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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

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Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man.

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off.

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men.

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot.

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried.

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one.

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point.

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day.

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man.

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn.

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering.

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard.

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above.

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you.

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible.

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman.

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath.

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do.

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks.

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?”

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something.

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that.

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’.

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch.

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans.

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even.

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut.

What’s wrong with you today?

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again.

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person.

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark.

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair.

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins.

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close.

“When?” you question.

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement.

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine.

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself.

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half.

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones.

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response.

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings.

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused.

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike.

A man, as usual.

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory.

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will.

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time.

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand.

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually.

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment.

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change.

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all.

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot.

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank.

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again.

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all.

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately.

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth.

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something.

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last.

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed.

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away.

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him.

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around.

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly.

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly.

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes.

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time.

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him.

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl.

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally.

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it.

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding.

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject.

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food.

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat.

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question.

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond.

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought.

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible.

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump.

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one.

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense.

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend.

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe.

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt.

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded.

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help.

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder.

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes.

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips.

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly.

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it.

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

��Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building.

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

That night, it rains.

Thunder echoes, with ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands.

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes.

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning.

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it.

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual.

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think. Please protect me. Please do this for me.

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android.

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are.

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you.

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now.

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good.

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor.

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself.

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes.

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea.

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators.

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him.

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy.

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does.

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying.

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead.

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second.

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

Text

𝑀𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑃𝑡.2 (𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎×𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

Part One/ Part Three / Part Four

Pairing: Badboy! Park Seonghwa (Ateez)/ Reader (Female)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, College Au.

Summary: Y/N has no idea what to make of the mysterious Park Seonghwa. Does he really like her or is he simply playing with her?

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Flipping the light switches off, Y/N typed in the security code into the pin pad before closing the door behind her, the faint beeping from inside letting her know that the alarm was functioning properly. She honestly wondered at times about if anyone would ever think about robbing a coffee shop. Granted it made a lot of money during certain seasons, but unless you actually work in one, you probably wouldn't think so. Yet it was surprising to know it could make as much money as any famous fast food restaurant. Well.....with those sky high prices, it made sense.

She stopped and checked to make sure she had everything in her bag, not wanting to risk having left her keys inside and find out until she reached her apartment. Satisfied by the confirmation, she began her walk home. If it had been fall or winter, she would have seriously considered taking a bus, even though it wasn't that far away. But it was summer and thankfully there was still an hour left before the sun finally set. She truly believed she was lucky to have found a place to live that was close not only to her workplace, but also her school, even if it was a tiny studio apartment. She felt proud to say it was hers.

Feeling something tug on her sneaker, she looked down and realized one of her shoes was untied. She bent down and began tying it up again, carelessly placing her bag right next to her on the street. She was so focused on her task in front of her, she failed to notice the looming figure in front of her.

"You know anybody could just whisk away your bag and run at this moment?"

She snapped her head back up and saw Seonghwa standing in front of her, an amused smile on his face. He bent down and picked up her bag, dusting off the dirt that had gotten on the bottom part of it in the process.

"Tsk. Tsk. And here I thought you were a more.... what's the word? Meticulous person."

Y/N gave him a questioning gaze before standing up, quickly grabbing her bag from him.

"Not even a thank you?" Seonghwa shook his head.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you went home." Y/N said, clearly confused as to why he'd be there still.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought I told you back in the shop that I'd see you later?"

Y/N recalled the moment, it did seem weird to her that he'd say that.

"Well doll, it's later......and I wanted to see you." He explained, a slight smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

Y/N let out a tiny scoff.

"Why?"

Seonghwa blinked at her response.

"I thought I made myself clear the other day Y/N. I like you."

Y/N blushed slightly at the memory of him confronting her back in school. She was hoping the shadow from the building in front of her casted enough to hide it from him.

"And I said there would be plenty of time to get to know each other.....well I'm free right now and obviously so are you. So why don't we get something to eat? My treat."

He grinned at her, obviously not expecting her to turn down his offer. Any other girl wouldn't say no to Seonghwa. But Y/N wasn't any girl, and she wasn't about to say yes to someone she hardly knew. Especially not when he acted so strange for her liking.

"No thank you."

She quickly responded and took a step to walk away from him, but his hand reached out and stopped her from moving any further.

"Why not?" He asked.

Y/N tried to think of an excuse, any quick excuse to get out of this.

"I'm not hungry." Was the best thing she could think of.

The loud grumbling of her stomach was a dead giveaway of her fat lie. After working 8 hours straight with only a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a muffin on her only break, of course she was borderline starving and needed something in her stomach before it began eating itself. Her hands clutched her stomach, hoping to silence the obnoxious noise, but ultimately just making it more obvious.

Seonghwa looked down at her figure and snorted softly.

"Seriously, I know a really good place here that sells burgers and shakes. Are you really going to say no to free food?"

At this point she could either tell him to fuck off and stomp away home, but ultimately she'd leave even more hungry and would still have to whip up something on the stove that would take approximately half an hour or more. Or she could accept his offer, but it'd mean interacting with him, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but she honestly didn't know what to make of him. He's been straightforward with her all this time, but how was she to know he was being serious? For all she knew, he could just be playing with her. After all, isn't that what all bad boys are known for?

Guess there was only one way to find out.

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Y/N looked around at the 50's themed diner she was in:

Black and white tiled floor that was so clean it almost looked slippery. Cherry red leather seats, either in the form of booths, tables or chairs on the front white counter that stretched at least 40 feet. An array of old records hanged on the wall, whether or not you could actually play them on a record player or if they were just flimsy decorations would forever be a secret. An old juke box was stationed in one of the corners of the counter currently playing The Beatles, its color combination of yellow and blue not quite appealing to the eyes. And of course, a pinball machine was placed near the entrance for kids to waste their quarters on. They even had a light blue 1955 convertible Chevrolet Bel Air for people to go take pictures of or with. At this point it wouldn't have surprised Y/N if waitresses came out of the kitchen in roller skates and started singing songs from Grease or Hairspray.

It became an even more ironic thought when she saw Seonghwa walk back to her with their food. Dressed in a white shirt, distressed jeans, black combat boots and black leather jacket with his hair slicked back, he could almost be a modern day Danny Zuko and for some reason, that thought made her bust a tiny giggle.

"What's so funny?" Seonghwa asked as he sat the tray down in front of her.

"Oh....nothing." She was not about to get caught.

Seonghwa looked at her funny, but ultimately decided not to pry.

"Here you go."

He slipped her food in front of her: a burger the size of her two hands and a 32 ounce chocolate shake with whipped chocolate and a cherry on the top. A well sized platter with regular fries and curly fries made it obvious that they were going to share them. She didn't mind though, the portions were so big she doubted she'd even finish half of it.

She dug into the food, her stomach thanking her for finally putting something in her body. She was so hungry that she didn't care if she was eating like how she usually ate when she was at home, messy and slobbish. She was halfway through her burger, when she caught Seonghwa just staring at her. That's when she started to feel self conscious. She quickly swallowed what was currently in her mouth and grabbed a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.

Seonghwa giggled at her.

"Don't worry about it. It's pretty refreshing to see a girl not care about how she looks like when she eats, and to actually eat. You have no idea how many girls I've brought here who only get salads and nothing else."

He cringed slightly at past memories of awful dates that make him wanna kick himself for even thinking they were attractive. He blamed himself though. He tended to only look at pretty faces and end up regretting it when he found out they were all self-centered, shallow, and prissy girls that just made his blood boil.

"Maybe that's why I like you. You're different."

He didn't even realize he said that out loud until she whipped her head up at him. He was stunned that he accidentally let that slip, but he was able to play it off coolly.

"How......how can you..... we've never even..?" Y/N couldn't even completely form her question but Seonghwa knew what she was referring to.

Sighing softly, he began:

"Well I'm going to sound like a total creep now but that's inevitable. It was a few months back, when you had changed majors and had to be transferred to our class..."

Seonghwa ignored the usual reprimand of the professor, telling him he was late again. As if he didn't do it on purpose. He just hated this class. It was undoubtedly one of the most boring subjects one could possibly take. He began to stare off into space, not even bothering to listen to what was being said.

He looked around at the familiar faces he saw in class, the same people from last year. Until a head of (insert hair color) hair caught his eye. She was definitely not there before. Seonghwa tried to think if he had ever seen her around before, but couldn't quite remember.

Unknowingly, he found himself staring at her more and more each time they had class together. He found out she had a habit of tapping her pen against her cheek when she was trying to concentrate, she kept everything in her bag organized and hardly socialized with anybody.

One time he followed her to her locker, just to briefly see what was inside of it. You can always tell a lot about a person based on how they decorate their locker. But Seonghwa only saw a few pictures of what he assumed was her family, few friends and a lot of sticky notes with motivational quotes written on them in various sharpie colors, with either stars or diamonds as decorations.

That just peeked his curiosity even more in trying to decipher who the mysterious girl was, and his curiosity turned to fondness for the girl, so he had no choice but to admit that he was attracted to her and wanted to get close to her.

"Wait. Is that why you were staring at me in class the other day?" Y/N asked after he told her all that.

"Took you long enough to notice too. You were so oblivious to it that it was kinda funny." He chuckled.

Y/N looked back at that moment and realized she still had so many questions left.

"But then why did you look angry after I looked away?"

Seonghwa shifted his position, sitting up straighter so he could look at her.

"Why? Cause you looked at me with such a bitch face and even rolled your eyes at me. I was kinda angry and hurt that you did that given how I feel about you." He explained.

Y/N looked at him confused.

"I did not roll my eyes at you."

"Uh....yeah. You did. You looked at me as if I was a bug or something." He corrected her.

"Well..... I was tired and hungry! I'm not in control of my actions or emotions when I'm in that state." She tried defending herself, feeling somewhat embarrassed that she had no control over her facial expressions.

"Yeah, I've noticed. You weren't all that happy 25 minutes ago when I asked you out on this date." Now it was Seonghwa's turn to roll his eyes at her previous behavior.

"This....this isn't a date!" Y/N exclaimed.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Oh no? Do enlighten me then. What is this?"

Y/N thought about it for a moment.

"We are just 2 individuals, having a meal together and conversing." She stated.

"Why are we conversing though?" Seonghwa continued to pry.

Y/N hummed.

"Because you said you wanted to get to know me better?"

Seonghwa smiled at that.

"Sounds to me like a date then."

Y/N mentally face palmed. She practically walked into that one herself. She sighed as she picked up one of the fries and dipped it into her milkshake before eating it.

"And now I've learnt one more thing about you: we have similar tastes in eating."

Y/N watched as he mirrored her actions and dipped his fries in his strawberry milkshake. Y/N decided to just finish eating as soon as possible so she could go home early. The sun was starting to set and she didn't like walking home in the dark, even if rarely any crime happened in this neighborhood. She was planning on not saying anything else, but then something popped in her mind that made her ask:

"Wait a minute! The day after the.....incident." She began.

"You mean when you were a total bitch?" Seonghwa teased.

"Haha, funny." She threw a fry at him, causing Seonghwa to laugh even harder.

She had to admit though, he had a cute laugh.

"Anyways, the day afterwards, I heard 2 girls talking in the bathroom about you. They said that you were pissed off at me-"

"I kinda was." He interrupted her again.

"Let me finish!" She cried out rather annoyed.

Seonghwa bit his lip as he stifled another laugh. He found it adorable when Y/N got agitated.

"They made it sound like you were going to beat me up. Something about 'giving it to me'" She held up her fingers in quoting signals.

Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to decipher what she meant. Then it hit him.

"Oh! No. Trust me, I wasn't going to beat you up. As for 'giving it to you' "

He mimicked her quotation signs, causing Y/N to glare at him for teasing her again.

"I was referring to the notepad you dropped. Remember? I gave it back to you?"

Now she face palmed literally as she realized she hadn't thought about that. And here she thought she was dead meat for sure.

"Was that why you were avoiding me the rest of the week? You actually believed I was going to fight you?"

Y/N swirled her milkshake with her straw, unable to look at Seonghwa in the eyes anymore.

"Y/N? I'm talking to you. You really believed that?"

The authority in his voice made her look up at him, his expression showing offense and indignation at the thought that she actually believed him capable of such a thing.

"Why would you think that?" He continued his interrogation.

"Well..... I don't know! Ok? Maybe cause I've heard so many rumors about you. You don't exactly have the best of reputations at school. Everyone says how you're...."

Her voice trailed off, afraid to finish her sentence, afraid to offend or hurt him in anyway .

"That I'm a delinquent? A criminal?"

Y/N blinked when he said that, as if he could read her mind.

"I know what people say about me, I'm not blind nor deaf to their gossip." He stated, not at all unfazed by what he often heard.

"So does that mean none of it is true?" She couldn't help but want the answer to her question.

"Well depends. Have I gotten into a lot of fights with other guys? Yes. Do I have a temper at times that gets me in trouble? Yes. Have I fucked a bunch of girls just for fun? Definitely. Do I smoke or drink often? I'm not denying it."

Seonghwa reached into his pocket and took out his lighter, twirling it around in his hand a few times so Y/N could get a glance at it before putting it back in his pants.

"But have I ever vandalized, stolen or done anything remotely illegal? No. Have I beaten someone up for no good reason? No."

Y/N listened to his words very carefully. She was amazed how he was calmly telling her all of this.

"And I most certainly have never even thought about lifting a finger against a woman. Especially not one I'm interested in." He confessed abruptly, causing Y/N to gulp her drink a little fast, nearly making her choke.

