#so meeting johnny was...well he thought it was a fever dream at first

[bikerboyfriend]

i love this preset

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[iam93percentstardust]

Hey, it’s my birthday this month too and I will try my luck here 💕 sending you love, luck and flowers by the way 💐🍀❤️

I‘m totally into heartbeats, so my prompt is just „Heartbeat“ for Stony - everything else is up to you ❤️ thank you ❤️

Happy birthday, nonnie! (I know I’m a little late, real life got in the way of filling this prompt during February) I hope you like your story!!

As always, this fic is also on ao3

It takes Steve almost three hours after receiving the serum to realize that the steady thumping sounds he’s hearing are the heartbeats of the people close to him.

He thinks he can be forgiven for taking a while to figure it out. He can hear so much more now than he ever could before—even before his hearing was shot all to hell after his scarlet fever—so his initial thought, after he notices them, is that the thumping sounds are something that everyone can hear, like rushing water or something else. But he decides pretty quickly that that doesn’t make any sense. Even if it weren’t for the fact that no one else seems to hear them, the fact that the thumping sounds fade in and out as people move closer and farther away from him is a pretty clear indicator that it’s not something normal.

It’s not until one of the thumping sounds speeds up when the nurse asks him to take his shirt off so she can draw his blood that he realizes he’s hearing her heartbeat.

It’s incredible. It’s terrifying. It’s—Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it. He wants to feel excited about it, knows that he probably should be thrilled about this shining example of how perfectly the serum worked. But the more he thinks about it, the more his own heart sinks. He hears heartbeats. There’s not a secret in the world that’s closed to him now.

“Steve?” Peggy asks him, voice high with concern. Clearly not the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

He forces himself to meet her eyes. Her heart skips a beat—Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up on it, muffled under clothes and skin and bone as it may be. He wonders if it would have skipped that beat if he’d still looked like himself. He smiles tightly at her.

“I’m fine.”

~

Bruce’s heart beats twice as fast as the average human’s. Steve wonders if that’s because of the Hulk, if keeping the Hulk contained requires so much energy that Bruce’s heart beats so much faster. He supports this hypothesis (wouldn’t Tony be so proud of him if he heard this?) with the fact that the Hulk’s heartbeat is the same rate as anyone else’s and the fact that Bruce always has snacks squirreled away on his person.

Natasha’s is always steady. Always. The only time Steve has ever heard her heartbeat unsteady was in the middle of a battle with Doombots when he’s fighting back-to-back with her. Clint had fallen off his perch and Tony had been just a half-second later than usual in catching him. He’d still caught him but in that moment, when it had looked like Clint would hit the ground hard, Natasha’s heart had skipped several beats.

Clint has an arrhythmia. It takes Steve a while to figure out. He hears the missed beats, but he originally thinks it’s because of an external stimulus—Natasha’s bared back in the decontamination showers, Tony gifting him a whole new quiver, an exciting race in Mario Kart—only there’s too much of a pattern to the missed beats and Clint never looks worried when it happens, so Steve asks JARVIS about it. He spends a week learning everything he can about arrhythmias so he knows what to do if something happens during a battle.

Thor’s heartbeat throws him off for a while until he realizes it’s not a heartbeat so much as it is heartbeats. Thor laughs jovially when he asks about it and informs him that Asgardians actually have three hearts.

He never hears Tony’s.

~

He learns how to filter out the heartbeats. How can he not? Even just a single heartbeat is enough to drive someone mad, but to have to listen to anyone’s who’s standing within a few feet of him? He has to learn to filter the heartbeats or else he’ll lose his sanity.

The USO girls are the best way to do this, though he’ll never admit that to them. He knows they already find him… off, knows that it terrifies them how easily he can lift that motorcycle with them on it and how precisely he has to aim his fake punches so that he doesn’t risk launching Johnny halfway across the audience when he punches Hitler. If they found out he could hear their heartbeats, well, he’d be lucky if half of them don’t quit on the spot.

But the girls, they just—they feel so much. Their hearts flutter when the soldiers smile at them. They beat extra fast when they dance. They slow down when they sleep on the long train rides from city to city. It’s the perfect way to figure out how to drown them out.

In the end, Steve figures that the best way to filter through them is to treat them the same way he would any other background noise. City noises haven’t bothered him in ages because he’s so used to them. He learned to get used to sleeping on trains. He can learn to work around the heartbeats too.

~

Steve knows Tony has a heart. He has to. He couldn’t just throw it out altogether in favor of solely using the arc reactor (though sometimes he thinks that Tony would if he could). He’s seen the cute little reminder Pepper once gave Tony sitting down there in the workshop in its place of pride next to DUM-E’s charging station.

Proof Tony Stark has a heart.

Tony has a heart. It’s big and it’s beautiful and it overflows in ways that Steve could never have dreamed of when he’d been growing up, no matter how much he’d wanted to help. He thinks of the articles Fury had given him in Tony’s file after he first woke up: Tony Stark Wants to Change the World. He thinks a better headline might have been: Tony Stark Is Changing the World.

They’re friends now, friends who go to the movies and ballgames midnight snacks with each other. Friends who always team up together on game night, a united front against the Super Spies and Thor and Bruce. Friends who hug and sometimes fall asleep cuddled up together on the couch, though Tony is always quick to offer him a smile in the morning and say, “No hard feelings?”

And Steve wants more, desperately, achingly.

But he gets to have this. He gets to have Tony’s forgiveness for his harsh words on the helicarrier and his obedience during their missions and his loyalty when it comes to everything else. And Steve—he’s greedy. A lifetime of growing up with nothing has made him want. But this is something that he knows better about.

He can’t force Tony’s heart to flutter when he looks at Steve. He can’t force it to quicken when they stand too close together. He can’t force Tony to love him.

And yet…

He can’t force himself to stop listening either.

~

The first time he thinks that this curse might actually be a gift is when he discovers Bucky is still alive. He’s creeping through the empty base, nearly everyone already evacuated, when he turns the corner and sees the scientist. Steve has never met the man before, never even seen him before, but he knows that this must be one of Hydra’s scientists.

He doesn’t have the right build for a soldier. Steve would know.

The scientist’s heartbeat trips as he stares at Steve for only a moment before he hurries away in the opposite direction. Steve almost gives chase after him—if anyone can tell him where Bucky is, it would be him. But even as his strides lengthen into a run, he thinks about how the scientist’s gaze had darted back into the room he’d just left. Isn’t it strange, he muses, that the scientist was still here when everyone else had fled?

That’s when he hears it: the stuttered, fragile heartbeat, nearly eclipsed by a voice Steve knows as well as his own brokenly reciting his identification.

Steve abruptly skids to a halt and turns. He dashes into the room to see Bucky strapped down to a table, eyes staring sightlessly ahead as he begins his recitation all over again. Bile rises in Steve’s throat at the sight of his best friend knocked down like this but he shoves the feeling back. Panic later, action now. If Hydra’s abandoning Bucky in the middle of their experiments, that can’t spell anything good for their escape from the base.

He starts working on the straps, keeping an ear out for distant (or perhaps not-so-distant) explosions. Bucky slowly turns to look at him. “Is it…?” he murmurs, voice as rough as gravel, and then trails off, too exhausted to continue.

“It’s me,” Steve assures him. “It’s Steve.”

Bucky blinks. “Steve?”

Steve glances hurriedly toward the door. They can’t linger here. “Come on,” he mutters, helping Bucky off the table. He drapes Bucky’s arm over his shoulders, silently offering him support.

“Steve,” Bucky says again. His brow wrinkles.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve admits.

“I thought you were taller,” Bucky informs him, and even through his worry, Steve has to bite back a grin. There’s the same old Bucky he knows and loves. They’re gonna be just fine.

~

The first time Steve hears Tony’s heartbeat, they’re fighting.

Steve doesn’t even remember how it got started, just that one moment, they were laughing and talking with each other, and the next, they’re screaming. They’re pressed practically chest to chest as they yell abuses at each other and when Tony accuses him of being unable to move on from the past, Steve sees red. He straightens up, all but looming over Tony.

There’s a weak, stuttered thump.

It so surprises Steve that he blinks and steps away. He’s never—Tony has a heartbeat, he has to, but Steve has never heard it before. In one wild moment, he’d even once thought that Tony’s heart actually no longer beat and he was surviving entirely on the arc reactor. And yet, what else can it be?

Tony doesn’t seem to notice Steve’s hesitation and he steps in close again, jabbing his finger into Steve’s chest. Steve hears it again, frail and rhythmless and nearly hidden beneath a soft whirr that he’d never noticed before.

The arc reactor.

He’d never heard Tony’s heart because of the arc reactor.

Now that he hears it, he doesn’t know how he’d missed it before. It’s so much. It’s loud, drowning out nearly everything else, or maybe that’s the blood rushing in his ears as it really, truly hits him for the first time that this piece of metal and light is all that’s keeping Tony alive.

“How do you stand it?” he whispers.

Tony steps away, caught off guard. Immediately, Steve misses hearing that sound, that reassurance that Tony’s heart still beats under the reactor, and he follows him.

“Stand what?” Tony asks uncertainly, gaze landing on everything but Steve standing a few inches away from him.

Steve lays his hand over the reactor, covering up its glow. Only—the very thought, that it could go dark and he would lose the thing that matters most to him in this time, terrifies him and he moves his hand away again, realizing only at the last second that his hand is now covering Tony’s heart instead.

“It’s so loud. It’s—I can’t hear you,” he tries to explain.

Tony inhales sharply. “You can hear—” He cuts off, raises his hand to cover Steve’s. Steve nods. “How did no one know that?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he admits. “It scared me.” He splays his fingers wide, fingertips brushing the side of the arc reactor and the curve of Tony’s side all at once. “It still scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he begins. Stops. Inhales deeply. Tries again. “Because Clint’s heart could skip more beats than it should and I would hear it but wouldn’t know what to do. Because Natasha could be unhappy and I would never know… Because you could die and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

“Steve—”

Terror makes him brave, who knew? “I can’t hear you unless I’m this close.” He forces himself to meet Tony’s eyes, warm and beautiful. “I always want to be this close, but I know I can’t have that.”

Tony’s lips part on a small gasp. He breathes in unsteadily, heart starting to race. Steve hears it but he doesn’t understand why. “All the words in the world,” Tony eventually says. “And I can’t find the ones I want when I need them.”

“Tony, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Tony murmurs and kisses him.

~

The last heartbeat Steve hears as he plummets toward the ocean is his own. Red Skull is gone, the remaining Hydra soldiers dead. Peggy’s voice is in his ear but he can barely hear her over his own galloping heartbeat. Figures. The only thing he wants to listen to as he dies is her but he’s still stuck with the heartbeats.

“I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance,” he tells her.

“Alright,” Peggy says. She sounds like she’s crying. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” he promises.

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

The ice is rushing up before him, an expanse of pale blue and white as far as he can see. Maybe, if he’s lucky, the rushing water will drown out the sound of his heart. He doubts it. Steve Rogers has never been lucky.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

He wants her voice to be the last thing he hears. He doesn’t want to listen to the sound of his dying heart.

He can’t have everything he wants.

~

As the bedroom door slides open, through his own exhaustion, Steve hears the gentle whirring of the arc reactor. He blinks his eyes open, taking in the dark room, lit up only by the lights of the city. Even those are dimmed; JARVIS must have the tinted windows darkened. Tony is asleep on his stomach, the arc reactor’s glow muted by his chest pressing it into the blankets.

Steve wearily strips out of his armor, dropping it in the laundry chute to be picked up by the tower bots in the morning. He takes a quick whiff of himself, hoping he doesn’t smell badly enough to need a shower when he’s this tired, and is rewarded with only the slightly stale smell of the Quinjet.

Reassured that he won’t wake his husband up with his rankness, he climbs into their bed, tucking himself under the blankets. Tony grumbles wordlessly, shifting closer to him in his sleep. Steve presses himself along the line of Tony’s body, tucking his head into the curve of Tony’s neck. Nearly silenced by the arc reactor, Tony’s heart beats steadily, still ticking even after all it’s been put through.

He smiles, presses a kiss to Tony’s pulse point, and lets his eyes drift closed.

[jhoenny-strom]

The Human Torch was actually Marvel's first super hero :D. Of course when he started it wasn't actually Johnny Storm but he was Jim Hammond, an android. The reason he's the Johnny we know and love was because Jim became unpopular so Stan Lee and Jack Kirby took the name and powers and slapped then onto loveable Johnny Storm. I could tell you a lot more about him but I'd just be rambling at that point and you might know all of this already.

But basically, thoughts on Jim Hammond, the idea of Android!Johnny, and that the Human Torch is the first Marvel superhero?

MY GOD PLEASE CONTINUE I WILL PAY YOU WITH ALL OF MY POCKET BUTTONS

but honestly. as someone who's unintentionally devoted their lifeforce into analyzing every single little thing about our beloved johnny storm, i think it's so well fucking deserved he's by all technicalities marvel's first superhero. i mean, come ON dude, you can't get any better than a dork flamebrain that digs everyone

as for jim hammond, unless it was a fever dream, the FF (or maybe it was just johnny/and someone else? don't rely on my horrible memory) DID meet him during a different comic series very early on. so i think it's really neat that not only did johnny take his name from that android human torch but prided himself on continuing it on in his own form. it's just so like him to continue a legacy built on good and that marvel itself wanted johnny to be the embodiment of that good.

[yuzukult]

under the moonlight || junmyeon & reader

title: under the moonlight pairing: junmyeon/suho x reader  genre: ceo!reader, hint of soulmate!au, slow-burn words: 8.4k notes: continuation to [city lights]’s junmyeon, journey to him healing his own heart after letting go of his first love for her to be with his best friend who so happens to be her soulmate (chanyeol) // did this because junmyeon deserves some love & also may be a second part + will profread when i get the chance!!

part one || final

Though the living room was filled with laughter and yelling from drinking games, Junmyeon’s attention was locked on the girl of his dreams who stands in the kitchen in the arms of her soulmate, face snuggled into his chest while mumbling a ‘thank you’ for the surprise birthday party that he’d planned for her. In response, he lets out a chuckle as he places a delicate kiss onto her forehead.

Junmyeon knew it would’ve been selfish if he neglected Chanyeol’s wishes when he barged into his bedroom of their shared apartment, hair disheveled with a stressed look washed over his face. “I can’t do this anymore, I need to be with her. She’s all I think about, night and day. I haven’t even had a real conversation with her yet I know everything about her... and I love but hate everything about her because she makes me feel like I can’t live unless it’s with her.” He was aware that the younger male was going through the side-effects of refusing a relationship with his designated soulmate, evidently on the brink of detonation. It was time to let her go, no matter how much he loved her. She belonged to Chanyeol. 

The moment Junmyeon picked up the phone to ask Chanyeol to check up on her while on his business trip, he sensed over the phone Chanyeol’s wariness at the sight of the girl’s frame in bed, shivering from a fever. It was that very second it became clear to him that Chanyeol was biologically her soulmate, someone she could never let go even if she tried. Both of their dreams would be flooded with the thoughts of each other, sleepwalking mid-day to meet unconsciously, and yearning for the embrace of one another though far apart.

Goodbyes were rough. But the goodbye with her especially was the worst. 

Telling her that she wasn’t made for him and that they couldn’t be together while her eyes were brimming with tears was the hardest moment of his life. Breaking the heart of the woman he still loved was never in his plans. But Chanyeol was his best friend and watching him deteriorate day by day was just as painful for himself. 

So he sacrificed his love so that they could be together.

“Junmyeon, you don’t know how much it means to me that you came.” She says, voice soft. They’re standing in the corner of the living room, separated from the group just enough to hear the other speak. “I know how uncomfortable it must be for—”

“Don’t say that.” He interjects, adjusting the black beanie that sits on his head. “I meant what I said that day months ago. Just because we aren’t together like that doesn’t mean I won’t be in your life anymore. You were more than just a girl I dated, I loved you.”

He lied. He still loves her. But he’d never say that.

She’s chewing on her bottom lip, hair cut shorter from their last exchange that strays fall out from the hair-tie and over her face. He wishes he could push it away and behind her ear but that’s crossing the line.

“I loved you too, Junmyeon. You know that.”

“But you love Chanyeol now.” He adds, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack. Junmyeon was ending his night earlier than the rest, claiming that he wasn’t feeling too well from having to wake up early and sleeping later for an assignment at work when really he couldn’t bear to watch the two of them together for long, his heart still healing. “And I’m happy that it’s working out.”

His first love stands there for a moment, silent, despite the sounds coming from the main area as she walks him toward the front door. “Why are you so quiet?” Junmyeon questions, raising a brow.

“Chanyeol and I talked about the topic of marriage.”

Marriage. He hasn’t even fully recovered from the break-up yet and she’s already moved on entirely. 

“But... I’m not ready. I still think of you.” The words would have been more comforting if it resulted with her in his arms instead.

“We both need to move on.” He sighs, one hand on the doorknob and his heart still in hers. “It’s going to take some time but it’ll be worth it in the end. The torture from being without him will stop.”

“How did you know?”

“Know about what?”

“That I had those side effects. I never told you about it.”

Junmyeon sighs, finally turning the handle to open the door. “You started looking more and more tired each day and you complained about it often. So I did some research to see what was wrong. It’s a side effect from denying your soulmate.”

Forcing himself into work everyday was hard.

After spending so much time with his first love, she was close to convincing him to drop his day job for a career in music. Working in a corporate office was gnawing on him alive, not to mention how unbearably stiff the suits were while he sat at his office for over 8 hours a day.

“Hey,” Someone says. Her voice is tender and calm, capturing his attention. “Junmyeon, right?” You were peeking your head into his cubicle, too short to completely reach over the walls.

You were the CEO of the company he worked at, the founder of a skincare line that you developed the formulas on your own with hands-on operations and testing, utilizing your degree received after University where you studied in the States. He’d only been part of the business team for a short period of time and hadn’t even gotten to meet you yet, despite how heavily involved you were on the floor.

“Yes, I’m Junmyeon,” He says quickly, breaking his gaze before standing up, bowing and extending his hand for a shake. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t expecting to see you.” You repeat his actions and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were mocking him.

“Sorry, it’s okay. I came unannounced. Should’ve probably called or something right?” You ask, scratching the back of your head agonizingly, slightly unsure how to act in social situations. “I just thought I could stop by to talk to you.”

