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#I CANN SEE IT INSPIRATION IS COMING

rosyblooom · 16 days

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hit me with ur best shot | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem american singer!reader SUMMARY: in a youtube video, y/n mentions that pick-up lines are the key to her heart—the cornier, the better. cue lando's attempts at shooting his shot!

Youtube - Elle (Song Association)

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[ caption 1: last early morning in a whileee ] [ caption 2: ready for tonight, vegas 🤍 ]

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liked by normani, landonorris, judebellingham and 1,000,923 others

yourusername aaand that's a wrap for the american leg of my first world tour omfg 🥹 tysm vegas, i loved every second 🤍

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username can't wait to see you in london babe xx

landonorris Are you a camera? Every time I look at you, I smile

username booo🍅🍅 username HELP not the tomatoes, I thought this one's kinda cute😭 username go little rockstar 🫶

username are you a campfire? cause you're hot and I want s'more?🤤

judebellingham you got a name or can I call you mine?

username that's it i'm sleeping on the highway tonight😔 username you can call me anything you want jude 🤭

username if you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber 🙂‍↕️

username omfg not the entire male population in y/n's comments?? BACK TF UP 🤺🤺🤺

username it's so annoying smh y/n is for the girls and the gays only !!!

username Are you a bank loan, darling? Because you my dear have my interest.

username alright enough is enough. somebody pls come collect their dad💀

masonmount you've got any bandaids? cause I just scraped my knee falling for you😉

username STOPPP NOO PLSSS NOT U BBY username y/n done summoned the football clubs lool

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[ caption: getting ready for the cannes film festival, somebody pinch me😭 so grateful to everyone of u!! 🤍🤍 ]

Cannes Film Festival

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[ caption: Thank you goggle for those pickup lines🙏 ]

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A few months later...

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[ caption: been feeling very inspired for the past month and can't wait to share a special song live with some of y'all tonight 💕 (it'll be out to stream everywhere at midnight!!) ]

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[ caption: My American ❤️ ]

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0:52 ────ㅇ──────── 2:49

1K notes · View notes

forlix · 7 months

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𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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insanityclause · 2 days

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EXCLUSIVE: Oscar-winning producers See-Saw Films (The King’s Speech) are gearing up on Tenzing, about the inspirational life of Sherpa Tenzing Norgay and his summit of Mount Everest in 1953 alongside fellow outsider New Zealander Edmund Hillary.

A search is currently underway to cast the lead role of Tenzing Norgay who will star alongside BAFTA-nominated Tom Hiddleston (Loki) as Sir Edmund Hillary, and Oscar winner Willem Dafoe (Poor Things) as the English expedition leader, Colonel John Hunt.

Tenzing comes from filmmaker Jennifer Peedom who has the exclusive rights to tell Tenzing’s story via his family and has a close relationship with the Sherpa community after making acclaimed documentary Sherpa.

Script comes from Oscar-nominated Luke Davies (Lion) and producers are Liz Watts, Emile Sherman and Iain Canning for See-Saw Films, alongside Jennifer Peedom and Luke Davies. Executive producers are Simon Gillis, David Michôd and Norbu Tenzing.

Tibetan born Tenzing Norgay, alongside New Zealand mountaineer Edmund Hillary, both outsiders on a British Expedition, defied insurmountable odds to achieve what was once thought impossible, reaching the summit of the world’s tallest mountain, Mount Everest. After six previous attempts, Tenzing risked everything for one final venture. He had to navigate treacherous politics and perilous weather as he embarked on the most significant climb of his life. Through it all, he did so with humor, warmth, and generosity towards his fellow climbers, but also deep reverence and respect for the sacred Mother Goddess of his Mountain, Chomolungma.

This will be one of the hot projects at next week’s Cannes market where Rocket Science will be handling international sales in partnership with Cross City Films, See-Saw’s in-house sales arm. UTA Independent Film Group and Cross City Films are co-repping the U.S. sale. We understand filming is being lined up for spring 2025.

Peedom, known for her intimate portraits against epic landscapes, including documentaries Solo, Sherpa and Mountain, said: “I could not be more thrilled to be bringing Tenzing Norgay’s story to the screen. I’ve been working towards this film my whole career, and I’m incredibly grateful to Tenzing’s family for entrusting me with it. I am excited to work with See-Saw Films and our amazing cast to bring this story to life. Tom Hiddleston and Willem Dafoe are two of the most generous and talented actors in the business, so pairing them with our brilliant Himalayan cast is going to be electric. I have no doubt this film will resonate widely. We all have our own mountains to climb, and this film shows us what human beings are truly capable of.”

Producers Emile Sherman and Iain Canning added: “We are so excited to embark on this exhilarating ascent led by one of the most inspirational directors we’ve encountered, Jennifer Peedom. Her award-winning experience in the world of high-altitude filmmaking, alongside her unique relationship with the Sherpa community and her masterful storytelling skills make her the perfect director for this film.”

Norbu Tenzing, son of Tenzing Norgay, commented: “Jen is somebody who has earned the respect of our people, understands the community, and is deeply immersed in our culture. She’s a great human being and someone that we trust, and she has had a lifelong interest in the story of my father Tenzing Norgay. I am delighted that she has taken on this project and can’t wait for the world to see who my father was.”

Hiddleston is represented by UTA, Hamilton Hodell, and Johnson Shapiro Slewett & Kole. Willem Dafoe is represented by WME, The Artist Partnership, and Circle of Confusion.

#tenzing norgay #tom hiddleston #sir edmund hillary #willem dafoe #john hunt

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 10 months

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Dis-moi que tu m'aimes (18+)

“Tell me you love me”

Words: 1,317

Warnings: Smut (intercourse, unprotected sex), language

Author’s Notes: Inspired by Jack’s visit to France this week for the Cannes Lion Festival. This fic contains French dialogue, translations are included.��Go easy on my French, it sucks lol

“Say it.”

“No.”