"I'm sorry." She apologized.

Seonghwa chuckled softly.

"Don't be. I get why you'd be scared. I just wish you'd get to know the real me......"

He reached his hand out and lightly brushed his finger on the top of her knuckles.

"Kinda like how I want to know you..."

The physical contact sent a weird feeling down her body. It was chilly, yet warm at the same time. She wanted to reach out and lace her fingers in his, and she would have, until a high pitched voice interrupted them.

"Seonghwa! Is that you?!"

They looked over to see a purple haired boy waving his hand in the air, as if his loud voice didn't make his presence already known. A pink haired boy was standing next to him, looking embarrassed as his friend jumped up and down. Having had enough of that, he pulled the boy by his arm and ran over to Seonghwa and Y/N's table.

"Hi! What a coincidence to see you here! Why didn't you tell us you would be here? You could have joined Yeosang and I. He promised to take me out to eat." He pulled whom Y/N assumed to be Yeosang closer to him.

The purple haired boy spoke so loud and fast Y/N had a hard time understand what he was saying.

"Promised? I was threatened." Yeosang replied, causing the other boy to let out a loud laugh, making Y/N think of a hyena.

"Hyung, where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us to your girlfriend?"

Seonghwa blushed and cleared his throat. It was the first time Y/N saw him get flustered and it was definitely funny.

"Y/N isn't my girlfriend-"

"Oh really? Great! Cause she's cute."

The boy wasted no time and held his hand out to her.

"My name is Wooyoung, I'm single, Bi, and I have a driver's license." He winked at her.

"For a moped." Yeosang corrected him.

Wooyoung sent a glare towards his friend.

"Y/N, these are my friends: Wooyoung and Yeosang. They go to our school, but you've probably never seen them cause they're a grade below us."

Y/N nodded and waved awkwardly at them.

"Yeosang, Wooyoung, this is Y/N. She's not my girlfriend, but she's off limits. Ok?" Seonghwa made sure to lock eyes with Wooyoung, silently warning him not to step any further into his territory.

"So if she's not your girlfriend, does that mean she's a fuck bud-"

Yeosang stepped on Wooyoung's foot, causing him to bend over in pain. Yeosang however smiled sweetly as if nothing happened.

"Anyways, it was nice seeing you Hyung. We wouldn't want to take up more of your time. Besides, we'll be seeing you tomorrow at Hongjoong's party. Right?"

Seonghwa nodded.

"You know I never pass up an opportunity to party."

"Will you bring Y/N with you?" Wooyoung asked, hoping she'd come.

Seonghwa looked over to Y/N, who tried to think of an answer.

"Uh... no thanks. I wasn't invited so-"

"Who cares? No one needs an invitation these days. It's a frat party anyways, a bunch of strangers end up coming in the end." Wooyoung insisted.

"I'll....think about it." Y/N knew she wouldn't.

"Ok! I'll take it as a yes. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Taking a hold of Yeosang's hand, Wooyoung made his way over to another table, the pink haired boy already looking exhausted at the thought of spending at least 2 more hours with his highly energetic friend.

Y/N smiled softly at them. They were definitely an odd pairing, but they seemed to compliment each other.

"It's getting late. Want me to take you home?" Seonghwa asked her.

"It's fine. I can walk. It's not that far." She refused.

"I insist. I want to make sure you get there safely." He insisted.

Y/N smirked at him.

"Are you really concerned for my safety or do you just wanna find out where I live?"

Seonghwa's mouth dropped at her insinuation.

"I don't..... ok you got me there."

She chuckled at his reaction, but ultimately got up.

"Ok. Fine. Take me home. The worst you can possibly do is murder me and throw my body in a lake."

Seonghwa shook his head and picked up his jacket. He made sure to hold the door open for her when they went out. Y/N didn't even notice he had stopped walking until she heard him whistle behind her. Turning around, she saw him standing next to a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She raised her hands and gestured him to explain.

"I told you I was taking you home."

He tapped the seat.

"So come on. Hop on doll."

He began taking out the spare helmet for her to put on. She walked back to him and placed her hands on her hips.

"You kept it parked here the entire time?" She asked him.

"Uh huh." He responded.

Her face was full of shock.

"Did you know that I would say yes to coming here with you?"

"Well not exactly 'knew'.......more like....hoped."

He winked at her before placing the helmet above her head, making sure to strap it tightly.

"Safety first."

After putting on his own helmet, he got on the motorcycle and waited for her to get on. She awkwardly threw her leg over the seat and hesitated to wrap her arms around him. Seonghwa huffed and simply grabbed her wrists to put them on his stomach.

As soon as he started revving up the motorcycle, Y/N tightened her grip around him. Even through his shirt, she could feel rock solid abs underneath it. It made her wonder what he looked like without a shirt. The thought temporarily distracted her from the worry of actually riding in a motorcycle for the first time.

Sensing her fear, Seonghwa grabbed one of her hands and gave it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry doll. I'll keep you safe."

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

*part 3 coming soon*

#ateez #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez scenarios #ateez school au #badboy!seonghwa #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez seonghwa scenarios #ateez seonghwa fluff #ateez seonghwa fanfic #ateez seonghwa angst #park seonghwa fanfic #park seonghwa fluff #park seonghwa angst #park seonghwa scenarios #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung

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andcontemplation · 4 years

Text

The Last Snowball

~or~

Why Joyce Hates Jim Hopper’s Guts (a love story)

December, 1964

"Skipping class again, huh?"

Jim Hopper thought he’d been busted, until he turned to see his tiny brunette friend cross the hall toward him with a great big smile on her face. He chewed slowly on the last bite of his second sandwich of the day as he watched Joyce flutter up to him like a little bird.

"Did you run here to state the obvious?" he asked through a smirk and a mouthful of bologna.

"What? No!" Joyce’s nose scrunched up and she quickly shook her head before the big smile crept back. "You weren't by the steps after fifth, and I was looking for you. I wanna ask you something!"

"Why are your cheeks all red then?" he asked.

Joyce brought a hand up to her left cheek and stood on her tiptoes to look at her reflection in his locker mirror. Indeed, her cheeks were ten shades of crimson, and the blush only deepened when she saw it with her own eyes.

Hopper swallowed and raised an eyebrow slowly.

"What's up?"

Joyce sighed and fidgeted with the lock on his locker door. Then she repositioned the textbooks in her arms, looking anywhere but at him. She tried not to think about how hot her cheeks were getting under his gaze.

"Well -- I don't know if you noticed, but the winter dance on Friday is a Sadie Hawkins," she said holding her breath, before sneaking a peek at him with wide, worried eyes to gauge his reaction. But there was none.

He just kinda shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Half the junior girls asked me already," he admitted, crumpling the empty paper bag that once held the rest of second-lunch and tossed it in the trash can over her head and behind her. Completely clueless, as usual.

Joyce deflated.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, keeping the smile plastered to her face, desperately trying to ignore the heaviness in her chest at his words. "Who?"

Hopper shrugged again and turned back to the mess in his locker, getting ready to head out.

"A bunch of chicks. I told 'em 'No.'"

"Oh." The heavy feeling disappeared just as quickly as it came. "A bunch, huh?"

"Why'd you ask?"

"Uh… well, I don't know," Joyce sighed and trailed off. "I just thought, maybe…"

"Yeah?"

"You and I..?"

She didn't want to say it -- she couldn't possibly say it. The words caught in the back of her throat, but Hopper was getting impatient.

"Well? Spit it out!"

Joyce took a deep breath.

"Well, it's just that... it's the Snowball. And I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to go. With me?"

She shifted her weight nervously as she waited on his response. It felt like forever as she watched his face change from clueless to amused, confused, and then back again.

"Hmm, no thanks," he said finally, coolly shrugging his hunter green plaid jacket over his broad shoulders. "I got plans."

Joyce's face fell for real this time, and she leaned back against the lockers, letting his locker door shield her disappointment. Hopper was rummaging around his locker again, banging books around on the shelves and dropping his winter gear at his feet -- hat, mitts, a pair of long johns, and big woolly socks.

"Why don't you ask your new boyfriend?" he asked rather bluntly from behind the locker door.

"Who? Lonnie?” Joyce leaned forward to glare at him. “Lonnie's not my--" She bit her tongue and steered the conversation back on track, knowing the topic of Lonnie Byers was not a welcome one with Hopper lately.

"I wanted to ask you, dummy!" she told Hopper, feeling her mood start to sour. "Since you're like... I don't know? My best friend?"

"Aw," Hopper said, clutching for his heart and rolling his eyes. "Be still my beating heart. You make it sound so special."

Joyce bounced on her heels in frustration. Sometimes she wished she was taller so she could properly smack him on the back of the head.

"I just mean-- We went to our first Snowball together. Shouldn't we go to the last one too?"

"Uh, no?" Hopper said and then ducked out of her reach when she aimed for his arm. "What? I'm struggling to see the big deal here. It's just a dance!"

Joyce raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. What a stick in the mud!

"It's the last Snowball, Jim."

"And this is the last week I can bag a doe with my tag, Joyce."

He bent down to gather up the small pile of clothes on the floor and shoved them into his backpack. Joyce set her jaw, grimacing.

"A deer?"

"A female deer," he grinned up at her.

Joyce clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"You're telling me you'd rather kill some poor, innocent creature than dance with your best friend all night?" Her voice trailed off, hopefully conveying the intentions behind the words -- I like you, you big doofus.

But Hopper didn't catch on.

"Yes, absolutely."

He said it so abruptly, Joyce struggled not to look too offended.

"Well, I… I thought you could only hunt 'til Last Light anyway?"

Hah! She had him there -- according to Indiana fish and game regulations, he wasn't allowed to hunt after the sun went down. Honestly, she didn't know much else about hunting other than that small fact, but Joyce clung to it like a life raft.

"Why don't you just come to the dance afterwards, then? Meet me there?" Joyce persisted.

"No can do!" He pressed his lips together, unapologetically. "I plan to be elbow deep in blood n’ guts after Last Light."

Her jaw dropped, and it made him smirk again.

"That's disgusting!" Joyce said, horrified.

"So's a Sadie Hawkins!" he exclaimed. "Girls asking guys? What's next? Cats chasing dogs? C'mon, Joyce." Hopper snorted at his own joke and stood up.

Joyce tried to ignore the rude passing comment, even though it made her want to stab him with her women’s lib pin. Why was she asking him again? Oh right. Those pesky feelings... the same ones she'd been fighting for the last four years. Just when she thought she had them beat, making herself believe she only ever wanted to be just his friend, feelings would rear their ugly head again and make her act like a complete fool. Like right now, for example:

"But it's the last Snowball!" She tried with him one more time. “Come on, don’t be such a party pooper.”

Hopper slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the last of his junk shoving it back in the locker, anywhere it would fit. He heaved a sigh.

“So? We had Homecoming last month. Prom's in spring. How many dances do we really need?"

Never mind that Joyce was helping Karen plan each of those dances and leading the Pep Club in decorating the gym for all of them too. Or that this was their last year of school -- ever! He knew perfectly well how much it all meant to Joyce and she couldn't believe he wasn't a being bit more sentimental about all of it.

"It's our last Snowball."

That's when Hopper finally got it. And then he rolled his eyes.

"You realize that none of the guys are going, right?”

"Nuh-uh.” Joyce shook her head. “Not all the guys. Some of the seniors are going with the gals!"

She didn't know exactly how many, and she left out the part where it was mostly the steadies going together, hoping to convince him.

"Well, none of the single guys are going," Hopper assured her again. "Trust me. We all have plans. Besides, that dance is only for the freshmen and middle-schoolers, now. Last year was so lame."

"Plans?" she echoed.

"Yeah. I told you! My card's punched all week."

"Heya, Hop!" Benny called out, interrupting them from down the hallway, catching their attention over the top of the other student's heads. He raised his .22 in his hand to Hopper like a chalice. "Hunting?"

"Hunting!" Hopper hollered back and turned back to Joyce. "See? Hunting."

Joyce rolled her eyes and let out a grumble -- at least his plan wasn’t Chrissy Carpenter again.

"How many times can a man go hunting in a week?" she asked pointedly.

"Well, Beatles say there's 8 days…" Hopper started, slamming his locker shut.

"Let me rephrase that," Joyce interrupted. "How many times can a man go hunting in a week and bring home absolutely nothing?"

Hopper narrowed his eyes on Joyce and chewed his bottom lip, biting back what he really wanted to say. She knew full well he hadn't gotten anything yet this year, and he was quickly running out of time to prove his machismo to his pals. Now she was purposely rubbing salt in those wounds.

"Look at you, being funny," he said flatly, moving her aside to follow Benny out the double doors. "Don't let me spoil your little party, okay? Slow dance with Karen if you have to," he added with a wink.

"I hate you, Jim Hopper!" Joyce called out after him, meaning every word in that very moment. Just when she thought Hopper might change, here he was, being his same-old callous self.

"Feeling's mutual," he chuckled over his shoulder. "See ya later!"

"Yeah, whatever, Captain Funwrecker." Joyce grumbled back as she watched him walk away.

Her spirit was crushed.

Her crush? Crushed.

Was it too late to bottle all those feelings back up? Swallow what was left of her pride and ask one of the shy, senior guys instead? At least, she thought, Bob Newby’s always a sure thing.

Lonnie was her original back up choice, but she already knew he'd laugh in her face too, just the same as Hopper had done.