“I’m available to talk. Something wrong?”

Straightening the pencil skirt that hugs your lower half, you grin cheekily at him. “I’ve been going around lately, trying to understand the jobs of the people who work here. We’ve been doing so well that I wanted to meet the people who were extremely involved in the impact. Would you like to go out for lunch with me?”

Blinking blankly, Junmyeon is taken aback. You— the woman ran an entire company with products on the shelves of huge department stores to high end private shops just for the elite to take him out to lunch?

He glances over at his lunch bag that sits on the corner of the desk, pausing for a moment. And almost as if you read his mind, you say, “We could always put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Come. Let me take you out for lunch, Junmyeon. Company’s treat!”

Dropping by your office before making way out, you snatch the jacket off the back of your office chair, slinging it over your shoulders.

Junmyeon just stands in the doorway entering in, leery about coming in any further. Despite you being the one asking him to tag along, he still felt the invisible wall between the two of you, a CEO and just some guy in the business department.

Your office was massive— the windows were stretched from corner to corner, ceiling to floor, with a view of the city that was breathtaking. On the opposite side had a glass wall, seeing out to the rest of the floor where employees work, but oddly enough you never had the blinds of it opened.

“Why are you standing there so awkwardly?” You chuckle, grabbing your wallet, phone and keys from the top of your desk. “You know that you can come in here, right? I don’t bite.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his nape anxiously. “Just kind of feels like I don’t belong here.”

You roll your eyes, walking toward him and out the room as he follows, closing the door behind. “Junmyeon, you’re always welcomed in my office. Any problems you have are mine as well. Don’t hesitate to talk to me about anything, I own an entire company for God’s sake! I would do anything I can to help a fellow employee.”

In his department, you had a reputation. Men thought you were hot— so attractive that whenever you’d walk by and greet everyone on your way to your office, they’d drool, eyes never leaving your bare legs or bottom. Women were more of a split category; some resented you for gaining the attention of men so easily, others admire your hard work and ambitions, yet trying very hard to accommodate any of the employees’ issues personally. It was hard to please everyone.

“Johnny,” You call out your assistant, his desk sitting several feet outside of your office. “I’m having lunch with Junmyeon today.”

Johnny is a skyscraper. But when he’s sitting down, he seems so small next to you, almost like a little grocery store in the corner of the block of a big city while at his desk.

“So you’re ditching Eunwoo today?”

“Never said I agreed to having lunch with him. If he comes, just say I left. I’m having lunch with Junmyeon.”

Leaning back in his seat, he has his arms crossed against his chest, squinting at you. Junmyeon always questioned the relations between you and Johnny, but after observing the entire conversation, it seems like he’s just a concerned friend. Most likely why you keep him around.

“Should I say you’re having lunch with Junmyeon? Might piss Eunwoo off.” He says, gesturing toward Junmyeon when he says his name.

“Why are you trying to piss him off? I said I was over it.” You click your tongue, waving off Johnny in dismissal afterwards. “Whatever, I said I’m leaving. See you after lunch.”

“You’re probably wondering who Eunwoo is,” You unlock the doors of your car, opening the drivers side when Junmyeon stops in his tracks. “He’s my ex.”

“Wait— you’re driving?”

“Yeah, how else would we get there?” Sliding into the driver’s seat, he hesitates for a moment before following into the passenger side.

“Just didn’t think you’d be driving.” Junmyeon responds, putting on his seatbelt over his body. “Were you supposed to meet with your ex today?”

“He assumed.” Pressing the start button, the engine of the Audi roars, a sweet sound to any car enthusiast’s ears.

“You don’t think I drive?”

“More like... I thought you had a driver.”

You shake your head, pulling out of the garage of the company’s building, driving in the direction of a restaurant he’s not familiar with.

“Where are we going?”

“Pick: a five star restaurant or a restaurant that deserves it?”

“The latter.”

“A man after my own heart,” You joke, glancing over his direction with a sweet smile. “My favorite spot. It won’t take long.”

It’s a ramyun restaurant hidden within a large city without much foot traffic, but he wasn’t going to doubt your plans.

After handing the waiter back your menus with your orders, you rub your hands on your skirt sheepishly. “Uh, do you have a girlfriend?”

Shocked by the sudden question, Junmyeon’s jaw slacks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, have you met your soulmate yet?” Once the words leave your mouth again, you groan at your lack of execution of holding small talk. “Sorry again, ignore that. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend and no, I haven’t yet.” He thought your reaction was cute. It was understandable how people were so easily smitten by you. “Do you?”

“No,” You say, voice a bit disappointed but your face doesn’t show it. “But I’m too busy anyway. I meant to ask because you’ve been working endless hours and I was afraid it was taking you away from someone at home.”

You were worried about him. It was different from the way his first love showed that she cared, she was more of a person who showed that she was worried, less vocal than you.

“No,” He chuckles light heartedly. Coming into your car, he was tensed and intimidated by your presence, but seeing the way you stuttered your words made you seem more human than how the employees made you out to be. “I’m alone. No one is nagging at me at home.”

“Ah,” You say, tapping your fingers onto the wooden table. “I see. I’m really impressed with your work, Junmyeon. How did you get into your career field?”

“Just seemed simpler at the time,” He admits, leaning back into his chair. “It was an easy major that my group of friends were considering, and although I really wanted to pursue music, I knew I needed some stability.”

“Music?” You ask as the waitress comes by with glasses full of water as you bow your head in appreciation. “Are you still interested in it?”

“Mm, sometimes. I’ve produced some songs here and there, I enjoy working with my creative side.”

“Would you venture out of your comfort zone?”

“I mean, if I could I would. But I have bills to pay, so I stay where I am now and do the best I can at it.”

You’re quiet for a moment as the server comes by, delivering your bowls of ramyun to the table. The aroma coming from the food made your mouths water, and your stomach growling in hunger in the process. “Sorry,” Your cheeks flush pink. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Don’t apologize,” A smile tugs on the edges of his mouth softly. “It’s natural.”

Your stomach tightens at his smile but you brush it off as just a reaction from starving yourself from yesterday’s lunch. Business has been blooming, taking time away from your everyday from actually taking care of yourself. Taking Junmyeon here was supposed to be a learning experience about him, something you said you’d try doing frequently with your employees, but getting to eat at your favorite restaurant was your own version of self-care.

“How would you consider working in my marketing department? Well, more of the design or creative team. I have commercials and clips they play in stores to produce, and if you’re interested, maybe you can dip your toes in that. Both working with music and filmography?”

Junmyeon stops in the midst of blowing the steam from his raging hot noodles, lips pursed. “Wait, what?”

After chewing a mouthful of the delicious ramyun that awakens both you and your tastebuds, you blissfully lean back in your seat. “Jesus, just one bite takes me away.” You compliment before sitting back up, preparing yourself for another spoonful. “What I’m trying to say is, if you’re interested, you should consider working in the marketing department. I can’t offer you a record deal, but I can get your foot in the door somewhere.”

“I haven’t shown you a portfolio or anything.” He says, sweat beads forming on his forehead, and he’s not sure if it’s from anxiety or the temperature of the noodles.

“You don’t need to. It’s a learning experience and you grow and improve as you go. I trust that if you enjoy it enough, you’d get better with it. If you don’t, that’s okay. Feel free to tell me and I’d be more than happy to put you back in the business department, hauling away with meetings and conversations with both men and women that you probably hate with a fiery passion.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Do you want it or not, Junmyeon? I’m a busy woman, I’m trying to eat my noodles.”

Knocking on the tall wooden doors that lead into your office, he discreetly opens it slightly, peering before completely entering. He calls out your name, the gentlest sound you’ve ever heard as your head snaps in his direction. “You asked for me?”

“I did!” You point to the seat across from your desk, gesturing for him to get comfortable. 

“What could I do for you?”

You’re finishing up an email, eyes glued on the monitor before hitting the ‘send’ button before fully giving your whole attention to the male in front of you. “It’s been a week since you’ve started in your new department. How is it?”

You were right, it had been an entire week since you’ve last spoken, occasionally exchanging glances in the office, and Junmyeon can’t believe how quickly time had passed by. You had transitioned him in the marketing department, with hopes that he could get some more exposure to a different part of the industry since his dreams fit more with dipping into his artistic skills. He was enjoying the new experience so much that he had forgotten how much time had passed, assuming he’d only seen you several days go.

“It’s been a week already?” He says without thought, running his fingers through his lightly styled hair. You can’t help but notice the way he makes your breath hitch but you dismiss the feeling by clearing your throat. “I guess I’ve been enjoying it so much I haven’t even noticed how quickly time has passed.”

“That’s good to hear!” He actually seemed delighted with his new job. One of the perks of being in your position was being able to do things like this and see people change, see people be happy. If it fit your means to do it, you’d make it happen. “I’m glad. Please feel free to tell me if you’re having any issues. I’m flexible, if you’re not content with what you’re doing, I can always transfer you somewhere else within the company, or even back to where you were.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure, shoot. What is it?” You rest your arms on your large glass desk that seemed so tiny in your spacious office. 

He’s quiet for a moment, licking his lips in thought. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t think it was possible for me to... just switch out of my department and do something entirely new. I don’t have the skillset for it, nor a degree or anything.”

Shrugging, you purse your lips, eyes circling the room. “Because life isn’t easy. Not everyone is going to find what they enjoy in their high school years when they’re applying for colleges. Hell, college isn’t necessarily the place you’re guaranteed to find what you like anyway.”

“But you did?”

“I did, but I got lucky. I’ve witnessed enough people go through those feelings. Graduating from a university with a degree you worked hard to obtain in four years, only to realize that this isn’t what you want?” Taking a brief moment to organize your thoughts, you continue. “I want the people who work for me to be happy, Junmyeon. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them, if it weren’t for people like you. In actuality, I think I work for everyone here since everyone is working to make my dreams come true. It’s only fair if I try to do the same.”

Junmyeon wasn’t quite sure why, but he was comparing you to his first love again. 

There was a huge difference between the both—few similarities like how independent the two of you were, how immersed in your careers you’d been, and how much you cared for other people. It’d been the first time in a while since he’d been so observant and drawn someone, so distracted from his ex that he found himself wanting to know more about you.

“That’s... selfless.” 

“Just a thought.” You grin, tapping the pads of your fingertips against your desk again. It’s a habit of yours when you’re dubious about your next action, he picks up. “Do you think you can show me some of the things you’re working on before they air?”

“I heard you got a new job,” Chanyeol says from beside, startling Junmyeon as he’s grabbing a couple pieces of pork onto his plate. “How’d you land such a great deal? You’re producing the commercial for that skincare line you used to work for, right?”

“Somewhat right,” Junmyeon responds, a bit distracted by cooking the raw meat, placing the completed ones on Chanyeol’s plate. “I still work for that company. They just transferred me out the department to try something new.”

“No way.” Chanyeol’s eyes are huge, but they’re bulging out his head from surprise. “How did that happen?”

Junmyeon shrugs however a smile sits brightly in his face. “CEO asked what I wanted to do, I told her, and here we are.”

“Sounds like she likes you.” Minseok interjects into the conversation, popping open another bottle of cold beer. “You won the heart of the big CEO lady already? Sounds like a Korean drama,” He says, wriggling his brows suggestively.

Junmyeon denies. “Honestly, she does this thing where she has lunch with several employees to get to know what they do everyday since there has been growth in the company.”

“So you’ve had lunch with her?” Jongin is in on the conversation now, eyes from all the men at the table glued into Junmyeon.

“Uh, yes?”

“So, it was a lunch date.” Sehun invites himself in.

“No, it was just a boss and employee lunch. What’s up with you guys?”

“You’ve never really... talked about a girl lately.” Jongdae points out faintly, almost like he’s scared to pull a nerve. “At least, not for this long.”

“She’s nice... I just don’t think someone like her would ever like someone like me, though. She’s attractive, nice, and caring— but guys, come on. She owns an entire skincare line that are on the shelves of every store.”

“Stop talking down on yourself,” Chanyeol’s speaking now, and his warm orbs are comforting when they meet with Junmyeon’s. “There’s no guarantee that you’ll meet your soulmate, especially since the age is coming up. Doesn’t hurt to try shooting your shot with her, right?”

The age. The age where once you turn thirty, your chances of ever meeting your soulmate declines almost to 2%. Junmyeon has already hit the ripe age of 29 with only a year left before his probability descends into the abyss.

“I can’t hit on her.” He furrows his brows, stuffing his cheeks with a bite of kimchi. “She’s my boss.”

“Be discreet. Give her some subtle hints. If she doesn’t reciprocate, then abort mission and pretend you were just being nice.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes at his friends’ advices. They were constantly interrupting each other with new ideas after another before someone taps his shoulder. “Junmyeon?”

“Oh— hey. Hey!” He says your name; he always says it the same way, the way that it warms your heart to the point you just wish you could grab his arms to wrap around you so you could doused yourself in his scent. He had an impact on you but you held your composure. Maybe you were starting to crush on him, if you haven’t already, because he was just so kind but he’s the type to be kind to everyone.

“Uh, guys. This is my boss...” He introduces, scratching his head. He continues on naming the rest of his group, hesitant about the whole ordeal as you wave cheekily to them all.

“You guys can just call me by my name, I’m not Junmyeon’s boss outside of the office.” You turn to look at the older male, hands stuffed into the front pockets of your jeans.

Even in the horrible brightness of fluorescent lighting, you managed to still look seamlessly beautiful in Junmyeon’s eyes. Your attire was distinct from the everyday work apparel yet you still appeared put together. Maybe Junmyeon was the one crushing.

“Come join us!” Chanyeol says quickly, gesturing the seat on the other side of Junmyeon as Jongdae slides over to give you enough room.

Junmyeon clicks his tongue, feigning a hit to Chanyeol before looking over at you. “I’m sorry, are you here with someone? I don’t want to take you away from them or force you to sit with us if you don’t want to.”

“Ah, honestly, I was just going to order something off the menu and take it home to eat. Unless you don’t want me here?” 

“Oh, no, of course I want you here, come,” Junmyeon responds, tapping the empty seat beside him. Timidly, you shrug your shoulders before taking up the offer and settle at the side of Junmyeon. 

Throughout the night, being with Junmyeon and his friends let you discover a completely new side of him. With them, he was considered the ‘mother’ of the group, nurturing and looking out for the rest of them, despite not being the eldest. He’s admirable, so Yixing remarks, but also selfless because he never has himself on his mind other than his friends and family.

When Junmyeon excuses himself to the bathroom, you learn that he sacrificed his relationship with the girl of his dreams so she could be with her soulmate regardless of the fact that she didn’t want to be with him because he rejected her. You find out that Chanyeol was the friend, and that he wants nothing more than to help find happiness for him as well. 

You pay for dinner. Junmyeon argues with you about it for a brief moment before you jokingly threaten that his job was on the line and he pouts in return. You’re almost bold enough to tell him that if he lets you kiss his pout that he could pay.

“Uh... Why are you in my office?”

“You cancelled on lunch last time. And a few times before that. I wanted to come so I can spontaneously take you out for dinner instead.”

You squint your eyes at the male in front of you, throwing the pen in your hand on your desk heatedly. “Catch the hint? I’m not very interested in the idea of having lunch with you. Or anything, really.”

“The idea, but you haven’t done it yet.”

Eunwoo is probably the cutest guy you’ve laid your eyes on but after dating for three years, it became evidently clear that the two of you didn’t click at all. Girls were at his beck and call, and you were growing tired of having to tell him which girls had bad intentions. You felt like his mom. He’s too sweet but it was starting to hurt your pride a bit when rumors were going around that he was flirting with others so you immediately put a stop to the relationship. 

“Eunwoo,” You sigh heavily, leaning back in your swivel chair. It’s around 5:00PM at this point, your day filled with meetings and tasks regarding a new launch approaching soon. “This... is really sweet of you. But we broke up.”

“I’m obviously here to try again.”

“You’re so oblivious about women all the time! I’m tired of teaching you, I need someone who doesn’t need to be groomed to fit me.”

There’s a knock on the door, and both your heads snap toward the direction to only see Junmyeon’s head peeking into the room. “Uh, sorry, am I interrupting something? Johnny said I could come in.”

You wanted to call Junmyeon your own personal superhero because he’s standing there in what seems like his best work outfit, and you’re almost drooling at the sight of him. Maybe it was because it was already so late in the day, and he looks like he’s been at his desk for a long time since his tie is loosened around his neck, and a button is undone.

“No, please, come in.” Eunwoo’s glare could pierce through you right now but you keep your gaze away. 

“Sorry,” Junmyeon bows at the other male before Eunwoo takes a seat in the corner of the room where the black leather couches were. He wasn’t backing down any time soon. “I... finished the video.”

“Oh?” He’s handing you a small flashdrive that you take willingly, inserting it into your computer before clicking around on your desktop before you reach your destination.

“Do you have headphones or something?”

Your brows crinkle in confusion. “What?”

He pulls out his keys, flipping open a case that holds his AirPods, placing it into the palm of your hand as you tilt your head when he rounds your desk, helping you bluetooth the device in. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Just a bit embarrassed about my first project. I don’t actually want to see you watch it.”

Eunwoo has his legs crossed, eyes shooting darts in the direction of you. He must be bursting with jealousy with how Junmyeon is seemingly close to you, making his way back to the seat in front of your desk, settling comfortably. Eunwoo observes that this is definitely not the first time the other male has been in your office.

After a few moments, you pull the buds out from your ears, placing it back into the white case and returning it to Junmyeon. “Wow... I--... Honestly, Jun, that was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen. I mean I have some notes, don’t take it the wrong way, but... this is different.”

“I hope you mean a good kind of different?”

“Of course.”

He’s gifting you that warm smile again. “Send them over. I’ll take a look and send you an updated version.”

“You like him.”

“Hm?” You hum heedlessly, typing away on the computer with your comments still fresh in your mind. Junmyeon had left your office moments before, taking his leave home.

“You have a crush on that guy. I just saw you give him that look.” Agilely turning your head to face your ex-lover, you heave out a sigh. “What look, Eunwoo?”

“You used to look at me like that. I remember it because it’s when I knew that you returned those feelings for me and I went for it.” 

Frustrated, you push your keyboard away. “What? I can’t just look at a guy now? All of the sudden you’re an expert at these things? And why does it even matter? We’re not together anymore.”

“Because he’s competition? What else?”

