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maine-writes · 3 years

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The Trip Down Memory Lane

Steven's heart sank as he heard the dreaded words. Horrific memories came flooding back, intense emotions of regret and anguish wracked his very soul. His child, Vonvon, scrolled through his old collection of crudely drawn OC's, self-inserts, crack ships, and dozens of fan art of TV shows that were just now being remade with completely different plotlines and characterizations.

As his eyes met that of his wife's, he spied a sinister glint in her gaze. Although her innocent smile and kind-hearted laughter seemingly acquitted her, he saw that insidious thought flutter by her dark lenses.

Then a dark thought, a deeply disturbing one, crept into his brain. And as he silently weighed his options, his lips curled into a cruel, devilish grin. His eyes too took on an evil nature.

"Hey, Vonvon?" He said to the child. "Want to know about Mama's MySpace?"

Of course, the child, brimming with curiosity, and with no real concept of MySpace, it being from an era long gone, was immediately taken by the prospect of discovering something previously unknown about their mother. They were blissfully unaware that some things are best left forgotten.

Like Steven, upon hearing the words cross his lips and watching helplessly as he helped their child type up the website, her heart immediately sank, her eyes widened, and droplets of sweat beaded upon her brow.

The blackest black background, the harsh, hot pink accents, the floating windows of text, and the sound of a pop punk version of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata brought back memories of her brief, experimental phase.

Although Vonvon was visibly awestruck at the dated layout, Connie desperately wanted to bury it all again. So, naturally, she did what any panicking human did; Improvise.

"Honey, didn't you know Papa spent a year with the Zoomans as part of their transitional government?"

With stars in their eyes, Vonvon looked up to their father, absolutely stunned at the revelation. Steven, however, was less than enthusiastic.

Taking the tablet from her child, Connie scoured the internet for photos of her husband in the traditional Zooman garb. To be honest, it was a rather revealing outfit, consisting of a blue vest and white loincloth held together by a belt.

There he was, surrounded by beautiful humans, all were smiling at the camera, save for Steven, who was visibly uncomfortable. Although he enjoyed their company and was patient with them, understanding that they were completely isolated for regular humans, he found that it was difficult, and at times frustrating, to teach them about certain subjects. The largest hurdle was trying to replace their process of "Choosening".

Steven immediately retaliated by bringing out a scrapbook he compiled, showing Vonvon pictures of Connie she sent him while she was at college, and a few her friends sent him. In particular, the time she had salmonella and fell asleep with her head on the toilet bowl. And then the time she ran though the pouring rain to get to class after oversleeping, only to find out it was cancelled that day. And then there was the time Steven came to visit, met all her friends, and then saved them from a Gem monster that was trapped in a hockey trophy.

But before he could get to the picture of her parents visiting and briefly living with her, Connie brought up a web article of Steven accidentally running over Jamie, who had starred in a major film, at the premiere in front of dozens of reporters, celebrities, and raving fans. Suffice it to say, it didn't end well for him.

Vonvon was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of embarassing pictures and memories. There was so much to see, so much to read, and only half an hour before bedtime.

But then, as Steven and Connie brought up more and more in a panicked attempt to bury their embarassing pasts, a figure appeared.

It was Garnet, who let herself in through the front door.

As the couple looked on, confused at Garnet's sudden appearance, the towering Gem took the tablet from Vonvon's little hands, tapped on a few things, handed it back, lowered her shades, and gave them a wink before going to the kitchen to make herself some tea.

On the tablet was a pair of blurry pictures. One of Connie, seemingly sitting in a bathroom, a caption below reading, "STEVEN, I THINK I'M PREGNANT!"

The other was of Steven, also blurry, the recently wrecked remains of the Dondai in the background, and a caption reading, "WHALSKFPVKR".

@artsycooky13

#steven universe #su #steven universe au #vonvon

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buddaimond · 7 years

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Blog Post by Vincent Quek : “Some Films We (Anticipate Pictures) Bought For Singapore from Cannes 2017“ ~ July 15, 2017.