Lonnie wouldn't be hunting, though. Just drinking and partying at the quarry or whatever he and his miscreant friends liked to do for fun -- she still hadn't quite figured that out, though she was beginning to think maybe being a miscreant was more fun than it sounded. More fun than hunting poor innocent creatures anyway. Or playing lone wallflower at the dance again...

As the last bell rang, Joyce wondered why all the boys she liked had to be such jerks.

---

#jopper #young jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #teen!jopper #jopper advent #day 23 #ficlet #on this episode of who crushed on who first...#silly holiday fluffy angsty nonsense for all you lovebirds out there!

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themangoyogurt · 4 years

Text

Misguided Youth: And The Third

Chapter 3

Bouncing on your heels, you roughly rubbed your hands up and down your biceps in an attempt to stave off the cold. The brisk autumnal air was nipping at your exposed neck, and you mentally cursed Phasma’s friend for being late. Knowing what a shitstorm coatcheck usually was after concerts, you decided to forgo wearing a coat, and instead braved the chill in a lightweight military jacket you could tie around your waist. Unsure of what kind of music was being played, you erred on the side of caution with your typical Dr. Martens, ripped skinny jeans, and a thin ribbed henley top in your favorite color.

It would do. It wasn’t like you were here to impress anyone.

Certainly not Kylo.

You groaned thinking about the dark haired man, and immediately hated yourself for it. The guy was a total jackass, and didn’t deserve a single second of your precious time. Not even if he was built like roman statue. The size of his hands didn’t go unnoticed by you either. You definitely didn’t imagine said hands wrapped around your throat while he...

“Hey! You’re Phasma’s guest, right?”

You snapped to attention as a short dark-haired man appeared in front of you. He took in your nod, and immediately reached for a handshake while introducing himself as Mitaka. You followed him towards a metal door marked “Restricted Access” while tugging on a lanyard with a flimsy laminated card that read “VIP”.

He chatted about his job as a freelance writer pitching stories to various magazines and newspapers. Mitaka was ecstatic when Phasma found you. He was hoping to write an article where he would “expose” individuals to musical artists they had never heard, and record the reactions.

Turning to you, he exclaimed, “I didn’t think that I’d ever fine someone who didn’t know K.O.REN! When Phasma told me about you, I felt like I hit a gold mine. Thanks again for coming out!”

“Uh, no problem. This band...they’re really big, huh? Then why are they playing at such a small venue tonight?”

The current building seemed rather small. At least too small for a supposed "big name" band to be messing around in. Didn’t world famous musicians sell out stadiums or something?

“They just got back from Rock am Ring in Germany. It’s a huge three-day metal festival with over 150,000 people. Whenever they finish tours with large audiences, they make sure to book smaller and more intimate venues afterwards. The lead singer says it keeps them grounded.”

It seemed like a respectable thing to do. In fact, it was almost kind of sweet. Suddenly, a word from Mitaka’s sentence jumped out at you.

“Wait...did you just say metal festival?”

“Yeah, they’re a metal-ish band. More hard rock I’d say, but they’re still really popular.”

You thought back to Phasma’s cropped hair bleached white, and the multitude of studs peppered along the collar of her denim jacket. Yeah, she definitely looked “metal-ish”. But Hux and Kylo were dressed far more “normal” in just jeans and simple tops. Maybe they didn’t listen to the same music? But people don’t need to dress a certain way to enjoy different types of music...

Mitaka suddenly cleared his throat, and you were jerked back to the present. He gestured towards a section partitioned off by ropes. The spot was perfect - just out of sight from the audience but with a perfect view of the stage. It seemed as if the concert was close to starting, since everything was set up and the room was filled to the brim with chattering people.

Clear across the stage, you noticed the silhouettes of three people. Even from this distance they all looked ridiculously tall. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the individuals, but the bright stage lights were blinding. The only thing you could do was huff and patiently wait for the show to start.

In the meantime, Mitaka rattled off a few key facts regarding the band. He was about to begin a history on their first Grammy nomination, when the house lights suddenly went down. It was clear that the band was much loved, because the crowd immediately went wild. The way bodies shoved towards the front as people began to chant “Knights of Ren” over and over again almost seemed violent.

The first individual stepped out, and you stifled a cry of shock. Phasma was decked out in leopard print leggings, combat boots, and a ripped black shirt. Her denim vest rippled as she lifted up an arm holding onto two drumsticks. The woman struck a pose before settling in behind a drum kit situated on top of a raised platform.

The next individual was no less surprising. Hux strolled out onto the stage, and you were taken aback by how relaxed the man seemed. It almost looked as if he were bored by the entire idea of playing any show, and lazily paused to wave before picking up a bass. Even his wardrobe mimicked his attitude, as he only donned a pair of slim fit black jeans and a thin grey sweater. Mitaka leaned over and whispered that it was a running joke that Hux enjoyed looking as un-metal as possible. In fact, security often mistook him for a pedestrian, and there had been many attempts to escort the man away from backstage.

But the last individual to come out made the greatest impact of all - both with yourself and the crowd. Kylo strutted onto the stage in all of his glory. Full hair swept backwards with tight jeans hugging every curve of his muscular thighs. You didn’t think that you were an ass girl, but shit - Kylo was making you change your mind. Shaking your head, you willed yourself to not find the bastard attractive.

The fact that he was already fucking shirtless was making the job difficult though.

Taut muscle rippled along his forearm and back as he reached out to sling a guitar over his shoulder. Your eyes followed the instrument as it rested over his front, right where two sharp line’s ended at a “v” by his hips.

As if he couldn’t have been hotter, the man opened his mouth and began to sing. You swore that the Beatles had nothing on this man in terms of swooning fans. Men and women alike were clamoring towards the stage as Kylo switched between melodic singing and hard shouts.

Although the music was foreign, something (or rather someone) was compelling you to want more. Just as you were taken into the swell of the chorus, Kylo’s head turned and his eyes felt like a lazer as he stared you down. His gaze remained sharp, and you felt all of the air sucked out of your lungs. For a moment, you thought that you saw something different in his eyes. Perhaps the music made him a softer and more vulnerable man.

But then his face twisted into a smirk as he gave you a cheeky wink before directing your attention with a jerk of his head towards a crying female fan attempting to take her shirt off.

Just like that, your softened feelings for the man dissipated in a single second.

The asshole was peacocking right in front of you - shoving his fame into your face. He is the worst. He is literally the worst. You decided right in that moment that there was nobody in the whole of New York City that you hated more than Kylo Ren. Rage surged in your chest as an ugly thought bloomed - you were brought here to be made into a joke.

The rest of the night flew by in a blur as your emotions flittered between embarrassment and fury. Was the whole plan to make a mockery of you? Pay to take the poor student out for brunch and then laugh at her ignorance behind her back?

You cringed thinking back on how you practically ate half of Hux’s entree even after shoveling several pounds of potatoes into your mouth right in front of a trio of mega-stars.

When the concert came to an end, Kylo’s voice sounded like a faraway echo as his fans screamed over his farewell bid. Stumbling backwards, you wanted nothing more than to escape the impending awkward and upsetting confrontation with the band. You felt your back suddenly collide with a wall and spun around in surprise.

Your eyes widened into open disks as you not only saw, but felt, the sweaty naked torso of Kylo Ren. His lips were pulled up in a lopsided grin as he took in your shocked expression. Your gaze trailed upwards as you took in the way sweat pooled at the tips of his hair and fell to rest in the divot of his clavicle.

“So the firecracker is finally rendered speechless. How’d you like the concert, princess?”

“You...”

Kylo gave you an expectant wink, and you felt fire surge in your chest. Whether it was from anger or lust though, that was up for debate. Finding courage from within, you spat, “You’re an asshole, Kylo Ren.”

With one final glare, you shoved against his chest to brush past the man. He looked towards your back in surprise and shouted, “What the hell is your problem? A ‘thank you’ would be appreciated.”

Whipping around to face the singer you hissed, “Thank you? Thank you? For what? Why did you guys even bring me here? To embarrass me? To laugh at the poor girl who didn’t recognize the ‘biggest rock band in the world’? To shove my face in your success and wealth?”

It was now Kylo’s turn to look surprised. That was certainly not his intention at all. When he got back to his penthouse and had some time to think, the entire situation seemed humorous and rather innocent. And although one could argue that he was an asshole most of the time, he would never consider himself mean spirited. Sure, maybe he did want to show off a little bit, but he definitely wouldn’t go out of his way just to embarrass you.

Always one with words though, he huffed, “Please. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

Your face blanched at his response, and you angrily ripped the lanyard from your neck and threw it at his face while shouting, “Go to hell, Kylo. Go find someone else to fuck with.” Gesturing towards the man with two middle fingers, you backed away and stormed out through the exit.

Phasma arrived just as the door slammed shut. With hands on her hips, she turned to Kylo and laughed, “Man, I’ve never see you flop so badly with a girl before.”

Kylo looked offended as he scoffed, “Flop? That would imply I would want anything to do with...that.” He jabbed his finger towards the empty space you once occupied.

The drummer gave her friend a look and slowly shook her head. Giving him a pat on the back she replied, “For the longest time I assumed that you had the emotional range of a caterpillar, but she’s proven me wrong. You’re just telling yourself that you hate this chick because you’re worried that you might actually be interested in actually getting to know the girl.”

The man rolled his eyes and replied, “I would hardly consider a minimum wage waitress with a foul mouth interesting.”

Phasma gave him an all-knowing look and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, then you definitely won’t care that I invited her to the afterparty at your place.”

She gave him a wink, and then strolled back on stage to pack up some equipment. Left alone, Kylo slowly considered his friend’s words right before he turned to punch a hole into the wall.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #modern au #misguided youth

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joemuggs · 4 years

Text

James Blake: Before Before

James Blake has a new EP out, called ‘Before’. It’s really good. I like him, he’s authentic. I’ve spoken to him on and off since he very first released music, and it’s been interesting to see his transformation from north London bohemian to LA superstar bohemian. Below is the text of the first time I interviewed him - I think the first feature length interview he did - from Mixmag in 2010.

youtube

James Blake is good at confounding expectations. At a recent gig at Shoreditch's warehouse-like XOYO, Mixmag saw the 22-year-old play a super-heavyweight mutant dubstep set, then immediately afterwards start larking about with Beyonce and Ms Dynamite tunes, much to the delight of the messy ravers – and yet the tune that's getting him known outside clubland is the deeply odd Feist cover 'Limit to your Love' with its haunted croon and folky repetitions. So, when we catch up with him in a Brixton pub a few days after the gig, we make a point of asking him what his ultimate musical ambition is – thinking it might reveal a common thread that draws these disparate sides together. "I'd like to play a solo piano show at Carnegie Hall," he says without hesitation, referring to one of the most renowned classical venues in the world, which has also played host to legendary shows by the likes of the Beatles and Pink Floyd; "maybe not even singing, just the piano." We think he means it.

That's how he is, though: pretty much every tune he's put out so far has come as a curveball. Going from the soulful mutant dubstep of 'CMYK' – which has ruled underground clubs all year – to the four tracks of gorgeous, weightless piano-laced electronica on his 'Klavierwerke' EP alone was a more radical shift than most artists his age would even think of making. But to then not only make the leap to the intense weirdness of 'Limit to your Love', but to make it work to the point where it is all over radio and sitting alongside 'CMYK' in everyone's “best of 2010” lists demonstrates a boldness that it making heads spin throughout the industry, and generating the sort of anticipation for his major label album that doesn't come around often. In a climate of insane gener meltdowns and turbulence stirred up by dubstep's big push into the mainstream, he truly is the maverick's maverick.

So, we ask him, what is with all of these stylistic shifts? “I get bored!” he laughs. “When I get a sound, like the 'Klavierwerke' tracks, I will just do it and do it until I literally can't do it any more, so then I just have to move on and do something different.” There's an intense air about James, not in the nerdy or over-serious way you sometimes get with electronica musos – quite the opposite, in fact: he's fun and engaging company, and our interview quite frequently gets derailed into just chatting away merrily about tunes, nights out and mutual acquaintances – but nonetheless with a fierce intelligence on display and a maturity way beyond his years. He'll fix you in the eye when he speaks, but often, especially when talking about music that he loves, his gaze will divert up and to the side, darting back and forth as if browsing some inner database to locate exactly the right reference, and he speaks with the clarity and lucidity of someone who has spent a serious amount of time thinking about their plans and beliefs.

As you might expect given the strangeness and diversity of his music, James's upbringing as an only child in the London suburb of Enfield, wasn't entirely conventional. His artist mother and singer/guitarist dad never listened to pop radio but played vintage blues and soul constantly – then as soon as James took up playing the piano his musical interest focused 100% on that. “I listened to Art Tatum and Errol Garner, and I listened to Bach and Satie and Chopin,” he explains; “it wasn't about being into a style, it wasn't a jazz thing or a classical thing, it was just piano, just technique.” And that was that – until finally he discovered dubstep as a teenager, and instantly realised that this could be, as he puts it, “a vehicle” for his musical ideas. “It was,” he says, “just massive for me.”

Listening to the likes of DMZ's Mala made him realise that electronic music had possibilities like the blues he grew up with: “it has that thing where if the ideas and the personality of the artist are strong enough, they can do whatever the fuck they like – Mala could take one simple idea and stretch it out for ages, and it would just work because it's him, and because it has that dread and intensity, and you go with it because you trust him.” It also gave him a way to be musically creative without simply relying on his previous schooling. “When I hear a producer is 'classically trained',” he scowls, “I'm suspicious, to me it's usually a euphemism for 'doesn't have any ideas'. Just because you can read the dots on the score and play complex pieces doesn't mean you have any ability to come up with something new.”