“Eunwoo, get the fuck out please.” You say through your gritted teeth before throwing a post-it note stack at him as he makes his way out your office. “Okay, okay! I’ll be back though!”

There’s another knock at your door. Glancing at the clock that hangs above your desk, it reads 8:30PM and you could have sworn you told Johnny to go home hours ago. If it wasn’t Johnny, then...

Getting up from the couch full of loose papers and your laptop, you walk up toward the door, swinging it open. “Eunwoo, didn’t I tell you to fuck off—”

“Uh, I take it that the guy in the room earlier was Eunwoo then?”

In a pair of grey sweats and a T-shirt, Junmyeon is standing in your doorframe underneath a baseball cap. In his hands are bags of takeout, raising it up for your viewing once your eyes laid on it.

“What’s this?” You step aside to let him in, watching as he reorganizes the papers on your coffee table and places them onto another part of the couch, setting up the food. “You didn’t seem like you were going to cave into having dinner with that guy, and the launch is happening soon. I figured you’d still be here and skip dinner.”

In all honesty, this is what you would’ve wanted Eunwoo to do. Back when the two of you were dating, you had been stuck in the same scenario— couped up in your office, drowning yourself in paperwork without any time to make back home until the night before the launch day to get ready for the event. You wanted Eunwoo to take notice, doing something similar as to this, bringing food to you instead of forcing you to go out when you didn’t have much time to spare.

“I— I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Junmyeon, really. I was starving, but with how security is at the door at this time of night, delivery would’ve been a bit of a hassle.”

“Don’t sweat it, boss.” He jokes as you sit on the couch and he plops himself onto a seat across from you. “I got you the ramyun you had last time from that place you took me.”

“You did? How’d you remember what I ordered?”

“It was so spicy, I smelt it and sneezed a couple times.” Snapping the disposable chopsticks, he hands you the pair. “Plus, who would forget a name like ‘the Diablo Ramyun’? There’s a picture of a dragon breathing fire right next to the name on the menu.”

Junmyeon kept you company that night. He eventually started reading Webtoon comics on his phone after having dinner, laying on the couch before falling into a deep slumber, mouth agape. Grabbing a spare blanket you kept for nights you spent in your office, you drape it over his body, and pulled off his hat.

He looks angelic like this— albeit he has drool streaming from the sides of his mouth. Not obligated to stay, but nonetheless he did, all because he didn’t want you to be alone or feel lonely. Although you insisted he should go home, he contends, eventually winning the argument by comfortably designating the spot on the couch to himself. 

You don’t miss those soundless nights in your office anymore. Junmyeon’s snoring along with your tumultuous typing sets a new standard of bliss.

It’s been about two months since that night and Junmyeon is frequent in your life. 

He’s on speed-dial when you want to try new restaurants or go to events that are in the city, and he never fails to come by your side to keep you company. Sometimes, his smile catches you off guard, fluttering your heart, but other times, you think he feels as though his presence is necessary because you gave him his dream job.

“So, rumor has it: Junmyeon sleeps over at the office.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Johnny eyes you suspiciously. “Other than the fact that he leaves your office bright and early in the morning with slightly damp hair with an outfit that’s just barely different from the day before?”

Your breath stops, but your fingers continue to tap away at an email. “Does he?”

“So, you sleeping with him?” You stiffen, scowling at your assistant. “No, I am not.”

“What’s he doing in here then?” 

“He just... sleeps over whenever I’m having a late night session.”

“Oh, so you are sleeping with him.”

“Johnny.” You say firmly. “I am not. He just keeps me company ‘cause I’m all by myself here and it’s dark out.”

He’s reclining in the armchair in front of your desk, toes pushing off the ground while rocking the seat. “Why don’t you just ask him out if you like him that much? Why are you wasting your time just... ‘keeping company’ instead of... being his companion.”

“I’m his boss.”

“And? That’s a sexy thing. He might like a strong, self-sufficient woman. Hell—I know I do. But you’re not into me, so I’m gonna help Junmyeon if I can’t help myself.”

Ears now crimson, you admit defeat and lounge in your large work chair with a cumbersome sigh, playing along with his game. “I don’t have time to date.”

“He’s here at least once a week spending the night with you. You have time, and if you don’t, he’ll make the time to be with you.”

Pausing a moment in thought with a hum, you hit the tip of your fingers against the glass desk. “I’m not his type.”

“Oh hush, I see the way he looks at you. He thinks you’re gorgeous.”

Pursing up your lips, you assert, “I don’t believe that. What if I meet my soulmate?”

“Stop doubting your looks, he practically salivates at the sight of you that it’s all over the floor. Also, that soulmate thing? That never stopped you from dating Eunwoo, so why is Junmyeon any different?”

You shrug, playing with the pen in front of you. “His ex dated him and ended up being with her soulmate.”

“You honestly think you’re going to meet your soulmate? Tell me. You were in that research group for a couple years, what’d you gather from that?” If it wasn’t for HR, you’d probably have you hands wrapped around Johnny’s giraffe neck by now.

Back in University, you decided to partake in the Soulmate Research Group for your co-op program, rationalizing that this could help you find your ‘the one.’ The group resulted in slapping you into reality, educating you the chances of finding your soulmate had declined to almost none when considering the probability. It was the worst year of your life, having to come to terms that this fairy-tale that everyone in your life had made love seem was just something that only lucky people got to cooperate in.

“I... yeah, I know. It’s just so many goddamn people met their soulmate already, what about me? What makes me so different from the bunch?”

Johnny says your name, this time sweetly with a tone he never uses. “I never met my soulmate either. But Junmyeon is almost hitting 30, right? Imagine how he’s feeling. He can’t even get laid by a pretty girl that he sleeps in her office for on the most uncomfortable couch, let alone find his soulmate.”

“Do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that?” He glances at you quizzically, fixating his attention back under the hood of your car, twisting off the cap of your car sump, checking the oil levels. An oil light had popped onto the dashboard a couple days ago and you texted Junmyeon what he recommended to do, only for him to dispute that he’d check it himself.

“I don’t know, just answer it. Do you like me?”

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief as he wipes the oil rod with a rag. “Of course I like you. Why else would I hang out with you and change your oil?”

“No,” You groan, leaning against your front headlights, slouching in annoyance. “Like... not as a friend. As a woman. More than a friend, someone you want to date.”

He stands, slack-jawed. 

“Listen— I totally get if you don’t see me in that way, but Johnny said he saw the way you looked at me, and I figured, ‘hey, why not try to ask him out’ so—“

“Of course I see you that way. Who doesn’t? I kind of just assumed you weren’t into me since you were always rejecting my advances.”

“Advances?”

Lifting up the dirty rag in his greasy, stained hands, the sides of his mouth twitches upwards. “Like I said, why would I change your oil? Plus, how many nights have I slept in your office on that god awful couch? I also have a toothbrush in your bathroom. And spare underwear. Need I say more?”

Chewing on your bottom lip and watching as he finishes up, closing the hood of your car, you tap your shoes anxiously against the concrete ground. “Can I ask you something else?”

“What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You can already imagine how difficult showering is going to be later, but with Junmyeon’s plush lips pressed against yours, how could you complain about his tarnished hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, caressing the skin of your waist?

Guiding your hips to sit onto the hood of your car, your arms snake around his neck, playing with the longer strands of his hair that brush against his nape. The way he kisses feels like he’s going to suck the air out of your lungs but you couldn’t care less— you finally had him in your embrace and you weren’t going to let go.

He’s amiable, even though it’s contradicting that he’s tugging on your lower lip between his teeth, your lips swollen and plump from the aggressive make-out session. He doesn’t push too far, just right where you’re comfortable, especially when you’re in your opened garage out for your neighbors to see. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed but he’s already claimed the territory in the middle of your legs, towing you close with a grip on your thighs. Placing the palm of his hands on either side of you on the car, he grins cheekily after pulling out of the kiss, heavy pants against each other’s face.

“Did my boss just make-out with me?” You slap his chest, rolling your eyes in unison. “Stop it. I know you’re enjoying this, I feel it.” Wrapping your arms around his lower frame, you pull him close, pressing your crotch against his as his groans. “Now you stop it. I’m not taking you here.”

Junmyeon is a gentleman. He declares that he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere near the bedroom until he takes you out on a proper date, in spite of the fact that you both had broken his rule of no kissing and no sex before a date. 

If you thought that you had everything you wanted before, you were wrong. Not until you met him.

“I met my soulmate.”

Straightening the paperwork on your desk, pretending to preoccupy yourself from this conversation and stay cool, you place the manila envelopes flat back on your desk, eyes eventually locked on the figure in your office. “Okay?”

“This means we can’t go back to what we ever were again...”

Feelings of uncertainty arise in your stomach—it’s obvious it’s jealousy. Was it because he found his soulmate and he was never coming back or that you haven’t even met yours? 

Eunwoo stands in the middle of the room, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, contemplating what to say next. 

“We’re not together anymore.”

He knows this—he knows this so well with the amount of times you remind him that it’s embedded in his brain, nonetheless in the general picture of things, Eunwoo always thought that you’d find your way back home and into his arms. He’d tell you this, despite the amount of times you’ve rejected him, but hearing now that he really won’t come back because he has a soulmate hits different. 

Maybe Eunwoo had been a back-up plan. There’s never 100% bliss in a relationship, and you never saw yourself getting married to him and having kids but the thought of having Eunwoo in the back of your head meant that even if you didn’t find ‘the one,’ Eunwoo would be the replacement. It sounds fuck-up, it all sounded fucked-up but who would love a woman who ran an entire company by herself and barely have time for anyone else in her life?

“It means... I officially can’t come back to you anymore and you can’t expect for me to fall back into your hands like putty. I’m done... but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.”

“I know, Eunwoo.”

“It’s just— it’s my soulmate.”

“Don’t miss out on that opportunity.” You say sternly. 

Thwarted by your reaction, he snaps. “I’m so sick of this. I should’ve just given up sooner—I’ve been in your life for 6 years, we dated for 3, and you can’t even be happy for me? You can’t even tell me that you still love me although you’re the one who left me?”

Head dropping onto the back of your chair, you close your eyes for a moment. “Eunwoo, I’ll always love you, I never thought I had to remind you of that. But we never worked out, we stopped clicking after a year in. We’re on different pages, we’re doing different things, and I never had the time to spend with you anymore.”

“It wasn’t that you never had the time, you never made time.”

“Don’t say that. I didn’t have time. You never made the effort to spend it with me.”

“What?” He says sharply. “Tell me, what could I have done differently? I want to hear it?”

Running your fingers through your strands of hair frustratedly, you grumble in discontent. “I wanted you to be here with me on those nights I spent in the office. I wanted to have dinner with you here, but you always insisted we go out. I wanted you to be part of my projects, do things with me because we’re in the same field, yet you couldn’t even do that. I wanted you to be around and try in other ways even if it was hard to spend time with each other.”

“You’re the one who stopped trying!”

“I stopped trying when I saw how much effort you were putting into meeting these girls instead of me! How do you think I feel when you’re out buying coffee and delivering it to your co-worker? You couldn’t even do that for me.”

Clenching his jaw, he gives you a look before saying his last words. “You’re right. Maybe we weren’t right for each other.” As he’s walking toward the doors existing your office, you silently say, “She was your soulmate, wasn’t she? The co-worker.”

He turns to look at you, eyes sudden soft compared to moments ago. You were right. You’re always right.

Junmyeon is handsome in this lighting but it’s difficult to focus on the date with your argument with your ex from earlier.

He planned everything for the night—the lights, the picnic blanket, and wicker basket filled with delicious foods that he had cooked himself, a skill that he had been trying to improve lately since his roommate, Kyungsoo, had left for the military, and Chanyeol moved out to live with his soulmate. 

Pulling out two wine glasses, following with a bottle, he pops the cork out before pouring some into yours. “So, what’s on your mind?” Snapping back into reality, you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your arm.

“I’m sorry? Did you say something and I missed it? Nothing’s on my mind.”

“No, something is definitely up in there. I can see it in your face.” Handing the glass to you, he’s taking out the rest of the food from the basket; he’d packed everything from kimchi to kimbap, even cheese and deli meats. There was also pie— jesus, did he have to try so hard to get to your heart? You would be melting in his affection at this point if your head wasn’t so occupied.

“Uh... honestly, there’s something. But I’m not really in the mood to talk about it because it might ruin our date.”

“I’m afraid it would ruin our date if you don’t say anything.” He raises a brow.

Shoulders dropping in defeat, you take a sip of your wine for a boost of confidence. “Fine, fine. Eunwoo met his soulmate.”

Junmyeon nods, lips pursed. “Ah, I see. And you always thought that if it didn’t work out with someone else, you’d at least have Eunwoo?”

You freeze.

How’d he know that?

Almost like he read your thoughts, he’s speaking as he’s unraveling the plastic off the plates and containers. “I can kind of tell. You never fully pushed him away. If you didn’t want him in your life at all, you would’ve asked Johnny and the building to kick him out once he went through the lobby doors. Never happened— he’s even on your calendar for lunch, even if you don’t go.”

“You’re rather observant, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.” He grins, taking your hand and giving it a light kiss. “Listen, I understand. Does it have to do with the soulmate thing?”

“A bit...” 

He shakes his head in condemnation, gaze drifting off at the sun that slowly begins to set in the horizon. “I hope you’re not upset because of me just because my ex left me for her soulmate. Not everyone meets their soulmate, you know? So if you met whomever it is, I’d want you to be with them.”

Ugh, Junmyeon is the epitome of a perfect man. It had been a thought that was on your mind recently, although you knew your chances of meeting your soulmate was slim, there was always that chance. 

“Thank you, Junmyeon. I feel the same way about you, you know.” With that, he nods in agreement before sticking a fork into the cheese, lifting it up to your lips. “Less talking about sad stuff now. Cheese?” With a smile, you comply with his offer and open your mouth.

The sun has long disappeared for the night and his friend, the moon, makes an appearance. Junmyeon is even more beautiful under the moonlight, if possible, laying on the blanket with his head resting on his arm as he admires the stars in the sky. 

Dinner was amazing— Junmyeon never fails to impress. You have to thank Chanyeol’s soulmate later on for going back to him because if it wasn’t for their bonding, you would’ve never actually met him. The previous year had taken a toll on you; the constant traveling from Japan, China, and Korea was deteriorating your health that you’d spend most of time in your office. Junmyeon didn’t even meet you until about two months ago. 

Your mind wanders off. Questions like: ‘how did Chanyeol meet his soulmate’ and ‘what stopped him from wanting to get to know the girl’ or ‘did any of your other friends meet their soulmate’ all flooded your head. You figured the night had been going so well you’d avoid the topic of soulmate and save those questions for another time. After what seemed like a moment, another inquiry lights a bulb over your head.

“Wait... we never talked about this before, but do you have a marking?”

“Of course,” He looks at you confusingly. “We all have markings.”

“But I never saw yours, and you never saw mine.” You clarify, and he nods at your statement. “Well, okay, yes, that’s true. Did you want to see it? Where’s yours?”

“On my hip-bone.” You respond, tugging down on the fabric at the hem of your shirt gingerly. Eyes bulging at your response, his body tenses. “What?”

Meticulously lifting the end of his shirt up, there’s a daisy that sits on his hip-bone and you finally understand why he’s giving you such a strange reaction. Mimicking his actions, you show him yours— a daisy.

[doyochieks]

the man of my dreams.

DoyoungxReader

Word Count: 2.6k

Sometimes, if I look closely, I can still see him.

His eyes, delicate and strong, telling stories with every blink.

And his smile...that gummy smile of his, a breath of fresh air in midsummer. It's warm but it's not the kind you loathe for being too ardent.

I like everything about him. He is sturdy yet clumsy. With a physique like his, you'll never imagine that clumsiness is a part of his charm. He is clever yet humble. Sometimes, I hate him for being a smart mouth but he never crossed the line nor chose to show off. He is self-loving yet considerate. He knows what he wants and I admire him for that, but he was never not cautious with his actions or words. Delicate words always come out of his mouth that makes me wonder if it is really his words or his lips that make it so beautiful. To sum it up, he is imperfect and humane.

But the thing is...I don't even know him, or if he exists.

Usually, when you dream in your sleep, it is either of the two: it involves you or somewhere you thought of being involved in. But mine is a little different, someone else appears and I have no idea how and why it happened. It's like a system within me, every time I close my eyes, I see him. But when it's open, he was never there.

--

Today is a usual Saturday at the coffee shop; swarming with people combined with the cacophony of their chitchats. I don't hate it but I like the stillness of Tuesdays better. The smell of coffee never fails to elate me which is why I love my job. Making people drinks and seeing them enjoy it over either a me-time or hangout with friends intoxicate me. And well, free coffee!

"Two Iced Americano for Johnny!"

It was almost closing time yet there are still people left; some coming in, but most are leaving. I was preparing to clean up when I heard the door open, perhaps rushing in as it is just ten minutes before closing. The customer might have tripped himself since there was a rattle of chairs near the entrance.

"Uh, sorry about that. I can still order, can't I?" he asked my co-worker who was assigned to be today's cashier.

"Yes, sir. You're just about in time." I can hear her smile through the words she just uttered. Washing my hands to prepare for his drink, I didn't mind looking back. Upon confirming the order, I started working on it. I usually remember the first and last customers of the day. They seem special in a way that out of all the customers, I'm most thankful for them. For trusting a barista in either making or ruining their morning, and coming in even if the door seems closing already.

"One iced latte for Do---young?"

And that moment, I was so sure I won't forget today's last customer. He looked at me with those eyes, those that I’ve only seen in my dreams. I'm not sure how long I stared but I was sure that his eyes were dreamier in person.

"Uhm, yes? That would be me."

Confusion is painted on his face that I always longed to touch. But no, this can't be real. I'm starting to think that it may be because I had four cups of coffee today.

"Ah right! Enjoy your drink, Doyoung."

I handed him his drink and stared at his hands instead. It's as pretty as I always see with my closed eyes and recurring dreams. He smiled at me as he said thanks and I just smiled back, or I thought I did. Standing there in what feels like forever, I turned to my colleague.

"I'm sorry but can you close up for the day? I just remembered something really really important."

"If it's your gas valve, then you should run for your life."

"Thanks! I'm going."

