they can dream up—and a binding agreement to end their romance come fall. It would be the perfect plan, if they weren’t forgetting one thing about the Falling in Love Montage: when it’s over, the characters actually fall in love… for real. --> The Falling in Love Montage is one of favorite FF books because I couldn’t not relate myself with the main character, Saoirse. I loved her humor throughout the book. She came off a little strong at first and it did seem like she was annoying but there’s a reason why she’s so sarcastic and cynical and I loved that the book wasn’t all 100% about the romance (although that is one of the best parts of it). I binged this within two days and I was fairly satisfied at the end and I can’t not recommend this enough for those who want to read a happy queer romance book! ALSO I LOVE THE COVER SO MUCH 3. The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36952571-the-weight-of-the-stars

Synopsis: Ryann Bird dreams of traveling across the stars. But a career in space isn’t an option for a girl who lives in a trailer park on the wrong side of town. So Ryann becomes her circumstances and settles for acting out and skipping school to hang out with her delinquent friends. One day she meets Alexandria: a furious loner who spurns Ryann’s offer of friendship. After a horrific accident leaves Alexandria with a broken arm, the two misfits are brought together despite themselves—and Ryann learns her secret: Alexandria’s mother is an astronaut who volunteered for a one-way trip to the edge of the solar system. Every night without fail, Alexandria waits to catch radio signals from her mother. And its up to Ryann to lift her onto the roof day after day until the silence between them grows into friendship, and eventually something more . . . In K. Ancrum’s signature poetic style, this slow-burn romance will have you savoring every page. --> The Weight of The Stars is mostly a quiet read, and when they say slow-burn, they really mean it. I loved this one a lot even thought it’s mostly a character-driven type of book. This is sort of an enemies-to-lovers type of book, though it went fairly quickly from enemies to friends. This book feels like something you should read slowly, just to savor it all and process everything on the pages. 4. Her Name in The Sky by Kelly Quindlen Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20886492-her-name-in-the-sky

Synopsis: Hannah wants to spend her senior year of high school going to football games and Mardi Gras parties with her tight-knit group of friends. The last thing she wants is to fall in love with a girl--especially when that girl is her best friend, Baker. Hannah knows she should like Wally, the kind, earnest boy who asks her to prom. She should cheer on her friend Clay when he asks Baker to be his girlfriend. She should follow the rules of her conservative Louisiana community--the rules that have been ingrained in her since she was a child. But Hannah longs to be with Baker, who cooks macaroni and cheese with Hannah late at night, who believes in the magic of books as much as Hannah does, and who challenges Hannah to be the best version of herself. And Baker might want to be with Hannah, too--if both girls can embrace that world-shaking, yet wondrous, possibility. --> Her Name in The Sky is a beautiful coming age story between two girls in a conservative town. I did find this one slightly harder to read because I usually stray away from books like these but I think it’s good to pick something up like this from time to time. Don’t be scared away though because this has a good and happy ending to it. 5. Something to Talk About by Meryl Wilsner Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/52915426-something-to-talk-about

Synopsis: A showrunner and her assistant give the world something to talk about when they accidentally fuel a ridiculous rumor in this debut romance. Hollywood powerhouse Jo is photographed making her assistant Emma laugh on the red carpet, and just like that, the tabloids declare them a couple. The so-called scandal couldn't come at a worse time--threatening Emma's promotion and Jo's new movie. As the gossip spreads, it starts to affect all areas of their lives. Paparazzi are following them outside the office, coworkers are treating them differently, and a "source" is feeding information to the media. But their only comment is "no comment". With the launch of Jo's film project fast approaching, the two women begin to spend even more time together, getting along famously. Emma seems to have a sixth sense for knowing what Jo needs. And Jo, known for being aloof and outwardly cold, opens up to Emma in a way neither of them expects. They begin to realize the rumor might not be so off base after all...but is acting on the spark between them worth fanning the gossip flames? --> Another queer rom-com heading your way with this final rec! This was a fun and cute read about the romance between Jo, who is a Chinese Hollywood star and her assistant, Emma. I read this in a book slump and I loved it, its sort of a fake-dating trope like book and I’ve never read something like this outside of fanfiction so it was an enjoyable experience all the way! Also, when the author described Jo at one of the red carpets with her dress with pockets, my mind automatically imagined Gemma Chan from Crazy Rich Asians as her.

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4.9k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