Back in 2015, I saw a small indie gem called HEAVEN KNOWS WHAT, directed by an intrepid NYC-based duo Josh and Benny Safdie, brothers who made every film together. I was electrified by the visual language, the neon-glazed images, the raw energy. It wasn't limited to just the cinematography, but the performances. The desperation in the performance of Arielle Holmes as she plundered her own past to deliver an unforgettable performance as a drug junkie hopelessly addicted to heroin, and her equally self-destructive boyfriend(?) who coerced her to do his bidding. It was like watching a butterfly slowly die - you knew the tragedy that would soon befall them, but we are helpless to look away.

I was so blown away that in the following months, I programmed the film as part of the now-defunct Secret Screening series at The Substation, my former workplace. Some 120 lucky souls whom took a chance on the Secret Screening got to see HEAVEN KNOWS WHAT on the big screen. I have been tracking the Safdies' ever since, and when I finally saw 5 minutes of footage of their upcoming film GOOD TIME, I was elated and pumped. The brothers are back!!

GOOD TIME was our very first acquisition from Cannes this year, a deal which we wrapped before the actual festival - after reviewing the script and the promo. I hadn't even seen the entire movie before I made the deal. When I finally sat down in the cinema to see the film for the first time I was so fucking excited I was like an Energizer bunny. As soon as the sick electronic music from Oneohtrix Point Never kicked in from the opening frame, I was sober tripping. It was incredible to see how the Safdies had progressed from the last film. They kept the tight pacing, and lensing style from HEAVEN KNOWS WHAT, and turned it loose. The neons are more explicit, the colour palette more striking, the sheer audacity of the way they used the camera, colors, and action choreography made the film more palpable. It was like Wong Kar-Wai did a Benjamin Button, got younger, got stoned, and took some LSD and decided he wanted to shoot this balls-to-the-wall thriller action heist instead of some fandangled martial arts thing. Or basically a more coherent Gaspar Noé.

I haven't even got to the best part of the whole damn movie yet. WHO THE FUCK IS ROBERT PATTINSON?!?! (not an actual question, guys)

Look at that shitty bleached hair. Look at the scowls on his face. Look at his pathetic face.

I say GODDAMN! If there was one bloody actor in the whole Competition that should have won the Best Actor award at Cannes it should be this motherfucking guy. Who knew Edward could act, seduce, manipulate and fricking charm an older woman, a younger woman, a man, another man, a bus driver, some cops, and kick some fucking ass?! But of course, maybe I'm biased because I'm the distributor of this movie. But you don't get to be on the front cover of Cahiers du Cinema, or Film Comment by being lame.

#Good Time Movie #Robert Pattinson #Cannes #Movie Distributor #Safdie Brothers

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jugandbettsdetectiveagency · 7 years

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Behind the Rear Window - Ch.1

Rear Window AU. When injured photojournalist Jughead Jones thinks he sees a man murder his wife from the window of his apartment it’s up to him to convince the police, and socialite-cum-girlfriend Betty Cooper, that what he saw actually happened, and what starts out as an investigation may just be the key to unlocking a few of their own skeletons in the closet.

First chapter of my multi fic! Rear Window is one of my favourite films and when I was watching it recently I realised just how easy it would be to slip these characters into the world of Hitchcock’s movie. This film, for those of you who haven’t seen it, is very observation and conversation heavy, so while the plot is pretty much the same here it’s those aspects where it will differ some. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy!

(special thank to @formergirlwonder for reading over this chapter! She’s an absolute gem!)

Read here on AO3

Jughead Jones had always known that bricks and mortar did not make a neighbourhood. His thoughts were only confirmed every time he regarded the rear windows facing the shared back alley courtyard from the vantage point of his second story apartment. The last hints of pink and orange faded from the sky, revealing another clear, sunny Riverdale day as the clock crept closer to morning. Each window frame became a small screen, most with cracked and peeling off-white paint. As he sat sleeping in his wheelchair, performances played out behind the open shutters and ajar glass panes; the tiny colony was beginning to bustle.

The man who spent his nights camped out on the fire escape, mattress and all, stirred as the first blinding rays cast their glow over his closed eyelids. His name wasn’t known to Mr Jones, but he certainly knew his wife’s was Ginger, given the amount of times he heard it pleaded at all hours of the day and night. To Jughead, he was simply ‘Mr Screw-Up’. The man stretched, rubbing the heel of a palm into his sleep encrusted eye, before standing precariously on his broken spring mattress and wobbling his way to the open window. He glanced furtively inside, checking left and right for signs that he could make an attempt to gain access back into his abode for the morning ritual of washing, shaving, and listening to early morning advertisements on the radio. Guaranteed, he’d be back sulking on the stairwell before eight thirty.