I grabbed my bag and ran out as fast as I could, looking right and left thinking where he headed to. My mind has stopped functioning properly but my feet were constantly moving. This must be the luckiest day for me as I saw him waiting on the bus stop, with the coffee I made in his hands. He might have heard how loud my thoughts were (or it's because I was panting from the run) because he stood up and got worried all of a sudden. I watched him struggling to check his pockets while holding the latte in his other hand as I catch my breath. With much of a thought, I said,

"Uh....hi!"

But he replied as soon as I greeted him,

"Sorry! Did I leave my card behind?? I'm sorry you have to run all the way I---"

"No, it's not that."

He stopped looking for his wallet and gave me a questioning look. The way he tilted his head a bit and curiosity flashing through his eyes got me giggling: you can never really fail to catch what he's thinking through that mind of his.

"Sorry, didn't mean to laugh. I just had to say something but it might sound really weird. Well, actually, it ---"

"What is it?"

He cut me off, surprised and I knowingly smiled. He really can't stand not knowing something huh.

"It is weird so please bear with me, and I'm apologizing in advance."

"No, not that."

"What?"

"I meant the giggle, what's with that?

He caught me off guard with his question, as he always did in my dreams. How come he's real? I thought he was just a figment of my frivolous imagination. And yet, he's here standing in front of me dressed in his usual alluring self, with my very own open eyes. I'm still doubting if this is just the effect of my caffeine intake plus the fatigue today's shift has brought me, or maybe this is one of those dreams again pretending it is real. Either way, I decided not to let this pass.

"It's just that...you're very transparent and you do not even try to cover it up, well, most of the time."

Eyes boring into me and eyebrows meeting a bit in the middle, it is evident that he is questioning this very moment, me, and the unknown that I didn't have an answer to. Ah, it's the Aquarius in him. I wanted to laugh but I don't want to look weirder than I already am, instead I gave him a nervous smile.

"Wait, you know me?"

"Uh, well, I first heard your name like 10 minutes ago?"

"I mean, me. Not my name."

That smart mouth of his never misses its timing. My smile turns bigger but not enough to shake the nervousness away.

"So?"

He asked with sassiness and kindness combined I don't know how he does it. I just find it amazing, I mean everything about him is.

"I told you it's weird and it's a long story. But if you want to know--"

"I'm all ears."

"Uh, okay? Uhm would it be alright if I ask that we walk around the park?"

He raises his eyebrow and I felt myself blushing with all the ideas coming to his head. I want to bump my head on a hard surface so that I can think straight since I'm not really sure what I'm doing but every cell in me shouts to make the most of this chance so I did.

"I mean, it's just that, I don't think I'll be able to tell you all about it while standing still and just staring at you. But if you're not comfortable with it, it's totally fine!"

It must be because I look and sound dumb, he grinned. He is as warm as I've always seen in my dreams, my heart can't help but flutter.

"A walk sounds good."

He smiled like he's assuring me that I'm still fine, not crazy enough for him to shout for help. I've always had existential crisis but this is the most I've had in a day, and maybe, just maybe this is the answer to it.

"Let's go?"

"Uh yes, okay. Let me just take off my apron. Oh god, I was wearing it this whole time?"

I did a lot of things to be embarrassed about but I never thought that talking to the man I like in my barista apron, and realizing it later on could be the worst of it all. I turned around for the sole purpose of hiding my abashed self, and untied my apron as the excuse. His hearty laugh is all I hear and even though it must be because of how foolish I look, it makes me feel giddy.

I walked ahead of him since there is no doubt that I'm all red and yet I wanna look back and check if he's following me only to see that he's walking beside me already. I avoided eye contact, cursing myself internally for all the things that I could've done better today. I don't think I could bring to trust myself for making the first move or uttering the first word due to shame I brought upon myself so I matched my every step with his.

Seconds passed and he asked, thank the gods old and new he did,

"So what's the long and weird story you were talking about?"

Then again, he smiled. One expressing benevolence and a hope of not making someone discomfort. Right there and then, I realized, there is one thing I hate about him: he easily smiles. I breathed in and started story-telling.

--

I told him how I started seeing flashes of him since the start of college and how terrified I was at first since it felt like I was invading his privacy or something. Added in the bits of my conspiracy theory about this and that I tried knowing more about it then eventually giving up. Lastly, I narrated how it turned from mystery to curiosity of knowing him to affection and longing. I don't think I can save face after all this, but this is it. No backing out. I heave a deep sigh.

"And now you're here, listening to this non-sense I stated. It feels like a fever dream, really."

He stopped walking and turned to me, the iced latte cup left with some ice cubes in hand.

"It's a beautiful story. I don't fully believe you but I don't think you made this up either. Plus, the Doyoung in your dreams sounds like me so if I was in your shoes, I'd be confused too."

He laughs and I can't help but smile. I know it was too much to take in, especially from a stranger but he was considerate enough to listen and try to comprehend. I haven't met the whole population of men in this vast universe but I don't think I can ever look at them the way I look at Doyoung. I was just hoping that his kindness would go a long way, so I mustered the remaining courage I have in me.

"I bet this is all confusing for you, but this is what I'm sure of: I like you, Doyoung. I really do."

But fate had plans and his kindness has its limits.

"I'm sorry."

If this is a dream, please wake me up now. Please.

"It's a beautiful story, and I had fun listening to you tonight. But I don't think it's me, it's the man in your dreams that you like, not me."

"It is you. I just didn't know your name before or of your existence but it is you!"

"You didn't even know if I exist before. I just happened to walk in that café and the characteristics of the man from your dream fits so you decided it is me. We maybe alike but I'm not him. You like him, that we're sure of, but I'm not him. I'm sorry."

Every rationality I have left struck through me and tears started falling. As always, he's right.

"But I've seen you. I'm sure of those eyes that show what you feel or think as of the moment, that build looking so sturdy yet there's a hidden clumsiness, that smart mouth of yours that doesn't miss its beat. And these hands, I'm sure it is the one I'm always holding in my dreams. It is you."

I held on his soft hands like a lifeline, dropping on the ground. I never cried publicly so this must be a first and I know people are staring, I just can't seem to prioritize what they think of me over how my heart feels like it is hammered to pieces. This can't be real. I squeezed his hand for validation, praying this is just a nightmare or a joke, yes I think I can take this as joke but he squeezed my hand back. I hid my face between my knees as tears won't stop. My throat feels like someone poured a whole bottle of whiskey on it, I'm on fire, and I'm slowly burning to ashes, about to scatter away. It hurts.

I felt him match my current height. Without letting go of my hand, he held my face in his other one and all I see are his eyes. Those eyes that always made my day, reassured me when I was feeling doubtful, looked at me like he was happy to have me in every moment we had, and never hid any emotion with me. And as I looked at him, I see that he feels sorry for me, and confused with what he needs to do. So I did, what I have to. I let go of his hand, stood up and smiled at him.

"Sorry for all the ruckus. I'm pretty sure you didn't sign up for this."

I tried laughing but he smiled at me, and now my eyes are starting to send a new batch of tears.

"I really am sorry. I don't know what to say but I do hope you'll find him."

Isn't it ironic? Someone waving his goodbye with hopeful wishes of you finding the one you've longed for but it is him. You know it is him. But he knows himself, better than a stranger whose been seeing him only in her dreams. He is sure it isn't him, his face tells it all.

I looked away, not able to handle looking at him, walking away.

"I guess this is goodbye?"

Goodbye never sounded so painful like this until it came from him. He smiled and I nod, diverting my face away.

My eyes once again began to well up. I waved him a single goodbye and didn't dare look. I can hear him walking away and it was the saddest song I ever heard. I hugged myself while silently crying in the middle of the night at a park. Suddenly, I realized that this is the probably the last I'll ever saw of him so I dared look. He's walking towards the bus stop where I found him earlier. The image is so heart-rending but I can't look away either. I want to see him more, even if it's the sight of him walking away from me.

--

Sometimes, if I look closely, I can still see him.

His eyes, telling me that he's sorry.

His smile, bright against the dimness of the night, trying to console me.

His figure walking away from me, sure of himself and what he did.

His words, carefully constructed to a stranger who claims she knows him through her dreams.

He exists and he's out there.

I never dreamt of him again. I dread every waking hour as I plead for another hour, minute or second of perhaps seeing him again but it never happened. Every time I closed my eyes, I see him walking away from me in the park and I've come to accept that I'll never wake up from that...since it wasn't a dream anyway.

[freemanverse-casualcomp-au]

Just A Normal Day at Your Neighborhood Arcade

AKA when your local neighborhood arcade is unknowingly also a place where two infamous legends meet up to play against each other.

Also why they’re HOT?!

His name is Gerald, and today is his first day working at a local neighbourhood arcade on New Mexico. He’s working as a part-timer worker with pretty decent pay, which is rare these days. His day duty is also quite simple; overwatch the place and make sure the visitors don’t cause much trouble while playing.

Seems simple enough, he thought, eyeing the nearly empty arcade. Today will be one peaceful day, huh…

“Hi there, Johnson!” One of his co-workers, Jason, waving at him while passing by his station, one of his hands carrying a red toolbox. He waved back at him, eyes lazily scanning the area around the mechanic as he stopped and put down the box beside some large arcade machines for Tekken 7.”Good luck on your first day here, I’d reckon you might need it.”

“What are you up to, Jay?” Gerald half-shouted, earning a glance from the mechanic.

Jason loudly hummed, eyes shifting back at the machine he’s working at. “Re-checking these fighting game machines so their performances on tip-top shape when both of them using them.” He answered the part-timer’s question, a small chuckle escaped from his lips. “Those two won’t stop nagging me if the controllers have a slight delay on them.”

Gerald raised one of his eyebrows. “Those two? Who?”

“Ah, well-”

“-and y’know how Chell is when she’s very determined, so she kept her distance to Gladys less than a meter, basically gluein’ herself to our cold albino queen!”

“Darn, that reminds me of when Alyx trying to get Hawk to smile, but most of her attempts failed and-”

The part-timer’s head turned to the source of the new voices that came from the front entrance. A massive-looking brunette-haired man with a black hooded suit and coat pants with an orange-coloured tie was talking to his slightly shorter companion, a lighter and slightly longer length brunette-haired man with a red plaid flannel shirt with the sleeve rolled to the elbow and paired with a pair of blue denim jeans and a black newsboy cap.

They definitely not looked like somebody that play in an arcade, one is too formal-looking and other looks like one of those farmboy helpers.

“Oh, welcome back, both of you!” Jason chirped, eyes still focusing on the machines. “How’s the last week’s match? Who won?”

The plaid flannel man pointed at the hooded suit man. “Gords beat ‘em up, and I got the second place.”

The mechanic heartily laughed. “Of course he is, as expected from North America’s Tekken legend.”

Gerald’s ears perked up. “These guys are famous?”

“Oh, I’m not really.” The hooded suit man shrugged, then nudged the plaid flannel man. “But this man over here was one of the youngest and most renowned archaeologists at the age of fifteen years old, now working as an archaeology major sub-teacher at Michigan State University and also a pro gamer.”

The plaid flannel man stuttered for a second before he got a grip. “A-anyway, we’re trainin’ together again for Tekken World Tour later,” he paused for a bit, his expression now a bit apologetic, “we’re sorry for last month, our friends got a bit...wild…”

Jason laughed out loud. “Don’t worry, your bosses paid more than the damage cost and now we got additions of a Japanese retro puzzle arcade and a racing car arcade.” He briefly shifted his eyes again, now at the two men while smiling softly. “I don’t mind both your friends’ vicious battle last month. In fact, it’s been a while since this arcade got that much rowdy and the visitors were enjoying their rivalry.”

The hooded suit man huffed out in relief. “Oh thank you, they’re feral children, alright.”

“Uhhhh, I’m sorry to disturb your conversation, but who are you both?” Gerald raised his voice, getting the two men’s attention. Both men went silent, before practically sprinting towards him, eyes sparkling with delight.

“We haven’t introduced ourselves yet, so of course you don’t know!” The hooded suit man started to flaunt a bit. “The name’s Gordon Freeman, but call me Antoine, honey bee~” He winked his green eyes at the part-timer, making his face heat up.

OH GOD, HIS GAY SOUL IS SCREAMING TO HUG HIM-

“And don’t take your eyes off me there, good-lookin’” The plaid flannel man tilted his chin with his finger to meet his bluish-green eyes, he could see the man’s smirk widened a bit as he tipped his cap down a bit, “the name’s Johnny Grady, nice to meet you too, pardner.”

Gerald immediately backed down from his station, stuttering badly as he covered his reddened face with both palms.

Goddamn, he’d already met two hot dudes on his first day already? What kind of fever dream he’s in now?

“Both of you, can both of you don’t flirt with the new staff, please?” Both men paused and looked behind them, Jason scoffed as if he’s disappointed. “Because of you both, the last one resigned because he questioned his sexuality so much after you both flirting with him so much. The last time I saw him after that, he’s waving a bisexual flag at the local pride fair.”

The part-timer slowly raised his hand. “I’m gay, though.”

Both men quickly turned their head at him, eyes widening for a while before grinning to each other. He could hear the mechanic’s loud sigh from his position. “...fine, but don’t overwhelm him.”

All of the sudden, he got hit by both men’s flirt attempts, each one managed to steal his heart bit by bit. His inner self slowly dying from all the hits it took and finally passed out as his outer self curled himself into a ball on the floor, his whole face was as red as a beet. Although he didn’t see them, he could see the piercing gaze, thirst for more flirting attempts, but his co-worker’s loud whistle stopped the gaze.

“Once again, please don’t overwhelm the poor boy!” Jason’s tone took more of a disappointed parent as he scolded both men. “Now look at what you did, he’s overheating! Leave him alone for a moment and go play here. I’ve placed an adapter for your console, Grady.”

“Goddamn, Jason. Thanks for your service!” And with that, the men walked away from his station. He was lying on the floor for several minutes, accompanied by both men’s excited gasps and shouts as Tekken 7’s arcade noises playing in the background.

It took him most of his willpower to get up and observe the men playing. At first, he wasn’t interested in any of things they’re playing, but as time passes, he focused on the notebooks they’ve brought with them as they scribbling down combos or put down characters’ key weaknesses and how to cover them. Over time, they watched some videos of the previous tournament and listing out strats for their foes. Though they’re also listed things about each other, there wasn’t any kind of bitterness feelings between them. In fact, he could categorize them as friendly rivals.

It’s been a while since he witnessed this kind of rivalry.

“You’re okay now?” Jason’s sudden voice startled him a lot, almost make him scream, but his common sense managed to get ahold of his composure. The part-timer nodded in response. “Good looks like they’re going to take their leave.” The mechanic pats his back. “Great job at handling their flirts for the first time, most employees’ responses were either faint or having an existential crisis.”

Ah, is that so…

he couldn’t blame them, their flirts were indeed that powerful.

“They’re both pro players from different org.” He pointed at the hooded suit man- or Antoine, he recalled. “That man is known as The Player in Hooded Suit, GorgeousMan from Black Mesa. He’s one of some North American players legend who got acknowledged by overseas players.” He then shifted his finger to the plaid flannel man- or Johnny. “As for him, he’s also known as The Wild Card Player, Rick from Aperture Games. Like Freeman, Grady’s got history to always score on minimal Top 8 or above that.” He lowered his hand, a smile still plastered on his face. “I’m proud to have them playing in this arcade.”

“Sounds like they’re a great person…” Jason slightly nodded, agreeing.

Few minutes later, both men were done packing their things and starting to head out, but not before Antoine once again winked and Johnny finger-gunned, both towards him. His heart fluttered, not as much as before, but it’s enough to warm his heart. He waved at them and they waved back at him with smiles plastered on their face.

Ah shit, he couldn’t leave from this job now, he’s fallen for two dudes he’d just met...

