- jk sometimes bursts into jimins room holding up a magazine or his laptop and points to a couple doing something cute or frankly physically impossible on screen and dead srsly tells him, “hyung, lets try this”
- the first time jk called jimin without honorifics had been an accident, bc he just felt that comfortable with jimin. the blush that rose on jimins cheeks made him want to do it again
- jk often marvels at how much jimin lets him get away with.. how jimin just takes it when jk manhandles him, goes limp and pliant, and he realizes that he rly rly likes it, and makes it his mission to push jimins limit, test his patience with him only to step back when it gets too far. (he never gets too far)
- when jk had growled “where do you think you’re running off to?” to jimin under his breath that day, jimin had laughed it off, but all the same wondered if he could hear it again in another context
- they dont tell each other ‘i love you’ with words, only signals and codes that no one but them would understand. sometimes the others catch jk doing the most bizarre of things, the hidden i love yous manifesting in body gags and inopportune mimicking. they never ask, bc the way jimin laughs and looks on with utmost adoration is answer enough
- one time, when jimin was nagging at jk about something, jk had, in a bout of frustration, snapped “you’re not my mom,” only to falter in his annoyance when hes met with jimins crestfallen expression. “that’s not what i meant- hyung, i… it’s not that. just, i’m not a kid anymore. you don’t have to do that.” jimin had pursed his lips, nodded sullenly before walking off, and, wanting nothing more than for that look to be wiped away, jk had lunged forward, grabbing jimin around the waist to backhug him. jimin had been stiff, but he didn’t pull away. pressing his face in jimin’s hair, he’d muttered, “you don’t have to worry about me all the time. let me take care of you too.”
- somehow, at that moment, jimin’s heart had both broken and mended all at once.
- jk catches jimin staring at him one day, when hes all dressed and ready to go out, lacing up his shoes in the hallway, and straightens up in confusion. “i’ll be back by two. what’s up?” jimin just stares for a bit longer, brows scrunched up and jk longs to smooth it out with his finger. “when did you grow up without me noticing?” jimin mutters. before jk can utter a word, jimin just pats him fondly on the chest and bids him farewell. the question echoes in jk’s head for the rest of the night, along with the nostalgic tilt of jimin’s pout
- “jiminnie-hyung’s eyes are… really pretty,” jk says, mostly to himself, as he pastes the last sticky-note onto jimin’s eyelid. jimin’s everything is really pretty. that part, he decides to keep to himself
- jk is big spoon. jimin only fights it the first time, but resigns himself to his fate as jk drapes himself over his back that night, back when they’d been nothing but trainees living on other people’s dreams. jk feigns sleep, even throws in a snore for good measure, and jimin elbows him and settles in. it feels safe. these days, the beds are bigger but jimin still has cramped limbs in the morning, crushed beneath a jk who’s definitely gotten a lot heavier than he used to be, and no less demanding. somehow, this feels safer.
- “my baby’s graduating,” jimin coos, wiping a tear from his eye. hes only half-faking it. “hyung,” jk grumbles in exasperation, but when jimin asks for a peck, jk leans down and presses their lips together.
- “graduation present,” he clarifies, cheeks reddening.
- jimin grabs his face in both hands before leaning up and pulling him into a longer, more heated kiss. breathless, they draw apart. “that one was for me,” jimin grins. “for raising you on my back. i’ve worked hard.” jk groans but can’t fight off the smile stretching his lips.
Tim Monich, the dialect coach for Gangs Of New York, managed to do the impossible by researching dead dialects – that is, ways of speaking that no living person had ever heard with their own ears – and teaching it to modern actors. “But how do you research a dead dialect?” Easily! Well, no, not easily at all – with incredible difficulty, in fact: Monich studied old poems and newspaper articles that were mocking the dialects to try and deduce the way people of the era spoke. Then he forced Liam Neeson and Leonardo DiCaprio to talk that way.
At one point, Neeson’s character called a bunch of his enemies “nancy boys,” only for Monich to clarify that the correct term for the era and location was “Miss Nancies.” Which was a huge relief for all the 19th-century New York hooligans in the audience, who totally would’ve noticed that sort of thing.
That set points to something else pretty cool about the film’s development. Those buildings you see in the background? They haven’t existed in over a hundred years, so Scorsese had most of 1860s New York rebuilt from scratch in Rome, because “had most of 1860s New York rebuilt from scratch in Rome” is the kind of predicate you can be the subject of when your name is Martin Scorsese. I’m allowed to make those kinds of stupid grammar jokes when my entry is about dialects, okay?
Request: “Hello! *blushes profusely* Could I request some smutty smut about
Kylo seducing a rather innocent and shy officer? Maybe they’ve been seeing each
other and he has to have her :‘3 pretty please?”
Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader
Word Count: 3773
Warnings: SMUT AND HEAPS OF ANGST N FLUFF AHH
A/n: ok this isn’t as smutty as i hoped and got way too deep way too fast and is super long but
anyway, hope you enjoy!
P.S. I feel like a lot of my fics go off course and into really like meaningful? territory. Lemme know if you prefer for them to be more lighthearted or whatever haha
Many would’ve expected the Finalizer to be buzzing with life, even
in the earlier hours of the morning. After all, there was no real display of
time amongst the stars, only the hovering red numbers on the many screens that
covered your office. But even though maintenance worked round the clock, only
mostly droids worked at these hours. Almost everyone slept at these designated
hours, the whole ship feeling eerily empty as you marched towards the highest
deck, stifling a yawn. Everyone needed sleep, but the First Order itself could
not, due to risk of being caught off guard. You were the part of the
operations, the element of the Order that kept its eyes on the dark starry
horizonless sky during the hours your body naturally wanted to shut down.
You had always been a night creature, most motivated to do work
when your eyes grew heavier. That’s why it didn’t surprise you that you had
been tasked with watching over the ship while the rest slept. You weren’t alone
of course, at least ten other officers greeting you with a tired nod or soft
“hello” as you entered the command deck. Armitage Hux was amongst the sleepless
lot, dark circles a permanent feature on his face. He was always awake, only
retreating to sleep in his quarters for 3-4 hours a day.
He approached you with a weary smile, handing you a clipboard.
“You’re on communications tonight.” His voice cracked from lack of
You sighed “Again?”
“Sorry, wasn’t me who put you on there.” He shrugged, his posture
much more relaxed around you.
“Of course not.” You smirked deviously. “You would’ve assigned me
to your bed if it was in your power.”
He chuckled, bringing a lazy hand to prop his heavy head up. His
eyes flickered down, bright with daring as he casually checked you out.
“If I did, Ren would kill me.”
You froze at the mention of his name, Hux rolling his eyes
“I’m going to sleep.” He said, beginning to walk away before
stopping and adding over his shoulder, “try not to blush as much when you see
your irritable lover.”
You gripped the clipboard tightly as you called after him. “He’s
not my-!” But Hux had already rounded the corner, uncaring of what you had to
say on the matter. You huffed, stomping down to the isolated communications