Music production took over his life completely from then on. “I went through a lot of shit, but once I got to 18, 19,” he says, “I just decided that I didn't really give a shit about anyone else. Not friends, not girls – I mean, girls are great...” – he flashes a grin – “...but I didn't want to be distracted. And I didn't want to socialise for the sake of it, go to some shit club just because my mates were, I knew that music was my focus and that was that. I knew from my parents that if you're serious about your creativity you have to be alone a lot.” He did, however, very quickly make connections with fellow one-offs Mount Kimbie and Jack Dunning aka Untold. The latter, after hearing a DJ play one of his demos on Rinse FM got in touch and became something of a mentor, releasing James's first 12” on his own Hemlock label. Mount Kimbie also got in touch after James sent them “a really gushing email about their music” and ended up performing live with him on vocals.

From thereon in, things snowballed fast, with dancefloor-oriented releases on Ramdanman and friends' Hessle Audio and the legendary Belgian techno label R&S – but he was also honing a freakier sound: the sparse, folky vocal tracks that would make up his new album. Only three other people got to hear these initially– Untold, this Mixmag correspondent, and a friend of James's who works for major label A&M records and persuaded them to take a punt. These all feature James extraordinary and emotionally intense singing voice, and are, he says , all about restraint. “I get fed up when people keep describing me as a 'soul' singer, because I'm not,” he insists – “I don't let rip, I just sing the notes as I write them. It's like the production: I don't want to just bang away, I use silence and quiet for effect, and then when it does build up to something tougher it hits much harder in contrast.” And he makes a surprisingly violent punching motion.

The result is something that is both completely removed from trends, and perfectly suited to the current climate of genre meltdown. It's possible to hear everything from ancient echoes of folk and blues to the influence of the crispest modern hip hop, particularly the anything-goes aesthetic of Outkast, who James says are “the Beatles of today, maybe not in sales, but definitely in importance and technical innovation.” It also completely tramples over the idea of dubstep as macho, with a real sexual ambiguity to both James's voice and playing. This is very deliberate: one of his greatest desires is “to learn to play piano in a female way – there's a particular way that Joni Mitchell plays, and also Nina Simone, that is technically incredible but isn't flash, that supports the voice without coming too much into the foreground, yet is incredibly beautiful in its own right.”

There's no disconnect from the dancefloor in any of this, though. He still talks with passion about dancing to his friend Joy Orbison's DJ sets in small, dark clubs - “at one point I completely lost track of where I was, and felt plugged into something bigger,” he says, “like the music was joined into a wider history” - and at XOYO Mixmag witnessed at first hand how even his oddest, most strung-out tracks have a sense of dance dynamics that grabs people on a very basic level. Surveying XOYO's punters, we met everyone from electronica dorks who proclaimed him “the deepest British producer since the Aphex Twin” through indie hipsters waxing lyrical about his voice, to a couple of girls in borderline hysterics about how fit he is (James is indeed striking looking, not to mention well over six foot tall). With this breadth of support, the sky would seem to be the limit for James right now; but whether in five years he's perfoming solo piano or singing with Andre 3000, evidence suggests the results will be beyond anyone's abilities to predict.

#james blake #outkast #dubstep #post dubstep #dmz #blues #joni mitchell

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

The Old Fashion Way

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: This chapter is pretty PG - it WILL get smutty later

CHAPTER ONE

Something in the atmosphere changed whenever Steve Rogers stepped on to the floor. The crowd at the copier got a little heavier. The voices of the ladies pitched just a bit higher. A friendlier chatter echoed between the cubicles. Female giggles chimed across the floor. You found it endlessly amusing because he remained complete oblivious to it.

You pulled up his profile on your computer, and just before he turned into your office you greeted him with a pleasant, “Good morning, Cap.”

“How do you do that?” He chuckled, lowering into the seat on the other side of your desk.

“We’ve been over this.” You took the file folder from him. “The staff gets all hot and bothered when you’re around.”

The slightest touch of pink tinted his perfect skin. Steve chose to ignore your statement and shifted his oversized frame in the chair. You peeked over the top of the file, noting the effect the movement had on the already tight blue tee shirt. No denying the man defined gorgeous.

“You sure you don’t mind me doing this the old-fashioned way?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Steve.” You smiled. “I’d much rather you turn in clean paper work via hardcopy, than force me to run down missing pieces and incomplete forms electronically like Bruce does.”

“Banner? Really?”

“Mm-hmm.” You continued to read through his report. “He may be genius, but he’s as absent minded as they come. Steve, you’re still not claiming everything that you can. These can’t be all your expenses.”

“Y/N,” He sighed, “I’m just not comfortable with all that stuff you mentioned. If I’m going to have a cup of coffee or take a cab, that’s my choice. I’ll pay for it.”

“I get it. I do. Just don’t forget those perks are there, okay?” You tossed his file on your desk. “So, did you watch them?”

Steve picked at the seam on his jeans, smiling with an adorable shyness. “Yeah.”

“I knew you’d love them.” The mischievous giggle escaped despite your best effort.

“If the guys knew I spent my Saturday night watching Disney movies…”

As soon as Steve spotted the Snow White pin on your ID lanyard a few weeks ago, you’d fallen into a long conversation about what it was like for him to see it at the movies when it first came out in 1938. The detail in which he described the artistry of the animation confirmed your notion that the Captain possessed a creative side. Listening to him, you were able to imagine the wonder at seeing a full color animated movie for the first time.

You may have teased him about crying in front of a date at the movies while watching Bambi, but Steve quickly explained he usually went to the movies alone. He confessed he enjoyed watching Disney movies by himself because they allowed him to completely escape who he was for just a little while. He could be happy for a bit.

With that little confession, he broke your heart. Not painfully, because instead of leaving you bleeding he just crawled inside and warmed your soul. Steve didn’t even know he did it.

So, you pulled out a pen and held out your hand for his ever-present notebook. You stared your very own page. You jotted down all your favorites in no particular order, but upon reflection, put stars next to Cinderella, The Jungle Book, The Little Mermaid, Robin Hood and The Lion King. Steve promised to watch your recommendations, giving you a bright smile.

“I can be our little secret.” You smiled.

Steve beamed back. “Sounds good, so long as I can keep from humming the songs on the elevator.” He grinned at your laughed. Long fingers began picking at the seam of his jeans again. “So listen, Y/N, I was wondering…” His phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, a frown clouding his face. “I have to go.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled. “You know where to find me.”

Steve got up, still reading the text message. At the door he paused with a heavy sigh. You wondered what brought the worry to his face, knowing he couldn’t say. He gnawed at the corner of his lower lip before locking gazes with you again. “It might be a while, but I do want to finish this conversation.”

You gave him a what you hoped was a nonchalant smile, but inside you we’re fighting the urge to jump up and wrap your arms around him. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay.”

“Steve,” He paused and looked back. “Be safe.”

His mouth opened as if to say something else, but instead just nodded with sad smile before walking away.

**********

You took a sip of the perfectly prepared latte and thanked the waitress. Being early on a Sunday, few people occupied the little coffee shop on M Street in the Georgetown neighborhood. Later in the day you planned to look for a new apartment. For now, though, all you wanted to focus on was a good cup of coffee and your book.

Only four pages into your chapter, someone stepped into your personal space, their shadow cutting off the warmth of the sun. You glanced up, eyes roaming over powerful thighs, trim waist and tight abs, to hugely broad shoulders, finally meeting amused bright blue eyes.

Rogers wore running pants and a tee shirt that looked painted on. His breath came a little faster than normal. His smile, though, was just for you. Setting your book aside, it took all of your will power not to stand up and hug him. It’d been three weeks since he’d left your office that day.

“What are you doing here?” He smiled, hands on his hips.

“Rebuilding an engine.” You deadpanned. His head dropped to one side and he rolled his eyes. “Just having coffee. Pull up a seat.”

You kicked the empty chair out a couple inches. Steve sat down and leaned a little closer. “I’m sorry I haven’t come by. We just got back yesterday afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smiled, surprisingly pleased it was the first thing to come to his mind. “My desk is still there. What are you doing here this morning?”

“Oh, I just went for a run around the National Mall a few times.” He gave you a shy smile.

The Mall was maybe three miles away. The loop was four or five miles, you couldn’t remember. A few times around, plus there and back. He was a machine. “You run a marathon every Sunday morning?”

He just shrugged, smile a little wider. “Only when I don’t have anything better to occupy my time. I didn’t know you lived in my neighborhood.”

“I don’t.” You took a drink of your coffee. “I’m apartment hunting. My building is being sold and we’ve been given notice. They’re giving us lots of time, though, so I can be picky. There’s a couple places I’m going to look at later this afternoon.”

He slouched back in the chair a little, looking up and down the near empty street. “So, you plan on just sitting around until this afternoon?”

You grinned at his attempt to be nonchalant. “I’ve got my book, was going to meander around the shops, see what’s within easy walking distance, maybe find something good to eat. It’s important to get the feel for the lay of the land before making a move.”

“Have you, ah, had breakfast yet?” Steve bit his lip.

“No. Have any suggestions?” Damn, he was adorable.

“Yeah. There’s a diner not too far away that serves a really good breakfast. I could show you.”

“That’d be great.”

“Do you mind, um,” he glanced down at himself. “Do you mind if we swing by my place so I can clean up really quick? It’s only a couple blocks up.”

The image of Steve in the shower danced across your mind, and you had to mentally shake yourself. “Sure.”

Steve’s place reflected what you knew of the man. Uncluttered and masculine, the living room felt like someplace to relax and read. It lacked the normal collections of sentimental items, but a small pile of LPs leaned against a record player and a copy of ‘All the President’s Men’ lay on the coffee table with the place marked with a take-out menu. He dropped his keys onto a shelf and looked uncomfortable.

“I’ll, ah, just be a minute. I’ve never really had anyone over, but, um, make yourself at home.” He disappeared into the bedroom.

You sunk into what appeared to be his favorite chair, fighting the urge to poke around. Even if you’d wasted an exorbitant amount of time wondering about Steve’s private life, you respected him too much to take advantage of the situation. Besides, something about him inspired a stronger sense of propriety.

The sound of the water running drew your attention. Images of Steve in the shower flooded more than your mind. Shifting in the seat, you tried not to think about him soaping up and washing that amazing body under the hot water.

Ugh. You forced yourself to just stop it before you embarrassed yourself. Running hands over your face, feeling the warmth, you chided yourself. Steve could have any young woman he wanted. Being confident did not mean you weren’t a realist. There were prettier and younger women to be had.

Trying to shake the image of a naked Steve in the other room, you instead got up and examined his record collection. At first glance, they seemed to be in order by decade. Tommy Dorsey sat along side Bing Crosby and Sammy Kaye. Nat King Cole was followed by Tony Bennett and Elvis. Fewer represented later dates, a few Beatles albums, a Stevie Wonder greatest hits and a Led Zeppelin collection.

“See anything you like?”

You turned and you bit your lip against the first answer that popped into your head. Steve stood in blue jeans and a gray tee shirt. Shower fresh, hair still wet and combed back, he smelled amazing. Standing from the crouched position, you nodded.

“Yeah? What would that be?” Steve grinned, head tilted slightly, eye mischievous.

Damn it. He was flirting. You’d never known Steve Rogers to flirt. Your smile widened. “All of it.”

“Really? Even the hard stuff? It’s not all oldies.”

“Sure.” You buried your hands in the back pockets of your jeans and rocked on your toes. “Hard stuff is good. Oldies too. I even like the sappy, romantic licks.”

Steve’s tongue slipped out and moistened his full lip. “Y/N, that thing I was, ah, wondering about...” He took half a step forward. You had to tilt your head up to look into his eyes. “Do you think there’s any chance you might consider, um...” He took a deep breath before shaking his head and laughing lightly at himself. “I don’t know how this stuff is done anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Steve.” You placed a casual hand on his waist, but pulled it back right away. “Say what you want to say however you want to say it.”

He captured your hand in his own, inching even a little closer. “Be my girl?”

Your fingers entwined with his. “Me? You want to date me?”

The warm fingers of his other hand stroked your face, thumb ghosting over your lip. “Yeah. Very much.”

“Why?”

Steve’s eyes transitioned from surprise to confusion. “What do you mean ‘why’? You’re a smart, beautiful woman. You’re kind, even though I know life hasn’t always been kind to you. You make me laugh.” He sighed. “I don’t feel quite as lost when I’m around you.”

“Wow.” You breathed.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” He grinned.

In answer, you nodded and rocked up on your toes. His hand cradled your face as his lip touched yours. It began as gentle, chaste kiss. His other hand left your and pulled you closer. Your hands moved along his strong chest. A little moan escaped your throat. Steve deepened the kiss, tongues sliding and dancing against each other.

His forehead rested against yours, a giddy smile on his face. “I have wanted to do that for months.”

“Me too.”

A/N: More to come!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america fic

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

Note

hey, u got any good lesbian fics? can be a genderswap or irl girls, but no Gerard/mikey pls

Hi Nonny, here's some femslash for you!

Femslash

Didn't Get To Heaven, But You Made It Close by gala_apples, Ray/Mikey, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ray's new to this thing, whatever it is. But she'll do it right for her girlfriend. Mikey deserves getting it right.

Ass-Kickin' Chick Music by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Gerard, 21k, Explicit. She's not someone's girlfriend. She's not anyone's anything. She's a fucking force. Gee doesn't know if she wants to be her or fuck her.

skipping school (what the bad kids do) by inkk, Frank/Gerard, 1k, Mature. L is for Lesbians. (In which class is skipped and a staff bathroom is occupied for questionable purposes.)