Your breath is held in your throat. The phone rings. It continues, the ringback tone dragging on and on like a terrible song of suspense. Then, it stops. Your breath catches in your throat. There’s a crisp voice on the other end. “Ya-llow?” “Hi.” You swallow hard, trying to collect your wits, but it takes too long. “Hello?” “Yes, s-sorry. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N. I was wondering if you guys were having any auditions to take clients in—” “Sorry, we’re not. Have a nice day!” You’re hung up on, not like an unwanted telemarketer trying to make their living. But there’s nothing you can do, so with a sigh, you continue down the list of agents. Most of them don’t pick up. You leave voice messages that go unanswered, exactly like the emails you frequently send. Though occasionally, it picks up and it’s not just an automated voice. “Please stop calling us!” The woman hisses on the other line. “We only take referrals.” You’ve brought it up to the director again. But his brows always scrunch and he wears that visibly annoyed expression, giving an exaggerated sigh of feigned exhaustion. “Y/N, I told you what I told you. If you keep insisting on this matter, then I’ll have no choice but to be upset. No one likes it when they’re not being heard.” And that’s the kinder version. You’re spared on the speech that you need to work harder, that you’re not ready to be on actual Broadway, that you have a long way to go, that you need to be good as an intern first — like Jimin. Of course, he would mention Jimin. You don’t doubt that he has some kind of star quality that you don’t have. Everyone seems to love him. He could probably get a referral if he asked. Or get an agent who would want to sign him within a day. Your envy is boundless. “Okay, can you tilt your head a thirty degrees to the left?” “Ummm…” The brunette tries to follow the instructions. “Is this thirty degrees?” “It’s fine,” Namjoon mutters and puts an eye to the viewfinder. He snaps the shot on his Canon. The picture appears on the big screen seconds later. You muse that Jimin looks great with professional lighting and under the touch of a talented photographer. “Okay, now smile.” Instantly, Jimin gives a toothy grin. His plump lips spread into his rounded cheeks, eyes crinkling into half-moons. He’s overwhelmingly cute and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Even Namjoon hums in satisfaction, turning his camera and snapping more pictures. After a moment, a break is called and Jimin comes hopping over while Namjoon fiddles with his device. “What do you think?” “Yeah, it’s good.” He leans over to the screen, unknowingly close to you, almost hovering over your body. The strands of his hair brush on your forehead as he looks over at the monitor. “You think I should put powder on?” “No, you’re fine. It’s fine,” you correct and clear your throat. “You’re supposed to be yourself. No glamour shots. The casting directors want headshots that look like you. If you come in drastically different, it’ll hurt you in the long run.” He hums and tilts to stare at you. “Thanks for showing me such a great photographer, Y/N.” You smile. “Just take it as a lesson on how to get onto Broadway. Plus, it’s not me who’s taking the photos.” “That’s right,” Namjoon pipes up and approaches, interrupting the two-way conversation. “You need someone who can capture your personality in two hours. It’s not such an easy thing.” “Thank you for blessing us with your talent, Namjoon,” you tease. “You’re welcome.” The photographer chuckles. “I’m just kidding. I’m happy to help. It’s not often that Y/N calls me up for a favour, and she’s certainly never. ever. brought anyone to my studio before, so of course I had to see who it was.” He eyes Jimin up and down as if choosing produce in the grocery store. “I can see it now. I can see the appea—” You bump into his shoulder roughly. “Alright, I think we get it.” “A friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine,” he says. Jimin dips his head in gratitude. “I’ll entrust all my headshots to you then.” Namjoon laughs, delighted from the recognition. “I’ll be leaving town for a few months on business excursions, but when I’m back, you bet. Let’s get a few more done, Jimin. I think we should take outdoor shots too to get that natural lighting.” “You got it, boss.” You watch them walk off, practically kissing each other’s asses. Then you turn back to the monitor, looking at all the photographs again. If you were a director looking at these headshots, Jimin would most certainly get the role. // It’s a streak of luck that your phone rings. Usually, you’re the one dialing. Though this time, it’s not an agent who wants to connect with you — but it’s just as good. “Hello, Ms. Y/N? You recently submitted an application for the role of a town girl in the production of Beauty and the Beast. We’re interested in speaking to you about it further. Would you like to come in for a formal audition?” You could sob from unadulterated relief and happiness. But as overjoyed as you are, you don’t tell anyone just in case. You never know what could happen, and you don’t want to place others in an awkward situation if you end up with a disappointing outcome. So you brace yourself. But Jimin can tell something great happened — your smile is infectious. “Is everything alright?” He starts laughing when your giggles spill. Your face hurts from your grin. Even the director was taken back earlier at your newfound enthusiasm to take the morning coffee order. “Oh, just you know, life. Sometimes things work out, huh?” “Alright then, silly girl.” His eyes soften and his smile becomes gentle. Jimin steals another glance at you again. You’re humming, uncaring that the two of you are carrying over thirty coffee drinks on a brisk Monday morning, and that you’ll have to walk down three flights of stairs to hand them out. “You know, you look really...nice happy. I mean you usually look nice, but when you’re happy, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying….never mind.” Your cheeks become warm and you take a glimpse of Jimin. At the same time, he takes another glance and you both divert your vision after your eyes accidentally connect. “Um...thanks.” Jimin’s distracted. Clumsy. He nearly trips off the curb of the sidewalk. But when he catches himself, he quickly rushes over to open the door for you. You try your best to hold back your laughter. For the next few days, you practice your part by yourself, singing it over and over again, watching your own expressions in the mirror. You practice for the audition enough to become confident in your role, excited even. If you make it, you wonder what Jimin would say. He’s the only person who would celebrate with you. He’s also the only person you would want to tell. Once the afternoon of the audition arrives, you excuse yourself, telling Jimin that it’s a dentist appointment. But instead, you sneak from the basement of the building to the second floor, down the west wing. There, it’s a whole other world. The room is full of strangers, pacing around, holding the paper with their lyrics, but shutting their eyes to belt. They’re all warming up, melodic notes that sound jarring when it’s overlapping one another. Still, there are beautiful folks dressed in extravagant clothing, having probably spent time at the spa to get facials and get salon blowouts. It’s clear that many have bold personalities. That they’re not scared of eye contact. You tug on your shrunken sweater, palms clammy. You take a seat in the corner of the room in the uncomfortable chair. The girl next to you gulps down her lemon water and leans over. “Intimidating, huh?” “P-Pardon?” “I was just saying how intimidating this all is.” She scans the premise and meets your eyes. “But it’s all for show. To make up for their lack of talent. You don’t need to flaunt your skills in front of other people if you know you’re good.” You relax, giving a polite smile. “I agree.” “I’m Yeonjeon.” She stretches out her hand. “Y/N.” You shake it. “Nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” The young lady oozes with the confidence you wish you had. She’s stunning, bright eyed and pretty smile. “What role are you auditioning for?” “Oh, just a townswoman.” “Really?” Yeonjeon cocks a brow. “I thought you would try out for Belle. I’m trying out for Belle. My agent called me about this casting call and I thought I would give it a try. I’ve always liked Beauty and the Beast as a kid.” “Good luck then.” She thanks you and just then, another auditionee exits the room and the woman holding the clipboard calls her name. Yeonjeon nods and gathers her belongings, casting one glance at you before leaving. “Hopefully we’ll be able to work together, Y/N.” You wish her luck once more before watching her go off. Afterwards, you shut your eyes to try to calm your nerves, hiding your trembling hands and humming to warm your throat. How many times have you been called back for a casting call like this? Not often. And you’ve never been called again to actually get the role. It was easier back in community theater. They’d find a place for everyone who wanted one. It didn’t matter that you weren’t bold, loud, glamorous, charismatic... You’re shocked out of your thoughts when you’re jolted, someone beside you poking your arm. “Are you, Y/N?” “L/N Y/N.” The lady calls and you stand straight up, so quickly that you pull a muscle in your calf and the bag that was in your lap was now on the ground. The lady sighs. “Come right this way.” “S-sorry, sorry.” You shuffle past the crowd to enter the large room after grabbing your bag again. It’s a bigger room than you expected and a lot more people. It’s spacious with just a long stretched table facing the empty floor and exhausted faces sitting behind it. They stare back at you, unfamiliar as they judge you from head to toe, from your demeanor to how your hair is. It’s the director, the music director, the casting director, two producers and a reader — six of them slumped in their chairs, bored. You swallow hard, approaching the center of the room where the masking tape is on the floor. “Do you have a headshot and resume?” “Y-yes, sorry.” You dig inside your bag, finding the papers wrinkled. You cuss inside your head and as you try organizing them, you accidentally trip on the carpet. Luckily, you don’t fall, but the papers go flying, coating the floor in white. You mumble more apologies, picking them up to hand them out. Your head is dipped, cheeks warm. It’s only been five seconds, but it was already going badly. “Can you introduce yourself?” one of them asks in annoyance when the silence stretches for too long. “Y-yes, sorry. My name is Y/N. I have experience in working in community theater, both on stage and behind. Currently, I’m working as an intern at the production of Phantom of the O-Opera.” You’re sweating at your hairline and you flinch when you hear a sudden snap, finding someone on the sidelines taking your picture. “Alright then, Y/N.” The stern lady straightens out her blazer and puts down her pen, having jotted down some notes. “And you’re auditioning for the supporting role of a townswoman, so part of the female ensemble?” “Yes.” “Pardon?” “Yes!” you exclaim in a louder voice. “Then what song will you be singing for us today?” “The Life I Never Led by the Sister Act the Musical!” You’re already straining your voice by yelling, but you pay no mind, quickly flipping the page after they nod and make hums of acknowledgment. The man’s deadpans in a monotone, “Start.” You clear your throat, steadying your breath. “I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight—” One of their hands raise. You pause. “Can you sound more…” He gestures with his hand. “Light? Right now it’s very serious, and we’re looking for something lively.” “Yes, of course, sorry.” You brace yourself and start again. But it’s happening again. Your hands have a sudden tremor. You feel your heart picking up its pace, fast enough that you’re scared of getting a heart attack. Your face twitches against its will. Your mouth goes dry. You feel dizzy. Like you might throw up before passing out. “I-I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight. I've never let go and gone with the flow, and don't even know, really, why.” The strangers are scrutinizing you. A cold sweat wash down your body, palms clammy, knees shaking. It’s an out-of-body experience and you cringe when you hear yourself go off tune. Everything that you’ve prepared yourself for goes down the drain. The self-assurance washes away, leaving in its place your most desperate state — a girl who tries hard but whose effort never shows. Your voice even warbles against your will. “I've never rebelled, or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high. And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they're all I have left of the life I never led—” You inhale a breath as the note finishes off. But before you can continue singing, the woman in the center raises her hand to silence you. It goes quiet immediately. The sound of scratching pens on paper seem deafening. Then finally, the woman looks up and clasps her hands together. “Alright, thank you for coming. We’ll let you know the final results.” “T-Thank you.” You leave feeling sick to your stomach. Outside the silent room is noise, others still singing and warming up, sounding a thousand times better than you. They’re stable, excited, assured. You know you did poorly, and you’re not imagining it either. You never end up getting a call back from them. No denials or confirmations. The radio silence is loud and clear.