Jughead flinched on the edge of sleep as cawing crows swooped a little too closely to his window. He had left it ajar to combat the oppressive heatwave invading his apartment, which had left beads of sweat balancing in miscellaneous constellations atop his slightly wrinkled forehead, but his effort appeared to be in vain. Blinking into wakefulness, Jughead swiped at the moisture, which tickled while it dripped down his temples. As he came to, still in his chair by the window, he glanced down at his leg, adorned with a cumbersome cast stretching from his toes to his pelvic bone. Jughead sighed; he’d hoped that this time his hindrance really would have been a dream. His eye caught the bold, black pen strokes against the slightly discoloured plaster, and he allowed himself a chuckle as he read once more the words, “rather a broken bone than a broken spirit”, written in the hasty cursive of his superior, Kevin Keller. His chuckle turned to a grimace as a twinge turned to an itch, fate conveniently placing it directly out of reach beneath the bulky aid to healing.

The glint of a copper penny stole his attention, though, returning his gaze to the array of scenes awaiting his audience for yet another day in the listless stretch of weeks that he’d been chained to a chair for. The copper belonged to the girl opposite and to the left, her window a few brick widths higher than Jughead’s. Dubbed ‘Miss Legs’, the girl’s flaming red hair hung past her waist in perfectly arranged waves, often mirroring the light as it swung this way and that while she danced before her window. She was a nonstop whirlwind of kicks and strides and spins, low melodic tunes of her record player, thankfully, barely reaching Jughead’s apartment; but he couldn’t deny even he was captivated by her talents. He assumed, she embodying what was considered conventionally attractive, that most other men would be jonesing for the chance to have a glimpse at her in her brassiere and matching briefs as she paraded herself about her household chores. To Jughead her overly full lips, painted a shudder inducing crimson more often than not, seemed suffocating. The train of dance partners that appeared every so often in his line of sight confirmed his suspicions, however.

As she tripped out of view his eye caught a scurrying of burnt umber as the miniature daschund, affectionately cooed after under the name Caramel by Ginger multiple times a day, set its sights on a neighbourhood cat and decided to give chase. Millimetres above the game of cat and dog, Jughead lifted his scrutinising blue eyes to ‘Miss Lonelyhearts’. Still young, attractive though somewhat plain, the woman that earned such a title made frequent habit of setting the table for two, eating for one, and then crying herself into a stupor as the empty chair opposite failed once again to partake in the evening’s conversation. Her thick, mousey hair frequented a tight twist at the nape of her neck, round glasses perched just so on the bridge of her delicate nose, eyes wide and unassuming. Her usual dress was erring just slightly on this side of try-hard, but Jughead had seen her at her worst – tattered, flowery hand-me-downs shrouding her fragile figure as she knocked back the wine poured for her, and then the wine poured for her date. Having never seen another soul in the apartment in all their days occupying the same courtyard he only knew her real name by her woeful, self-pitying cries of “oh, Geraldine” that always rang out when he was just drifting off, jolting him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The next curtain pulling up moved his eye away from her tired face to the window directly above. A worn looking man with dark skin and deep set eyes trudged through his apartment, pulling up the shades as if he were reluctant to face another day. His balding head shone with perspiration in the early morning heat, shoulders dropping several degrees as he exhaled a mournful sigh, head turning to his left. An overly long pause passed before he began to move again, disappearing from view for a moment before the shades covering the next window along rippled and rose, revealing a bedroom. Crumpled sheets were occupied by an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, probably once the height of beauty but now looking as if she’d seen better days. Her frame was withered and meek and her hair hung limp and lifeless around her face. Her smile, Jughead noted, had not met the same foibles of time. She beamed at her husband, head tilting to one side as she spoke, looking more the young girl Jughead imagined she once was in that moment. Her husband nodded, slow and mechanical, before moving back to the kitchen, collecting a tray of breakfast foods, and then returning, setting it gently over the ridges of her legs under the blankets. He leaned in to place a chaste kiss against her cheek before retiring to the adjoining bathroom. His attentive, husbandly duties had earned him the title ‘Mr Caretaker’.