[trenchcas]

episode origins p1

i was watching moriah earlier today and was wondering what the significance of the name moriah was, so i searched it up. i’ll explain it here in this. i wanted to learn which episodes have titles derived from pop culture, literature, etc. so i put together this list. it’s not complete, feel free to reblog with more!

why did i waste hours on my life on this, you ask? i don’t know. 

season 1

pilot: obviously, all the first episodes of shows are called pilots. nothing new here.

wendigo: they’re fighting a wendigo

dead in the water: the phrase means “unable to function, move”.

phantom traveler: the name of the demon they’re fighting

bloody mary: based off the legend

skin: shapeshifters, also there might be a meta about how it’s a metaphor for dean

hook man: they’re fighting a hook man

bugs: bugs

home: they go home

asylum: they go to an asylum

scarecrow: scarecrow

faith: the concept of god first comes into play here, i thought that was pretty interesting. that’s why it’s called faith, duh. dean + faith is explored.

route 666: racist truck yes

nightmare: sam’s visions

the benders: i think it’s based off of the bloody benders, a family of serial killers

shadow: meg’s stalkery?

hell house: it was literally a hell house

something wicked: originally chanted by WITCHES in shakespeare’s macbeth. the full line is “something wicked this way comes, open locks, whoever knocks”. obviously the shtriga is a witch and it refers to that.

provenance: painting provenances, it’s in the episode

dead man’s blood: they use dead man’s blood

salvation: being saved or protected, like the boys and john do with the family

devil’s trap: the devil gets them in a trap. and they built a giant devil’s trap too.

season two

in my time of dying: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

everybody loves a clown: based off of the gary lewis song [x]

bloodlust: i think it’s for the vampires but they were also a band in the 90′s

children shouldn’t play with dead things: based off of the 1972 movie

simon said: the whole “you do what i say” thing with andy and evil andy

no exit: it’s a song by blondie and in the episode h.h. holmes captures blondes...? am i just clowning

the usual suspects: based off of the 1995 movie

crossroad blues: based off of the robert johnson song (fave!) [x]

croatoan: i like this one. okay, so you guys probably know about the whole roanoke/croatoan thing in the 1600′s. so there’s a theory that the settlers were wiped out by a disease (similar to this town). also, the town would disappear off of the map.

hunted: gordon hunted sam

playthings: dolls, but the little girl was the grandma’s sisters plaything

nightshifter: a shifter in the night

houses of the holy: based off of the led zeppelin song and album [x]

born under a bad sign: based off of this song [x] there are a bunch of others including jimi hendrix but...?

tall tales: yeah i think this one is self explanatory

roadkill: someone got killed on the road

heart: werewolf heart but also how sam gave his heart to madison aww also there’s a band called heart

hollywood babylon: based off of the book by the same name

folsom prison blues: based off of the johnny cash song!! [x]

what is and what should never be: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

all hell breaks loose: yes it did

season three

the magnificent seven: based off of the pretty famous western go watch

the kids are alright: based off of the who song [x]

bad day at black rock: based off of the 1955 movie

sin city: there’s a bunch of songs but the city was sinning so

bedtime stories: they were bedtime stories

red sky at morning: the full phrase is “red sky at morning, sailors take warning”. with the theme of this ep it fits pretty well.

fresh blood: fresh blood yes

a very supernatural christmas: i’m not sure. i think it’s based off of a christmas album?

malleus maleficarum: a 1400′s book of witches. latin for “hammer of the witches”.

dream a little dream of me: i love this song! based off this: [x]

mystery spot: mystery spot

jus in bello: i can’t really explain it but here [x]

ghostfacers: g h o s t f a c e r s

long-distance call: long distance call

time is on my side: based off of the rolling stones song [x]

no rest for the wicked: a biblical quote that means “evildoers will face eternal punishment”. also, “one’s work never ceases”.

season four

lazarus rising: in the bible, lazarus is the righteous man, which makes dean the righteous man. and he rises. so. 

are you there, god? it’s me, dean winchester: based off of the judy blume book (maybe?), are you there, god? it’s me, margaret.

in the beginning: they go back in time

metamorphosis: with the rugaru but also sammeh

monster movie: monsters and movies

yellow fever: referring to the disease i think, but also there are a few songs

it’s the great pumpkin, sam winchester: based off of it’s the great pumpkin, charlie brown.

wishful thinking: yeah

i know what you did last summer: dean + hell, sam + ruby. is it based off of the shawn mendes song? i don’t think it is because this came out way before the song.

heaven and hell: opposite sides meet, dean’s hell experiences.

family remains: there are remains

criss angel is a douche bag: idk?

after school special: based off of the abc program? i think?

sex and violence: there was a lot of sex. and violence.

death takes a holiday: death took a holiday

on the head of a pin: i’m not sure but this article is interesting, maybe related. probably related. [x]

it’s a terrible life: based off of it’s a wonderful life? i love that movie btw

the monster at the end of this book: ughhh! yes!!! first of all there’s a sesame street book by the same title. also, chuck actually was the monster at the end of the book! that’s crazy. insane. 

jump the shark: “(of a television series or movie) reach a point at which far-fetched events are included merely for the sake of novelty, indicative of a decline in quality.“ probably the whole long lost brother thing.

the rapture: a belief that christians will rise to “meet the lord in the air”. kinda like jimmy does.

when the levee breaks: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

lucifer rising: lucifer rose

season five

sympathy for the devil: based off of the rolling stones song [x]

good god, y’all!: cas goes to find god

free to be you and me: a marlo thomas album and the brothers split up

the end: yeah it’s the end

fallen idols: i think we get it

i believe the children are our future: a lyric from a whitney houston song

the curious case of dean winchester: based off of the short story, the curious case of benjamin button.

changing channels: channels were changed. the end.

the real ghostbusters: based on the 1985 animation

abandon all hope: the full phrase is “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” and that pretty much sums up this episode.

sam, interrupted: i’m not sure?

swap meat: meats were SWAPPED.

the song remains the same: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

my bloody valentine: based on jensen’s movie. but also the band?

dead men don’t wear plaid: based on the 1982 movie

dark side of the moon: a pink floyd album

99 problems: that one jayz song whatever

point of no return: a 1993 movie but also the poto song hehe

hammer of the gods: based off of the 1985 book i think? it’s about led zeppelin so probably yeah.

the devil you know: means that it’s better to deal with a situation you understand than one you don’t.

two minutes to midnight: this phrase is commonly used as a countdown to a global catastrophe (i.e. the fucking apocalypse)

swan song: someone’s final performance before retirement (i think this is about both brothers because it’s sam last battle and dean’s last fight before living with lisa)

season six

exile on main st.: based off of the rolling stones album [x]

two and a half men: it was a sitcom? but idk if that’s where it’s from

the third man: based off of the 1949 noir thriller? maybe? but there were also three men so idrk

weekend at bobby’s: it was a weekend at bobbys

live free or twi-hard: based off of twilight and that bruce willis movie that i watched once way back when

you can’t handle the truth: truth goddess. soulless sam gets exposed ig

family matters: based off of the 1989 sitcom? maybe

all dogs go to heaven: based off of the 1989 movie? probably

clap your hands if you believe: i think this is an original title idk

caged heat: based off of the 1974 movie i think

appointment in samarra: probably based off of the 1934 novel of the same name

like a virgin: based off of the madonna song [x]

unforgiven: sam does unforgiven things

mannequin 3: the reckoning: not sure

the french mistake: just... just read this link [x]

and then there were none: based off of the agatha christie novel of the same name

my heart will go on: y’all all know what’s up [x]

frontierland: they went to yeehaw town

mommy dearest: based on the 1981 film? maybe?

the man who would be king: based off of the 1888 novel by rudyard kipling

let it bleed: based off of the rolling stones album/song [x]

the man who knew too much: shares a name with the 1956 film

season seven

meet the new boss: they met the new boss idk

hello, cruel world: sad sam

the girl next door: there’s a 2004 romcom with the same name

defending your life: a 1991 romcom! wow!

shut up, dr. phil: sam and dean became philanthropists idk

slash fiction: hahahahaha i think we know what it means but wHY is it called that?

the mentalists: they met a bunch of magic people wow!

season 7, time for a wedding!: more like season 7, time for a slightly r*pey episode and GARTH!

how to win friends and influence monsters: based off of the 1936 book how to win friends and influence people

death’s door: they were at death’s door idk

adventures in babysitting: based off of the 1987 movie by the same name

time after time after time: based off of the cyndi lauper song? [x]

the slice girls: prolly based off of the spice girls idk

plucky pennywhistle’s magic menagerie: yeah idk

repo man: it’s a 1984 film too

out with the old: they were fucking around with antiques

the born-again identity: obviously based off of the bourne identity which i haven’t seen in forever

party on, garth: hahaha

of grave importance: it was very important

the girl with the dungeons and dragons tattoo: probably based off of the movie/book the girl with the dragon tattoo. 

reading is fundamental: reading is fundamental. go read a book.

there will be blood: there was blood

survival of the fittest: everybody fought idk

okay i’m gonna stop here for this one because i’m tired asf and i’ll do part 2 later 

[youcanblogifyouwantto]

Biff’s Year in Music

2020 what can I say… I feel like this meme summed up the first half of it pretty well.

https://cheezburger.com/12209157/ant-man-meme-gives-a-recap-of-all-the-horrors-of-2020-so-far

Then to top it off this last week my son developed a spontaneous pneumothorax which basically is a collapsing of his lung for no apparent reason other than he is a tall thin white adolescent. To make matters worse he is 18 and COVID is raging in all the hospitals.  Thankfully my wife is an RN and should have been a lawyer as she was able to argue her way into staying with him.  Good thing she did because one the doctors fucked up so bad she gave him another Pneumothorax by turning a valve a wrong way.  Needless to say it has been a very rough year and especially rough week for me and my family.  Music has been and always will be the only constant positive release for me.  2020 had some great music and being home for almost an entire year now has led to a lot of music consumption.  The only other thing I did almost as much as listen to music was drink and cook food to match what I was drinking.  I’ve always loved beer and wine and dabbled in Whiskey but this year was the year of the cocktail for me.  I would discover a new alcohol type and then plan crazy elaborate dinners that cocktail would either be an aperitif of digestif for. Fun yes, healthy? …That is yet to be determined. I did take up running again to counter the amount I was drinking and eating and I would say that I have consistently worked out more this year than any other year so my liver might be fucked but my heart and lungs are strong.

So to start it off, this year saw releases from some of my all-time favorite musicians that I found nice and good even but never clicked or haven’t yet.  I had been eagerly anticipating Matt Berninger’s solo release all year and I dig it but strangely not enough to return to it unless I purposely tell myself to.  The same goes for Bright Eyes, Real Estate, Sylavan Esso, Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever minus Cars in Space (I played the shit out of that song), Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Car Seat Headrest, Dirty Projectors, Sufjan Stevens, Laura Marling (on first listen I thought easy top for the year then Fiona Apple came out and I haven’t returned to Laura Marling since), Damien Jurado, Jason Isbell, Neil Young (Homegrown had a special place in my heart for a month but again haven’t returned since August), Future Islands, Kevin Morby, and Busta Rhymes. All of these albums I do not hate or even dislike in fact some I liked a lot at first but just didn’t have staying power.  The following list are albums I loved that some stayed all year in rotation. Not in particular order but kinda like a Coachella poster if it’s near the top it’s one of my favorites of the year. I can be very longwinded on paper and very brief in person so I will try my antisocial tendencies to describe these albums. I will say for the most part the albums that hit this year are like comfort food music for my soul.

Waxahatchee  - St. Cloud – Home, comfort, introspective

Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher – Witty, production, great voice

Run The Jewels – RTJ4  - best running album ever. My favorite from these guys and best rap album I’ve heard in a while.

Jeff Tweedy – Love is the King. Maybe blasphemy but I like better than Warm. Perfect example of music comfort food. His biography is great too and so is the Summer teeth deluxe reissue.

Fleet Foxes – Shore – Beautiful, peaceful everything I needed from them and more. Side note Helplessness Blues was the first album review I ever wrote for ATR and I’m so glad I found those guys! Thank you for continuing the tradition.

Jeff Rosenstock – NO DREAM There was some good punk rock this year but this was the best also great running music. Rosenstock is now my go to for punk

Taylor Swift- Folk Lore- Story Telling, Sweater music, more music comfort food. And now Evermore continues the greatness. Dorothea might be my favorite track from both records. If you would have told me a Taylor Swift album would be in my tops for the year a couple of years ago I would have laughed you out of my face and now she has two albums in my tops. 2020 is one crazy year!

The Avalanches- We Will Always Love You- I’ve loved every single and was waiting for this to drop before posting this.  Well Worth the wait. I like it better than the Gorillaz release and that is saying a lot. It’s hard to have this many spot on features and keep a cohesive vibe! Johnny Marr meets MGMT is another need more of this collab.

Loma  - Don’t Shy Away- If 2020 could be articulated through music disorienting but also working from home has some perks. Good balance of weird and comfort

Adrienne Leckner – Songs- She writes great songs and performs them immaculately

Muzz- ST – The last show I went to before shutdown was Morrissey with Interpol opening and I forgot how much I love Bank’s voice.  This album is highly underrated in my opinion especially Evergreen.

Gorillaz –Song Machine – Best since Demon Days and Robert Smith/Damon Albarn Collab was never anything I thought I needed but now want more of. When Tony Allen died I went through a deep Tony Allen dive that was quite enjoyable. Great Drummer!

Dinner party – ST – The title explains it better than I can

Against All Logic – 2017-2019 – Kelly Lee Owens and this were the only electronica to stay all year both great running albums and If you can’t do it good do it hard is worth the price of admission alone

Hamilton Leithhauser- The Loves of your life- I love this man and I loved the walkmen. I feel he for me is like Frank Sinatra was for my mom. Not as sweet as a voice but can sing the hell out of a song.

Walter Martin – The world at Night- Another Walkmen member, this is another comfort food album it just feels right in my soul

Ka – Descendants Of Cain – Criminally underrated for too long this dude paints lyrical mood pictures like GZA.

Perfume Genius – Set My Heart On Fire Immediately – Beautiful Authentic Elegant

Fiona Apple – Fetch The Bolt Cutters  - Lyrically and sonically slays me. You have to like spoken word and weird rhythm texture but she nails both of those.

Bonny Light Horseman- ST – Great folk indie I just knew this was an album for me on first listen

Rose city band - Summerlong – Best new discovery, feeds my jam band meets indie soul

Strokes - The New Abnormal – I don’t know why this didn’t get more love? I loved it and The Adults are Talking is top five best Strokes songs.

Pinegrove- Marigold – More indie comfort food music

Bartees Strange – Live Forever – Second best new discovery. This dude is all over the place but in a good way. If you like this check out his singles where he covers many National songs.

Kelly Lee Owens – Inner Song- My Friend Antony described this better than I can at the current moment. Inner songs indeed.

The Killers – Imploding the Mirage- Most surprised album of the year, I’ve never been a big Killers fan but this one just wrapped it hooks inside me and didn’t let go all year

Young Jesus – Welcome to Conceptual Beach- Avant-garde or experimental music stretches me in ways that are very good for my soul and this one was such an album

My Morning Jacket – Waterfall II – Took a trip up to Humboldt in Early August and this was the soundtrack of the trip. Very much needed social distance return to nature vacation.

Hum- Inlet – I rocked out to this many a summer early fall evening sitting on my dock fishing and drinking beer.

Haim- Women in Music Pt. III – Best Haim yet and yes they are maturing into great song writers

Nation of Language- Introduction, Presence – Third best new discovery.. My friend Spencer at Shadows and Noise (a blog I’ve contributed to on occasion) accurately describes this album nicely. My wife loves Depeche Mode, New Order, and Erasure so this album is a new version of that genre that she and I can love together.

Coriky- ST – Half of Fugazi with a female drummer that sounds like classic Sleater Kinney in fact Fugazi meets Sleater Kinney is how I would describe this and that can’t be wrong!

EP’s Singles

James Blake- Before (Great marriage of his old and new)

Kruangbin & Leon Bridges- Texas Sun

Local Natives – Sour Lemon

Radio Dept – The Absence of Birds

Leon Bridges – Sweeter

Tom Berlin – Projections

Father John Misty – To S/ To R

Rostam- Unfold you

 Mank is one of the only great movies of 2020!

[whentommymetalfie]

Track of time -chapter one 

A/N: Rather loosely based on these two break-up requests. I’m suffering from a severe case of editing brain, so I won’t ramble on here. I hope you’ll enjoy it! there’ll be two more chapters, I’m hoping to have the next one out within a few days.

Pairings: Alfie/Tommy, a bit of Jessie/Ada on the side 

Summary: Tommy and Alfie hit a rough patch after a disagreement about their future. Tommy handles it about as badly as can be expected. Finn tries to help. 

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, self hatred, abandonment issues 

Esme is pregnant. John announces it proudly after a night at the Garrison, when they sit in the kitchen and endure Alfie’s insistences on making tea. This is a reoccurring event after a night of drinking, and it’s all really just an excuse to coax Tommy into eating something. Arthur hollers loudly at John’s announcement, reaching over the table to ruffle his hair up.

“There we go, about time eh, Johnny boy!”

“Congratulations, mate.” Alfie pours tea into a cup and slaps John’s shoulder fondly. “Not that this household needed anymore chaos. Plenty of that already. But I reckon this is the pleasant sort.”  

John is drunk enough to begin rambling about the whole thing: what Esme wants to name the baby. What he wants to name the baby… Before this baby is born, there’s a good chance they’ll have gotten into at least three fights nearly ending in divorce by the sound of it.

Tommy finds himself watching Alfie. That fond expression settling on his face as he listens to John go on and on about all things child-related. For some indiscernible reason, he feels a knot of worry tighten in his stomach. But he gives John a stiff hug with far too many hard pats on the back, tells him he’s happy for him and pushes that feeling away. With the whiskey dulling his senses, it’s not too hard to do, and when Alfie pulls him close, leaning down to whisper in his ear that they should go upstairs, it’s easy to forget it completely.

---

Though as most things forgotten, it eventually makes itself known again in the most unpleasant way possible.

A few nights down the line, Alfie is nestled between Tommy’s thighs, trailing kisses down his neck as his warm palms stroke his sides. Tommy rakes his fingers through his hair, reveling in the feeling of the secure weight on top of him.

The tell-tale sound of a bedframe banging against a wall in the other room makes them both let out a quiet laugh as their eyes meet. Apparently John and Esme are ahead of them tonight.

“It’s a fucking miracle, really, that it’s taken this long for that pregnancy to happen,” Alfie chuckles and glances at the wall. “All things considered.” He shakes his head before getting back to more important matters, pressing kisses against Tommy’s collarbone. Tommy closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh. Hopefully they’ll be rivaling those noises soon enough…

“Well, we’re lucky that way,” he whispers and pulls him closer. Slides his hands down Alfie’s back. Presses a kiss right next to his ear. “You know how much I like when you finish inside of me.” That sentiment makes Alfie growl and Tommy wraps both legs around his hips to pull him closer. “So… it’s practical, then, that you can’t knock me up.”

Stilling his movements, Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and looks down at him. Thoughtful, suddenly. Tommy lets his hands rest lightly on his waist, meeting his gaze steadily. There was a time when he barely could keep eye contact for a short moment in the bedroom. Now, he can just rest in this. Alfie runs a thumb gently across his forehead, cradling his head between his hands.

“Too bad, really,” he says, voice oddly soft.

Tommy blinks up at him, and Alfie must sense his confusion. “Well, what I meant is that I’d like- I’d like to have a child someday. With you. In the sense that we’d be raising it together.”

Tommy feels his knees go weak suddenly, and he drops his legs back down onto the mattress. Another laugh escapes him, a harsh outlet of air.

“You can’t be serious?”

A wrinkle appears between Alfie’s eyebrows.

“Well, this might’ve been a bad time to bring it up but… yeah. I do. Is that so fucking strange?” He sounds unexpectedly accusatory and Tommy rolls his eyes. Must be some fucking joke, all this… But the look in Alfie’s eyes and the growing lump at the pit of his stomach tell him differently. His mouth feels dry when he speaks.

“Sure. Because this lifestyle seems entirely appropriate for a child.”

“Well, in the future, things might be different,” Alfie says, the creases in his forehead becoming deeper as he sits up between Tommy’s legs. “I mean, we won’t always be living in fucking Birmingham. Figure at some point we’d like to move to somewhere slightly less… dingy and lethal.”

Tommy pushes himself up to lean against the headboard of the bed, pulling one of the blankets up to his waist. Swallows down the nausea.  

“Oh, really? Well, this is news to me. Why don’t you fill me in on this plan of yours?”

Alfie sits back on his heels, scratching his beard.  

“Just thought that somewhere along the line we’d, you know, move to a house somewhere,” he says. “I mean, business will pretty much start running itself at some point. Don’t need to constantly be there to oversee shit. Could hire someone.” The tone is casual, as if he just came up with this ridiculous idea. Even though it clearly must’ve been on his mind for a while. “And… well, I know you wanted to work with horses when you were younger. Perhaps do something along those lines?”