Jack pushes his fingers deeper into your pussy, hooking against your cushiony spot. Your back arches in response. “Fuck!” You wriggle underneath him, but he has your stomach steady with his other hand so you can’t move.

“Jack.” He flicks your clit with his tongue, your thighs twitching around his face. “Oh my god.”

“Please? I just love to hear it.” You shake your head frantically, unable to form words, all of the breath leaving your body.

Jack invited you to join him on his trip to Cannes where he would be performing at the Cannes Lions Festival, and you hadn’t left the hotel room since you got there 24 hours ago. Your boyfriend insisted on fucking you in every possible spot of your suite. You hadn’t even put on clean clothing since you arrived, the plush hotel robe becoming your sole wardrobe piece.

You clenched down around his fingers. He could feel you coming close to orgasm faster than he would like. He was planning to drag this out as long as possible.

When you felt him start to pull away, you raked your fingers through his hair, grasping at his curls to prevent him from leaving.

“N'osez-vous pas bouger, mon amour.” (Don’t you dare move, my love)

Jack grinned; the sound of French leaving your lips drove him wild. He dragged his tongue through your folds before latching onto your clit, alternating between sucking, and swirling the tip of his tongue around the sensitive bud. “That feels amazing.” You felt that familiar sensation building in your stomach, your pelvic muscles tightening as he quickened his pace.

“I’m giving you one more chance, baby.” Jack was warning you, but you barely had your wits about you to even comply.

“Oh, Jack”, you edged out as you felt yourself begin to release, “Ne me dites pas quoi faire.” (Don’t tell me what to do) Jack was about to protest, but it was too late; his face was already coated in your slick, your pussy pulsing as you came down from your orgasm.

“You’re going to say it before we leave here.” Jack threatened with a smile, but you just laughed, pulling him up to you so you could taste yourself on his lips. “We’ll see.” You laid back on the bed as Jack walked to the bathroom. “Where are you going?” He motioned to his t-shirt, a damp spot from your previous activities visible. You blushed. “Sorry.” He walked back over to you, planting a passionate kiss on your lips. “I’m not. Order us some champagne, I’ll be right back.”

“Food, too, please!” His voiced echoed off the porcelain tile. You reached for the phone from your spot, ringing the front desk. The phone rang several times before you hung up the receiver. “I’ll try again”, you announce to Jack, whose eyes are focused on your opened robe as he emerges from the bathroom. You dial the front desk, squealing when Jack jumps back onto the bed, climbing on top of you.

“Jack, please.” You whispered, frantically pointing to the receiver by your ear. Jack completely ignores your plea as he latches onto your neck. Your skin is still glistening from sweat, damp to the touch, and Jack took advantage of the fact the only thing standing between him and your body was a plush terry cloth robe. You swatted his hand away as he attempted to slip your robe off, turning your attention back to the phone in your hand.

“Bonjour. Pouvez-vous envoyer une” (Hello, Can you send up a), you let out a sharp breath as he pushed your thighs apart with his knee, “bouteille de champagne à la chambre 312, s'il vous plaît?” (bottle of champagne to room 312, please?)

You let out a quiet moan when Jack exposed your chest, dragging his tongue between your breasts, hoping that it couldn’t be heard through the line.

“Oh oui, je suis bien” (Oh yes, I am fine), you pushed Jack’s head away in an attempt to get him off of you, but that only brought him directly over to his intended target. He licked his lips, prepared to dive in, but you stopped him with your foot. “Don’t you dare.” You whispered, pushing him in the chest.

“Oui, c'est parfait. Combien de temps faudra-t-il pour le recevoir ? Merci.” (Yes, that is perfect. How long will it take to receive it? Thank you.)

You could hear the dial tone as the front desk hung up. You slapped Jack’s chest, chastising him. “You’re the worst!” He laughed, pulling you by the arms next to him on the bed. You rested your head on his chest, slipping your hand under his shirt and rubbing his stomach like you often did when you were comforting him.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

“Truthfully? Yes.” You looked up at him, his tone worrying you.

“What are you worried about, babe?”

“I don’t know.” He pushed his curls away from his face. “With every performance I’m afraid I’ll drop back down to that place I was at last year. It was just dark and terrifying. I don’t want to go back there, Y/N.”

“And you won’t. I won’t let you.” Jack gave you a weak smile, but you could tell that doubt was starting to creep in.

You stood up suddenly, dragging him to stand on his feet. His shoulders slumped over as he stood. You grabbed the handles of the double doors, a rush of air coming into the room as you stepped out onto the balcony. You turned back to Jack, resting your elbows on the railing. “We’ve got one more place we haven’t had sex yet.” You winked at Jack, whose eyebrows rose with interest. He face quickly dropped again. “I’m tired babe, can we just cuddle in bed?”

“No, you’ve got to keep your promise.” You pulled him out to the balcony, Jack stumbling onto the patio in his socks. “You’re not going to leave me out here in the cold, are you?” Jack’s brows furrowed in confusion. You pulled tie from your robe, letting the fabric fall to the ground, exposing your bare ass to the street.

You grabbed at Jack’s zipper, unbuttoning his pants just enough to expose his bulge, his hardened cock springing free from his boxers. You giggled as he turned you around, giving your ass a squeeze as he grabbed his dick in his hand. You were already wet, your slick dripping down your leg from the thought of him taking you. You both moaned when he entered you from behind. He grabbed your hips when you staggered at the feeling of being so full. “Grab the railing”, he groaned out, and you immediately complied. He wrapped his forearm over your front, covering your breasts, so you maintained a bit of decency. The moans escaping your lips were explicit enough. “Don’t stop, please.” You begged as he drove into you faster, placing a hand on your shoulder for leverage. “Fuck, you feel amazing, baby.”

The iron was cold as it hit your stomach with each thrust. You whined out in a combination of pleasure and pain. Jack noticed, placing his free hand on the balcony railing so you weren’t hurting yourself.