The sight of breakfast made Jughead’s own stomach rumble in anticipation. He wheeled back from his usual perch, rolling past the cabinets and shelves holding countless camera parts – flashes, lenses, bulbs – all stacked and presented perfectly. A tower of copies of the latest issue of Life magazine took up the side table by the front door, his photograph adorning their front covers, staring back at him in duplicate. The rest of the apartment was an unorganised disarray of knickknacks and keepsakes. Broken mechanical parts, overly read and worn copies of his favourite books, boxes upon boxes of old yellowing magazines he called ‘inspiration’ flooded the space. His old typewriter, barely breathing amid the flurry of tat on his desk, took centre stage.

The shrill ringing of his telephone pulled an exasperated sigh from Jughead’s lips as he just managed to manoeuvre his way to the kitchen’s threshold. Reversing a couple of inches he shoved the discarded dress shirt out of the way before picking up the shiny, black receiver.

“Jones,” he spoke into the phone, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly sound like you’ve been celebrating,” the voice of his assignment manager at the magazine, Kevin, crackled over the line, his tone taking on a minor lilt of amusement that had the skin of Jughead’s back prickling, and not from the excessive heat.

“What exactly is there to celebrate, Keller?” Jughead asked, rolling his neck slightly to ease the tightness he’d suddenly become aware of.

“Have I got the wrong day? Seven weeks since Wednesday – that cast should be coming off by now,” Kevin answered, confused. Jughead huffed a disgruntled breath out of his nose, pressing his lips together.

“Right day, wrong week,” he lamented, throwing a dirty look at his offending leg. Kevin’s laugh rung out of the speaker.

“I told you to stand further to the left,” he chastised, referring to the incident that caused Jughead’s current predicament. He’d been given the go-ahead to stand directly on the track for an in-action shot of the racers in the Grand Prix. Only Jughead would have had the balls to do it, Kevin thought, watching him stride purposefully onto the tarmac to get the snap of a lifetime. He’d worked it all out, what he thought was perfectly. What he didn’t account for was the slight nudge one car gave another as it attempted to undertake on the sharp bend, bumper clipping the rear door and sending it winding off course for a moment, long enough to clip Jughead in the hip, throwing him into an ungraceful heap against the barriers.

“Still got the shot though,” he returned, tone and expression equally smug as he remembered the way he cradled the camera against his chest during the fall, concerned only for the protection of the precious roll of film inside. He distinctly recalled the flicker of satisfaction he’d felt as his finger pushed the button, the way the light flashed as it had seemingly heralded the end of his life.

“It’s quite the shot indeed,” Kevin agreed. “Story isn’t half bad either.” The corners of Jughead’s mouth tilted upwards at the deprecating compliment. There was only the distinct static of the line for a moment as neither man attempted to speak. Eventually, Kevin sighed. “Well, if you’re still cooped up for another week then I guess I can’t offer you this assignment.” Jughead’s back straightened as he sat up. He noticed, briefly, that Miss Legs was practicing pirouettes as she scrubbed a dish.

“What’s the job?” he asked, fingers tightening around the receiver, itching to get the camera in his hands once more. Six weeks had seemed an eternity.

“South America, month or so, heading into the camps,” Kevin recited, keeping the details vague. It didn’t matter, however: Jughead was already hooked.

“Can it wait a week?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, leaning ever further forward in his wheelchair until the irksomely hard edge of his cast digging into the soft planes of his stomach prevented him.

“Going stir crazy, huh?” Kevin guessed, a slight note of sympathy creeping into his voice. Jughead sighed, settling back against the leather backing of the chair. Mr Screw-Up was blowing unfurling smoke curls into the air as he rested against the metal railings. He was early today. Jughead briefly considered deducing what Screw-Up had done this time, before dismissing the notion as boring.

“You have no idea.”

“How much time have you spent at that window of yours?” Kevin asked suddenly, catching Jughead off guard. He bristled.

“A while,” he retorted with a stubborn air. Mr Caretaker sat on his couch and put his head in his hands as Kevin’s airy laugh echoed in Jughead’s ears. He felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to hang up.

“Careful, Mr Jones, only the lonesome and embittered spend the majority of their time observing life instead of actually living it,” Kevin joked, and Jughead could practically hear him shaking his head gently in mock disapproval. The words struck a chord with Jughead, the image of his father springing before he eyes before his mind even allowed it.