It’s early in the morning with you crouched over sorting clothes in a bin that two pairs of feet shuffle forward. Your head moves back to find the girls that frequently flock to Taeyeon looking down at you. The corner of her lips curl. “You went for an audition for Beauty and the Beast?” “What?” “I saw you,” the other girl sasses with a shrill voice and her arms crossed. “I was wondering why you weren’t here, but Jimin said you had a dentist appointment. Looks like you were lying to even him.” “I—” One of them squats down, meeting your eye level. “Do you really think you could make it? Thought you could sneak away and get yourself a big role to show the rest of us and make us feel bad? I don’t think so. Let’s be frank, you could never make it, Y/N. Shouldn’t bother trying. Why would you set yourself up for disappointment? But I guess the effort is cute.” She stands and her friend smirks. “The director knows you were lying and trying to jump ship and run away from your job. He’s pissed. So good luck trying to keep this position, intern.” They walk away and your eyes sting painfully. Your hand balls into a tight fist, the clothes in your hands wrinkling. Your nails sink past the thin fabric into the palm of your hand. Your knuckles turn white. It’s a privilege to work here. A privilege. You remind yourself of these things — that you will not punch them in the face. As much as you want to and as strong as the urge is, you won’t scratch their faces until they bleed and scream. “Fucking bitches…” you mutter out from your clenched teeth. At the same time, Jimin enters the floor. The timing is poor. He’s a moment too late, but it’s enough to catch them walking away and enough for him to read your angered expression that he mistakes as emotional distraught. “Hey, what’s going on?” Your ears perk once you hear the smooth timbre. Turning to find Jimin, you sigh and relax, rage fading. “Nothing. Can you help me fold this bin? I need to grab the other.” “Alright.” Jimin nods slowly, watching your backside. The director is indeed passive aggressive to you, making comments that you shouldn't lose focus on this job and whatever else bullshit he usually gives. But you don't care. The weight of your failures are heavier on your mind. // “Today, we’re going to brush up on some singing techniques and then talk about building your acting resume.” “I practiced.” Jimin smiles. “I swear.” “Good.” It’s humiliating, not because of other people’s perceptions of you. But it’s humiliating to yourself. You’ve always complained that no one would give you a chance, that all you needed was an opportunity, but once it was given to you, you messed it up. There’s no one to blame. Not your shitty life or because of the director. Not because of your bad luck or the world’s prejudice towards you. It’s no one’s fault but your own. You’ve lost a great chance. How many more will be given to you? How can you ever dream of standing on a world stage if you can’t even go through an audition? Maybe the director was right. When you stand in his shoes, it’s clear that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re not ready. Far from it. Your ambitions are bigger than your capabilities. You’re a sapling who wants to be a grand cherry blossom. Perhaps that’s why those girls laughed at you — why they were so condescending when they found out you were auditioning. You’re a foolish imposter. A sapling that wants to be a blossom tree. You’d laugh at yourself too. “Y/N?” “Huh?” “I asked you how I did.” Jimin searches your expression with his own brows scrunched in concern. “I just sang.” “Oh, sorry. You did fine.” You’re too distracted to teach. You’re mentally distraught, fatigued — and you honestly just want to crawl underneath your covers for a while and wish your entire life would be fixed. Or at least until everyone forgot about you and you could start over. But Jimin would never allow himself to forget about you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” “I’m just….at a bit of a low point,” you admit, mustering a smile. “I’ll be okay. Always am.” “It’s okay if you want to talk about it. I’ll listen to you.” His gaze is sincere and his attention is fully devoted to you. It goes quiet as you mull over your own thoughts, and then Jimin’s eyes light up, He digs into his bag for a flyer. “Actually, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about.” He hands it to you and you unfold the corners. The flyer is a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. You recognize it immediately. It’s the musical, Les Misérables. Jimin smiles. “They’re doing auditions.” “You want to try out?” Your eyes flicker up to him. “I think we should try out,” he suggests. “It’s a good opportunity.” There’s a thick lump in your throat. The paper in your hand crinkles where you hold it tightly between your fingertips. You wondered how many chances you would get after you blew them all. But with Jimin, came another chance. Yet you’re still humiliated. You still feel like an imposter. “I don’t...think I’m ready.” He’s befuddled. “What do you mean?” “You should try out for it, Jimin. I think I’ll sit this one out.” Jimin grabs your wrist before you can get up. His hands curl around your flesh, but his fingers are gentle, his touch tender. His softened eyes search your expression again, and you feel your face get warm under his attention. “I don’t get it. Why would you want to miss this opportunity? Didn’t you tell me that you should always take whatever chance you get? I really have a good feeling about this one. I thought we could try it out together.” “I just…..I don’t think I can do it.” “Why not?” “Because I’m not good enough!” you scream. “You are!” Jimin stands on his feet and when he realizes he’s yelling, he lowers his volume. “I know that you know that you are, so that’s why I don’t understand. Are you giving up?” “No.” It’s an outrageous question, but somehow your harsh whisper sounds like a lie. “I’m not giving up.” “Then do this with me,” he coaxes. “We can try out together.” For a second, you envision being on stage with Jimin, looking over during the grand finale and exchanging silent smiles with one another — but it seems like such a far-fetched dream. “Are you really satisfied being a ghost singer and performing behind the curtain?” he asks. “I’m not.” You divert your vision elsewhere. There’s a sudden pressure on your shoulders, and you can feel yourself break out into a sweat. “There’s nothing wrong with trying,” Jimin tells you and makes it sound so simple. “If we fail, we fail together. If we succeed, we succeed together.” You meet his vision, wondering why he’s trying too hard to convince you. You don’t want to be pushed — but maybe it’s what you need. “Okay. Let’s try.” He smiles and you shove away your hesitance. // The pair of you get your applications completed together in the coming days, sending in headshots, filling out your sheets, preparing the reel. You practice small sections of the available script, singing while watching your expressions. It’s exactly what you did not long ago — but this time it’s with Jimin. And his enthusiasm crumbles away your despair. You might be a sapling trying to be a cherry blossom, but Jimin is a grand flower bed blooming beside you. He makes you just a bit more confident of budding your own flowers and reaching great heights. The both of you submit your applications together, and anticipation bubbles at the pit of your stomach. As much as you try to keep it at bay, your hope creeps back in. Maybe this could be it... And then your phone rings days later. “Hello?” “Hello?” The voice on the other line is unmistakable. “Hi, is this Ms. Y/N?” “Yes, it is. How may I help you?” “I’m the casting director for the Les Misérables production here in New York. You recently sent in an application for an audition. We were wondering if you were still interested and willing to set up a convenient date to meet.” “I-I….” You inhale a deep breath to fill your lungs. Your vision is blurred, eyes stinging with tears that threaten to shed, but you keep yourself composed and professional. “Yes, I’m still interested. I’d be happy to set up a date and time for an audition.” There’s a flutter in your stomach. You feel like you might throw up — but it’s the first time that it’s for a good thing. Though instead of opting for spilling your food out from your guts in excitement, you find yourself throwing the front door open. There’s one person that you want to tell. This time, you’ll follow your urges. You won’t hold back. But before you can even knock on the door next to yours, you catch the brunette boy walking down the hall, having turned the corner of where the stairwell is. Jimin sees you too and his eyes light up. They shimmer in the corridor lights and he approaches with his hands dug in the pockets of his trench coat. It takes too long. You run and meet him halfway. “I...got a call.” His smile expands into a grin. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “I did too. Just now, right?” “Just now.” You confirm with vigorous nods, almost crying. If it weren’t for him…. You hop up to Jimin on the tips of your toes, your whimper is muffled into his shoulder with your face dug into his coat. And your arms wrap around his torso. The boy’s surprised, stumbling back from the impact, but blissfully giggles when he realizes you’re hugging him. Jimin’s arms quickly encircle your waist. His cheeks deepen into a rosy hue and his smile softens even more. He smells of lavender body wash and fresh linen. “I told you that you could do it,” he teases gently in an intimate whisper. Your gratitude is immense. You’re rendered speechless. You don’t know what to say, what to tell him. So you try to show him, squeezing him tighter. You were going to give up — you could only take so many failures — you could only last so long in a state of limbo. But with Jimin by your side, you feel like you could achieve anything. You finally let go of him, heart racing, making wild gestures. “We-we need to get started, Park. We have to go look for a song and start practicing. You told me we’re in this together, so why are we wasting time out here? Come on!” You grab onto him, pulling him towards his apartment as his laughter rings in the air. In the meanwhile, Jimin muses in his mind that he meant it when he said you were beautiful when you were happy. You’re practically glowing. // There’s more practice to be done, helping one another choose songs for the audition, giving opinions to improve certain parts, to use certain techniques. You’re more motivated than before, fueling your own morale instead of relying on his. You’re eager, especially knowing that you won’t be alone during the audition, that you won’t be entering a room of complete strangers. Singing in front of Jimin wasn’t as hard as it used to be either. Your palms don’t get clammy, sweat doesn’t start dripping, your knees don’t shake. It helps a lot to sing directly in front of someone. And you’ve gotten comfortable with him. Jimin’s attention is still a lot sometimes, but you know it’s coming from a good place. He’s not so much scrutinizing as he is listening and savouring. “What if they ask you to dance?” He pipes up out of the blue while you’re making dinner at the same time as practicing. “What?” He repeats the question and smiles mischievously. “What would you do then?” “I don’t think they would. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any dancing in Les Mis, Jimin. If there is, then not a lot.” “Hey, you never know. They can tell you to do anything and you have to be ready for it.” You scoff lightly. He’s still trying to convince you to teach him after all these months. And you give in this time. You allow Jimin to pull you away from the stove. You’re timid, uncertain, but he places your hands where they need to be — both on his firm shoulders, while his own are light on your waist. “Like this.” “What if I step on your feet?” “I’ll survive.” His eyes twinkle, playful. “Okay, step back once, then I’ll step forward. Now step forward and I’ll step back. One, two, three, one two three. Just follow my lead.” You look down to your shuffling feet, making sure not to step on his toes. You feel silly, but it’s also easier than you realized. Maybe that’s just because he’s a good lead. “Relax, I’m not that fragile.” “I don’t want to be responsible if you get hurt.” You raise your head, eyes connecting to his. Jimin smiles, and then twirls you suddenly, making you laugh. He holds your right hand, letting you sway back and forth. It begins to feel more like a swing dance than a slow one. But the giggles are infectious and he pulls you close to him, enough for you to feel his body heat and for it to warm your face to your toes. You feel light, butterflies swooping from your chest to the pits of your stomach. And Jimin’s the very cause of it. “Jimin!” You laugh, trying to pull away. “The water’s gonna overboil!” He stares deeply into you, corners of his mouth pulling. “Just let it.” “And burn down this apartment?” Jimin shrugs, but lets go anyhow. “I wouldn’t mind.” You feel colder when he’s gone, though your fingertips still tingle with his touch. His hands were soft. “When the time comes, I’ll happily teach you how to dance properly.” You know that time will come someday as long as you stay by Jimin’s side.

#bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bts scenario #jimin scenario

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

Text

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 17 - In Which Max Embarks On Her London Real Estate Empire

“This house is fucked,” Anne says, appearing from the dank of the basement to stand next to Max.

The Hennessy house is, in fact, fucked. Cuz Anne may not be the licensed home inspector – he's coming in the week – but she's been in enough dilapidated, crumbling flops to recognize the stain of mildew growing up the cellar walls. Enough to recognize the scent of mold as it seeps from the dripping stones.

“Surprised this shit's still standing, to be honest.”

Max makes an elegant shrug.

And Anne's never known anyone who could make a shrug look fucking elegant. But she supposes that's the thing about high-class Johns. They want their prostitutes to be elegant in every fucking thing. Pretty little pieces to look at and fuck and pretend are the rich, glamorous sort of women they've been told they deserve – but ones who love them, ones who want them. Before remembering that they're just street trash corner girls and throwing them away.

The ones that don't want a bit of rough, anyway.

And Max is a master of the kind of effortless grace that half the fuckin rich bastards can't come close to matching. Anne admires it. Though it ain't really effortless, is it? Max being Max took as much work as Anne being Anne ever did. Maybe more – Max couldn't just murder her way out of a sticky situation, she had to learn finesse.

But they're all just managing outside perception, ain't they? Just like the Hennessy's with this fucking house.

“Too busy keeping up appearances to fix the rot in their own fucking foundations. Idiots.”

Max laughs. “If this was a book, I'd say the symbolism was a little too obvious.”

She and Jack have taken to viciously dissecting the latest in pop literature as part of something that could maybe eventually be called a book club. If they can ever bear to admit they're more friends now than just business partners.

Speaking of business. “The house is gonna be a bitch and a half to fucking fix. Wonder how the fuck they missed it.”

“I'm certain the previous owners never ventured below the ground floor,” Max says thoughtfully. The cavernous downstairs kitchen is dusty enough to support that particular theory. “And even if they had, I doubt they had the money to do anything about it.”

“What, so now we gotta pay for their mistakes?” Anne snarls. “Shoulda got a better deal on the house if that's the case.”