“You okay?”, even in this position, Jack was ever the gentleman. You nodded, reaching down to draw circles around your clit. Within seconds you were reaching your peak, your knees threatening to buckle. “Jack”, you whimpered out. “I know baby”, Jack responded, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. You both came within seconds of each other, your heavy breathing matching pace.

“You know what I want to hear.” Jack laughed as he snaked his arms around your waist, cupping your throbbing mound in his large hand. You turned in his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips grazing his ear as you moved close .

“Je t'aime, Jack. Tu es mon monde. Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi.” (I love you, Jack. You’re my world. I can’t live without you.), you whispered, Jack shivering at your breath on his neck. “I love you too.” Jack replied, grabbing the back of your neck, and pulling you in for a kiss.

#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow x reader #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jackman harlow #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

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nikkitari · 1 day

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Y/N in WWE Chapter 2 ft Yeet!

Masterlist

[Y/N being new to the WWE Universe selected by Triple H and Stephanie McMahon for the new HHH Era. You will be everywhere until you will find the right decision or I have no inspiration to write anymore 🫠]

Last Time you were with Imperium until they broken off so you also left them and since then you been alone.

You were in the Caféteria watching carefully the fridge why you ask??

Flashback to some weeks ago: You want to eat and go to grab your food but your food that you cooked yourself is not there anymore

„Who stole my food?“ you said that abit to loud so Becky Lynch comes to you and try to explain it to her „ You need to write your name“ she told you.

But even writing your name your food still got stolen.. so you got to work. You found the cameras but you could see no face so..

back to now: You got your Kendo Stick and waited! Someone is coming!

This Person got the food and trying to go away!

„Put the Food down slowly or you will face my wrath“ you said and standing in fight position. „Y/N That your food? You need to write your name down Gurl“ said Jey! „I WROTE IT!!“ you told him. Jey is looking and he found it.

„Listen put the stick down and let us talk abit ok?“

So you and Jey sat down and shared your food!

„Tell me pls. Where did you get this authentic food Y/N?“ Jey asked you while you were eating. „I did this myself. I always bring food if it allows with the programm“ you told him

He just sat there in shock. „Why are you taking my food? Dont you, Nia Jax and the others are not from the same family?“

Jey explained to you about his family feud all you can think that this is a vendetta

„Atleast you dont kill each other like in other cultures“ you said „what do you mean?“ „Nothing just something from the past! But still you are all conneted somehow! Pls explain“

So Jey explained everything who is who conneted. „Man is this a yeeted family..“ „You dont?“ „Lets just say my Family is small but precious“

„Do you maybe want some recipes?? They fit the diet programm“ you asked! „YEET!“ So dou gave Jey some good greek recipes

You and Jey become good Friends, you met his son Jeyce and he also love the food that you make. So you decided with HHH that you want to be on Jeys Ringside at Backlash.

HHH likes the idea and approved it.

You waited under the ring so Jey could have his Moment in Lyon.

„Pat is missing here he would love this“ you told yourself while warching this from the monitors

You came under the cover when you saw that JD did the rope thingy

„Jordani (JD) thats cheating you know!“ you told him. He didnt hit you cause he knows that a no no but at jey tried something and still lost at the end.

Finn and JD where still hitting on Jey, Damian Priest tried to. take them apart so you also got ob the ring!

„PLS stopp Guys! Damian won so pls go. And that is not my Last word Jordani“ you stared them down.

„Jey you alright?? lets get u a doctor“ after backlash and the medic you left together

„How come you know JD Y/N?“ jey asked you while you were on the plane „No its my time to tell my story“

Thank you guys that you love my story so far ❤️❤️ you cann ask questions and everything.

But next time its Flashbacktime.

#wwe #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #wwe wrestlemania #wwe x reader #wwe x y/n #wweedit #y/ninwwe #jey uso #yeet #the bloodline

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 9 months

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now jimin is such an interesting character like he really logs into social media to post about anything but his own face how is he not obsessed with his face? I just know that if I had a face like his I would force every living creature to look at me 24/7, baby is way too humble sometimes I even wonder if he really really knows how stunning his face is cuz wow

It's easier to talk like that from an outsider's perspective. But I think reality is a bit different. Jimin doesn't come across as a narcissist either.

You saying "I would force every living creature to look at me 24/7" made me think of this documentary I saw recently. It's called The Most Beautiful Boy in The World and it's about Bjorn Andresen, the one who played Tadzio in Death in Venice. I wanna talk about that for a bit, I'm using this ask as an excuse.

youtube

The boy's grandmother wanted to have a celebrity/actor in the family, so she took Bjorn to the casting call. Luchino Visconti saw him and knew immediately he was the one. They asked him to take off all his clothes, except underwear, so they can take some shots. He was only 15 at the time. Filming went well and then when Death in Venice premiered at Cannes, it turned into madness. I think that's when Visconti called him the most beautiful boy in the world and that label turned into a curse. The boy was thrown into the lion's den, full of people who wanted to be seen next to him, taken to parties and flaunted as this otherwordly creature. Everyone wanted him or to be in his proximity. What was unfortunate was that he had no adult to take care of him. And for an adolescent who hated absolutely everything of that life but who also believed he was supposed to listen to what he was told, it turned into a nightmare.

He became an "object" of fascination because he was considered androgynous and the character he portrayed in the film had an effect on people's perception of him. Tadzio was Beauty and Death all together, this untouchable being. In the documentary it's explained how his visit to Japan and the work he had to do there was considered probably among the first instances of fans getting crazy over an idol. There's footage of that. He also became the inspiration since the 1970s for a lot of manga. So many famous characters are based on his face.

The guy hated it because he was reduced to his beauty. I won't tell you what happens to him later in life, perhaps you'll want to see the documentary, but his story is heartbreaking.