The old man (salt and pepper beard, greying streaks in his hair, slightly sunken cheeks) drifted before Jughead’s eyes. Even while awake the picture haunted him, bottle in hand and grimace a permanent fixture on his features. He sat, moaning and complaining about the state of the world, sour to the umpteenth degree about the unfair hand he’d been dealt. He chose instead to dish out biting insults and the occasional brisk smack rather than making any effort to fix the mess he’d made of himself and join the rest of society. Moving past the war had taken its toll on everyone who fought, but on none more than F.P. Jones, Jughead recalled as an acrid taste invaded his mouth.

Jughead shook himself out of his revere, telling himself the fading sting in his right cheek was only a mere ghost. He turned in time to catch Caramel hopping into the basket contraption Ginger employed to haul the pup up onto her fourth floor balcony, its little legs unable to handle the climb. Kevin’ voice drifted back to his ears.

“You should get married. They say there’s never a dull moment…” Jughead ignored him.

“Hold the story. One more week,” Jughead commanded, already lifting the phone from his ear. He barely heard Kevin’s exasperated replies.

With a nearly audible eye roll, Kevin muttered, “Who is in charge here?” to no one in particular. A distinct ring cut through the stifling air, signalling that the call was over.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead au #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fan fiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #kevin keller #betty x jughead #jetty #rear window au #writing

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blogkingadam · 6 years

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Photography Portal

one fine snowing day with in the grand city of parfam there lived a photographer named phillip whom went towards his local park as a rainbow suddenly emerged from the skys as the sun was begining to emerge for the first time in many cold dark days.

As the photosynthesis particals of folar laser light absorbed the lens that felt warm with in the hands of phillip. A slight emergence of rainbow light partical gems flew towards a gathering glitter storm of microbes gathering there way forth towards phillips hands as he himself felt a true conecting relationship as he looked amongst his own hands to see sparkles of glitter.

phillip placed his camera on the ledge as he placed his hand in front of the high focusing lense he took the photo of the light particels floating forth amongst his pressence of a fine hand.

phillip went home that day with satisfying photos of the frozen fountain with a lake in the background however little did he himself ever expect that amongst the great day of his photography would he indeed recieve blending light powers.

for phillip went to sleep that night after a warm cup of hot choclate whislt reading sherlock holmes as he fell deep in towards the sinking stages of his blankets he awakened forth with in an elegant dream as he wondered through out the sparkling clouds he looked down upon the multiverse from an infiversal kingdom for he was in the dream line bays of imigration.

phillip looked out the window as he saw cinfona blowing kisses he suddenly saw her flapping her butterfly wings as she could transmit phasing sound through out solid matter.

phillip : this is a dream

cinfona ; oh why yes its quite the powerfull dream if i do say so my self.

phillip ; why am i here

cinfona ; oh whilst you where in your local small city of parfam i was that angel that installed the glitter why youve been choosen.

phillip ; ok this must be a really deep dream based on coincidences and ow why did you pinch and what your hand can phase through glass two

cinfona ; to show you your in a powerfull dream of the infiverse not many people have their souls teleported in towards there infiversal body oh wait why am i saying this like its obvious i know your just from earth.

phillip ; alright do you know when im going to wake up man i wish i had my camera with me im going to blog about this as soon as i wake up.

cinfona ; and im going to wake up right next to you

phillip ok now your just pulling strings here

cinfona oh come on are you really throwing away a chance to date an angel

phillip dont be like that

cinfona oh your so ridiculous i dont just judge guys striaght away based on first impresions based on like the other savage girls are you being stereotypical

phillip wait no im not being sterotypical.

cinfona guess what

phillip ; im signing through the gate

cinfona you already did oh your funny

phillip ; this certainly is a bright world are those bubbles universes

cinfona oh those are all multiverses that contain mirrror fibres of parrlell universes on the interior of the dark matter bubble of reflecting particles.

phillip i feel like im walking on mattresss softer than pillows wait what are you doing im gliding all of a sudden.

cinfona oh wait your from earth right yeah here in kingdoms of the infiverse you can lose your gravity through lighting your retnean of a blink if you wave really fast you can see your light travel back and forth why you can time travel here.