Rumors by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Mature. Frankie likes to mess with Gee during interviews and Gee hates it.

girls like girls by etselec, Mikey/Pete, 1k, General Audiences. A little Petekey genderbent ficlet based on the music video Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko

Cloud 9 by OwlHooots, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Mature. Gee realizes that she's been bit by the cheesiest love bug.

Alazarin by victoriachase (orphan_account), Frank/Gerard, 1k, Not Rated. i'm on holiday at the moment, and i was bored, and i really desperately wanted to write a girl!frerard fic and i wanted to write a fic where they met on a train, so this happened, i am sorry in advance

Freighthopping by CryptoHomoRocker, Bert/Gerard, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gee should probably be afraid of Bert, but she's too busy falling in love with her.

the world's not waiting by mirrorchord, Patrick/Gerard, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. Patrick jerks off, at some point.

the joy of rediscovering you by xofrnk, Jepha Howard/Mikey, 2k, Not Rated. She's just a beautiful, pale expanse of skin and ink and perfect. Sometimes Mikey just doesn't know what to do with her.

Alone Above A Raging Sea by something_safe, Bert/Gerard, 13k, Explicit. It's the Summer of Like and Gee Way and Roberta McCracken are still the demonic duo. Sometimes. When they've not fallen out. About nothing. Mikey fixes everything, like always.

Some Hearts Are Gallows (I'm Not Here For Hanging Around) by blindlyseeking (orphan_account), Frank/Gerard, 24k, Mature. My Chemical Romance. The name even had that vibe to it: we’re going to conquer the motherfucking universe. It was like The Beatles or Bikini Kill. It was a name that pinned you against a wall and said, “You better remember me.” And she is a part of it. Gina, Michelle, Rae, Maddy, and Frankie are just getting their new band off the ground. The girls are leaving Jersey for the first time on tour. But Frankie has been head over heels for Gina since day one and in a blur of autumn, Polaroids, house parties, whiskey sours, car rides, and cassette tapes 2002 becomes the year that change everything.

Cherry Bomb by my99centdreams, Courtney Love/Gerard, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gina opens her eyes, the sudden silence in the room almost dizzying and catches sight of Courtney’s scandalized expression in the mirror. She laughs and cuts off the first piece – the tiny snip making something flip in her belly - glancing down to see it resting in the sink. She takes a deep breath; it’s cool, she’s got this. “Flip the fucking tape over, will you?”

Hand On Heart by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. Gee doesn't think it's at all fair of Frank to just waltz in one day with brand new candy-corn-colored ink splashed all over her fucking gorgeous guitarist hands, bouncing around like an overexcited puppy on crack and insisting on showing her new art to anyone who comes within a fifty foot radius of her. Gee hates her, she hates her, she hates her. And also wants to fuck her brains out, but mostly just hates her.

Make Me Tremble (Make Me Shake) by Mondegreen, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. It's like any other Friday night horror marathon in the basement, and then suddenly it's not. Or: the one where Frank and Gerard are high school lesbians, and then they make out.

Get to Kiss that Twisted Mouth by Nokomis, Lindsey/Gerard, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. Lyn-Z doesn't even really realize that the lead singer of My Chemical Romance, dressed in a black suit and red tie, is a woman until halfway through their first opening set.

Raspberry Swirl by brooklinegirl, Frank/Gerard, 16k, Explicit. The time that the whole band woke up as girls was maybe the weirdest.

girls girls girls by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Teen and Up Audiences, Explicit. “Would you still be into me if I were a guy?”.

Earth Girls Are Easy by Siobhan_Schuyler, Lindsey/Gerard, 1k, Mature. Her gaze travels around the room, over a hundred faces, and unerringly lands on Gee's, like some sort of inevitable tragedy. Something in her chest skips and squeezes, watching Gee smile, eyes on someone else, some other girl who'd rather talk about art than live it. Someone not worthy of Gee and her kind face and her expressive hands and the way she smokes too much and drinks too much and feels too much and cares about Lindsey much, much too little.

Soft by ladyfoxxx, Lindsey/Gerard, 4k, Explicit. Always-a-Girl!Gee and Lindsey - unapologetic girl on girl porn.

Songs About Hips and Hearts by sinuous_curve, Mikey/Pete, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. So, the point is, sometimes Mikey forgets she's a girl and it's really not that big a deal because even when someone they're touring with suddenly realizes that she is female with actual functioning female parts, nothing happens. Because she is also a girl with one older brother whose scary as shit in his own particularly odd way and three additional older brothers by proxy who have no compunctions about killing to defend her honor.

Three Times a Lady by corruptedkid, Gabe/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gee is useless when it comes to girls. Mikey is not.

Pretty Rad by rage_for_love, Frank/Gerard, 3k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. In which Frankie and Gee venture into the world of motherhood, which turns out to be a pretty rad experience.

the noise that keeps me awake by ashers_kiss, Party Poison/Gerard, 5k, Mature. Lady!Party Poison/Lady!Gee, five times they fought, and one time they kissed and made up.

you say cut the stem, i say let's see the flower by userl4me, Frank/Gerard, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. When Gee's school forces her to cut off her hair as part of the dress code, Gee sees no other choice. That is, until her girlfriend comes to the rescue with black hair dye and kissing.

No. 1 Party Anthem by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 4k, Explicit. Gee doesn't like parties. She does, however, like a certain punk with terrible hair who doesn't know how to turn down a dare.

Missing Period by revengera, Frank/Gerard, 1k, Mature. Gee groaned when a knock sounded at her door for the thousandth time that day. She stood up from her seat where she was quite happily signing slips of papers to get sick teenagers permission to leave school. Gee opened the door, being faced by none other than Frankie, who had been complaining about period cramps all day and really, Gee was beginning to think that the period may be a super one by how many times she had shown up at Gee's office that day.

cigarettes and chocolate milk by recklessfishes (orphan_account), Frank/Gerard, Patrick/Pete, 5k [WIP], General Audiences. The media really loves playing the “Who’s in Pietra Wentz’s pants?” game, and Pete wants them all to leave her the fuck alone.

Give Them Blood, Blood, Blood by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. Gee's heat always syncs up with her period. Frankie's willing to help her anyway.

Life Goes On by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 2k, General Audiences. Frankie is an angel who is forced to guard the gates of heaven. She falls in love with a woman who passes through them. The two of them are doomed from the very start. Pete is a djinn who is punished for his sins by guarding the gates of hell and falling in love with everyone who passes through them.

Let me hear your voice by 3cheers4sweet_romance, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. "The encounter was brief if you measure it in minutes, but it was long enough to make a deep impression on Frankie. She wanted to hear Gee's singing voice again and she wouldn't rest until she'd make her sing again." In this fic, Gee sings random ABBA songs and Frankie tries, with various degrees of success, to convince her to audition for the position of lead singer in a newly formed band.

Record Setter by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. "Frankie, y-you made me cum like-" she cut herself off with a breathy moan, "Fuck, like? Five times already? It hurts."

i'll make you mine (time after time) by inkk, Frank/Gerard, 1k, Mature. S is for Stargazing. (In which Gee is cuddly, Frank is a dork and they have super romantic sex in a field.)

Barely visible stars by giraffewrites, Lindsey/Gerard, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gee had preferred it when she wasn't out to her school. The days when she could just be herself and not have abuse shouted at her as she walked the halls. The days when she wasn't scared of doing such mundane tasks such as catching the bus. And then Lindsey comes along, and maybe everything isn't completely shit for once. Maybe.

#ray/mikey #frank/gerard #mikey/pete #bert/gerard #patrick/gerard #lindsey/gerard #party poison/gerard #femslash #fic rec list

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jinna-aka-ninja · 5 years

Text

His Fallen Angel

Prompt: Marko keeps having this same dream where he sees a girl dressed all in white in a field of flowers and one day, he sees her in Santa Carla. Well, the two get to know each other and become friends, even recording songs with each other in her recording booth. She LOVES the Beatles. So Marko finally gets the courage to ask her out and she agrees, only to find out later on the date when she's away from Marko, that she's floating, meaning she's still an angel.

(This is only part of the prompt. The other parts with be released with the other parts of the story.

This is Part 1. )

There it was again. There she was again. Her beautiful flowing hair pushed by the winds by the sea. Turning her head to look at him, this mystery girl gave him a dazzling smile that almost made Marko melt. Who was she? Marko didn't know....but he wanted to.

"Please tell me who you are." Marko begged the woman as he slowly took a single step forward.

The mysterious female took a step back but the smile never left her lips. This causes Marko to stop in his place. This happened every time, without fail, when he saw her. The flowers brushing against the long pearl white dress of hers. Just like her the color didn't even seem slightly impure. Without any sign that she had done anything to gain so much as a single scar.

She didn't speak even a word, remaining completely silent as she watched him a few feet away from her. Her eyes gazed away from him looking up into the sky, the clouds large and white, they seemed to take most of the sky up. Her hand moved up above her eyes almost as if she were attempting to look far away for something.

There was so much effort in Marko to not look away from this beautiful being. Knowing very well that the second that he removed his eyes from her that she would be gone and he would once again be left alone in the darkness of his sleep.

Though Marko didn't have complete control of his dreams. This sadly had meant that he looked away from the girl to look where she was looking. Suddenly he saw a sword being flung toward his direction. It looked like it was thrown as a spear. Marko jumped back and turned to the female but she was gone. The sword embedded in the ground managed to slice a flower in half. Then it began to dissolve until it was gone. Marko was alone and darkness began to creep in around him to leave him in a dark void of a dream.

Why that dream kept coming up for Marko was a mystery to him but he didn't really want to complain. He liked seeing her while he got the chance. Though when the sun came down he was inevitably forced to wake up. He didn't have time to chase after dreams...well it wasn't that he didn't have time....more so that he didn't think he should. Dreams were rare for vampires so stories of them having any meaning was unheard of. He thought it was normal so he just went along with his life as he normally did.

Marko's brothers, as well as himself, made t heir way to the boardwalk. Ready for their nightly meal and to have fun doing as they pleased. Whooping and hollering in the night air as they laughed among one another. A happy family, though why did Marko still feel as if a piece of his puzzle was still missing? The night seemed almost like any other at first. They had the same fun like always until they reached the ferris wheel. Marko glanced up and saw a very all too familiar face up above them.

The girl smiled as she felt the night winds against her face. Closing her eyes for a few seconds so that she could enjoy the moment even more so. Having finally gained the courage to come down from her home, Y/N had been all too eager to try the rides at the boardwalk that she had seen from her home so many times before. When the ride came to a stop and it was her turn to get off she made her way off, a bit of bounce to her step as she happily went to find something else to do. Marko followed the girl, separating from his brothers as he went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. A large smile on his lips as he looked at her.

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing out here all on your own. It's a bit dangerous ya know? " Marko asked her as he kept that charming smile on his lips. She looked at him with large wide eyes.

"I think you're one of the more dangerous things here." She said to him as a sly smile played on her lips. Marko was a little surprised but he let out a bit of a laugh and nodded his head as he was unable to honestly deny this accusation.

At first, Marko thought she may know more about him than he thought she should but then another part of him was sure that he had never seen her before and this girl didn't seem afraid of him. "My name is Marko, you can call me babe though." He said with a wink earning a laugh from her. The sound was melodic and almost damn near hypnotizing.

"Well Marko," She said his name to show her refusal to call him such a name, "You can call me Y/N. That's it though. No little nicknames. I don't know you like that."

Marko laughed and rolled his eyes, "Well how about you let me get to know you like that and we see how it goes from there?" he asked her still attempting to get closer to her.

That was how it had started, their friendship. It was pure but still she didn't know what he was. A couple of months of them meeting up every other night to hang out until about an hour or two before the sunrise. Y/N and Marko seemed to be like to peas in a pod. She always made him laugh and he always made her smile. Their love for arts was insane. Marko had even taken to making her an identical jacket to his own. It took a while to find all the perfect pieces to make it match completely but he had doe it and he made her wear it when they hung out so people would know that they were hanging out together and would not even bother to try to ruin their time. Y/N didn't mind this at all. Wearing the jacket with pride as she hung out with him. Their love for music also brought them together. She dragged him to her place of work where she was allowed to record songs with him which they would bring back to the hotel to play for the brothers who would rock out to the music with them.

Y/N was almost like one of them...almost. She never drank from the bottle though. Marko was not sure how to get her to drink from it. To get them to be like he was. Maybe he needed to be closer to her? Something he desperately had wanted to do.

"I can do this. Yeah, I can totally do this. What am I so worried about? Y/N and I get along so damn well. It only makes sense." Marko muttered to himself as he leaned against the railing and smiled when he saw Y/N running over to him as she jumped at him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug.

"Marko! I haven't seen you in three days! That's just too much!" She said to him with a pout as she let go of him. He just laughed and nodded his head in agreement. "You told me you would be gone for a while but at least you came back."

"I'll always come back for you princess. I wanted to ask you something. How can I ask if I was gone forever?" Marko asked her with a large cheshire grin that he was so well known for having.

"What did you want to ask me?" She asked curiously as she tilted her head to the side. Having almost forgotten that she was upset for a second as her mind was now focused on this mystery question.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Marko asked her trying his hardest to seem like he was confident but a small part of him was panicking at the thought of her rejection.

Y/N's eyes brightened as she nodded, "Yes! Of course! " she said to him happily. She answered so quickly the voice in her head didn't have time to argue about their secret that they were keeping from him. How he would react, how would things go? It was a mystery. She was worried but her happiness was overwhelming that small panic and worry until it was silenced.