To circle this back to Jimin and his beauty, often time our own perception of us and the perception other people have of us does not align completely. I will assume that Jimin is aware of his beauty, but somehow I doubt he wakes up everyday thinking he needs to be worshipped for his looks. That's the fan's job which is a daily habit at this point. We are obsessed with looks and beauty, whatever that may mean to us. In Jimin's case we talk so much about his appearance and often times I would see the world "otherwordly" used when describing him. It was impossible not to think of Bjorn Andresen. What I hope is that Jimin had such an upbringing and a life that didn't in turn let the adoration get to his head. So far, he seems fine.

#m thoughts #jimin #tadzio #the most beautiful boy in the world

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mileapo · 11 months

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ELLE Exclusive: Thai Stars Mile And Apo Get Candid About The Success Of KinnPorsche In India, Future Plans And More

ELLE: You guys have a massive fanbase in India. How was your first visit here?

Mile and Apo: Coming to India was such a dream come true. We were always fascinated by the culture and diversity. Our social media posts are always filled with comments from Indian fans, and trust us, we notice everything. But what surprised us were the long lines of fans at the Dior show and airport and seeing all the fans in person who have always appreciated us virtually.

ELLE: It’s been more than one year since KinnPorsche was released. Tell us something about your journey because the show was almost shelved at the start, but you all picked it up and made it possible.

Mile and Apo: If we had to dedicate our success to someone, we would wholeheartedly give it to all the fans because the show KinnPorsche wouldn’t exist or be this successful if there wasn’t an audience for it and if people weren’t willing to support us. There might be some setbacks or drawbacks along the way, but those imperfections make us appreciate success with more passion. And that’s what made our journey unforgettable. From the show almost being cancelled to now becoming a global phenomenon, we have all learned a lot of lessons from it. And we are all set to release a full-fledged movie that just made its debut at the Cannes Film Festival, which makes us look at KinnPorsche and be grateful for everything our team has done.

ELLE: How hard or easy it was to shoot the action scenes from the show?

Apo: I have over 10 years of experience in practicing martial arts and fighting techniques. But I realised that performing martial arts in real life is quite different from what we wanted our present on screen, so it was a totally new experience with new trainers on set who have worked internationally. I had to work out 5–6 times a week, which was quite intense compared to my regular sessions at the gym. We also had this whole set of rules for muscle strength and breathing technique, which kind of helped me avoid injuries on set.

Mile: My action scenes might look very flawless on screen, but in reality, all of this was a whole new encounter. Because I have never done action on the screen or something like that in real life, so every day I got to learn something new. In fact, if you ask me about action movies, I love Bollywood action flicks, so you never know, I might have taken some inspiration from there.

ELLE: You both have amazing chemistry; how did you guys develop your friendship, and how much of it shows on the screen?

Apo: We are almost the same age, and not a lot of people know, but we met each other 10 years ago. And have a lot in common. From sharing common interests like making silly dad jokes or discussing different movies and art, we both share similar life experiences, so it was very easy and comfortable acting with each other.

Mile: I would say the key is naturalness, the chemistry that fans see on screen came from our personal friendship and comfort. We are the same people on screen and off screen so it was organic so us to showcase it on screen. We both are so glad that fans have really appreciated it.

ELLE: What are your hopes and goals for your future?

Apo: My dream is to make movies so good that they are showcased at prestigious film festivals around the world. It has always been my big dream if I am allowed to say. Now that I am finally part of such a big project as Man Suang, it feels like I can be a little greedy about my ambitions. Movies have always been really close to my heart, and I would also like to explore them with some international teams around the globe. Maybe one day you can spot me doing some lights, camera, and action! in India as well.

Mile: Right now I am really happy about Man Suang’s wrap. We made this movie with so much love and hard work, and I can’t wait to see everyone’s reaction. Also, for me, movies and music go hand in hand. I would love to dedicate my time to making movies or music that bring solace and happiness to the audience.

#mileapo #mile phakphum #apo nattawin #elle india #interview #i need this here for future reference #'not a lot of people know' we know

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rhoorl · 6 months

Note

Congrats on your milestone Jess!

Can I ask for 7 and 16 please?

Payment below.

🍩💜🦖

Hello my dear El! Thank you for the ask and for the tax. It wasn't necessary but soooo appreciated 😉

Ok for your asks:

7. Favorite line scene

Again, so many. And I'm cheating because I can see someone else included this in another ask so yay I'll get to answer it again with a different scene! 😉 So, I'll go with Triple Frontier for this. The whole scene of getting the helicopter loaded up is a favorite one because we see competent pilot Frankie in action doing his calculations in his little notebook, we get him yelling, we get a blep, and we get the khakis doing the most. Plus, he calls out idiot Tom with some simple aviation math with this amazing line.

16. Favorite red carpet look

Ok. There are so many to choose from, the man always looks phenomenal, especially in a suit. 😍 But I think one that instantly comes to mind is his look from Cannes. It's inspired a lot of the look of my version of Dieter in Working Title 🫠 I mean look at him. The messy, unruly hair, the salt and pepper beard, the white suit and the bow tie....I'm sorry where was I?

Thank you El!

🍩💕🦖

Pedro Ask Game

#pedro ask game #rhoorl milestone celebration #rhoorl asks

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bcofl0ve · 1 year

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🤍 welcome to the ordeal 🤍

[ bonus points if you get the blindspotting reference ^ ]

sending an anon related to lisa’s passing/the aftermath as it pertains anyone we discuss here? please read this first.

hi y’all! my names mollie and this is where i come to scream, write fanfic and gossip. you can find my fanfic masterlist here! requests are open but i make no promises on how quickly i’ll get to them. if you want some inspiration my fav prompt lists are here.

re: #gossip time with mollie

• i am working on making masterposts for all the elvis press tour stops + awards shows. check them out and pls let me know if any links are broken!

cannes 2022, elvis

toronto press 2022, elvis

2023 palm springs film festival awards

2023 golden globes

follow austin on the road to the oscars + keep up with related press/content by following this tag!

• if gossip isn’t your thing that is a-okay! all gossip posts will be tagged with the gossip time hashtag and there’s no hard feelings if you mute it.