Max hushes her gently. “Mr. Scott has done admirably in that regard. Even if we demolished the entire house and built a new one in its place, we'd come out comfortably ahead. Besides, it's not as if we bought the place with the intent of flipping it. Or, God forbid, actually living in such a home.”

Cuz that ain't where the real money in London real estate is, Anne has learned. Apparently, a lot of these buildings are worth as much as they are cuz of the land they're on. Just the physical area they take up, nothing to do with the rotting abandoned husks sitting on top of it.

Even more fucked up is the fact that the fucking air above them is worth money.

So there's plenty of rick fucks who buy up London property just cuz the valuation keeps going up as more and more of them buy property. Let it sit empty so fuck all can get built in one of the biggest cities in the word and the valuation on your investment just keeps fucking rising. “A most elegant con,” Jack'd called it.

At least until the house of cards it's all built on topples. And then they're fucked. Which is why Max isn't planning on them getting into the actual real estate business. The actual buying and selling of physical properties. That, they'll leave to much stupider marks.

“C'mon, let's get out of the cellar before we get fucking mold in our lungs or whatever's supposed to happen.”

Max finishes up the notes she's taking in an expensive notebook with an even more expensive fountain pen, her neat cursive stark on the page. Only Max could make a to do list look that intimidating.

But she smiles at Anne. “I suppose I can be finished with my evil plotting. For now.” And she leads Anne up into the better kept parts of the house to collect Mary, whose been taking photographs of the now empty rooms.

Cuz what Max is selling ain't real estate. It's potential.

They're brokers of a shiny golden dream, ephemeral and fleeting – so you'd better sign up quick. Cuz the place might look like a wrecked hulk now. But just imagine what it could become.

Not that there ain't work to be done to set the stage. As part of selling that dream, Anne and Charles have spent most of a week moving abandoned furniture out of the derelict rooms and into their own house – the pieces Jack likes, anyway. And there's a particularly decadent credenza ended up in the esteemed councilor's luxurious rowhouse, courtesy of Jack. And Max. And Mr. Scott.

A little grease to get wheels in motion on planning permission for the upscale boutique hotel spa Max wants their marks to replace the former Hennessy house with. The dream they're selling for this particular property. Like a bed and breakfast, but no poor people (non-millionaires) allowed.

And a few of the more valuable but less tasteful items end up in various high-end antique shops. Essentially, Anne and Charles have been delegated to movers and then builders. Cuz they spent the next week stripping the wallpaper and throwing out heavy, motheaten brocade curtains and other assorted shit. And then they'd painted all the newly revealed plasterwork off white – but the kind where it looks worn out already, not fresh and new. Distressed, Mary'd called it.

And Anne don't exactly understand how making the place look shittier makes it more valuable. Especially when it's just gonna get torn down anyway. But Anne does have to admit that the house is something like hauntingly elegant this way, with Mary's staging and the surprisingly bright sunlight streaming through sheer white curtains. There may or may not be light rigs outside helping the notoriously weak English sun along.

And when they get to the ballroom, Max's painting – the one she got from Jack – hanging above the fireplace, catching the eye even from across the room. It's fucking breathtaking. They're gonna sucker some stupid rich fucks for sure.

#i travel troubled oceans #chapter 17 #black sails #anne bonny/max #charles vane/jack rackham

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heartslogos · 3 years

Text

newfragile yellows [1011]

"It's not that I don't like Orlesians," Ellana says as she quickly flips through one of the brochures that the travel agency sent them. “But I don’t know if I can handle going on a two week bus tour with nothing but Orleisans and their…everything. I’m not even sure the Orlesians could do that to each other, that’s why they always advertise as a mixed tour with Orleisans and Fereldans or whatever non-Orlesian speaking group they think they can sucker.”

“You do not like Orlesians,” Bull points out as he quickly snags a brochure for a two week tour of Tevinter’s wine fields and crumples it in his fist before she can see it.

“Well, you don't like Orlesians either,” Ellana replies.

“That’s different.” Bull chucks the balled up brochure into the trashcan while Ellana starts sorting through the other pamphlets, discarding the one she was looking at in favor of a brochure extolling the virtues of glamping. Bull hopes she doesn’t pick that one. His pride can only take so much.

Like. If she really wanted to he’d do it. No questions asked. He wants her to enjoy her vacation, especially after they basically wasted their last one barely seeing each other.

But having to tell his coworkers that he’s going glamorous camping with his girlfriend might just do him in. As nice as it would be — it’d be with Ellana, after all — the teasing would be non-stop. And he works with some pretty ruthless assholes. He’s already getting so much grief over the fact that he’s somehow in a functional and healthy relationship with a civilian member of society. He doesn’t want to find out how much worse it can get.

“Not liking Orleisans for me is part of my career,” Bull explains, “The number of times various intelligence and other such agents have come onto one of my operations and fucked things up is uncountable. Or it would be if I didn’t have such a good head for numbers and grudges. Ask anyone in the Inquisition and they’ll be able to tell you at least a dozen times someone from Orlais has ruined a job they were on.”

“I’d ask but you’re the only person I speak to regularly from the Inquisition,” Ellana says wrinkling her nose at something the pamphlet and quickly discarding it for a different one that’s about some kind of river cruise through the Dales. “The only other person I really talk to is your boss and that would be weird of me, wouldn’t it? Hi. I know I don’t really talk to you much but is it true that everyone in the intelligence slash covert operations field hates Orlesians?”

“Trevelyan is a Free Marcher, she’ll jump at the chance to talk shit about Orlesians,” Bull laughs. “Pretty sure talking shit about people from Orlais is a global sport. Brings us all together and shit. Like a language but full of more spite. I’m pretty sure when I was first learning Trade some of my first sentences were about how fuckin’ pretentious Orlesians are.”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t something about Tevinter,” Ellana muses, resting her cheek on her palm as she smiles at him.

“Nah, you don’t even need to says hit about Tevinter. You just say the name and everyone around you just nods.” Bull flicks through the glossy folded pages. “So. Any ideas on which ones of these might be good enough for us to use our two weeks of vacation on?”

“I’m going to be real with you,” Ellana sighs as she lets her head slowly slide off her hand to rest on the table, arm curling underneath to pillow her cheek. “I’m tempted to just say we’re going camping and then the two of us spend the entire time right here doing nothing but watching TV, cooking our meals, and taking long uninterrupted naps that will completely fuck up our sleep schedules.”

“I’m not gonna lie, that does sound pretty good. I’m down for it.” Bull smiles softly as he pushes all the pamphlets to one side of the dining table. “I’m sure that out of all the kinds of vacation I could take that one would be the most relaxing. If you tell Trevelyan you’re making me take time off so I could sit down and not look at a screen and not do any physical activity she might try and give you some kind of award. Or push to have a global holiday declared for you. Maybe she’ll even try to cut you a check. If she does don’t refuse it, she’ll just have it pushed to me and then give me an itemized check list on how I have to use it and make me provide receipts and photographic evidence that I did her bidding. It’s almost like she doesn’t trust me. You know, if we ever break up she’s going to kill me. No joke. She likes you way better than she likes me and you two have only talked like five times.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Are you really that bad of a workaholic?”