Marko grinned as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. There was not much he could do with her since many places closed when the sun started to go down but he wanted to make this special. He took her to the ferris wheel. The place he saw her for the first time with his own eyes without it being in a dream. She seemed happy with this. They ate sweets and Marko went off to get them some more cotton candy while she waited at the beach. The sound of the waves against the shoreline calming her. The feeling of the sand below her seemed to go away though. Looking down with wide eyes she quickly brought her body back to the ground.

A large part of Y/N thought that she could go without telling Marko about her past. Believing that when she dropped that she would become...well not human but not what she was either. This didn't seem to be the case however. She had been flying. Floating really and that meant she was still an angel. She still had grace. Marko returned and looked at her concerned expression with confusion.

"Hey, are you okay?" Marko asked. "Did something happen while I was gone? Did someone hurt you?" He asked while looking her over for any injuries but he did not spot any.

Shaking her head, Y/N smiled faintly. "Marko...I need to tell you something about me...I'm not exactly...human? Okay now listen. I'm not crazy okay? I'm just trying to tell you the truth. It's going to sound insane and like I should be committed but I was an angel. I didn't want that life though. I wanted to be free. To be human. You have so much freedom down here. So much options. Your life isn't scheduled to the max. You do as you please and sure there are consequences but you have the choice! I wanted that...I wanted a part of that. So I came down here...." she spoke to him trying to prove a point without him just going away because he was talking some nut job.

Marko looked at her with confused eyes but he didn't seem to disbelieve it either. "So....I'm a vampire." Marko said to her unsure how she would take that news. If she was telling him her secret he felt he had to do the same. This only seemed to bring them closer together. "So...the mythical unholy creatures known as Vampires and an angel walk into a bar...the bartender throws them out for PDA." Marko said to her laughing as she playfully smacked his shoulder.

"There is more too it though Marko. There are other things out there. These superior Angels. You may know them as the archangels. They are in charge and if I get caught by them then things will not end well. This needs to stay a secret. Okay?...You can tell your brothers since I'm sure you may have to but no one else." Y/N said to him leaning her head against his chest. Marko wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Don't worry Princess. I won't tell a soul. No one is going to take you from me. You're mine." Marko said to her happy that he finally had her in his life. They were together and it seemed to be going very well.

@ringa-starr

Thank you @ringa-starr for this prompt!

#marko x reader #marko #the lost boys #lost boys 1987 #vampires #reader #fanfiction

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joeymozzarello · 5 years

Text

Pen to Paper

Chapter Five

Summary: A simple thesis on a simple book she’d read. That’s all she needed to do. She knew it would be at least a little bit arduous but she didn’t think it would cause this much trouble.

Pairing: Tim Murphy x original female character

Words: 3,059

A/N: i got the idea for this in the american natural history museum where i found a note to a Julie T from a Dr. Com on a bench near the t-rex room.

Julie was never the ‘blackout drunk’ type. Sure she liked to party now and then, but she never felt she was one to go overboard. However, Saturday night happened in flashes. It all begun at the karaoke bar. Julie remembered her entrance because she spent ten minutes outside the place, practising her introduction. She didn’t want to seem awkward, she wanted to seem casual, smart and funny. She tried to think of all her good traits; a sharp jawline and gleaming blue eyes that didn’t sink too far into her skull, straight teeth, great ass - with a sharp inhale, she suddenly felt a lot more confident.

She remembered walking up to Steven, who greeted her with a hug she wasn’t expecting and introduced her as ‘JJ’ to the whole group. This was strange because she’d never referred to herself as JJ in the past week, it felt like a very back at home thing, so she politely corrected him and the conversations quickly moved on. The first thirty minutes of the night included Julie being squashed into the corner of the couch whilst having the world’s most uncomfortable conversation with a guy that looked like Clark from the Office and was just as much a douchebag as Clark was and certainly just as memorable, in that, he wasn’t at all.

It had all started with a look up and down, from the top of her head, all the way down to her shoes, as if he had Terminator vision and he was trying to read as much about her as possible in very little time. His eyes stopped at her t-shirt. “How very English of you,” he said. She wasn’t quite sure whether this was a good or bad thing, his tone remained blank and so did his expression as he sipped on what looked like a cosmopolitan. “The Beatles were the only band that could accompany you to this event?”

"Who speaks like that?" was what she thought. What she actually said was, “I didn’t think I was going to be judged on my shirt choice, maybe next time I’ll go for a casual green,” she said, smiling sourly whilst staring at his extremely bright lime button up that should’ve stayed in his closet. He just rolled his eyes.

“You know he died here, right? John Lennon,” he raised his eyebrows.

“Congratulations, you’re a lot more lenient on murder here than we are back in England,” her eye contact didn’t falter. She being challenged and she wasn’t going to lose. “What would you like? An award?”

That’s where the conversation died down. Mr I’m-Ready-To-Catch-You-Out had gotten bored of her quick wit and he’d turned to someone else, leaving Julie on her own, still filling a space that was way too small for her. With a huff and a push at the hipster sitting next to her, she got up and walked towards the bar. “Hey, can I get a vodka martini with two olives? Cheers,” she nodded, looking back at the table full of people she was sure she wouldn’t get along with. “Yeah, just add it to their tab,” she gestured towards them with her thumb.

Leaning back onto the crowed counter, Julie just sipped on her drink, a little tipsy from the two shots she’d had with the group but still not feeling in the party mood. She sighed, starting to give up but in the corner of her eye, she spotted him. Blue jeans and a knitted yellow sweater, it could only be one person; Tim Murphy walked in, looking like he didn’t quite know the meaning of clean shaven and as if he were the advocate of looking scruffy but somehow, he looked more awake and ready to party than Julie had all night.

She wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It was perfectly logical that he was here, these were, after all, his friends but somehow, that didn’t cross Julie’s mind. Okay, maybe it had, just a tiny bit on Friday night, but that moment came and went without a second thought. She hadn’t seen him since their short, but surely not sweet, conversation on Thursday.

Tim Murphy did a sweep of the room, scanning the location as if he was looking for quick escapes just in case. She stared at him, somewhat hoping his eyes would catch hers, just to see what he would do if he saw her. He saw the table his friends were at, there didn’t seem to be any shift in his eyes or composure, he just kept looking around for a few moments and finally it happened. Their eyes locked.

Julie narrowed her eyes, smugly and sipped on her drink as she set one elbow down on the counter and leaned in comfortably. It was almost a challenge, a dare for him to come up to her. She didn’t exactly know what she wanted him to do, she didn’t really expect an explanation for his shortcomings but at least an apology. She would very much enjoy watching the Dr Tim Murphy apologise to her. Her mother always called her a sadist, Julie didn’t see it.

To her surprise, Tim didn’t give it a thought before walking towards her, his back slouched slightly and his walk almost tired but his aura was nothing but soft. As if he was suddenly in the mood to joke around. “Oh yes, you look like the real life of the party,” he approached her, biting the inside of his cheek, the slightest smile grazing his lips. “Tell me, why are you over here, standing alone, when the people who invited you out are all over there having fun?”

Julie straightened up, mimicking his confidence. “So is today one of the days we’re friends or are you going to shut me down first thing I say? I’d just like to be ready so I can pick up the broken pieces of my heart a little quicker this time,” she tilted her head, biting back a smile. After a second, Tim raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, sighing, as if he gave up. He sat on the stool next to her.

“Gotta make this a good night. Shots on me?” He watched her, she was a little dumbfounded, not expecting that to work or even do anything but she was glad they were back on a nice rhythm. She just nodded, swinging back the las bit of her martini and taking her place next to Tim Murphy.

There was a lot of drinking in a very short amount of time but as things got fuzzier, the details started to slip away.

She didn’t know exactly how it happened, the lights were melting together in a spectrum of floating lights and deafening singing. She remembered joking about how the two of them would be much better than the guy who had been butchering a song they both loved. Next thing she knew, Tim was grabbing her hand and taking her towards the stage. “Hello!” He’d giggled into the microphone, getting a sparse response from the crowd. “We are Jim and Tulie - no, wait, Tim and Julie and tonight, we will be singing ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ by…” he turned to her with wide eyes and complete confusion over his face. She just shrugged. “We don’t know. But everyone knows this song. Just sing along with us. Okay. Enjoy.”

She remembered thinking Tim had a somewhat nice voice, it did crack when he tried to go too high or he shouted into the microphone. Both of them were ridiculously bad at singing in time with the music but people seemed to start to get into it. They begun to sing along and during the second chorus, when Tim’s arm was around her shoulders and they were both slouched forward, singing into one microphone and staring into the screen for the lyrics, people actually started dancing and clapping along. The both of them loved the attention.

There was something about letting go. When suddenly people became unapologetically themselves, when they start to accept each other and live without thinking twice about anything other than the here and now. That’s when Julie knew she was living for real, for herself, and not for some fictional, fairytale world she wasn’t even sure she wanted anymore.

The karaoke bar closed at midnight. Julie wasn’t quite sure what had happened between their performance and the moment they stumbled outside, their jackets open in the chilly October air, clouds puffed out of their mouths as they laughed and soon the only thing that could be heard in the backstreets of New York, over the hushed ambulances and car horns, were Tim and Julie, taking it in turns to shush each other.

“Do you ever feel like just because things happened ages ago they aren’t that far away?” Tim asked after a few moments of silence. Julie wasn’t walking in a straight line, her feet were crossing over each other and she was only looking at the floor as she walked, trying very hard not to step on the cracks. Tim, on the other hand, he walked slower, staring up at the sky, no stars to be seen, just a foggy dark sky and lots of buildings.

“Do you mean like the saying ‘it feels just like yesterday’?” Julie said slowly, trying her best to focus on the conversation.

“I guess,” he sighed. “Or like, when you think about it so much and it always plays over in your head even when you don’t want it to.”

Julie thought of a second, stopping in her tracks and bringing her gaze a little bit higher so she was staring ahead. Tim noticed she’d stopped so he turned and just watched her, his hands in his big grey coat. “I dunno, sometimes I think about the time my dog pooped in my bed because I forgot to take him on a walk,” she paused, thinking. “But I don’t think that’s the same thing.”

“No,” he giggled. “But it was good to know.”

They walked and talked; their conversations consisted of made up gibberish, hypothetical scenarios and some truthful outbursts. Julie found herself bumping into Tim’s shoulder to make him stumble over to the side, only for him to look at her from glazed, tired eyes and rush to push her back. Suddenly, nothing about the two of them was sarcastic, everything that tumbled out of their mouths was pure interest asked through croaky chuckles. It was as if they were children again.

“…so, I’m thinking, we get the boat and we just let it float and see where it gets to!” Tim laughed, throwing his hands up as if he’d just told her the most magnificent plan anyone has ever thought of. Julie had a couple of questions, to which Tim had all the answers. “You seem to not be sure of my plan, trust me I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Why you may ask? Well, you see -"

“I’m broke,” it came out of nowhere. Julie wasn’t sure why she had said it, it was the first time she’d said that out loud, probably the first time she’d properly admitted it to herself not as a passing joke or remark. “I thought my parents were going to help me out, I really did. They still haven’t and I’m starting to get worried. I’m living in a terrible hotel and I haven’t had a proper meal in a week. I’m tired and I haven’t really slept. It’s just been bad. All bad.”

There was a bit of silence. They’d both stopped walking now, Tim was standing awfully still, not quite sure what to say since he’d never had the issue himself. Julie felt embarrassed, now that it was out in the open, she felt like she shouldn’t have said anything at all. Her face went warm, she was sure her cheeks were flushed as she heaved a sigh and stuffed her hands into her pockets and bit her lip. “Sorry, that was a bit much, what were you saying about the boat?”

Tim just blinked, he begun looking a little amused at her attempt to change the subject. “Text your parents.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

“You heard me, text your parents.”

She considered it. “Okay.”

Someway, somehow, almost an hour and a half later, they ended up at Tim’s apartment, a cat brushing past her legs almost immediately as they walked through the door. Tim pointed at the three cats, his keys in his mouth as he took off his jacket and shut the door. “That’s Peanut and Butter and Jelly.”

Her mouth fell open with a laugh. “Really?”

He hummed, squatting down to greet his cats, all of which were now around him, meowing, probably ready to be fed. He looked so calm and loving, something she’d never seen before, and for a split second, she saw the hood over his eyes falter. For a split second he didn’t look tired or as if he was somewhere else. “Peanut and Butter came together, one of my neighbours had kittens and didn’t know what to do with them,” he hummed. "Jelly was a rescue, I was afraid she wasn’t gonna take in well with the other two but they love her. She’s become the alpha of this apartment, it’s wonderful,” he laughed. Right as he said that, Jelly meowed at him, loudly and jumped onto the counter. “Yes, yes, hang on.”

Julie watched Tim as he got up to feed the cats, no longer drunk but somewhat quiet, like he was in deep thought or just extremely calm. There was no explaining it, the best she could do was look at his shoulders, there was no tension in the way he stood and the slouch he usually sported was now just a relaxed stance. He moved slowly but with care and his eyes, slightly glazed over from a yawn, blinked slowly in the dim light of the kitchen.

He sat on one of his massive leather couches, picking up a blanket and patting the space next to him. “You can stay here tonight, I doubt you know your way home,” he said quietly. Julie bit her lip. “I mean, if you want, if anything, I can get you a taxi,” he backtracked.

Julie shrugged. “I walked here.”