phillip ; wait i can time travel that means i can go back in time to stop those bullys from vandalising my camera.

cinfona ; yeah heres the problem if i time travel the time police of the infiverse reincarnate me from an angel towards a frog you can go back and forth physically through fast twitch hologrpahic waving here by a maxiumum of ten minutes before the time barrier sensors instantly send you back to your original time.

phillip ; why am i having this dream?

cinfona ; here goes the truth your prophesised by the light pixel studio to be the worlds most famous photographer im just the angel on your shoulder infact by the time youve woken up i garantee you i will have gone back in time to your high school days just to be in a relationship with you and you will remember that and you wont rember this untill we go to heaven together one day.

the following morning phillip awkened next towards his wife cinfona as he asked when did we get married she replied dont be silly. phillip went down stairs towards his kitchen as his sons came rushing towards him asking for a family bike ride as he could barley rember the family bike ride. phillip found a note from his wife cinfona saying she would look after the kids just get to work.

phillip took a seat in his Audi A8 on his long comute towards his office of world class photography as he edited photos from the andes mountains he suddenly was aproached with a confrenance as his co workers looked at him with the shamefull eye as phillip thought how am i suposed to rember any of this.

phillip was provided with the photography asignment of going towards the himilaya moutnains as he took a private while remote controling state of the art photography drones suddenly the diamond light crystals of ice flowed through out the lense as the remote rays penetrated his nervous system he felt a pause with in the magnetic reflexs of space and time suddenly the whole world felt still he wondered around the aircraft as all of a sudden flashing blue light raged upon his blood shoot eyes instantly healing with angel glitter as he traveled through out a snow tunnel as his photography drone had sent him upon a space time reflection portal to awken with in an alternate time line where china colonised the north american contient before euroupe.

phillip wondered through out the year 1878 as he awkened with in a san franciso hotel room he wondered down towards the breakfeast buffe table to see hover vehicles outside of his own window he picked up the newspaper to read that the international government insists by law that schools inject chia seeds towards the veins of students to harness superintellegence.

after filling up on soy garlic toast phillip wondered through out the streets of clean air along with amny colour full gardens that surounded the many skysrcappers towering higher than the empire state building on average.

phillip wondered through out an expensive shopping centre for the upper class where he stumbled in upon the grand pressennce of the highest tower on earth at a higght of ten miles he took the bullet elevator as he was at the top before he knew that he could percieve how fast the journy was.

phillip walked amongst the glass floor as he photographed people below suddenly he photographed the cloud kingdoms off in the distance as the sky light balcony of glitter with in his hands sparkled up he felt his atoms compress amongst curdling forth in towards a gentle tornado stream where he once again was drawn forth in towards the infiversal kingdom.

upon arriving upon the royal saunas that he was teleported in through a portal of blueberry juice he found cinfona next to him.

cinfona you dont rember me now do you

phillip i keep waking up in alternate world i have this glitter in my hands that some how reacts unpredictably evry photo i take could be my next teleportation int towards an alternate reality and the scary part i dont even remember the last reality its like im being teased and tricked by a higher power in the infiverse.

cinfona yep you figured it out amongst losing your memory with each teleportation to an alternate reality im impressed you see i am a rougue angel that gives false hope and teases people through alternate realitys why i even planted that subatomic glitter in the fountain so you would disapear from your original world.

phillip; why are you doing this to me

cinfona oh its just interesting to watch how people respond to waking up to lifes they know nothing about

phillip oh come on doesnt this mess with peoples sanity havent you any consideration of how ethical this is.

cinfona oh now come some people just need change i became a rougue angel to break people free of the way society expects them all to be silly sheeps

phillip ; ok you have a good point there and isnt people working out what to do with their life there own decision i mean i know you have the power but its not your buissnuiss to interfere with someones persoanl life

cinfona oh what can i say i just always fail at falling in to temptation have fun in your new life you wont even rember the previous one.