“Well I don’t think so. But I’m biased. So you can’t trust my answer, can you?” Bull leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he thinks. “It’d be a shame for you to waste your vacation though. And you love traveling. I keep telling you that you should join the Inquisition. You’d be flying all over the place.”

“That’s not sight seeing, that’s work. It’s different.” Ellana waves a hand in the air to brush the idea away. “Besides, what skills could I bring to the Inquisition? I’m an art restorer and a barista. Does the Inquisition need a live in barista? You’re definitely not restoring works of art.”

“I’m sure Trevelyan would find something for you,” Bull says. “You’re wasted art restoration. In another life you’re an elite spy. Or if reincarnation is real you were definitely a spy.”

“I don’t know where you’re getting all that from,” Ellana shakes her head. “You’re a very strange man.”

“And aren’t you the very strange woman for agreeing to date this very strange man?”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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ohmightydevviepuu · 3 years

Note

For the fanfic asks - #5 and #16 please?

Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

technically i don’t have any posted WIPs but i do have two other things that i’m currently writing. i’ve already shared several snippets from one so i guess it is time to unveil a piece of the procedural i’ve been talking about. for a year. *gulp*

Emma Swan gripped the steering wheel of her ancient Beetle and prayed it wouldn’t skid in the rain.

She needed a new car.

The yellow Bug had six-digit mileage and a cloned VIN and a bad transmission but she refused to trade it in. She couldn’t afford it, for starters. She didn’t want to, for another.

Emma Swan was many things--not sentimental, exactly, but mindful, always (see also: ‘guarded’, ‘prickly’, ‘broke’)--and the Beetle was a reminder. On her better days it was a reminder of how far she’d come. On her worst days it was a reminder of how far she still had to go. And, really, she should start by getting a new goddamn car.

But, again, she was broke.

The engine light flashed and Emma swore. She’d just had it in and Gus said it was fine, but people lied. Often.

Always.

And Emma Swan could always tell.

That’s how she got paid.

Speaking of: Her phone buzzed on the seat next to her and Emma swore again, because she was going to be late and Milah hated it when she was late. Milah had rules.

Emma hadn’t grown up with too many rules. That’s what happened when you got shipped from home to home. Sometimes she’d had to be on time for dinner, sometimes no one cared. Sometimes she had chores. Sometimes she had to hide her stuff. Sometimes she had to hide, in general.

Even the basics--don’t lie, don’t steal--had gotten distilled down to don’t get caught.

(Emma hadn’t even been able to do that.)

But Milah had rules and she’d tried to instill them; some lost, long-dormant almost-motherly instinct coming to the surface twenty years too late, as if she wanted to be motherly and had just forgotten how.

It might be, literally, true. Milah had a kid--and an ex--and neither of them was ever spoken of. Ever. Emma had done some digging over the years and came up empty every time, which meant that Milah had gone to great lengths to render herself untraceable. Invisible. Emma didn’t even know the age or gender of either the spouse or the kid. It felt unfair when Milah knew everything about her and in the most embarrassing way possible.

Their relationship was not an easy one, but it was the only one Emma had. That’s what happened when you were fresh out of prison and on the run at eighteen--it didn’t leave a lot of opportunities for family ties. But thanks to Milah, Emma was good at her job. Better than good--she was great.

And she followed the rules. Usually.

Big meeting tonight and Emma needed more than the money, she needed the exposure, the chance to make a good impression on a client who could keep her in Pop-Tarts and Netflix and fucking car parts for the foreseeable future.

Regina Mills had made a fortune defending wealthy clients accused of serious crimes. Every photograph, every second of her on newscast B-roll showed her in one of her trademark pantsuits: simple, impeccably tailored, so expensive they made Emma’s wallet hurt just to think about them. There was nothing masculine about her, though--exactly the opposite. Regina Mills was not ashamed of her femininity. She flaunted it. It was part of her style and part of her strategy down to her blood-red lipstick and matching nail polish as her smile and demeanor went from charming to soothing to terrifying and back again all within a single question.

High-stakes, high-pay, high-profile, and she was the best in the game. Like she snapped her fingers and poof, magic, her clients got off.

But to do what she did, Regina needed people like Emma: someone who would do the work, to find the truth--good, bad or ugly. PI work wasn’t glamorous but Emma was good at it, and she enjoyed the challenges of cases like Regina’s in between skip-chasing for deadbeat dads or waiting for hours in the car on the money-shot of a cheating spouse. Emma had, very slowly and very carefully, built up a record with Regina--thanks mostly to Milah, who kept her behind the scenes but was always happy to throw a little work Emma’s way.

Until today.

Do you have that one fanfic that you wrote a ton for, ages ago, but never posted? Will this be the year, come hell or high water, that it WILL get finished and posted?

i do, and the answer is a HARD NO. deep in the recesses of my google drive i have about 30 chapters--and that’s just the “final” draft--of a pretty epic pretty solider sailor moon moon kingdom --> present day --> crystal tokyo fic. (lol you have no idea what any of that means) the reasons i will never post it are numerous but chief among them is that it is based too heavily off of other authors’ work--an amalgamation of a bunch of stories and ideas i loved that i played with putting into one story and one timeline and then extended.

the reason i keep it is simple: i loved writing it. it gave me joy in difficult times and places. it gave me focus. and i still occasionally harvest the pieces of it to incorporate into other things.

let’s start 2021 with some fic asks, shall we??

#asked and answered #fanfic friday #thisonesatellite #procedural fic

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god-save-the-keen · 4 years

Text

Charity Gala

Book: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Amy)

Warning: Fluff

Words: 1471

Prompt: Someone leave #14 of the list in my inbox and I don't know is Tumblr is broken, they deleted the question or their account but the question/request disappear. Anywhere, here it's the result!

Note: My PC is still broke so sorry I can cut the text! 🙏

Adrian Raines x mc tag list: @alesana45 @choicesfannatalie @itscassandraleig-blog @mattrodriguezmylife @bigmemesplz @perriewinklenerdie @x-kyne-x @livingpurpose @adriansbiss

Permanent list: @gardeningourmet @client-327 @desiree---1986 @dawn-1994 @violinet @darley1101 @blackcatkita @flyawayboo @drakewalker04

"I have never seen the point of these galas." Adrian commented as the limo continued steadily on their way.

"Oh trust me, I'm just as excited to be here as much as you are." Amy responded, an uncharacteristic ironic tone to her voice. Adrian lifted his brow at her and she sighed. "I'm sorry." She said after a small pause.

"It's still early, if you would like, you can stay." Adrian pointed out, in a calm manner, he didn't want her to feel pressured to accompany him, after all it was weird that Amy was this irritated.

"I don't know…" She bit her bottom lip. "It's just… I'm so nervous"

"Everything is going to be okay, love."

"It won't." Amy turned her gaze towards Adrian again, her eyebrow furrowed with concern and her eyes sad. "The people at these kind of events always look at me like I'm the secretary of the moment that you are just fooling around with." She redirected her eyes to the limo's window, resting her chin on her palm. "I hate that look."

"But you know that none of it is true" He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"I know." She said sadly. "I just want to enjoy a night out with you without being judged."

He got closer to her, taking her waist as she looked at him. "I promise you that that is exactly what is going to happen. And if you aren't enjoying yourself, I leave the donation and we return home."