(in regards to tags: i tag things with ppl’s names largely as an organizational thing for myself. the system i use is the system i use and that is currently not changing anytime soon.)

• if you are into gossip, fantastic because me too bestie!!! but i do have some ground rules and boundaries that i appreciate being respected.

- no speculation or theories around drug use, more specifically around weight loss/austin looking skinnier/looking like he lost weight etc. that veers into gossip i think is crossing a line- and i have personal trauma surrounding addiction that makes speculating about things like that triggering. this applies to presley gerber (kaia’s brother) and the presleys (lisa marie included)- not just austin.

- no sexual assault or abuse speculation/theories. this is a hard rule and i will block anons that break it. if anyone tied to anybody/anything i talk about here has public accusations made against them i will post about it- i promise.

- i know that austin’s publicist (the redhead, kate) can be a contentious topic on twitter but she is not a public figure and i’m not comfortable digging into her body language/how she acts with austin at events/etc. she as a topic itself isn’t banned completely (it’s me and my tree paine 2.0/ginger publicist support group jokes against the world!!) but just keep ^ that in mind when sending stuff about her.

- if you ever want to gossip off anon or want to share something but don’t want me to post it i’m always down to chit chat in my messages!!! feel free to pop in any time!

- i am an auslivia girlie and personally think given everything we do know it’s not a stretch to refer to them as exes/say they dated at one point. if you disagree that is a-okay but my opinion is what it is 🙏🏼. if you don’t want to see my posts about their history feel free to mute the #olivia dejonge tag!

- i am very pro priscilla and think her and e were soulmates. its fine if you disagree- but don’t try to change my mind and i won’t try to change yours. (:

that’s all y’all! come in and stay a while 😉✨

#gossip time with mollie #austin butler #olivia dejonge #austin butler x reader #kaia gerber #elvis #elvis movie #gossip #hollywood gossip #film #tv #deuxmoi #blind items #hollywood

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nothingtowear05 · 1 year

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Dress: Juliet Dunn Rose Border Block Printed Strappy Cotton Mini Dress ($340.00) | Sandals: Ulla Johnson Gemma Platform Sandals ($495.00) | Handbag: See by Chloé MINI SAC PORTÉ ÉPAULE SHELL (€ 295) | Necklace: Dorothy Perkins Gold Plated Disc Necklace (£12.50) | Sunglasses: Alexander McQueen Sunglass (€ 145) | Headband: Chanel SLIM BANDEAU (270 €)

Today’s random Disney hotel is Disney's Riviera Resort. Now, the Riviera could either be the French Riviera or the Italian Riviera, but because the hotel’s design reminds me of Paris’s Haussmannian architecture, I decided to take my cue from the French Riviera, also known as the Côte d’Azur.

The French Riviera is well-known for its glitzy side, especially during the Cannes Film Festival. However, I decided to explore the more relaxed style of the area. Despite the buzz and excitement of the festival, I was drawn to the quieter side of the region, where locals and visitors alike come to unwind and enjoy the beautiful surroundings. In fact, August is a popular time for French people to vacation in the area and take advantage of the opportunity to truly relax and recharge.

That’s why I started with this light dress in a relaxed fit, it’s blue-coloured details reminding me of the sea of the Riviera and the blue sky of Provence. To match the relaxed style of the dress, I had to pair it with a pair of sandals that also had a laid-back vibe, and these braided rafia sandals fit the bill perfectly.

Next, let's talk about accessories. To really capture the beachy vibe that the Riviera is known for, I chose a seashell-inspired handbag. For a touch of bling, I added a simple golden necklace that complements the relaxed style of the outfit. No sunny-day outfit would be complete without a trusty pair of sunglasses, and the blue lenses of these Alexander McQueen sunnies match perfectly with the blue details of the dress. Finally, a little touch of glam was added with the Chanel "headband". This versatile accessory can be worn as a headband, tied around a ponytail, worn as a neck scarf, or even wrapped around one's arm as a bracelet.

This outfit is Riviera-ready, and you will look like you truly belong at Disney’s Riviera Resort.

#fashion edit #fashion #style #style inspiration #juliet dunn #ulla johnson #see by chloé #dorothy perkins #alexander mcqueen #chanel #mode #moda #disney's riviera resort

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yasmine-cariaga · 1 year

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Coming soon: Versace x Dua Lipa

Expect a summer collection that which will have you Levitating

Dua Lipa is a woman who can do it all. She is a singer, dancer, model and now a fashion designer. The New Rules singer has co-designed Versace’s High Summer La Vacanza collection, which is set to debut at Cannes Film Festival on May 23.

The singer took to Instagram to proclaim the collection’s launch: “I am absolutely thrilled to have co-designed the women’s La Vacanza collection for Versace with Donatella. She and I have formed such a strong bond over the years, and I’m so grateful for the support I’ve received from her and the whole team since the very beginning of my career. For her to give me the honour of co-designing this collection and letting all my summer inspirations go wild has been a dream. I am so very proud of this collection and cannot wait to debut it in Cannes.”

Lipa, the 2023 Met Gala c0-chair, has been one of Versace’s dolls since the early days of her singing career. The custom Versace butterfly dress the singer wore at the 2021 Grammy Awards is just one of the many iconic fashion moments the duo has created together. So, you can bet your money that the La Vacanza collection will be an instant hit.

Fashion blogger Corinne Bickel agrees by saying, “Personally I think Dua is a great fit for Versace. She seems to have a close relationship with Donatella and she has worn the brand on numerous occasions. I think her co-creating the collection with Donatella could be fun.”

Bickel adds, "I definitely anticipate seeing lots of colour and fun prints. I know photos of some butterfly prints were released so that will be super cute. I think lots of early 2000s Versace references could be a possibility as well.”

Remember to shop summer’s hottest collection on May 23rd at Versace.com.

#dua lipa #versace #high fashion #donatella versace #90s versace #gianni versace

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yessadirichards · 1 year

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Liv Ullmann, cinema royalty and major Cannes draw, looks back

CANNES, France

Very few are capable of capturing people's attention at the Cannes Film Festival like Liv Ullmann.