As cinfona blew a kiss towards phillip saying we where never ment to be together phillip fell forth towards a portal stream of watching himself decide upon amny mind reflecting decisions based on how he would have scorred ninety five percent on his math test had he have had fish instead of kfc resaulting in him getting only 75 percent.

phillip suddenly awkend with in tokyo gasping with no previous memory of his current life he turned over to check his iphone 7 messages to see that he had a baby that was currently in the process of being born phillip replied to this text saying this is all to much i dont know who i am... the only memory phillip had is that his magic hands of glitter could indeed activate photography portals if he focused hard enough as he wondered outside of his apertment on a hoverboard seeing the many bullet monorails storm past he found a cherry garden of giant blossoming flowers as he tried to calm down his hands of glitter soothed his tension raging trhough the body as the tea spiorts took him upon a gliding journy to awken with the caramel baths of singapore for he once again awkened to another reality with high levels of wealth he discovered in this eality he was a first class travel agent manager as he accepted the life he had awaekn to vowing to stay away from his portal photography hands at all times

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genesiskrps-blog · 7 years

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KIWI MUSIC NEWS: IDOL PROFILE SERIES !

[+ 500, -15] Wow! Jiyeon is my favorite soloist in CEL ! [+ 243, - 5] CEL is lucky to have her, aren’t they?! [+ 225, - 9] I can’t wait to see more of them - fighting!!

PROFILE !

FACECLAIM: im jinah CHARACTER NAME: han jiyeon STAGE NAME: n/a CHARACTER AGE: 25 COMPANY: CEL POSITION: solo (taeyeon) TIME WITH COMPANY: 12 years STRENGTHS: Perhaps even moreso than any outright talent, Jiyeon’s greatest strength lies in her experience, preparation, and ability to lead - her own career or others. Though her previous group has disbanded in dramatic fashion, there is very little that either CEL or her own internal coachings have not readied her for after over a decade of training. Calm, collected, eloquent, and dogged, when it comes to anything from choreography to accepting awards, Jiyeon never falters. Though Jiyeon’s voice should not be discounted, and is a genuine gem: originally scouted for the impressive nature of it as a young teenager, she has a talent that has always left every hard-nosed critic and teacher wanting to bottle and sell it. But while her voice may appeal to the critic, it’s her looks that appeal to the public, and that’s what matters to CEL – that the masses want to break off and take home a piece of her. WEAKNESSES: Her commitment to hard work can hinge on compulsive and unrealistic; her expectations for herself are perpetually too high, and she’s made herself sick on more than one occasion pushing her body too hard. Particularly with the stigma surrounding mental illness and medication in the country, Jiyeon’s careful managing of her OCD and anxiety over the years has grown harder. While in her younger years her anxiety was minimal, the more her obsessive-compulsive disorder demands of her, the worse her anxiety becomes. Though she is earnestly still young, even her age is a weakness in the ever-youthful industry that is KPOP. She has entirely no skill in rapping, and will try to refuse even attempting it on variety shows for the sake of embarrassment. Her variety appearances themselves are moderate but nothing exceptional; high ratings will arise simply from her name attached to any particular show, but she struggles with becoming goofy enough for many audiences.

BIOGRAPHY !

This is how you begin, like a start to a fairytale that should never be told, the ones with knights that never arrive and princesses that sheath their own hair with the tooth of the dragon keeping them.

i. she could claim a birth of immaculate conception because for all that her father is not there, it’s imaginable that jiyeon’s birth came from her mother and something she dreamed up. maybe in that story she would be a girl born from a peony mid-winter, shaking white limbs unfurling like petals - in that tale, jina might have come out fully formed, dressed in long raven hair, singing a sweet tune to welcome herself into the world. but in this one, the one we have now, she is as raw and young as the rest of the babes that take their first breath screaming.

ii. her mother loves her enough for two, and that’s good, because some nights they survived on love alone - she parceled out pieces of her heart when there was not enough food, serving it out on a silver platter to her only daughter and wiping her mouth when she done. when jiyeon is old enough she offers her soul in return, breaking it in half and half and half to hand back, and in this way she is also holy. this is the body and the spirit, the bread and the wine.

iii. it’s not as bad as it might seem. their house is full of laughter and love and the magic that comes from one night onlys, but in this home every night is one night for someone, so this is what jiyeon is weaned on. her mother’s business is a success because she knows how to make a home, even if it means sharing her own: so here, the young girl meets honeymooners and old lovers and older souls, and like a ritual they turn to her mother every night, drunk on good food and warmth to say: what a beautiful girl. what a serious child.

and when she plays, they say nothing at all.