She placed her hand on his cheek, a sweet smile on her lips as she observed him. "I love when you call it 'home'." They had been living together for a few weeks in an apartment overlooking Central Park and, since the first night they had shared together in it, Adrian started to call it home instead of 'the penthouse' like he used to, melting Amy's heart with happiness. He pressed his forehead against hers, smiling as her soft perfume filled his lungs and his hand tightened his hold. Before either of them could say anything else, the limo stopped in front of a luxury hotel. Outside were some photographers taking pictures of the couples on the red carpet as they arrived and Amy looked at them uncertainty.

Adrian gently kissed her, without rushing, opened the door getting out of the limo and offering her his hand to help her out. She took it, smiling and lacing their fingers together while she stood up next to him as her soft silver dress sparkled under the flashing cameras. It was a huge charity gala for Australian Firemen and their work, celebrities were everywhere, Avery Wilshire and his girlfriend Candece Dorian, Cassandra Leigh, Victoria Fontaine, Chris Winters among the business men and woman, politicians, designers and rich people in general, Matt and Jessica Rodriguez were the hostess for the night and Cordonia's royalty had donate a beautiful diamond necklace to be auctioned.

They posed for a moment, Adrian's arm around her waist and her hand on his shoulder as he pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear for a moment, smiling, while he whispered to her "You look gorgeous." She turned her head and smiled at him, forgetting the camaras, the people, everything around them except him.

Hand in hand, they went inside. Adrian took two champagne glasses from a passing waitress and handed one to Amy. Her eyes widened at the luxury around her, even after all the time she had been with Adrian, as his employee and his girlfriend, sometimes it was still hard for her to get used to this kind of life, surrender of money, opulence and glamorous but fake people. They drank, Adrian's hand on her waist, as they milled around the salon, quietly chatting, laughing, observing photos of animals and the fires in Australia as people started to approach to talk with him about business.

A skeletal arm took Amy's as Adrian continued his conversation and she found herself being dragged towards the bar by Amanda Lexington, the size zero wife of an important CEO of NY, although Amy wasn't sure which one.

"Amy! It's always a pleasure to see you at these kind of events!" Her tone pretended to be affectionate as her little black eyes only convey coldness.

"Hi Amanda" Amy answered trying to sound calm and confident.

"You know, the other day we were talking about you with John" She said grabbing a glass of expensive wine and setting her gaze on her.

"Oh?" She sipped her champagne.

"It's great that you two are still together!" Her lips curled in a cynical smile.

"And why wouldn't we still be together?" Her hand squeezing the glass a little bit, she wasn't sure if she was annoyed, angry or sad with this conversation but she definitely wasn't happy.

"Oh! For no reason my dear, just you know how the CEO's are! Always want to play with the latest toy." Amanda drank her wine as her eyes assess Amy's reaction. "Especially with the secretaries."

"I--" Her voice was trembling, every fiber of her body hating her words, even if she knew that Adrian wasn't like that, that he loved her, Amanda Lexington always knew how to push her buttons.

"But I'm not saying it's going to happen with you, my dear!" She patted Amy's arm condescendingly. "It's just that Adrian is so handsome and wealthy. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that just settles down with someone… well, like you." The glass she was holding shattered in her hand as champagne, glass and a few drops of blood fell on the floor.

"Amy" Adrian was beside her, he took her hand in his but the wound had already healed. Amy continued observing Amanda, her eyes angry as she took another sip of wine. "Is everything okay, love?"

"Yes." She responded stoically, still watching Amanda like she wanted to drain her whole blood supply from her tiny body. Adrian took her waist, smiling politely even when the warmth of his sweet blue eyes had completely disappeared.

"Amanda, even though your company is always…" He made a little pause and narrowed his eyes, his tone full of sarcasm in the next few words. "... A pleasure, I must say I didn't expect to see you here today." He grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to Amy, kissing her cheek. "Here, love." He took a swig, his presence intense, powerful, intimidating almost dominant.

"And why it's that?"

"Well, because John is in jail for a white collar crime and lost all his financial liquidity."Adrian said and Amy turned towards him, surprised, as some other guests stopped to discreetly hear the conversation.

"You must be mistaken, Adrian!" She said loudly enough for the people around them to hear her while her face was pale and her eyes grew wider with horror. "John is in London, on a business trip."

"My apologies, I must have received the call from Nassau County Jail from another John Lexington." A satisfied smirk on his face as some people in the crowd started to whisper. "Ready to head out?" He asked Amy as if the last five minutes had never happened.

"Let's go." He entwined their fingers together. "By the way Amanda… Raines Corp is looking for mail personal, give me a call, okay? You need it, I know It's not a secretary job, but you don't like those anyway."

Once outside, while they were waiting for their car, Amy crashed her mouth against Adrian, deeply kissing him as he responded with equal enthusiasm. After they separated a bit, she softly placed her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Was this suit expensive? Like, irreplaceable expensive?" He held her waist pulling her closer.

"No" He grinned.

"Good… does it have any emotional value?"

"Also no" His mouth started to kiss the hollow under her jaw.

"Great, because once we get home I'm going to rip it from your body." He chuckled before kissing her again. "The way you shut her up was amazing!"

"I heard what she was saying to you, and I know you can defend yourself, but no one is going to be disrespectful to you like that if I can avoid it." His eyes, warm blue again as always, fixed on hers.

"So… It was true that her husband called you?" She asked, getting in the limo.

"Not even close" He answered as she laughed putting her legs on his lap. "His lawyer is a colleague of mine and he may have commented about it. Are you okay?" His voice concerned and his hand softly caressing her legs.

"As long as I have you in my corner, I'm fine." She hugged his neck. "I love you, Adrian."

"I love you too, Amy"

#choices adrian #adrian raines x mc #adrian raines #adrian x mc #adrian x amy

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carolinesiede · 3 years

Text

Reflecting on 2020

The strangest thing about 2020 was how familiar much of it felt: Working from home, extended periods of isolation, weeks and months blending together. To a much lesser degree, those are things I experience each year as a freelancer. And while I suspect it will take awhile before the full extent of the trauma we’ve all lived through this year fully sets in, right now I’m mostly focused on gratitude. I’m grateful for the health of my loved ones. Grateful I already had a work-from-home routine to maintain during the pandemic. And grateful that I was able to quarantine with my family for much of the year—which had its challenges but also its rewards too.

In my 2019 year-end post I wrote about feeling like my career was finally on an upward trajectory after several years of plateauing. This year obviously offered some new wrinkles in that regard. I made significantly less money and felt familiar fears about how sustainable this career actually is. But having less work also gave me more time to focus on the actual craft of writing. I feel like I reached a new level in terms of voice, clarity, and the ability to self-edit. I'm the sort of person who constantly (arguably, obsessively) strives to be better, and it’s rewarding to feel like that hard work is finally slowly starting to pay off.

In addition to devoting my quarantine time to mastering a favorite curry recipe, getting really into the Enneagram, finally learning to French braid hair, and rewatching all of New Girl, I also had some really cool opportunities scattered throughout the year. I interviewed John Barrowman about his surprise return to Doctor Who, which felt like a real milestone for me. I also contributed to the Los Angeles Times’ list of TV shows to binge-watch during quarantine, which appeared both online and in print. And thanks to everything going virtual this year, I was able to attend a press panel for the fifth season of This Is Us, which is the sort of thing I’m not usually able to do as a Chicago-based critic.