At 84, Ullmann is unabashed cinema royalty, and directors have flocked to greet her at this year's festival. Pedro Almodóvar sought her out at a luncheon. Todd Haynes endeavored to get word to her that his latest film, “May December,” is inspired by “Persona," the 1966 film that began her decade with Ingmar Bergman.

After meeting Ullmann, “The Zone of Interest” director Jonathan Glazer pressed his hand against his chest to catch his breath.

Ullmann has been coming to Cannes longer than she can remember. She's pretty sure there's a hotel suite somewhere named after her. But after being here in just about every capacity — with “Cries and Whispers" in 1973, her own “Faithless” in 2000, president of the jury in 2001 — she was in Cannes for a different reason. Dheeraj Akolkar’s documentary series, “Liv Ullmann: A Road Less Travelled,” played in the Cannes Classics section.

“I've never been here when someone else has made a movie about me or my life," says Ullmann. “That makes it so different and maybe a little shameful, somehow. Because I'm an actress and a director.”

In an interview, the Norwegian actor, who lives in Boston, reflected on the passing of time and her halcyon decade with Bergman, one of cinema's great collaborations. Ullmann starred in 10 of Bergman's films, including “Scenes From a Marriage” and “Saraband,” and she directed two of his screenplays. “A Road Less Travelled” streams on Viaplay beginning June 22nd.

AP: Having been such a central part of arthouse heyday when filmmakers like Bergman, Godard and Truffaut were such a part of culture, do you ever lament that today's most daring movies seem to reside less in the spotlight?

ULLMANN: They make incredible movies now. You know, I saw Cate Blanchett last year. What an actress. Art, it’s made today. But so many other films are also reflection of this time. And I mean, everything that won Oscars this year, I didn’t even understand them all. It doesn't mean that there's something wrong with them or there's anything wrong with me.

I sometimes miss that there aren't more of the movies we used to call classical. That's about aging, too, maybe. What I’m most nervous for is that all these serials that are everywhere is removing us so far from what film really was. The art of the lighting, the art of the cinematographer, the art of the director — that kind of language. I like where I came from.

AP: How clearly do you remember meeting Bergman?

ULLMANN: Bibi Andersson, who was my best friend and we had done some movies together, I visited her in Sweden. We were walking on the street, and that’s where Ingmar came and spoke with her. He knew who I was because I had filmed a lot. He said, “Oh, well, I’d like you to be in one of my films.” And so maybe that’s why I also experienced everything (in film) more personally because it happened like that, Ingmar and me.

AP: He was immediately struck by you in that meeting, but what was your first impression of him?

ULLMANN: Oh, I was so impressed. I'm shy and then I was really shy. I never spoke. When he said he wanted me in one of his movies, I was shocked. Luckily, I didn't have any lines in the movie. It's strange he did that with me because I was 25. I was young. I see the movie as about him having reached middle age and wanting to stop life and go into himself. Then he picked me. I was him. And I think I was him in many of the movies. We were not alike each other but in certain ways we were. There is a reason he then used me continually until he died.

AP: How would you describe how deep your connection was?

ULLMANN: He said that. You and I are painfully connected. We lived together for five years but maybe the most wonderful connection was when we lived separately. We became more connected that way. I came to Fårö (the island he lived on) the night he died and he was already on his way.

AP: Did you share any words on his death bed?

ULLMANN: He was already on his way. One thing I did say. The last film we did together was “Saraband." That's about a woman who comes to her husband many years after it's over. And he asks her, “Why did you come to me?” She says, “You called for me." When I was sitting there on the bed, I said, “If you're wondering why I'm here, you called for me.” He may have heard that, I don't know.

AP: You've often been described as his “muse” but that doesn't seem the right word for your collaboration.

ULLMANN: I don't think I was a muse but you can say that. I did a lot of things that he wanted to do that he didn't do. I traveled. I went into the world. I became famous. The strange thing with all these actors who he loved dearly, he didn't like them to go. Bibi Andersson and Max von Sydow. But he thought it was fun with me. I don't know why. When I did “A Doll's House," he came to New York. He hated to travel. He enjoyed what I did. There was so much I got to do because I wasn't him, and maybe he would have loved to do. All his seriousness, of course that wasn't me.

AP: You consider yourself at heart a theater actor, but what was your relationship to the camera? In the documentary, Blanchett says you were "looking up at the world sort of with a face of unconditional love.”

ULLMANN: If you’re really close to somebody you love, when you look at each other, you know everything about each other. I see the camera that way. I don’t have to be shy. You are an actor from the inside. Your soul, your your heart can come out if you want to show the camera the real truth. It tells what is under there. It's nothing you can act or do Stanislavski about. It's not your brain. Your brain is not the actor. It's from here (points to heart). If you relax your body, the camera will take it.

#yessadirichards

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jamiebamberdaily · 1 year

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Jamie, Lucie and Tamara discuss Cannes Confidential at CANNESERIES on Sunay 16th April 2023.

The interview is in French, but clicking ‘Keep Reading’ will give you the English translation.

DISCLAIMER: The translation was done by us. You are free to use our translations but please credit us or this post. Thank you.

JAMIE: Oh yes, that's it! Exactly! It's not too… He's not on that side… On that side of the fence. On the other side of the fence. TAMARA: It's on all sides of the fence. JAMIE: Exactly.

"THE PITCH OF THE SERIES" LUCIE: It's a series where we laugh, we cry, we follow investigations and above all characters who are ultra endearing, very intelligent and really modern. It's happening in Cannes. We're a police team here. And then… he is not on the other side of the barrier, we don't really know. It's a bit blurry. But situations mean that we will team up and TAMARA: Find ourselves in threes to investigate in the end.