(they are too busy listening).

iv. it’s starts as much a duty as anything else: changing the sheets, putting new flowers on the table, bringing breakfast in bed to the new lovers with a late checkout – and then performance. her delicate frame on the bench in the morning and at night, fingers fluttering across black and white keys like they never learned how not to fly. her voice comes with it.

like so many other things, jiyeon’s mother had been the first one to teach it to her, cupping her tiny hands beneath hers as she held her child in her lap and played melodies. jiyeon loves it, and so she sacrifices. like every great queen, she bows her head and picks up the weight of a kingdom so that her kin can have more; lessons on tuesdays and thursdays, a shining black thing sitting in the living room by next christmas.

she loves it, it’s true; jiyeon does it for herself. but she also do it for her. because even while she is young, young lady is only a term of convenience. she was always a lady first, young only by circumstance.

v. everything happens at once. that’s the way it is with genuine surprises, the swing of one act to the next, the gate of destiny’s door vaulting open and knocking over objects in the room with its sudden wind. he’s only another customer when he comes in the door, albeit he is fixed with a soju-eyed stare and half a suit (no more, no less) that could buy and sell the roof and walls around them. a funny man, unsure of where he is before he sleeps and unhappy with the location when he awakes – he grumbles into his coffee and wears his sunglasses inside, rubbing his temples as he makes phone calls at the breakfast table.

she plays for him, like any other day.

he breaks his glasses when she start to sing. they fall right off his nose, and jiyeon stops to pick them up. she says sorry as your fingers smudge the lenses.

he only smiles.

then makes another phone call.

vi. he’s a mouthful, that’s what han jiyeon learns. he’s got a too-important job at a too-big place with too-famous people, and shae can barely get her jaw around it all. but she does, because she has always been a sensible girl, and she’s got strong bones, teeth, stomach. he brings her into the center of the room with a hand on your shoulder, ready to exchange her for her weight in gold in front of a room of god-men hidden behind their desks.

they place her on the scales, pull of the veil and open her mouth -

and rejoice when she tips the whole thing over.

v. but they deal in the glory, she is still left to the grit and gore. in the first year, she is younger than most of the lot, and they look for a reason to hate her. they whisper about favouritism - they see the man with the half-suit and broken glasses smile at the girl with ivory-etched features and take her high head and upright chin as a sign that she hasn’t been forced to work to the marrow with them.

when that is over, she grows too beautiful for her own good. it is not her fault; none of it is. but if jiyeon were to live this life over again luckier, she would do well not to be so lovely. perhaps then he never would have seen her. men come for the girl in packs, their tails hidden up their jackets and their fangs tucked away as they try to paw at her. no one tells her beware of men, no one hands out a red cape to get through the woods unharmed, and so this is a lesson she learns the hard way, heart-first. he is the king of the country and he reaches down to pluck jiyeon from the crowd like he is a god. she thinks he might be. at the same time, they start to call her royalty, and with this man pressing to her back, she think she might just be a princess. she is ready for it, but too young for him.

everything breaks apart at the same time.

vi. it takes almost half jiyeon’s life to finally have one.

she hides her mind away and swallows her pain in the name of perfection. it makes her ache from the inside out, and she is starting to twitch.

some men mistake her beauty as consumability, and they try to lick the salt off her neck without permission.

there is more of jiyeon in this building than anyone else: she has left more behind, shed more skin and sweat, turned these rooms into walls that spit out her dna. it’s a decade of uncertainty, hard work that feels like a snake eating its own tail.

she is still young when she makes the cut for the group of the generation, the collaboration of luck and talent that brings her to the forefront of a nation, but it doesn’t feel like it.

it’s a chemical madness, what arises, though like all things chemical the brewing takes time. a year of the average, and then the spectacular bursts across the sky: beautiful multicolour fireworks: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

it’s all flash, flash, flash, cameras rolling, people screaming. the charts are topped and then toppled over. the critics are harsh and the crowds are adoring. they’re legends, these girls. they remake the music scene, but by the law of the world it remakes them also. and after years, after a meteoric rise, it comes to pass that jiyeon is the star that’s meant to post itself the highest in the night sky.

her time comes.

vii. it’s the best fucking thing she’ll ever do.

#gs:app #gs:cel #gs:solo #gs:rxyclty

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