“You what?” He sat up. “From Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and just sort of - made my way,” she sat beside him, an awkward space between them. “I actually passed a shop on the way here,” she grabbed her bag, pulling out a book that looked like it hadn’t been opened since the early 1900s. “They just sold cookbooks, vintage cookbooks. This one is called Twenty-four Little French Dinners and How to Cook and Serve Them. Not that I’ll be cooking any French dinners anytime soon, but I just thought it was really cool.”

Tim took the book from her. “We should cook a French dinner,” he blinked.

Her chuckle came to a halt when she turned to him and saw he wasn’t kidding. “I don’t actually know how to cook, I’ve been living off of digestives for the past week and baked beans out of a can for the past three years, I don’t wanna burn down your apartment,” she wouldn’t admit it but something about this idea excited her. She wasn’t used to it.

“Then we should definitely do it,” he seemed determined, something about this amused her. “Come on, don’t you think it could be fun?”

“I think we should make this decision sober,” she laughed. Tim got up and just stared at her. He reached out his hand for her to grab.

“I’m as sober as I’ll ever be, darling,” he winked. This surprised her, the sudden burst of bravery and the impulsiveness of his actions. She liked it, though, she still felt this was a bad idea, she took his hand and they made their way to the kitchen. “Now let’s see, which French dinner is best?”

It was now nearing five in the morning and their food was in the oven, Julie was still in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make dessert and Tim, covered in flour, walked over to Jelly who was sat in front of the TV, waiting for Tim to turn it on. He smiled, ready to comply. He flipped through the channels, trying to find some documentary or other about animals in the wild when a news story caught his eye.

His heart sunk into his chest, breath getting heavier through his gaping mouth. He could feel his eyes get wider and his spine curl. The news castor’s voice buzzed through his ears as he watched what he thought could never have happened again.

“Simon Masrani, most known as the son of Sanjay Masrani, founder of the Masrani Global Corporation has just announced his plans to fulfil the late John Hammond’s dream to create a ‘functioning dinosaur park’ that will be open to the public. John Hammond is best known for his failed and short-lived creation of ‘Jurassic Park’ in 1993. This park is set to open at the end of the year and Masrani assures the public of its complete safety and assures it will be ‘fun for the whole family’. Masrani worked with fellow high-ranking members of InGen, including Dr Henry Wu to ensure this park’s success -”

“Hey, Tim? How much is 280 degrees in Fahrenheit? I just need to put this thing in the oven and then we’re set,” when he didn’t reply, Julie looked up at him, confused. “Tim?” She looked over at the TV, he was frozen. Julie walked over to him, recalling his memoirs from his book and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up, making Julie stumble back, shocked and she just watched him. “Are you okay?”

“I need you to leave,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. She tried to say something but he just held a hand up, shaky. “Please?” His voice cracked. “Just please leave,” he picked up her bag and handed it to her, motioning towards the door.

And with her heart in her throat, she hugged her bag and picked up her coat and walked out into the hallway.

Master List!

#dr tim murphy #Tim Murphy #tim murphy au #jurassic world #jurassic park #joe mazzello #joe mazzello au

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seromreven · 5 years

Text

title: i’ll take you there | final chapter.

pairing: john lennon/female!reader | paul mccartney/female!reader/linda mccartney, (mentioned).

plot summary: the year is 1974. You’re the personal assistant of Paul and Linda McCartney. One spring day you meet the rather infamous John Lennon during the middle of his ‘Lost Weekend’ escapades. Spark fly and secrets unfold between the two of you.

author’s note: idek. anyway! not very related to the story (or at all!) but i went to the zoo today and saw so many baby animals i could just about die.

---

Your mouth opened and closed continuously as you stared in shock at the surprise visitor to the house that you didn’t belong to you. What was Paul doing here, and at this hour? You could tell by his similar appearance to yours that he were thinking the exact same things about you, if not more so. For he was an old-time friend of John and for all Paul knew; you didn’t know John at all. And, yet, there you were- about to exit his house so early in the morning with only his old pal left back in the house. “Paul! I… I-uh,” you stammered, panicking as you fidgeted around with your hands, feeling completely unsure of what to say or how to explain yourself. You had been focused on the floor, its small cracks and patterns in the concrete when you heard the faint whisper of your name and slowly turned your gaze back to Paul.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked visibly curious and a tad worried- it was in his eyes. You stepped aside and leaned against the door, resisting the urge to bash your head against it. How the fuck were you surprised to explain yourself? “...Well… Uh,” so you really were for a lack of words, huh? Luckily (or not so, depending on how it would turn out) a distraction arrived by the appearance of John going down the stairs. He wore a light blue bathrobe and his hair surrounded him like a messy halo. He wore his glasses with a tired and questioning look as he saw the two of you by the open door. He called out to Paul in ecstatic surprise and came to stand by you as he looked upon the younger man. He invited him in with the question of- “what’re you doing at this hour?”- and you closed the door while keeping you eyes to the floor; wishing it would let you sink into it and away from the coming conversation you had no clue as how to handle. You heard the wind howl outside (it was a lonely March night) and it reminded you of the laughter of hyenas; laughing at you.

They sat next to each other, already deep in concentrated conversation as they sat on looked at each other; their legs crossed and sitting halfway on the couch to properly face each other. You would offer to take a walk, give them some privacy, if it hadn’t been for evolving dreadful weather in bleak blackness or the fact that they seemed to have quite forgotten about you. You took it as some relief and sat in an armchair a little further away from them- the chair almost swallowed you up as you slinked down into it. You heard your name mentioned a few times, along with the occasional glances cast to you but it was hard to pay it any mind as you sank further into the chair and the lids of your eyes grew heavy. The last thing you remembered hearing before drifting off to dreamland were the wind and the entangled laughter of the two Beatles.

---

You woke up later- how much was unknown to you but no longer did you hear the roaring winds and instead was greeted by sunshine through the blinds and the comforting smell of roasting coffee from the kitchen. You heard faint laughter and willed yourself up the incredibly plush chair to slowly make your way towards the wonderful aroma; hoping your body would soon wake up and make the trip easier. In the kitchen stood Paul. He greeted you with a rather dopey smile and the exclamation of “you’re awake!” He had been pouring coffee into two separate cups and immediately at the sight of you turned around to get a third.

“John’s in the music room,” he said in a lively tone and nodded towards a room that was (before now) unknown to you. It made sense the house had a music room, you supposed. It did serve as a home for multiple musicians. Though, you realised now, you had seen no one else but John and May in this blasted white space. And, sure enough, when you went towards the room and went ever nearer and nearer- you heard the faint playing of piano. It was a wonderful little melody with a tinge of familiarity. You knocked carefully on the closed door before entering. In there sat John at the piano; dressed and hair combed, a stark contrast to how he had looked last you saw him. He looked over his shoulder with a faint smile- “she awakes,” he softly laughed and scooted slightly on the piano stool, showing it was for you to sit. And so you did. You looked demurely down at the black and white keys- trying not to overthink or wonder too much about the conversation you had missed by falling asleep. The conversations that had been brought up. The relation as to the mentioning of your name. You had an assumption as to why but not one you could divulge much into as you felt John look at you.

“Paul and I talked,” you heard him say and felt his slender fingers touch your own that rested on the space between you on the stool. “He’s not angry,” you finally looked at him and could see the reassurance in his eyes- telling you that he knew you worried and that it was all right. “In fact…. He… supports it,” now it was his turn to look worried. Hesitant. “Supports us going further… if that’s what you want,” he looked to the keys where your eyes once rested. Did you want that? You supposed you would. The thought wasn’t bad but there was just… so much going on.

“What… what about your wife?” ‘And May,’ you thought. For you had to ask. They were… what? Separated? About to divorce? The fuck did you know? And May… God, May. What a trooper. She probably wouldn’t be much against it. All things considered- y’know, for her being to blame for anything in that bedroom happening at all. And even if she didn’t exit the relationship completely (or at all), you wouldn’t mind. She was wonderfully kind and not at all hard on the eyes.

You watched him give a timid shrug and push down a key- resulting in a high-pitched wail that crawled out from the piano’s depth and into the wide open room. “I don’t know,” he whispered before continuing in a regular volume, “I love Yoko very much… I won’t lie, but… we want different things... I suppose.” He played a soft tune- something you recognised from one of his solo adventures. You desperately wanted to help him… advise him… something! But you know nothing of married life, except from what you had experienced and seen from the McCartney couple. And you could easily assumed they lived quite differently from what the Ono-Lennon pair did in New York. You softly placed your hand on his, stopping him from playing, and dragged into a cupped hold- both of your hands on either side of his. “I want to be with you.”

You knew not exactly how you had come to this realisation but… there it was. You wanted to be with him. You loved Linda and Paul but you loved him too- from all you had experienced so far. It was quick and sudden but you found yourself not minding. Life should be lived in the moment and dragging it out and waiting might as well cause more harm than good, you supposed. His marital… situation was a puzzle to you but not one you saw as a big glaring issue- not as much as you probably should’ve. You had played a role in the life of a married couple before and didn’t mind going into the folds of another one- albeit drastically different by all measures. You squeezed his hand with a careful smile, “we’ll take it one day at a time and deal with things as they come… okay?” He nodded and pushed up his glasses slightly as they had fallen down a bit from his awkward position at the piano. You leaned in and met his lips in a careful lock. It didn’t last long, but every moment counted and you drew back with a smile that reached the eyes- and so did he.

“Coffee’s ready!” you heard as an excited yell from the kitchen, somehow managing its way through the hard door and walls. You smiled brightly at the thought of the wonderful smell that had awoken you and took John’s hand back into yours. You guided both of you up and slowly went towards the door- towards your new and exciting life that would undoubtedly be full of trials and tribulations but you were more than eager for it and the experience.

#i'll take you there fic #the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #female reader #reader #reader insert #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #one down one to go before i move out of my small hiatus and back to requests #once the next chapter of here comes the solrock is posted i'll start writing requests again!

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gukyi · 7 years

Text

cool cats (and dogs, too) | myg

⇒ summary: yoongi has one (1) dog, and he loves her very much. yoongi also has one (1) daughter, and she loves cats more than anything. sometimes apples fall pretty far from the tree.

⇒ {dad!au}

⇒ pairing: yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 2k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: animals?

⇒ a/n: for sir yoongi’s birthday! i had this idea in my head randomly and thought it would make a cute drabble. also shoutout to that Cool Cat™ in the banner. i’d die for him.

Yoongi loves his daughter more than anything else in the world, but the increasing amount of cat-themed artwork that is hanging around their tiny apartment right next to the heart of the city makes him feel like a traitor. At least Holly doesn’t know what the hell is on all of the things tacked to their refrigerator door, or she’d go into a fit.

People tell Yoongi that his daughter takes after him in many ways. She has the same gummy smile, accentuated by the empty space in her bottom teeth, the first of many. Or, she pouts the same way when she doesn’t get what she wants, an expression Yoongi finds himself weak to every time he is subjected to it. And she loves listening to music, always asks Yoongi to put on her favorite CD (Abbey Road by the Beatles) whenever they’re in the car. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree but his daughter has come so close to the roots that they’re practically the same person.

But the one thing that his daughter doesn’t take after him in? Animals.

Yoongi does not think he has seen a bigger cat-lover than his daughter, and it’s appalling. She has cat bedsheets, a cat backpack, cat-shaped pencil sharpeners and erasers. The walls of their flat are littered with cats drawn on lined notebook paper and little peel-off cat stickers (because Yoongi knows he is too lazy to try and scrape off real sticker remnants). Her bedroom floor is decorated with various stuffed cats, ranging from the smallest kittens to the fiercest lions.

And poor Holly is trapped in the middle of it, Yoongi’s faithful pup who does not understand the horror that is his daughter’s bedroom, can not comprehend what all of the pictures on the wallpaper mean. Holly is the second love of Yoongi’s life, the only other constant in his rocky existence.

It’s not that his daughter, Chorong, hates Holly, or anything. It’s just that every time he takes her into a pet store to pick up Holly’s food, she drags him to the cages where the cats are, ogles them and begs him to adopt one to take home (which Yoongi knows Holly would hate). And she’s constantly babbling about how Holly is so much work to take care of, and even at only five-years-old, she is already aware that cats don’t need to be potty-trained like people and dogs, and that they bathe themselves. And she tells him that Holly deserves a friend because it gets awfully lonely in their little home when she is at kindergarten and he’s at work, and a cat would be the perfect solution to the predicament.

Yoongi was already unprepared to the fullest extent when Chorong came along, stomping all over his previously delicately-laid-out life plans and decorating his life with color. Even five years later, he still thinks he is entirely unqualified to be taking care of a little human despite him trying his best. But this? This sends him back to square one, for nowhere in any of the twelve parenting books Yoongi owns does it detail what to do when your daughter is a cat person and you are a dog person.

Guess this one’s on him to figure out.

---

Yoongi regrets taking this detour after picking his daughter up from extended-day at kindergarten.

His work had dragged on longer than he anticipated, an occurrence he fears will start to become more common. He really hates leaving his daughter alone for so long—she is already beginning to realize that when he doesn’t come to pick her up at the normal time, she just needs to go to the classroom where extended-day is held without being told—and can’t bear the thought of her simply getting used to him not being around. Her mother had left when she was three days old, so Yoongi is all she has.

By the time he picked her up, the sidewalk that was once open for them to walk on as a shortcut to their apartment had been boarded up, metal fencing surrounding it and forcing the two of them to find another way home. Yoongi doesn’t know much about this city to begin with, so he is relying on only Siri to lead him home.