"CULT SERIES AS INSPIRATION" JAMIE: Basically, it's a series from the 80s like Moonlight or Friendly Yours… Or Lethal Weapon, how do you say it? LUCIE: The lethal Weapon. JAMIE: Yes, it's action, with humor, with spirit, solar. We must really fall in love with the three characters. This is the important aspect of the series.

"AN EXPOSING TRIO" TAMARA: This is precisely what was a little more complicated for my character, Leá Robert. It is that indeed, there is already a Camille duo with whom I have worked for several years, for whom I harbor a certain affection, a certain attraction. And Harry's arrival upsets our investigation. I have a much more suspicious look on his arrival because we don't know where he comes from. We don't know who he is. He finds himself everywhere at crime scenes even though he's not a cop. It's absolutely not protocol and I have a superior who allows this entrance to happen and suddenly, there is a certain mistrust, already as a cop, but also a certain jealousy. LUCIE: Precisely, the trio side, I find it really interesting because if we had been just dog and cat that, we have seen it 1000 times, in fact there, to have a third person coming it shifts the energy and it obviously makes the situations much more interesting and the characters more complex and funnier and more endearing.

"CANNES AS A DECOR" JAMIE: The city of Cannes welcomed us in an extremely warm way, in the places that you all know, the biggest hotels, the casino, the Palais de Festivals, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. We had the keys to the city and for that we are very grateful to the city of calm. TAMARA: And I think that was the goal throughout the series as well. It is really that the people of Cannes recognize Cannes. We don't just see the Croisette, we don't just see the Cannes we know. I think the people of Cannes will be able find themselves in these images.

#Jamie Bamber #Lucie Lucas #Tamara Marthe #Shy'M #Cannes Confidential #CANNESERIES #Interview #Interview Updates #Video #Youtube

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annasnellgrove · 2 years

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Day 1: Cannes Lions Festival

Cannes Lions

Hello there!! Welcome to my daily blog posts where I will take you along my journey at the Cannes Lions Festival of Creativity and give you the low-down of what my favorite panels and/or activities were each day.

My first day at the festival is now coming to an end and I am so pleased with everything this festival has to offer. From interactive learning experiences to chilling out at Meta eating a meat pie by the water… I mean, they really have it all.

I began my journey in the Debussy Theatre for alma and Pepsi: Yielding Unapologetic Creativity Through “Collaborativity”. This was the PERFECT panel for me to kick off the festival with. I was so inspired and truly admired the creativity of their campaign. They used real life packaging and manipulated it into the Pepsi logo. Genius. Then proceeded to challenge people to try Pepsi with their burger for it WILL make it taste the best. And I will say I’m going to have to try this out, that campaign was quite convincing.

My 2nd favorite thing I saw or experienced today that really stood out to me was over at Pinterest.

You get your badge scanned then you head down the stairs to enter the doors of Pinterest… but these aren’t just any normal doors. You begin to hear social notifications, such as the Snapchat ding or the Twitter notification sound. And I can’t lie I actually felt anxious from all the notification noises buzzing in my ear. Then you see an entrance that reads “Hello from your internet induced anxiety”. I immediately understood the assignment. You walk through and there’s all sorts of giant letters with insults and phrases and names like “talentless” or “you look like a before picture”. Things one may read on their phone after opening up those buzzing notifications. When you exit the tunnel of insults you enter a peaceful environment created by Pinterest. Your eye will go straight to the sign that reads “It’s Different Here”. Meaning Pinterest is a safe place on the internet. I do stand by this and feel like it really is. Pinterest is an amazing app and tool that is pretty carefree. It inspired me to get active again on my Pinterest profile! Thanks Pinterest!

Although I have many more moments that were noteworthy from today, these had to have been my top two.

Will be back tomorrow to report on another day in paradise at the Cannes Lions Festival.

#cannes 2022 #cannes lions

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madstars-festival · 9 days

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[EXECUTIVE JURY] Don't Play the Game. Change it!

- Interview with Emma de la Fosse, chief creative officer of Edelman UK

One of the five top echelon professionals chosen as a jury president for the MAD STARS 2024 awards is Emma de la Fosse, chief creative officer, Edelman UK.

Emma became the first-ever group chief creative officer of Ogilvy UK in 2016. Under her co-leadership, OgilvyOne became the most highly awarded digital and direct agency in the UK. Three years later, she became chief creative officer of one of the UK’s foremost digital agencies, Digitas UK, whose creative fortunes and reputation she helped to rebuild. She is now chief creative officer of Edelman UK, the world’s largest and most successful PR and comms agency. This legendary career began with a role as a copywriter in a creative boutique agency.

In 2020, Emma was awarded a lifetime achievement medal recognising outstanding creativity in customer marketing, the Caples Andi Emerson award. She has led her teams to win every major international award D&AD Yellow Pencils, Cannes Grand Prix, One Show Best in Show, and DMA Grand Prix through to multiple Effie awards for effectiveness and has been the executive creative director for world-famous brands such as IBM, British Airways, British Gas, Kimberly Clark and Kellogg’s.

Emma gave MAD STARS a preview of her judging criteria as well as an insight into her career and the key elements of great work!

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Q. What are you hoping to find at MAD STARS?

A: Margaret Heffernan, professor of business practice at Bath University is one of my heroes. She says, “A world that was once complicated is now complex. There are still patterns, but they don’t repeat. In today’s world, creative thinking is essential to business.” So what I am looking for are creative solutions for our world’s problems. As Margaret also says, “Don’t play the game. Change it.”

Q. What makes a good MAD STARS awards judge?

A: Sometimes, senior people can become a little cynical when they’ve worked in the industry for a long time. But MAD Stars jurors are still like kids in a sweet shop when it comes to ideas. They are those who ask “why not?” instead of “why?” People who believe in the power of the impossible.

Q. What skills and talents have you used in your career?

A: Gosh, that’s a question I’ve not really thought about before. I suppose tenacity is one of them. Average is easy. Great is hard. You can’t give up easily if you want to get the best ideas made. What else? My brain sees connections very readily, it spots patterns and recognizes similarities between things. That helps when looking at old problems in new ways. I’ve got quite a strategic brain too, so I can write a decent brief and tell if somebody else’s is right or wrong. But mostly I have a sense of fun and I love to build creative teams. To me, it’s like family. A strong creative culture is essential to getting great work made.