Tommy laughs despite nothing funny having been said. And a flash of hurt crosses Alfie’s face.

“Where is all this coming from?” Tommy asks, fingers twisting harder into the fabric of the blanket

Alfie clenches his jaw.

“Maybe getting shot gives you some fucking perspective?”  

“You’ve been shot before.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But this was the first time I had to watch the man I love get fucking beaten halfway to death right before it,” Alfie says sharply. “Without being able to do shit. And then with the fucking aftermath. That whole bloody ordeal. When you were just spiraling.” He looks away from Tommy for a moment. Out the window at the grimy buildings outside. “And maybe I’ve fucking realised, right, that there’ll come a day when I’ll be fed up with all of it.”  

Tommy’s heart drops, joins that lump at the pit of his stomach

“With what?”

“This… this fucking life, alright?” Alfie gestures vaguely around the room. The peeling wallpaper and worn furniture. “How long do you think we can keep this up, eh? It’s one close call after another, and then one day, it won’t be a close call. And either I’ll be the first to go, which really, truly, would be the more merciful option. Since the other is having to sit on some dingy warehouse floor with you in my arms while you’re fucking bleeding out. Or maybe I won’t even get to do that, eh? Maybe I’ll just find you dead in some alleyway…”

Tommy sets his eyes on Alfie. Pins him with his gaze and fills it with as much ice as he can muster.

“This is who I am, Alfie,” he says and it feels like he’s signing his own fucking death warrant. “All of this. This is all I can give you. And you fucking knew that going in.”

“It’s what youdo, Tommy. For fucks sake. Not who you are,” Alfie snaps, raising his voice. “And all I’m saying is… there’s more to life, right? Is it too much to ask for you to just fucking consider it?”

The silence that follows the question is stifling.  

What is there to consider?

No, this is the problem, isn’t it? Alfie thinks there’s more to him than this and that’s why he’s stayed. But there isn’t. This is all he has to give and it’s not enough. It’s not enough and he’s always known and now finally Alfie realises it too- It’s never enough for anyone and now Alfie will leave like all the others and-

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood in an attempt to ground himself. “I don’t want that kind of life. And I never will.”

Just like that, all the hard lines melt from Alfie’s face. His gaze shifts to his lap and he adds in a much softer tone:  “Nah, nah, not like that… you don’t have to decide now. Just want you to think about it, is all. And the thing about kids… We can start smaller. Just a house, maybe? Maybe you could give that some thought.”

A blurry memory resurfaces from the back of Tommy’s mind… of Alfie asking this once before: When Tommy was dozing off in that tub of cold water with fever burning in his veins. Right then, it sounded so peaceful; like everything he could’ve ever wanted, but never would’ve dared to dream he could actually have. But his brain was fucking burning and he wasn’t thinking clear, because there is no way he could ever have that kind of life. Do anything other than this.

Birmingham’s dingy streets are ingrained in his bones, it’s the only place where he fits in. He’s known it all his life. Thought Alfie knew that too.

But if that life -that peaceful, fucking life that seems to come straight out of some rosy dream and is so utterly impossible- if that life is what Alfie wants… Alfie deserves everything. And if Tommy can’t give that to him then there’s only one way for this conversation to end.

The silence in the room has become deafening as he’s drowned in his own thoughts and Alfie has waited for an answer. Tommy can’t bring himself to look at him when he finally speaks

“There’s nothing to think about.”

Alfie sits silently at the opposite side of the bed. Then the mattress shifts and Tommy glances up to see him walk over to the chair where his clothes have been disposed of.

He completely forgets how to breathe.

It’s all crumbling around him, falling apart –like a tunnel, rock after rock until there’s nothing left. Can’t stop it, because once you’ve pulled out that first rock, all the others just follow

“Alfie-“ he bites his tongue the second the name slips off it, but Alfie doesn’t slow his movements, pulling his trousers on and fishing up his undershirt from the floor. He doesn’t look at Tommy when he speaks.

“I need some time to think about this.”

The fear twists in his stomach like a snake.

Alfie pulls his shirt on. Tommy desperately wants to reach for him.

“So, that’s it, you’re just going to leave? You don’t get your way and- and suddenly you’re just leaving?”

Fuck he sounds pathetic- pathetic and needy and no wonder Alfie doesn’t want you.  

Alfie stops with the shirt buttoned halfway up.

“Honestly, Tommy, I’m tired. Alright?” he says, arms falling heavily to his sides. And he does sound tired, right then. “Some days, I’m so fucking tired of all of this. It’s like my fucking bones are made out of lead. And, the thought that this will be it… I don’t fucking know if I can do that.” Alfie heaves a sigh that seems to push all the air from his body. “So yeah, I need to think, don’t I? Without you there, too, because you do these…” he twirls his fingers by his temple. “Things to me. My head just fucking stops working when I’m with you, see, because you look at me with those eyes of yours and I fucking forget all about what’s right and proper.”

Leave- He’s going to leave just like all the others and you’ll be alone-

Grasping onto the sheets until his knuckles whiten, Tommy watches as Alfie pulls his jacket on.

“That life you want, it’s a fucking delusion. And it’s never going to happen. Not with me,” he grits out, struggling to get any words past the tightness in his throat. “So if that’s what you want then…”

Alfie stops his movements to look at him.

“Then what?”

The lump in his throat blocks all his words and Tommy just stares down at the blanket. A quiet sigh comes from Alfie. He grips the sheets harder and listens to the sound of swishing fabric as he pulls another item of clothing on. His coat. Boot soles knock against the floor.  

Finally the room goes completely silent. Except for the ringing in his ears. He can imagine Alfie standing there on the floor, hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll call you, alright?”

It’s all Alfie says.

Then he’s gone.

Tommy stares at the closed door.

See,the voice is almost triumphant. See, of course this would happen. You ruin everything. Only a matter of time before you ruined this too.

That snake that was coiled in his guts has crawled up into his chest instead, blocking his airways and making impossible to breathe. And his heart is beating so fucking fast.

Air- he needs air- needs to get out of this room before the walls close in on him.

The street outside is empty.

So is the spot where Alfie’s car stood parked.

Tommy lights a cigarette.

Maybe Alfie will come back?

He’ll change his mind. His temper is like that sometimes: boils up quickly but simmers down just as fast, and maybe if Tommy just waits right here for him, he’ll come back-

He seats himself on the steps leading up to the house.

And waits.

----

“That is a terrible book and I can’t believe you actually enjoy it!”

Jessie sounds honestly offended, and Ada can’t help laughing at the look of utter bafflement on her face.

“Well, I like Emma’s character development. And the way she meddles in everyone’s business- I can’t believe you don’t see the humour in it.” Ada bumps her shoulder against Jessie’s, but is quick to latch onto her arm when she nearly stumbles off the sidewalk.

Jessie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. The first few streaks of morning light catches in her hair.

“You’re lucky you’ve got other qualities than your terrible taste in books,” she teases and takes Ada’s hand –most likely to warm up her own freezing fingers. Ada certainly doesn’t mind. She squeezes it tightly. “I honestly stopped reading after just a hundred pages-“

“You haven’t even read-“ Ada’s exclamation is cut off by a yawn that she fails to cover up. “That’s it,” she says to a smirking Jessie when she recovers. “The next time we’re up all night doing something, it’ll be reading that book. Nothing else.”

“Do you mean you’re withholding sex until I finish it?”

“No, but I am withholding spending all night in a pub and listening to you argue with Freddie about ‘the true origins of market economy’.”

Now, it’s Jessie’s turn to bump her shoulder against Ada’s. “You love it.”

Ada smiles. Squeezes her hand again. “I do.”

They make the turn out on Watery Lane, and Ada decides that her street isn’t all that awful looking in these quiet moments right before dawn, when it’s empty, quiet, and the grey light washes out all the grimy bricks.

Only, she discovers much to her surprise, the street isn’t quite empty today…

“Tommy?”

Her brother remains motionless on the steps up to their house, the only movement being the slight tremor to his shoulders. Ada lengthens her steps, but doesn’t let go of Jessie’s hand. As they come closer, she notices the cigarette stubs littering the pavement. Must be at least a packet, judging by the amount…

“Tommy, what are you doing out here?”

Her question goes unanswered. Tommy doesn’t even look up. And the alarms go off in her head. Letting go of Jessie’s hand, she crouches down before him.

When she places a hand on his knee Tommy finally reacts. A pair of wide, bloodshot eyes lined with dark circles meet hers. His lip is bleeding, contrasting starkly against his pale skin.

When there’s no comment on Jessie’s presence, or even a disapproving look, Ada begins to truly worry.

“Tommy, hey, talk to me.” She squeezes his knee. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

No answer.

“Has something happened?”

Not even a blink. Tommy just gazes emptily at her.

“I’ll go and fetch Alfie,” she states and straightens up.

“Not here,” Tommy says, voice raspy from disuse.

Ada crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s not here? Where is he then?”

“He left.”

“What?”

“He left,” Tommy repeats, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I waited for him but he didn’t come back. I thought…” He trails off again, going back to staring blankly at the ground. Ada swallows down her heart to get it back in her chest where it belongs, without much success.

She looks to Jessie, and the steady gaze she receives in return serves to ground her slightly.

“Let’s go inside, Tommy,” she says and hooks a hand under his arm, gently tugging him upwards. “You’re freezing. We can wait inside.”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, raking the nail of his right thumb over the back of his hand, reopening a scratch there.

“He’s not coming back.”

To this, Ada doesn’t know what to say. Because all that fills her head is how she’ll fucking kill Alfie Solomons if he’s done something to hurt Tommy...

Tommy sits there silently for another moment, then the glazed look in his eyes fades, and he blinks. He gets to his feet, shrugging off the hand she wraps around his arm to steady him when he sways precariously. He brushes past her, shoves his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat, and begins walking unsteadily down the street.

Ada watches his retreating back, debating whether she should run after him or not.

“Do you want to go after him?”

Jessie’s hand on her arms snaps her out of the thoughts.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. No point in doing that. Not when he’s like this. Alfie-“

Alfie could help.

But Alfie isn’t here.

Why the fuck isn’t he here?

[curiousdamage]

Cobra Kais Never Die

Day 11 of the Writing Challenge.  For @dream-beyond-the-fantasy

Fandom: Karate Kid/Mentions from China Beach- A Careless Man’s Careful Daughter Universe.

I own nothing.

Captian John Kreese meets a formidable nurse when he visits his injured soldiers.  

A/N: (I based Cara Sullivan Kreese on Dana Delany’s character Colleen McMurphy in China Beach, so some references, like the unit number, KC, and Jetset, are from that show.)  Also, the military rules are most likely not correct.

Captain John Kreese had been stationed at the 510th Evac station for over a year and had managed to avoid stepping foot in the hospital for all that time.  A pretty good record for someone in Viet Nam.   But today, he couldn’t avoid it anymore.  Two of his men were there.  They’d both been injured on the last mission they’d gone out on.  Both were serious.  So serious that he hadn’t even been able to see them for three days.  He’d just gotten word this morning that Silver was finally awake.

He walked into the hospital ward and located his men in the corner of the room. Racine was sitting up in his bed, talking to Silver who was laying very still and clenching his fist in pain.  His face was drained of color, except the flush from the fever, so much that even the blue of his eyes seemed to be washed out.  He could tell by the forced smile and overly dramatic movements that Racine was making in the story he was telling that he was trying to distract the younger man from the pain and maybe lift his spirits a bit.  

Silver, unlike himself and Racine, wasn’t a Green Beret.  He was just a dumb kid who had the misfortune of getting assigned to the Cobra Kai unit as a radio operator.  And now he was probably going to die for it.  John decided right then that if Silver made it through his injuries, they were going to make the young man a Green Beret.  Not only had he expressed interest in that, but he needed the training.  If he was going to be required to follow John into all the messes they had to go through, then he needed the same training the rest of the squadron had, even if the powers that be just saw him as a ‘radio man’.

“What are you two doing, screwing around in bed?” he asked, walking over to them, faking a bravado he didn’t feel.  “Don’t tell me you’ve convinced these nice nurses that you’re still hurt.”  He sat down on the chair between their beds, shaking hands with Racine and patting Silver’s shoulder.  He winced slightly at how hot the other man felt, even just to touch.  He’d been shot in the belly and had lost a lot of blood before John could get him back to the hospital and now, he’d taken an infection in the wound.  To top it off, it didn’t seem that the antibiotics were helping.  Racine, on the other hand, had taken a bullet to the leg and while serious, was going to recover after a few weeks in bed.  

“Shit,” John swore.  “Ain’t nothing wrong with you that a few hours with KC couldn’t cure.” He grinned, referring to a civilian typist who had decided to take up the world’s oldest profession to supplement her government pay.  “Besides,  Cobra Kais never die.”

Racine laughed and Silver smiled weakly.  

“Oh, come on, Johnny-Boy,” Racine teased.  “That’d finish him off for sure.  He couldn’t go more than a round with KC when he didn’t have a hole in his gut.”

Silver raised a hand in the one finger salute before letting it fall back to the bed.  Both men could see the effort that one gesture had cost the boy.

“Well, hell,” John said.  “We know he’s just faking this shit anyway.  The pretty boy just wanted to sleep in for a few days.”

At that, the dark-haired nurse, who had been working near them, slammed the chart she was holding down on the duty desk, making even John jump.

“Soldier, can I see you outside?” She demanded, addressing John.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirked, looking her up and down. She was definitely the best-looking woman he’d seen in a long time, maybe even ever.  “Guess I’m getting sent to the principal’s office, boys.”  He winked at them as he followed her out.

“What the hell are you doing?” the nurse asked, turning on him as soon as they were off the ward.  Her name tag identified her as Sullivan.

“Talking to my friends,” he replied.

“Ridiculing them for being hurt?” she shot back.  “You do realize that Silver is dying, don’t you?  He doesn’t need you telling him that he’s faking and all he needs is a good roll in the hay!”

“Look, Lady,” he snapped.

“That’s Lieutenant, Soldier,” she interrupted, folding her arms over her chest.  

John smiled, showing his even white teeth. Had this nurse actually just tried to pull rank on him?  He imitated her stance, folding his arms across his chest as well.  “That’s Captain, Lieutenant.  And don’t you dare try to lecture me about how I treat my men.  I know them.  I care about them.  You don’t!”

She looked at him for, really, for the first time. He was a Captain?  He didn’t look any older than the boys he’d come to see. He was still just a kid himself, not that she wasn’t.   “I…, I.., well, be that as it may, I’m in charge in that hospital, and I won’t have anyone upsetting my patients.”

Kreese softened.  “Look, Lieutenant, I know how serious it is.  I know the kid may still die.  I’m the one who brought him here and quite frankly, I don’t know how you’ve kept him alive this long.  But I’m their CO.  They look to me for guidance.  If I go in there and act like he’s dying, he’s going to give up.  But if I go in there and act like it’s no big deal, like I think he’s faking, we will both know I’m lying, but maybe, just maybe, he won’t think its dire enough to give up just yet.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see my men.”

Sullivan watched him walk back in the ward.  Well, he was their CO and he was there.  That was more than she could say for most.  

______________________________

Two days later she saw him again, in the JetSet, the R and R club on China Beach.

“Buy you a drink?” She offered.

He looked her up and down, then at the nearly empty shot glass in his hand.  “Sure, why not?”

She motioned to the bartender to bring over two more.

“Silver’s doing better,” she reported.

“I know,” he said.  “I’ve been checking in, even if I haven’t been over to see them.”

“I heard that,” she conceded.  “Look, we got off on the wrong foot.  I was angry that I was losing a patient.  I couldn’t yell at the germs that were killing him, but I could yell at the person I thought was being a jerk to him.  You were right that he needed you to act like it was no big deal. I’m sorry.”  She held out her hand.  “Cara Sullivan.”

He smiled again and shook her hand.  “John Kreese.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he agreed.  “Thanks for taking good care of my men.”  He took a sip of the drink in front of him.  “And you should try that yelling at the germs thing sometime. You were pretty scary.  I think you could take a few out.”

Cara laughed and put her hand over his.  “Well, if that doesn’t do it, maybe the dirty joke playing cards you passed them will.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, and Cara would have sworn he blushed.  “I had to do something to raise their spirits.”

“And the fact that they’ve caused quite the stir on my ward was just a bonus?”  She lifted an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” he laughed, turning his hand to hold hers.  “So, Lieutenant Sullivan.  Where are you from?”  

[phoenix1966sbottom]

This isn’t a story, but the bare bones of a larger story I hope to one day have the time again to write down.

You can find just the picture of Fairy!Sam here. You can also read it here on Ao3.

                                                            *****

Dean walked with slow, deliberate steps through the glade. It was almost dusk and he tried to remind himself that he was here on a case. Here, where he could almost hear his brother’s voice brush against his ear. The place of his greatest loss. He was back.

He and John (never “Dad” in his head, not after what happened) and Sammy were investigating a rash of disappearances in the woods around Walden Pond that strange spring. Sammy couldn’t shut up about the place, going on and on about how Thoreau had lived in that very spot and wrote a book that he still lugged around, even though the school he’d had to read it for was two towns and four hunts behind them.

“You know,” he’d whispered to Dean while they trudged through the spring mud skirting the pond, “they used to believe this was bottomless.”

Dean had grunted, hoping to come off indifferent and maybe then Sam would shut up. At twenty, Dean had abandoned thoughts and dreams of school, marching in his father’s shadowed footsteps. But not Sammy. Sammy didn’t seem to want to fall in line beside them. And Dean couldn’t help but notice when his little brother (not so little 16-year-old boy-becoming-a-man body that Dean found unsettling to look at sometimes for reasons he couldn’t admit to) waxed poetic about Thoreau’s book being a manual for self-reliance, a voyage of spiritual discovery and a declaration of personal independence, there was a gleam in his baby brother’s eyes that hadn’t been there since a box of fireworks and an abandoned field on fire too many summers ago. And even though Dean could face down a werewolf without flinching, he couldn’t meet Sammy’s fevered gaze.

“Keep it down,” he’d snapped, sounding more like their father that day, “and stay sharp.”

Sammy had snorted, “You’re not Dad,” with all the petulant sulkiness of the teenager he was.