Chorong is happily blabbing on about the arts and crafts activity they did, where they got to decorate ladybugs with sequins and sparkles and glitter as part of their unit on insects. Chorong proudly declares that she is the only person in her class that isn’t afraid of spiders (“even the boys are too scared!”), another trait she got from her father who spent the entirety of his university years taking the spiders that haunted his shared apartment outside.

And then, as Yoongi is telling her that she is the bravest person he knows, she stops. Chorong has a habit of getting distracted fairly easily, yet another inherited characteristic, so Yoongi finds himself getting used to the abrupt pauses and stops as they walk around the city.

“Look, Daddy!”

Yoongi leans down so that he matches her little height, made littler by all of the things in this city that tower over her, and lets his eyes trace from her arm to her pointer finger. When he finally looks properly at what she’s staring at, his brows furrow.

“A cat café!” She cries excitedly, already clasping her fingers together in applause. Yoongi grimaces. “Daddy, can we go inside?” She begs, tugging on her father’s arm in desperation.

Yoongi knows that voice. It’s the voice that Yoongi always caves in to, always finds himself falling weak to, despite the stern tone in his voice as he attempts to tell his daughter “no”.

“Please?”

Yoongi is going to apologize to Holly until the universe collapses in on itself.

Chorong tugs him towards the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach for the handle. Yoongi makes to open the door for her but she pushes him off, already feisty even only at five years of age, wrenching open the door proudly as Yoongi places his hand on the frame to keep it open for her.

“Welcome to the Choco Kitty Cafe,” the woman at the front says, smiling happily at Chorong as she gazes around the quaint cafe. There’s cat memorabilia all over the place, decorating the walls and the floors and everything in between, and Yoongi swears he hears the faint meowing of cats from the next room over. “Just the two of you?” The woman asks, swiping away at the iPad in front of her.

“Yes,” Yoongi nods, already making the pull his wallet from his back pocket. Oh, the things he does for his daughter. He makes sure to keep a close eye on Chorong, knowing how she has a habit of disappearing from his line of sight in favor of something largely more interesting than her father.

“An hour?”

Yoongi looks down to his daughter, who is playing with the lucky cat on the table beside her, paw waving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“Yes, an hour,” Yoongi says, and maybe he shouldn’t be wasting away his time surrounded by animals that are notorious for disliking him, maybe he should be working on some of the work he still has left for his boring day job, but the smile on Chorong’s face makes this all the more bearable.

He follows her as she leads him into the room with all of the cats, relatively empty as a result of the time of day. Yoongi counts; there’s eight cats in total, sitting on cushions and towers and shelves, prancing around or eating or sleeping. Chorong looks like she’s in heaven, so overwhelmed at the mere sight of so many of her favorite domesticated pets that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Yoongi takes a seat in the corner, letting his body rest after a long day, watching his daughter with a resigned sort of fondness as she jumps from cat to cat, desperate to spread her love equally to all of them. He supposes that some sacrifices are worth making. Chorong can’t contain her excitement—every time a cat sniffs her hand or lets her pet her she shouts, “Daddy! Daddy! Look at this!”—and Yoongi will look at her, send her a thumbs up as he attempts to avoid any sort of contact with the animals. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like they’ve taken too much of a liking to him, either.

“Want tea, sir?”

A voice interrupts his train of thought, and Yoongi whips his head around to find you standing in the doorway to the café part of this cat café, holding a kettle in your hand. You look at him with a warm glow, smiling despite the visible bags under your eyes and the tired slouch of your shoulders.

“Ah, no thank you,” Yoongi says, shaking his head. “It makes me sleepy.”

“I hear you,” you reply distantly, nodding. “Half the time I just want to curl up on the pillows and sleep with the cats.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, trying not to spend too much time looking at you or the way your lips curl up in a grin or the little sparkles in your eyes. The only person he need love in his life is Chorong. Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

“Is she your daughter?” You ask, motioning to Chorong as she coddles a bright orange cat, one that reminds him of the one from the Harry Potter franchise. You don’t sit down out of respect for his personal space, though Yoongi finds that he wouldn’t mind the company.

He scoots over, the universal sign for “stop standing like a fool and join me on this comfortable cushion”, and nods. “All mine.”

“She’s cute,” you say, taking a tentative seat. “Dragged you in here, didn’t she?”

Yoongi finds himself enamored with how easily you can read him, like you’ve already known him for years. “I’m not… a cat person.”

The declaration makes you gasp in shock, a hand coming up and placed on your chest in mock offense. Your brows furrow and you begin to pout, lower lip coming out the same way that it does when Chorong is begging for whatever it is she wants.

“You’re not a cat person?” You ask, mouth open wide. “How could someone not be a cat person?”

“They don’t like me, I don’t like them,” Yoongi explains. “I like dogs. They’re better.”

“I take personal offense to that statement,” you say. “It seems your daughter would agree with me.”

“There are things that she and I don’t really match up on.”

“But cats are so wonderful! All they do is sleep and eat and look cuddly and shower you in affection,” you say longingly, a hand leaning down past the edge of the seat as a cat brushes by, sniffing your outstretched fingers with a satisfied purr as it rubs its chin against them. “How can you go wrong?”

“Dogs do all that and more,” Yoongi begins to playfully argue, a blush blooming on his cheeks as you pout his way.

You stand up firmly, blatantly attempting to resist the smirk that’s growing wider on your face. “This means war, Mr. Dog Person,” you decide, hands on your hips. “I’ll teach you to love cats. Just you wait.”

---

On the way back, Chorong is joyfully skipping down the pavement, hand resting in her father’s safe grip. The entire walk to their home, she goes on about each of the different cats, citing you as the “nice lady who told me their names and their favorite things to do” and making Yoongi’s heart swell just a little more.

It’s strange for him, really, to already be thinking about a future with you. For five years now, it’s been him and Chorong against all of the forces of the universe, ready to take on anything that comes their way, but now, Yoongi thinks he might have to rewrite a couple chapters. His conversations with you have been brief and meaningless, but, for the first time, Yoongi wants to know a little more.

“Daddy?” Chorong asks as they step into the elevator, her father letting her press the seventh floor button.

“Hmm?” Yoongi responds mindlessly.

“Do you like the lady at the cat cafe?” She asks innocently, looking up at him with her brown eyes wide.

“What do you mean, Chorong-ah?” Yoongi inquires, a little frightened and a little impressed with how easily she was able to pick that up. Is he really that transparent?

“I mean, do you like like her? Because you always told me that when you smile it’s because you like something. Like like something,” Chorong says pointedly, her five-year-old logic sending his heart reeling.

Yoongi’s grip grows tighter on his daughter’s hand as he thinks of what lies ahead. The thought excites him. Perhaps your relationship won’t work, perhaps there will be too many bumps in the road, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. You make him want to learn to love the things that the universe throws his way.

He thinks he might need to start taking that detour more often.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

#sfwbangtan #bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #bts writing squad #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts dad au #dad yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #bts imagine #bts drabble #hbd yoongi!#mygday #w: cool cats #i am a cat person if this fic did not make it abundantly clear

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mrjeremydylan · 7 years

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Shania Returns: She’s Still the One

By Jeremy Dylan

Leopard print. Shania Twain. You already have an image in your mind’s eye. But it’s probably not the one I’m thinking of – the classy black and white cover to Shania’s new album ‘Now’, where the highest-selling female artist in country music history gazes towards the sky, hands clad in gloves that surely must be reference to that music video.

“Yes,” Shania chuckles, confirming the wink at her indelible ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’ video. “You know it's funny because the album is called ‘Now’, and there are just some things in my life that I just move on from. Time to let go of this. Then there are things that just stay with you forever. I think that the leopard print will just always stay with me forever. It’s part of my career and my life and part of who Shania is visually and always will be. I'm happy to take with me into now and the future.”

The ‘Now’ album is recognizably the Shania we all remember, but it’s an album showcasing her growth and maturity in the fifteen years since her last album ‘Up!’. A bout with vocal chord dysphonia left her retraining her voice, which now has a more complex timbre.

Some will be tempted to scan the lyrics for references to Shania’s personal challenges, which have been well documented by the tabloids. But is this an album about the struggles of her last decade and a half or is this like any other album – a complete portrait of the Shania of today. As Shania explains, the title tells the story.

“It really is more about where I am now, and a reflection on my whole life and not just recent years. There's been a lot of life lived to now and I would say that it's a very it's the most personal album that I've ever written.”

As one of the all-time great songwriters in pop or country music, and one of the most successful, Shania has always walked the line between drawing a portrait of her heart and world and finding language that all kinds of men and (especially) women around the world can relate to.

Lead single ‘Life’s About to Get Good’ is deeply personal, but I’d wager many listeners have no problem finding themselves in lines like ‘You no longer love me and I sang like a sad bird / I couldn't move on and I think you were flattered’.

A song like the volatile, emotionally stark ‘Poor Me’ is without parallel in Twain’s back catalogue. Part of the reason may be that this is her first album written totally solo, without a single co-writer.

“That just does naturally make it more personal. It’s coming from me directly, without any outside influence in the songwriting. I isolated myself to write most of the album, and it's me in the purest sense, unique to anything else I've ever recorded.”

‘Now’ may be the first record with no credited writers other than ‘S. Twain’, but Shania has always defied Nashville conventions. Instead of cutting tunes from the Music Row songwriting elite, she’s had a hand in the penning of all but one song on all her records since 1995’s ‘The Woman In Me’, largely in collaboration with her then-husband and producer Robert ‘Mutt’ Lange.

“I was a writer from the age of ten, so I've been writing alone all of my life. I met Mutt and then he became my collaborator and co-writer for the next two decades. But there was one period, when I first got signed to my record label, that for the first time it wasn't going to be doing my own music. There was pressure to only record outside songs and that's what I did on my first album.”

The self-titled ‘Shania Twain’ album features only one song co-written by Twain, and perhaps no coincidentally, it failed to yield any significant hits. As soon as Shania took the creative reins, this trend was sharply reversed. ‘Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under’, ‘Any Many of Mine’, ‘The Woman in Me’, ‘You’re Still the One’, ‘From This Moment On’, ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’, ‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman’ and on and on. This is Michael Jackson territory.

Countless column inches have been spent remarking on Shania’s pop crossover success and her high-octane stage shows. Her status as one of the most important and consistently successful songwriters of the last 25 years has been underappreciated.

Growing up poor in Ontario, Canada, Twain took to the greats of classic pop and country (“The Beatles were a huge influence, the Carpenters, Dolly Parton”), and the legendary Canadian singer-songwriters.

“There was a whole host of the storytelling singer-songwriters. There were many great Canadian songwriters that were always on our radio like Joni Mitchell of course and Gordon Lightfoot, who was a big influence on my writing.”

Shania’s love of folk singer-songwriters established a songwriting process that is still largely unchanged today.

“For me it's still what it always was, it’s sitting with my guitar. I do work with my guitar in front of a computer now, but that's the only part that's changed. Sometimes it starts with a melody, sometimes with poems, sometimes with a title or just a concept. So there's no real formula.

I'm always writing from a different element in music and there is no one way that I write to be honest.”

Songwriting is a constant in Shania’s life, whether the goal of a new album is in the front of her mind or not.

“I'm always an ongoing writer and I usually just collect ideas over time. When I decided to jump into the project and make an actual record, it was a good year of on collecting all of those ideas and putting them all together. A year of really concentrated writing and then I carried on writing during the recording process as well so. That was all about a two-year period.”

The deliberate, unhurried pace of Shania’s current artistic process is hard not to contrast to the relentlessness of twenty years ago, when she was riding the bazillion-selling ‘Come on Over’ album to world domination. I asked if her if she was able to enjoy all her success in that period, or if she got too caught up in the crazy pace of it all, like so many superstars.

“It's true and that is what happened to me. I didn't really realize how wonderful it all was at the time. That's partly why symbolically I used the leopard print glove [on the new record cover]. I look back on that period of my life very fondly, especially creatively. So it's a throwback of a moment that I now am enjoying really for the first time.”

It’s hard not to remark on a coincidence of timing that Shania is returning with new music, less than a month after another pop culture icon of assertive brunette womanhood has been relaunched into the forefront of our consciousness. Wonder Woman may be fictional, but the awe and inspiration she’s generating in young girls who see that movie has a lot in common with how girls look at Shania.

With her recent return to touring, I wondered what it was like for Twain to play to 20-something girls who grew up worshipping her music.

“Well it's very special to see the audience today compared to the audience 20 years ago.

You know 20 years ago the audience was so full of parents with their small children who were three, four, five, six. Now those kids are in their late teens or early 20s, college age. It’s amazing to see the transition.

They all have a very similar story and it is touching. To hear them say repeatedly ‘You were my first concert, I came with my mom’ and now they're college kids coming with friends.

It’s still in the joy of a child almost, that's what music does to us. It brings us back to such an excitable euphoric place. A song takes you back to a time and it's just so refreshing and wonderful and energizing for me.

It’s unexpected as well because… I don't know what I was expecting, but I just forgot that all these little kids grew up. You come back fifteen years later and all of a sudden, they're adults and that really did blow my mind.

So it was wonderful to watch that evolution. And there's always a heartwarming story as well that people have to share and I love to hear their stories.”

In a couple of short months, these young women will be waiting with bated breath to pick up their first ‘new’ Shania record. Their real-life superhero has returned, armed with a new collection of lyrics and melodies to touch their hearts.

Shania thinks on this for a moment.

“Well,” she says. “I hope they like it.”

NOTE: This article originally appeared in Country Music Capital News magazine and is reprinted here with permission.

#interview #shania #shania twain

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