My career is always a juggling act between film and TV, and this year made me appreciate how valuable it is to be able to move seamlessly between both worlds. I took on new TV assignments covering the first season of Stargirl and the second season of The Umbrella Academy, both of which were a blast to write about. And while I didn’t watch quite as many films as I did in my insane catch-up year last year, I did fill in some more major blindspots. I also contributed to The A.V. Club’s list of the best films of 2000 and shared my own ballot over on Letterboxd. Oh, and I set up a Letterboxd this year too!

Elsewhere, I made my debut on Bustle and The Takeout, and ended the year with a Polygon article about “Kind Movies” that pretty much sums up my entire ethos on storytelling. I was also named a Top Critic by Rotten Tomatoes, which was a real honor. But the pride and joy of my career remains my rom-com column, When Romance Met Comedy. I devoted a whopping 49,000 words to analyzing 25 different romantic comedies this year. And I’m really pleased with how the column has grown and with the positive feedback I’ve received.

I have to admit, I sometimes worry that year-end highlight reels like this one can make my life seem easy or glamorous in a way that doesn’t reflect what it’s like to actually live through it. I'm tremendously lucky to get to do what I do, but I also struggle a lot—both with the logistics of this career and with bigger questions about what value it brings to the world. My goal is to approach 2021 with a greater sense of intentionality. I want to be more thoughtful in my career choices, more purposeful in how I use social media, and more active in my activism and politics. I’d also like to do 20 push-ups a day everyday for the whole year, but we’ll see how long that resolution actually lasts.

Finally, on a sadder note, one other defining experience of the year was the loss of my dear internet friend Seb Patrick, who I’ve known for years through the Cinematic Universe podcast. Seb created a wonderfully positive nerd space online, and was a big part of my early quarantine experience thanks to the Avengers watchalongs I did with the CU gang in the spring. I’m so grateful for all the fun pop culture chats we got to have throughout the years, several of which are linked below. Seb is tremendously missed, and there’s a fund for his family here.

As we head into 2021, I’ll leave you with wishes for a Happy New Year and a roundup of all the major writing and podcasts I did in 2020. If you enjoyed my work, you can support me on Kofi or PayPal. Or you can just share some of your favorite pieces with your friends! That really means a lot.

My 15 favorite films of 2020

My 15 favorite TV shows of 2020

Op-eds, Features, and Interviews

Women Pioneered The Film Industry 100 Years Ago. Why Aren’t We Talking About Them? [Bustle]

2020 is the year of the Kind Movie — and it couldn’t have come at a better time [Polygon]

Make a grocery store game plan for stress-free shopping [The Takeout]

What’s Going On: A primer on the call to defund the police [Medium]

Doctor Who’s John Barrowman on the return of Captain Jack Harkness [The A.V. Club]

Episodic TV Coverage

Doctor Who S12

This Is Us S4 and S5

Supergirl S5

Stargirl S1

The Umbrella Academy S2

The Crown S4

NBC’s Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch Musical!

When Romance Met Comedy

Is The Ugly Truth the worst romantic comedy ever made?

Working Girl’s message is timeless, even if the hair and the shoulder pads aren’t

You’ve Got Mail and the power of the written (well, typed) word

Love & Basketball was a romantic slam dunk

How did My Big Fat Greek Wedding make so much money?

America eased into the ’60s with the bedroom comedies of Doris Day and Rock Hudson

I can’t stop watching Made Of Honor

Notting Hill brought two rom-com titans together

It’s time to rediscover one of Denzel Washington’s loveliest and most under-seen romances

Something’s Gotta Give is the ultimate quarantine rom-com

20 years ago, But I’m A Cheerleader reclaimed camp for queer women

On its 60th anniversary, Billy Wilder’s The Apartment looks like an indictment of toxic masculinity

The Wedding Planner made rom-com stars out of Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey

After 25 years, Clueless is still our cleverest Jane Austen adaptation

William Shakespeare invented every romantic comedy trope we love today

Edward Norton made his directorial debut by walking a priest, a rabbi, and a Dharma into a Y2K rom-com

The forgotten 1970s romantic comedy that raged against our broken, racist system

His Girl Friday redefined the screwball comedy at 240 words per minute

Before Wonder Woman soared into theaters, the hacky My Super Ex-Girlfriend plummeted to Earth

Dirty Dancing spoke its conscience with its hips

The rise of Practical Magic as a spooky season classic

In a dire decade for the genre, Queen Latifah became a new kind of rom-com star

Years before Elsa and Anna, Tangled reinvigorated the Disney princess tradition

Palm Springs is the definitive 2020 rom-com

Celebrate Christmas with the subversive 1940s rom-com that turned gender roles on their head

The A.V. Club Film & TV Reviews

Netflix’s To All The Boys sequel charms, though not quite as much as the original

The Photograph only occasionally snaps into focus

Jane Austen's Emma gets an oddball, sumptuous, and smart new adaptation

Pete Davidson delivers small-time charms in Big Time Adolescence

Council Of Dads crams a season of schmaltzy storytelling into its premiere

In Belgravia, Downton Abbey’s creator emulates Dickens to limited success

Netflix’s Love Wedding Repeat adds some cringe to the rom-com

Netflix takes another shot at Cyrano de Bergerac with queer love triangle The Half Of It

We Are Freestyle Love Supreme is a feel-good origin story for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first troupe

Sara Bareilles’ melodic Apple TV+ series Little Voice is still finding itself

Netflix’s sexist rom-com sensation gets a minor upgrade in The Kissing Booth 2

With Howard, Disney+ movingly honors the lyricist who gave the Little Mermaid her voice

The Broken Hearts Gallery tries to find catharsis in heartbreak

Netflix’s ghostly musical series Julie And The Phantoms hits some charming tween high notes

After We Collided slides toward R-rated camp—but not far enough

Holidate is a bawdy start to Netflix’s holiday rom-com slate

Kristen Stewart celebrates the Happiest Season in a pioneering queer Christmas rom-com

Isla Fisher gets her own Enchanted in the Disney Plus fairy tale Godmothered

Podcast Appearances

Debating Doctor Who: “Orphan 55”

It Pod To Be You: The Wedding Singer

Reality Bomb: Defending Doctor Who’s “Closing Time”

The Televerse: Spotlight on Doctor Who Season 12

You Should See The Other Guy: The Ugly Truth

Only Stupid Answers: Stargirl’s season finale

Motherfoclóir: Ireland and the Hollywood Rom-Com

Called in to Nerdette’s Clueless retrospective episode

Cinematic Universe Appearances

Cinematic Universe: Superman IV: The Quest For Peace

Cinematic Universe: Birds of Prey

Cinematic Universe: Infinity War watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Endgame watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Terminator 2

Cinematic Universe: Josie and the Pussycats

Cinematic Universe: The Cuppies 2020 (Cuppies of Cuppies)

And here are similar year-end wrap-ups I did in 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, and 2013.

#Best Of #Year End #2020

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