Q. What are the biggest challenges to getting MAD STARS award-worthy work through?

A: All great creative work is hard to get out of the deck and into the world. That’s because it challenges you, it can put you outside your comfort zone. As human beings, we instinctively gravitate towards the familiar. Especially in times of global strife or economic uncertainty. So, the kinds of ideas that win at MAD STARS, those that seek to shift the status quo, will have been pretty challenging to get live.

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To give you a glimpse into her judging criteria, Emma shared with us four of her most recent inspirations and one of her favorites.

Read on to find out what inspired her!

<SOLAR IMPULSE - PRÊT À VOTER> Location: France Brand: Solar Impulse Agency: Publicis Conseil

: Solar Impulse is a foundation headed by the explorer Bertrand Piccard, it is dedicated to solving the knowing gap when it comes to tackling environmental challenges by collecting and promoting innovative ideas that are pragmatic and economically viable- it leads to what it calls 'eco-realism'.

Solar Impulse curated chose 50 out of 1400 ideas that were pragmatic and economically sound solutions for key environmental problems in a book called: “Ready to Vote”. A limited edition of books was sent out to 577 newly elected MPs along with this pre-drafted legislation that MPs could use in debates in Parliament.

So far 3 legislative proposals from Prêt à Voter have been adopted word for word, integrated into the Renewable Energy bill of the French Government. There is momentum for further concrete change, with 9 other ready-to-vote proposals being debated in the Senate, 1 is being scrutinized by the Swiss Parliament, and an environmental law being submitted to the European Union.

Image Source: SOLAR IMPULSE FOUNDATION

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<THE BRAKE ROOM> Location: United States Brand: Chick-fil-A Agency: McCann New York

: More than 65,000 food delivery workers in New York go above and beyond to deliver for the city. Winter conditions make what they do even more challenging. While they’re always on the go, they essentially have no place to go in between stops.

The Brake Room is a first-of-its-kind rest station allowing food delivery workers to get warm, use the restroom, and grab a cup of coffee in between deliveries, free of charge.

Chick-fil-A describes the service as ‘an extension of the same experience that Chick-fil-A restaurants provide to guests,’ and ‘just a small way to show our appreciation for the delivery drivers who help fuel our business.’

Image Source: Chick-fil-A https://www.chick-fil-a.com/brake-room

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<50+> Location: Mexico Brand: Popeyes Agency: GUT Mexico City

: In 2022, the global chicken and burger brand Popeyes will celebrate its 50th anniversary, and to honor the occasion, a special campaign called “50+” was launched in Mexico. Although Popeyes has been around for 50 years, the brand was relaunched in Mexico in late 2021, more than a year ago.

“50+” was born out of the problem that more than 20% of unemployment cases in Mexico are between the ages of 45-65. The idea was to celebrate the 50th anniversary by hiring people over the age of 50, who are often stereotyped as low performers and unable to find work. The campaign was designed to positively impact the Mexican community and encourage people to get involved in the continued growth of Popeyes in Mexico.

Image Source: INSIDER LATAM – YouTube ‘Popeyes- GUT México’

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<Heinz Fraud Ketchup> Location: Canada Brand: Heinz Ketchup Agency: Rethink Canada

: Heinz is one of the world's most beloved ketchup brands, known for its distinctive thick, rich sauce and irreplaceable ketchup. However, due to cost concerns, many restaurants refilled Heinz bottles with other ketchup, and it wasn't hard to find social media posts from consumers directly criticizing this act. Inspired by these posts, Heinz launched a bold campaign called “Fraud Ketchup” to uphold the brand's core belief that ‘It Has To Be Heinz’.

The campaign encouraged people to take photos of restaurants they suspected were using another brand of ketchup in Heinz bottles and tag them on Heinz's Instagram. In addition to working with the local restaurants most tagged with “fraudulent ketchup,” Heinz created a collaborative project to get them to use Heinz ketchup and offered free ketchup for a year to the first 10 restaurants that committed to using only Heinz ketchup.

Image Source: Rethink Communications

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<Contract for Change> Location: United States Brand: Michelob ULTRA Pure Gold Agency: FCB Chicago

: Contract for Change is a campaign by Michelob ULTRA Pure Gold, the first beer brand to be USDA-certified, to support farmers converting their existing barley fields to organic. The campaign is designed to address the challenge of organic barley production, with only 1% of U.S. barley fields being organic, to drive sustainable growth and support the expansion of the organic grain industry.

One of the reasons there are so few organic barley fields is that converting existing fields to organic is expensive, and farmers face a three-year wait with an uncertain future. To address this, Michelob ULTRA signed a long-term transition contract to purchase barley grown during the transition period and the first year of organic production. Michelob ULTRA purchases barley grown during the transition period at a 25% higher price to support farmers. In addition, farmers participating in the campaign will benefit from the ability to sell organic crops other than barley grown in rotation.

This resulted in 175 farmers signing contracts to participate in the campaign, enabling 4% of all barley fields in the U.S. to produce organic barley.

* Emma Says, “This is not recent but it’s one of my all-time fave pieces of world-changing work!”

Image Source: shachter - Michelob Ultra. Contract for Change

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You've seen the interview with Emma, our executive jury, and we hope it inspires your entries.

Remember, the 1st entry deadline is approaching fast! It closes on May 10th (KST), so there's only one week left to take advantage of the early bird.

Seize this opportunity to showcase your creative ideas on a global stage! We're eagerly waiting for your submissions that will change the world.

👇🏻Submit your entry now👇🏻

#festival #advertising #busan #marketing #creative #digital #awards #madstars #award #2024 #madstars2024 #interview #jury #executive jury #jury interview #entry #call for entry #Youtube

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