“And you’re damn lucky I’m not. He’d have had you doing push-ups for not staying focused on a hunt where people were going missing.”

“I know,” had been Sammy’s murmured reply, but whether it was to the first or second part of what he said, Dean had no idea. He shook his head, silently kicking his own ass for worrying about what his kid brother thought of him at a time like that.

When they caught up to John, the man had been crouched low, rubbing his hands along the grass in a small clearing. In the fading twilight, purple and strange, Dean had nearly missed the distinctively raised mound of darker blades.

“Fairy ring,” he had muttered, and John nodded in silent agreement.

There had been more to it than that. Young boys gone on moonlit nights, John’s insistence that they handle the case even though Bobby had offered to go in their place (and that had been a shock to Dean since the other hunter and John had recently had a falling out that ended with weapons drawn and blood almost spilled). It would be weeks later before Dean connected the terrible dots that John had split them up and left Sammy alone on purpose.

“Dean,” he’d barked, “I want you to come with me. Sam,” he’d paused and gave his youngest an unreadable look that stopped him in his tracks, “you stay here.”

Dean had been about to object, a relative first for him, when Sammy had scowled.

“Why can’t I come with you? You dragged me out this far.” And there had been the petulance, tinged with rebellion, that Dean had been hearing more and more of lately.

“Because I need you to follow orders without all the questions,” John hissed. “Something you seem to have trouble with, unlike your brother.” And whatever had been in that strange look of John’s morphed into firm resolve. “Let’s go, Dean,” and he had stomped off deeper into the gloom. “I need you with me.”

Dean had stood there, torn between his ingrained training and his brother. He found himself stuck there a lot lately, trying to navigate between the two most important people in his life like Odysseus between the Scylla and Charybdis. Either one could break him and one of them surely would. In the end, it hadn’t been the one he’d been expecting. Hunters always said it was the monster you didn’t hear that killed you.

Maybe if Sammy had insisted a little harder, Dean would have found the courage to stay. Maybe. But that was just victim blaming, Dean came to realize years later. He had been a coward in the face of his father’s disapproval. He’d looked at his brother, strange eyes not quite blue and not quite green (“Do you think he has your mother’s eyes?” John had asked him once, strangely searching for a resemblance on a night when Johnny, Jack and Jose had been better company than his sons) hidden by his unruly bangs, wanting Sam to ask him to stay. Or take him with them. But Sammy had stood there, skinny and pale, quiet as a grave. Dean hitched his pack higher up on his shoulder and gave his little brother a quick nod, no more than a snap of his chin. If he had known it was going to be the last time his saw Sammy, he would have said something more, something that mattered. He hoped he would have, at any rate.

Pushing into the thickening wood, the last thing he heard his brother say was, “I wish…”

John had dragged him far into the darkness and Dean had followed, despite the dread that grew in his stomach like a cancer, eating him up from the inside. Leaving (abandoning) Sammy like that, forlorn and wishing in a fairy circle had been too much like tempting fate. And it had.

By the time the abandoned campsite John had insisted held a clue as to what was taking the boys had been thoroughly investigated and John couldn’t come up with another reason not to return to Sammy, Dean had been off like a shot. But it didn’t matter how fast he ran, Dean had been too late. And part of him knew he would be.

They looked, of course, and John seemed truly devastated. But there had been relief there, too, that Dean recognized weeks later when John made his dark confession. Sammy had been tainted as a baby, innocent in his crib. Tainted with demon blood by the same demon who had killed Mom. John had blurted out that Sammy was a special child and one destined to lead armies from Hell because of it. All his research had proven there was no way to save Sammy and at some point, they (like Dean would ever had had a hand in it) would have had to kill Sam. Bobby had apparently disagreed and that had been the reason behind their explosive argument months before.

Like a lie of omission, unwilling to kill Sammy outright, John had brought them to Walden Pond (“’I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived,’ was what he wrote, Dean. Isn’t that an amazing line?”) to let something else do his dirty work. And John had made Dean abandon Sammy twice when they didn’t find his body. He was simply another teenage boy gone missing. Whatever had happened to them, Sammy had been enough. It wasn’t hungry any longer. No one vanished after him.

They’d split up after that, each hunter going their own way. Dean couldn’t look him in the eye and John knew his remaining son no longer had his back; he deserved no less. When word reached Dean that John had gone down fighting a nest of vamps two years later, Dean tried to mourn him. He really did. But the man who had been his father had died the night Dean’s mother had. He stopped being a decent human the night he let Sammy go. And Dean suspected John knew that, too.

The years slipped away and Dean kept on hunting. There was nothing else in his life and he was good at it. He was the kind of hunter others wanted by their side right up until the fight was over. Then, they wanted him gone as silently as he had arrived. Others saw the darkness Dean carried, wrapped around him like a cloak. He was a haunted man and cursed, some would whisper. Dean didn’t think they were wrong.

When the ten-year anniversary of Sammy’s disappearance (never referred to as a death) came due, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that Bobby called him to say the troubles had returned to Walden Pond. Young boys—outsiders amongst their peers—had gone missing again. The grizzled hunter knew better than to offer this hunt to anyone else. Walden was sacred to Dean.

Despite the time that had passed, Dean needed no GPS to bring him to the exact spot Sammy had once stood. Nothing had changed, and Dean shivered when he brushed his hands over the darker grass, still raised and sharper than anything else in the glade. He dropped down to sit cross-legged on the ground, no need to go any farther. His left knee popped in protest. Only thirty, he had been hard on his body, agreeing with Indiana Jones that it was the mileage and not the years.

When it was almost too dark to see well, Dean built a fire in the center of the ring and he waited. But nothing came. Almost reluctantly, he rifled around his pack until his fingers brushed against a familiar, worn cover. He pulled Walden out and opened the book to that familiar passage.

“’I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived,’” he began, voice dry and cracked. He didn’t need to read the book to recite the lines, having memorized them ten years ago. But holding the book was comforting; it was the last thing Sammy had loved and held.

“’I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,’ sounds like a vamp to me, Sammy.” He coughed and continued on when no one snarked about his commentary, when no one ever would again, “’to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.’”

There was more, but Dean grew silent. There were too many ghosts in the air tonight, creeping close and listening. Without really planning to, Dean threw the book into the fire. The pages curled and charred before fluttering into the air like singed moths. It’s what hunters did when one of theirs died. It’s what hunters did to put ghosts down. It’s what Dean did, when the ache in his heart over his brother grew too black. And then, where no one could see, he cried for everything that he’d lost, repeating, “I wish” again and again like it could change things. The night listened.

                                                       *****

Dean woke, groggy and hazy, surprised he had managed to fall asleep so soundly. By the gray, misty light, he figured it was nearly dawn. The fire had burned down hours ago and when he spotted a fragment of the beloved paperback’s spine in the ashes, like a bare bone pushing up from a grave, tears welled in his eyes again. Wiping at his face viciously, he rose on stiff limbs, desperate to outrun his sadness. Dean staggered back into the woods to relieve himself, unwilling to desecrate his brother’s resting spot. As he was shaking himself off, a light flickered in the corner of his eye. He zipped up so fast he almost hurt himself, but what was back in the clearing brought him to a standstill. Dean stared for a long time before taking the slow, cautious steps forward of an unbeliever.

Rising sun behind him, a willowy creature stood barefoot in the glade. He had wild, dark hair and wore wisps of material that could barely be called clothing and covered almost none of his milky skin. There was no mistaking, however, the delicate, gossamer wings protruding from his back. And there was also no mistaking the moles and pointed nose of his still 16-year-old brother even if Dean had to squint to make out his features.

“Sammy,” Dean croaked.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

St. Vincent by Immo Klink for Spex Magazin für Popkultur #376 (September/October 2017)

English translation thx to a lovely L chat anon: After the success of her last album, what's next for St. Vincent? Three years, a Grammy, a successful series of concerts complete with weirdo costumes, her own guitar design for people with breasts and a magazine cover with Marc Jacobs. "New York" is her latest haunting single that yearns for older times, and expresses love for her adoptive home. The song's style also refers back to the musical simplicity of Clark's previous work. An uncomfortably hot Summer day in London would have passed as some bizarre fever dream, if before the release of her latest, and as of yet untitled new album, St. Vincent was drinking Berlin beer with our editors and happily giving the inside scoop. Despite meticulous planning prior to the interview in July, its spontaneous nature meant it was hard to know what to ask. Annie had recorded two purposefully blurred guitar songs, one to be discussed before the conversation and one during. A female assistant dressed in a black cape and some extravagant shoe-work acted as door woman to the entrance of a room at Park Studios containing a wooden box, the inside of which was painted neon pink. Inside sat Clark like a high priestess in black light. An appropriate setting to share secrets. However, she is at first rather silent when asked concrete questions about new songs, but in the end the setting works conclusively. The discomfort is part of the concept. Interviewer: Annie, thank you very much for the mysterious reception. Will you now foresee my future? Annie: (laughs) We will see. I: It smells very good in here. Is that incense? A: The scent is coming from a candle. Meetings should be an experience for all the senses. I: You said once that for every album you've had a figure in your head around which all themes have been built. For Strange Mercy it was alcohol dependence, the bored housewife, with St. Vincent a cult leader. What has been in your consciousness regarding these songs? A: Manic Panic meets Poison Ivy from The Cramps. I: We are currently sitting in a pink, florescent box. There seems to be a color concept happening here. A: Yes, the color palette for this album is completely florescent. Florescent colors are very bright and at first seem cheerful, but can soon become too intense and then aggressive. This is exactly like my coming album. I: Would you consider this album to be the logical next chapter following St. Vincent? A: I don’t know whether you can apply logic to music. Before I wrote the new songs I knew only three things. I wanted the songs to be strong and powerful. I wanted to programme beats. And I wanted a steel-pedal guitar. I began with these three anchors. I: Most of social media expressed surprise regarding the fact that New York was not a guitar-based song. A: Really? I put so much guitar in it. I: So was it your plan to not make a rock record? A: I’ve never done it before. I definitely wanted to have big guitar moments on the album. Have I ever really made a rock record? So far very few people have heard the new songs, and there isn’t much known about the album. I’m looking forward to the interpretations and criticisms. But if someone doesn’t feel it’s a guitar record, should we not question both possible realities? I: Possibly. Do you already have an album title? A: Yes, but I still can’t reveal it to you. I: Perhaps then we can speak about something more tangible. You current tour is named after one of your new songs “Fear the Future”. A: This is intended to as an order; be afraid of your future! I: What should we be afraid of? A: Oh boy! We are living in insane times, and it’s only getting worse. I don’t know if you’ve heard: America has chosen Donald Trump, a woman hater and compulsive liar, as its president. America has said to someone like this: “You seem to be the right leader!” I: Do you believe Trump will complete the four years of his term? A: That would shock me. The countless scandals within the first six month of his presidency have sustainably ruined his reputation. Besides, I don’t have the impression that being President suits him very well. The only possibility we have of getting rid of this fear of the future is to name these things. “Fear the Future” means I am trying to regain control and make something constructive out of all the chaos. I: What strategies do you follow in order to cope with these fears? A: I don’t sit around all day worrying about the future. Today more than ever the personal is political, and the political has become personal. A lot of us move around in this world alone, meanwhile for many people it is a political act - for a great many marginalised people it is naturally the latter case. I have long thought about what I can do. Some of my friends are politically active, for example in the Black-Lives-Matter movement, or have previously worked for Obama’s administration. It seems to me most sensible to use the platform I have with my music to, for example, raise money for Planned Parenthood or other charitable organisations. I: At the beginning of this year you celebrated your directorial debut with the premiere of The Birthday Party. You chose to present your film not as horror, but as a black comedy. What role does humour play when it comes to fear? A: The absurd is definitely our zeitgeist. To go further, to drive the whole thing to the extreme, can be incredibly funny. I: Does this exaggeration work for you as catharsis? A: Definitely. The album deals with the themes of power and seduction in such a striking way that one could almost feel it as fraud. Sexuality is no simple matter, but I present it in a very obvious way, wherin there is also a lot of humour. I: I also heard the new songs as asking for a conquest. A: Songs sagen manchmal mehr über denjenigen aus, der sie hört, als über den Künstler. Ich kann also nichts, dafür,, wenn Sie überall Vaginas sehen (laughs). I: With all the careful production before release, does it not bother you if you feel you are misunderstood? A: I put a lot of time and energy into this record. I love this album. However once it is released there is nothing I could possibly say or do to make you love it just as much. That is out of my hands, and that’s the way it should be. It is no longer mine, it belongs to everyone who hears it. I can at most give you a pair of important details: I recorded majority of the album in my studio in Los Angeles. The rest I recorded in New York. I: In New York you give a nostalgic look back at a place that appears to no longer exist. Is New York still the city you… A: ...love the most at heart? Absolutely! You know, every love is complicated. For me it simply stopped being my main place of residence. In the end I started spending a lot of time back in Texas, or I was working in my studio in LA, so just wasn’t in New York anymore. I: Nostalgia can also be another way of reacting to current unpleasantness in the world - a very comfortable one. A: I have a terrible memory, therefore nostalgia doesn’t really work for me. I don’t think the past tense is all that helpful anyway. Of course can learn from their mistakes, this has made the history of mankind. Earlier grief is inflicted again and again, but prevents us from moving forward. I: A common thesis states that certain adverse circumstances can strengthen cohesion and solidarity in disadvantaged communities. A: Yes, but the most important thing for marginalised people now is to not fight one another. A byproduct of patriarchy is women fight other women. That helps no one. I: In Germany there is a lot of hostility among left currents, when their principles really belong together in solidarity. For example in feminist circles. A: Yet feminism is not a fixed idea, it is constantly changing. There is place for diverse stances. Feminist ideas find themselves in an ever wider context, on which they may have stumbled along the way. At home, I also know that women are mutually shamed, because one does not correspond to the ideal. It is unhelpful to argue about whoever embodies feminism. I myself do not engage myself with a group, but prefer to let actions speak. Being a strong, independent woman is for me the strongest sign. (A bell sounds) I: Is our time already up? A: Almost. I have a few answers recorded. Would you like to hear? I: Of course! A: (Plays around with her mobile phone until a distorted voice rings out) “David Byrne’s brain is a national treasure.” (noise) “The name St. Vincent comes from a Nick Cave song called ‘There Goes My Beautiful World’. It refers to the line ‘And Dylan Thomas died drunk in St. Vincent’s Hospital’.” (noise) You knew that, or you would have said so. Thank you for not asking. I: You’re welcome. But since we’re talking about names: Who is this Johnny you keep singing about? A: Johnny is a recurring character who has accompanied me for three albums now. For me he’s like a friend, a family member and a fiance. I: But now he lives on the street. A: There’s always hope.

______________________________ Buy the issue here Original translation post from L Chat

[minhoslut]

♡ summary: You are on your first solo mission to collect samples from an asteroid, but that is soon ended when three unknown beings enter your ship and take you to their planet.

♡ pairing: Jung Jaehyun x fem!reader, Johnny Suh x fem!reader, Nakamoto Yuta x fem!reader, JohnJaeYu also are together

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | ? |

♡ series warnings: blood mention, drug use, mxm, foursome, swearing, anxiety, depression

♡ series genre: fluff, smut, slight angst

♡ series rating: R

♡ word count: 1565

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter three: purple rain

Up in the treehouse that apparently belonged to Taeyong, you found said man as well as three new people. “Ah, Y/N, it is good to see you are still conscious.” Taeyong said, a light smile on his lips. You rubbed your neck awkwardly, feeling slightly nervous as the new men were staring intensely at you. “Introduce yourselves, you idiots.” Jaehyun sighed from your left, prompting the tallest of the new men to introduce himself. “Hello, I am Doyoung, this is Jungwoo, and this is Kun.” He stated gesturing to the other two as well. “It’s nice to meet you all.” You murmured, still feeling shy because they were scanning your figure intently now. Taeyong gestured for you to come forward and you did so, looking at Yuta quickly before going and receiving an encouraging smile.

“So I hear you were unable to consume the offered foods?” Taeyong remarked, reaching out to you and bringing you close. “Open.” He said and you followed his command, showing your teeth to him. “Hmm. I’m afraid that trying to crush what we absorb from won’t be an option. From what I have observed of Earth, you need much softer foods than anything we could provide.” You could feel the now familiar panic rising in your chest at his words. “We have been testing several methods to extract the nutrients into some form edible for the human but have been unsuccessful.” Doyoung added, his lips set in a thin line. “We have a... theory of sorts though.” Kun said slowly, motioning to Jungwoo who pulled a pink container of sorts filled with some kind of purple substance. “Do you really think that of all things wou-” Johnny was interrupted by a sharp glare from Taeyong. “We wouldn’t suggest it if it wasn’t necessary Johnny, you know this.” Kun stated.

“Why is it such a strange thing to offer? What even is that stuff?” You questioned, very confused by the whole conversation. “Well, it is used to give a fetus nutrients to that it may grow and hatch from its egg.” Johnny tried to explain but got cut off again,by Doyoung this time. “It would be produced in a similar way to how a human male creates semen.” The room went silent and you looked from one face to the other, looking for a hint of a joke, but there were none. “So it’s… cum? Like from a dick? Whose dick- How- Hold on a second.” You tried to figure out what to even ask, how had they even thought to try this? “I know it may seem off putting, but we believe you will be able to absorb the nutrients like an egg would.” Jungwoo told you softly, resting a cool hand on your arm.

“How would I even, get it regularly? And from who?” You asked trying to think logically, if this was how you had to survive then you should at least know the details. “Well I’m sure anyone would be happy to provide it, you do have three vleskans in your home presently, as well as any of us or probably anyone else in the village, it’s not like it’s a bad experience to get it, I mean-” “That’s enough, Jungwoo, I’m sure she gets the point.” Taeyong interrupted, silencing him with a hand up. How fucking awkward. Now you had to not only live with these three strange creatures, now you had to live off their cum? This felt like a fever dream that you were desperate to wake up from.

“It’ll be ok Y/N, we can figure this out!” Yuta tried to encourage you, but you were just standing silently, trying to process the whole situation. Everything just kept getting worse, now you were going to be drinking cum as your source of food. Tears welled up in your eyes and you clenched your fists tightly. “Why did you have to bring my to this stupid fuckign planet?! I hate it here I hate all of you! You’ve ruined my whole life!” You shouted angrily, shoving past the group of vleskans and climbing down the ladder. You heard them calling after you, but just started running as fast as you could, deep into the woods. The wind whipped your tears away as you ran, branches smacking you and clawing at the robe you wore. Eventually the voices faded behind you, but you kept running with your head down.

You slammed into the ground as you tripped on a root, and just lay there crying into the dirt. The air grew cold around you and you curled into yourself. Covered in scratches from the branches, some deeper and bleeding. The robe was dirty and torn, the front covered in blood from your nose that had started bleeding after your fall. Your body ached and you couldn’t tell where you were, the sun had set at some point and it was now getting darker every moment. Wiping at your face, you looked at your dirt and blood covered hands and wondered if it was worth it to even try to be found. Why not just stay here until you died?

But that wasn’t how you wanted things to end. You took a deep breath and stood up, crying out in pain as you put pressure on your left foot. “Fuck.” You muttered, you must have fucked it up when you fell. You looked around you and tried to find some kind of way to tell where you were. You spotted a large root, which must have been what you tripped on and decided to limp in that direction. Eventually, it was virtually pitch black and you were still hobbling through the dark forest, but now you could hear rustling in the bushes surrounding you. It was an ominous reminder that you had no clue what kind of creatures inhabited this planet, the thought sending a shiver down your spine.

Crunching sounds came closer and you gasped when a figure came into view. “Johnny!” You cried, throwing yourself into his chest and grasping at the fabric of his robe. His long arms wrapped around you and held you tightly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He mumbled into the top of your head. You pulled away and winced at the pain from your ankle, which Johnny immediately noticed. “You are hurt? And this,” he touched your lips, “blood?” Suddenly you were being carried in his arms and he was walking briskly, taking you back to the village.

You must have fallen asleep because when you woke up you were once again lying on the white fur of the ‘hospital’ treehouse. You sat up slowly, your body protesting against it, aching in every sense. “Y/N! Let’s take a look at you now that you’re awake.” Kun smiled, as he walked into the room. He gently wiped your face clean with a small piece of cloth, “I need to examine you fully, so I’d like you to remove your robe. Humans are scared of this sometimes, is it ok?” He asked calmly. You nodded slowly, he was basically like a doctor after all. You breathed quickly as you stood to remove it, your ankle sending a sharp pain as a warning. “Let me.” Kun reached over and pulled the robe over your head. He cleansed your body with the cloth and bowl of liquid that was a crystal blue colour.

When he was happy that you were clean, he put some kind of lotion onto your various cuts, and bandages on the few deeper ones. Next he wrapped your ankle securely, and finally gave you a new robe to wear. “You won’t be able to walk on that for at least 3 days.” He told you firmly, leaving no room for argument. “I will take you back to your dwelling, I made the three leave me to care for you so that we wouldn’t be interrupted. Before you go though, I’d like you to try the, solution we came up with.” You blushed as he called for Jungwoo who came in with a warm smile and a cup of the purple cum. He handed it to you, and then stood back with Kun. You took a deep breath and took a sip of it.

It was thick, and smooth. Not at all like human cum, not sweet either though, it was hard to describe, but it actually tasted… good? You finished the rest and tried not to think of it’s source, but curiosity got the better of you. “Uhm, whose, uh, whose is this?” You stuttered out,feeling your face heat up. “Taeyong.” Kun answered evenly, taking your cup and handing it back to Jungwoo before picking you up and heading to the door. He placed you on his hip, like a mother would carry her infant, supporting your back with one arm and golding the ladder with the other. You mused to yourself that he was much stronger than he looked, you felt secure in his hold.

You were nervous as he carried you to your ‘home’, afraid of what they would say to you. What if they were angry? Or if they hated you? Why do you care if they did or not? Your heart started to beat faster as Kun climbed up the ladder. Taking a deep breath before he entered the room, with you situated in his arms.

[peechitaeil]

Daddy?

hello unnie~~ can i request number 10 and 17 please sweetie 💜💙❣️❣️ with Taeyong pls!! thnku unnie

Character: Taeyong

“But Taeyong we can fix this. Give me another chance.” You pleaded. Your once beautiful relationship with Taeyong came crashing down. “I’m sorry y/n I can’t. I have a job now I can’t have you there you’ll be a burden to me.”

“I’m pregnant!” You shouted.

Everything changed since that day. The day he left and never came back, but you promised that small baby growing inside that nothing bad will happen again.

-

Monday’s weren’t very exciting but today was the first day of kinder for your daughter and first day of work for you. “Come on baby girl your uncle Johnny is going to take you to kinder isn’t that exiting?” You asked the cute five year old. “Yeah but why can’t you take me or daddy?” She wondered. “Well I’m going to work and daddy woke up earlier today so he can’t go.” You explained.

After Johnny picked her up to take her to kinder, you headed straight for work. A year ago you had gotten a paid internship into SM Entertainment for your photography skills. When you arrived at the company you were greeted by a young boy by the name of Mark who showed you around the company. After that you headed straight to fixing your camera since you were taking pictures for Nct U’s new comeback.

When you had entered the room you were greeted by the same young boy. “Hey I didn’t know that you were working here I thought you were a trainee since you looked so young”

You smiled at his comment. “Yeah I got a paid internship here last year, but I couldn’t go to work since my daughter was still a bit to young to bring her to work.”

“Well I hope to see her one day! Goodbye!” After Mark had talked to you, you got ready for photo shoot. Today of all days you had encountered your ex who was your daughters biological father. At this moment you only wanted to leave and take (y/d/n) as far away as possible. Why today of all days? Was fate bringing you both back together? Whatever it was you only wanted to leave.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit paranoid?” Mark questioned. “Yeah don’t worry Mark I’m just worried about (y/d/n) since it’s her first time in kinder.” You answered him.

-

During your break you had called Johnny to tell him about what happened during the photo shoot.

“Are you a 100% sure it’s him? You must be confused” he reasoned

“I’m sure it’s him he looks exactly like (y/d/n).”

“Well y/n I have to go take care of yourself and of (y/d/n). Don’t go near him. Understood?” He asked

“Yes.” You hanged up the call and continued pondering what would happen if he wanted to meet (y/d/n).

-

When your shift was over you hurried up to go and pick up (y/d/n) from kinder. “So how was your first day?” You questioned her. “Um..it was good. Uncle Johnny promised me to take me out for ice cream at the end of the week for going to school!”

“Well isn’t Johnny just spoiling you.”

“Nope uncle Johnny doesn’t spoil me he loves me more.” She protested. The whole car ride was filled with (y/d/n) reasons why she thinks Johnny loves her more than anyone.

-

This became a daily routine for all of you. Johnny takes her kinder, you go and avoid Taeyong at work. Until today (y/d/n) had caught a cold so you had to take her to work with you.  “Come on (y/d/n) don’t be so feisty, mommy has a lot of work okay?” You told her. “Come on do you want to see what mommy does?” She nodded her head as you both finally entered the company. “Hello y/n! Is this your daughter? She’s so cute!” Mark cooed at her. “Yeah she caught a fever yesterday at night so she couldn’t go to kinder.” You explained.

“Well I’ll see you later Mark I have a long day ahead with her.” “I’ll take care of her if you want I’m free.” He pitched in. “That’s sweet of you Mark but I can’t leave you with a sick child.” “It’s okay if I can handle the dream members I can handle a sick child.” He insisted. “If something happens to her I’ll be in room 127 okay?” You bid them both goodbye and left.

[Marks POV]

“Come on little y/n lets go play.” I grabbed her small hand and took her to one of the dance rooms to play with her. “Look Jeno a baby girl.” Renjun came in running. “What’s a baby doing here?”

“Oh it’s y/n’s baby, I’m babysitting (Y/d/n) while she works. Come on (Y/d/n) lets go grab some food.” While we headed to the cafeteria to grab something to eat (Y/d/n) had ran away.

-

[Taeyongs POV]

After practice was over I bumped with a small girl in the hallway. “Hello what is a beautiful little girl doing here?” I crouched down to her size. “I’m lost.” She whispered. “I’m taeyong. What’s your name cutie?” I asked. “My name is (Y/d/n)!” ’(Y/d/n) such a beautiful name for my beautiful baby girl’

“Are you my dad?” (Y/d/n) asked. ’Of course I’m your daddy (Y/d/n). Did mommy not talk about me?’ I asked myself.

“Yeah I am (Y/d/n), come on let’s look for mommy?” I took a hold of her small chubby hands as she took me where y/n was. I couldn’t help but to see that she takes more after me than of y/n.

“(Y/d/n) please don’t do tha-.” Y/n stoped talking as soon as she saw me. “(Y/d/n) come here now! Get away from him.”

“Mama look it’s daddy!”

[infinitemarilynmonroe]

THE VILLAIN AND THE SHOWGIRL: A CLOSER LOOK AT ARTHUR MILLER AND MARILYN MONROE

[Please note that all credit for this article goes to the wonderful team at Immortal Marilyn.] ------------------ Arthur Miller. In the Marilyn community his very name conjures up images of The Hooded Claw; a cartoon villain with very few likeable qualities, a man whose appearance in the life of the heroine provokes boos and hisses from the viewing public. When an Arthur Miller photo or article is posted online in a Marilyn community group you can almost guarantee that it will be followed a flurry of negative comments, polarised views and hot debate. One comment that crops up on a regular basis is this; he didn’t love her at all.

Joe versus Arthur? To the press and much of the American public, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe were a dream couple; the legendary sportsman and the sexy movie star, happily married and planning a life together. By late 1954, less than a year after their wedding, their passionate relationship had broken down when it had become apparent to Marilyn that the couple had little in common. Joe had a jealous streak and wanted a wife but instead, he got a movie star. There were rumours of domestic violence and after just nine months, the couple divorced. For the remainder of her life, Joe worked hard to woo Marilyn back and change his ways, only maintaining his distance when she married Miller. In 1961 after her divorce, Joe was on hand to offer Marilyn his support and friendship when she needed it. At the time she said “I’ve always been able to reply on Joe after the first bitterness of our parting faded.”

Tragically less than a year later he was the one person that Bernice turned to when she needed someone to claim the body of her half-sister while she made the trip from Florida to the west coast. A heartbroken Joe maintained a promise he had made to Marilyn during their courtship when they had discussed the loving gesture made by William Powell after Jean Harlow’s early death. Joe kept that promise for twenty years; a weekly delivery of fresh roses to Marilyn’s crypt. In the eyes of many, how could any other man compete with Joe’s devotion?

Marilyn met Arthur Miller during the filming of ‘As Young As You Feel’ in 1951. He had made the trip west with friend and director, Elia Kazen, who was under contract with Fox and had some business with the studios. Over the course of several days, Marilyn, who knew Kazen through a casual affair, accompanied the duo to various meetings and had later run into them at a party. Marilyn’s acting coach, Natasha Lytess recalled Marilyn telling her “It was like running into a tree! You know, like a cool drink when you’ve got a fever. You see my toe, this toe? Well he sat and held my toe and we just looked into each other’s eyes almost all evening.” In his 1987 biography, Miller recalled a distressed Marilyn still grieving over the death of agent and lover Johnny Hyde “her face seemed puffed (with crying) and not especially beautiful but she could hardly move a finger without striking the heart with the beauty of its curving line.”

On his return to New York, the couple acknowledged that a spark had been ignited and over the course of the next four years exchanged a number of letters. Miller was racked with guilt as he was married with two children however; at this point he states their connection was purely an emotional one. In his journals he noted “I no longer knew what I wanted, certainly not the end of my marriage, but the thought of putting Marilyn out of my life was unbearable.”

After her marriage to Joe was over, Marilyn left the west coast and went into exile in New York where she headed for The Actors Studio and eventually to Arthur Miller, who later separated and divorced his first wife Mary. Marilyn and Arthur married in 1956 and sadly went through the heartache of unsuccessful pregnancies, infidelity and 1960, the breakdown of their marriage. Although Miller remarried within a year of their divorce, he was still struggling with aspects of his second marriage some 40 years later. His final play, ‘Finishing the Picture’, was a narrative about the filming of The Misfits, written just a few months before his own death in 2005.

So why is Arthur credited with Marilyn’s downfall and why do many believe he used her? He was aloof and didn’t show emotion; Miller wasn’t Joe. He was not conventionally attractive and was awkward in his dealings with the press. He did not enjoy being in the limelight and naively believed that once the news of their marriage had broken, that they would be left alone to get on with their lives. He was wrong. The couple were ridiculed by journalists (‘The Egghead and the Hourglass’) and Marilyn’s efforts to move into dramatic roles were often treated with contempt. Put bluntly, the tone was set and the press were going to run and run with it and to this day, they still do. 

Didn’t he need good publicity during the McCarthy Trials? Not really. Miller stood by his convictions when subpoenaed to appear before The House of Un-American Activities Committee. He had been called to testify and was offered a chance for this to ‘go away’ if he would arrange for a photo call between Marilyn and the Head of the Committee. He point blank refused. In 1957 he was found guilty of contempt of congress and was fined, blacklisted and disallowed a passport when he refused to ‘name names.’ In 1958 this verdict was overturned by the Court of Appeal after they found that the Head of the Committee had misled Miller. At the time Marilyn wrote “I am so concerned about protecting Arthur. I love him and he is the only person, the only human being I have ever known that I could love, not only as a man – to which I am attracted to practically out of my senses about – but he is the only person I trust as much as myself.”

He married her for her money. Not true. Financially Miller was comfortable, he had a successful career and his work was admired by the critics. Miller did have an ex-wife and two children to support and he honoured that commitment; Marilyn had a part to play in the breakdown of that marriage and she was adamant that his children were taken care of. Financially, she knew what she was getting into. In addition, Miller was incurring almost daily legal costs with the drawn out proceedings of the HUAC which dragged on for nearly two years. Marilyn supported her husband during this process 100% and was proud that he had fought for his principles. She knew what this meant to their finances and as the main breadwinner during this period, her work supported the couple and their lifestyle.

He didn’t love her. From their first meeting, Marilyn and Miller set out on a long distance friendship that evolved into a deep and meaningful love affair. Marilyn sought support for her aspirations to be a dramatic actress and Miller found a woman who was emotionally intelligent, treated badly by the Hollywood system and wanted to be appreciated for all that she was; a serious actress and pupil, a wife and hopefully in time, a mother.

By the time the couple’s relationship had gone public, they had been meeting in secret for nearly a year, and the excitement of this private affair had so inflated the expectations they had of one another that they were almost in trouble from the start. As in many new relationships, they presented the best version of themselves to the other and as the marriage came under pressure from external forces, it was tested to breaking point. Miller found himself in the role of confidante, mentor and for some periods, carer and every decision he made revolved around Marilyn’s career and needs. He wanted to support her fully and as her distrust for others around her grew, she expected 100% loyalty and more and more of his time. When Marilyn discovered critical notes that Miller had made in his journal about her, the threads of trust began to unravel.

The most significant strain on the couple is so often overlooked but yet is so obvious. Marilyn desperately wanted children with Arthur, her two confirmed pregnancies ended in heartbreak in 1957 (an ectopic pregnancy that had to be terminated to save Marilyn’s life) and 1958 when they lost a baby approximately four months into her pregnancy. These tragic events occurred in an era when there was little support or understanding of the impact of miscarriage on a couples mental health and Marilyn suffered greatly. Her insomnia was out of control, her dependency on prescribed medication increased and she had at least three hospital admissions for corrective surgeries. This was to try and alleviate the symptoms of the painful gynaecological condition endometriosis, which was affecting her chances of conceiving and carrying a child. Miller sought help for Marilyn and encouraged her to see her doctors but on at least two occasions, he found her unresponsive after she had taken too much medication. After four years of marriage and Marilyn’s extra marital affair with co-star Yves Montand, Miller was exasperated and drained. He believed that the woman he loved was now beyond help and that he had failed her, he had failed to save her from herself.

Arthur Miller was not a saint. His behaviour towards Marilyn at times was ill judged and cruel. His remarriage so soon after their divorce and the news he was expecting a child must have been incredibly difficult for Marilyn but the reality was they had both moved on. The publication of his play ‘After the Fall’ came too soon after Marilyn’s death and despite his protests that Maggie was not a portrayal of Marilyn, the critics were divided. One could argue that Arthur was a writer and this was his outlet, but should he have published it? If Marilyn had lived, there may not have been a play at all and there is a possibility that the two may have become friends again as she did with Joe, but we will never know.

There was no public romantic gesture after her death as there was with Joe. However towards the end of his life, Christopher Bigsby, who was writing a book on Miller, was given access to some of his papers and to the man himself at the home he had once shared with Marilyn. Bigsby noted that Miller had kept five letters Marilyn had written to him during their courtship. However, the most poignant reminder of their time together hung in the garage; Marilyn’s bicycle was in the same place she had left it, some forty years before.

Is it fair to bash Arthur because he wasn’t Joe or can we accept that Marilyn made her own choices and loved and was loved in return?

As for the big question, did Miller really love Marilyn?

The best person to ask is Miller himself. “She was a whirling light to me then, all paradox and enticing mystery, street tough one moment then lifted by a lyrical and poetic sensitivity that few retain past early adolescence. It was an ironical summer that I will never forget, my soul only half there (at work) and exhilarated with life and at the same time ridden with guilt. I loved her as though I had loved her all my life; her pain was mine” “First of all I took her at her own evaluation; I thought she was a very serious girl, because I loved her. Because I took that view, she thought the best of her was in my eyes” “I too was struggling because I could not smash her enemies with one magic stroke, our own relationship was wounded because she was beyond my reassurance, she had no means of preventing the complete unravelling of her belief in a person once a single thread was broken” “Her incredible resilience was almost heroic to me now. Without discussion we both knew we had effectively parted and I thought a pressure had been removed from her, and for that much I was glad” “I realised now, as I longed for a miracle, that I had come to believe no analysis could reach into her. I had no saving mystery to offer her; nor could her hand be taken if she would not hold it out. I had lost my faith in a lasting cure coming from me, and wondered if indeed it would come from any human agency at all.” “There was a lot of pain, certainly for her, and certainly for me. It was a defeat. She was a super sensitive instrument and that’s exciting to be around. Until it starts to self-destruct” “The great thing about her to me, was that the struggle was valiant, she was a very courageous human being and she didn’t give up till the end” Sources: Timebends – Bloomsbury Publishing 1987 60 Minutes Interview – Arthur Miller. 1987 Arena Interview with the BBC – Arthur Miller