#at the time commercial ones already existed

[usergreenpixel]

(Disclaimer: While I am alluding to a historical setting and using historical characters, this story is a work of fiction EXCLUSIVELY. The baby mentioned here is an original character who did not exist in real life. Also, I dedicate this story to @amypihcs !)

Tw: suicide mention, Orientalism, death

The Grim Game

May, 1910

Harlem, New York City

It was a windy and rainy night, quite atypical for the month of May. Street lamps were illuminating the West 113th Street and its many fancy buildings, their lights bright as ever.

Some of the inhabitants of the many brownstones lining the street were preparing for dinner. Some were merely drinking hot tea or chocolate while discussing the business of that day and the plans for the next one. Others yet were already putting out the lights and preparing to retire to bed after a long day of work or school.

However, one particular household was doing none of the above, for an unexpected occurrence had disrupted their usual lives mere hours earlier. An occurrence after which the lives of that particular family would change forever.

“We should boil the milk first. That’s how it was done back in our country.” an old woman whispered in German while hovering around the stove. “The last thing we need is the baby being sick, my dear Bess.” she added, turning to her daughter-in-law.

Bess, a short woman in her early thirties, responded with a simple nod, her wide full lips curled at the corners into a smile as she was holding the baby.

Wrapped up in a bundle of white cloth with a polka dot pattern, the baby girl was so pink, so quiet and so tiny that she somewhat resembled a life sized doll, but the softness of her pink skin, her heartbeat and her soft gurgles were positive proof that the baby was in fact very much human.

“Sleep, my little princess.” Bess whispered in German, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she listened to her new daughter’s soft gurgles. “My little Mattie. Let’s go upstairs and make sure that Papa doesn’t catch his death of cold, alright?”

With that, Bess left the kitchen and headed straight for the master bedroom, where her husband was lying in bed, wrapped up in warm blankets and sipping hot chocolate.

Bess’s husband was a man who, while not very tall, had enough muscle mass to pass for a circus strongman and the unique brand of charisma that only the best of performers possess. And indeed he, Harry Houdini, was a household name in the United States, known for his daring escapes and for exposing fraudulent “psychics”.

As soon as the door opened and his beloved wife tiptoed inside with Mattie in her arms, Houdini smiled, put his cup of hot chocolate onto a nightstand and gently took the baby into his arms, carefully rocking the bundle and cooing in German, the mother tongue of both his and Bess’s families.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the new parents nor to Mattie’s new grandmother, two ghosts gathered near the window of the master bedroom, looking closely at the happy family. These ghosts were none other than the recently deceased Mr. and Mrs. Dorn, the newest additions to the list of frauds exposed by Harry Houdini.

“You know, Otto,” said Mrs. Anna Dorn, a petite woman who was still donning her Turkish inspired dress and her white turban. “I still can’t believe that our foe is the same man who is taking care of Martha now.”

Otto Dorn, a short and stocky man whose head was also adorned by a turban, sighed, placing his transparent hand onto his wife’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe it either, my love, yet I do feel grateful that Houdini dove into the river to attempt to save us. At least he succeeded in saving Martha. It would not do anyone good to take her with us.”

“I know.” Mrs. Dorn sighed as well, guilt consuming her even in death. “I wished to protect our daughter from bearing the scarlet letter of having frauds for parents… However, I now feel that Martha might have a second chance at life and grow up to become an honest young woman.”

Mr. Dorn smiled, pulling his wife into a warm embrace.

“Let us hope that you are correct, my love.”

Mrs. Dorn smiled as well, and the two ghosts vanished into the night while the Houdinis were holding the baby girl and quietly discussing what design they wanted to use for Mattie’s nursery.

The ghosts crowded near the window to see the baby the new caretakers brought into the manor. 

[vriskarlmarx]

i am always so confused when people express that it is hard for them to boycott mcdonalds or starbucks or similar. i probably go to those places twice a year at the most. we inhabit very different realities you and i dear reader

[capquinn]

I really want fries as a finishing the week treat but it’s so cold out and I’m too lazy to get them. But I was thinking about Quinn and pregnant reader in that situation. Quinn would give her that 🫤 look and sigh after she’s been going on and on about her pregnancy craving and no matter the weather or time of night he always goes out to get it or find the closest thing to it. He’s such a softie and drops everything to do anything for her

It starts off innocently enough — just a passing comment as you're cooking dinner.

You’re standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when you spot the empty pickle jar on the counter. The sight of it stops you mid-stir, an ache blooming in your chest that you hadn’t even realised was there. The sharp tang of vinegar was just a memory now, thanks to Quinn, who had polished off the last one earlier. You stared at the jar for a long moment, then inhaled deeply as if to steel yourself, catching the faint scent of peanut butter still lingering in the air from his afternoon snack.

“We’re out of pickles,” you announce, the words coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Quinn doesn’t even look up from where he’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

“We’re going grocery shopping tomorrow,” he replies casually, like it’s no big deal. “We’ll grab some more then.”

You nod, swallowing down the disappointment. Of course, it’s fine. Quinn already does so much for you — too much, honestly. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up in the middle of the night to rub your back, doesn’t bat an eye when you cry over commercials. The least you can do is manage a craving for one night.

But by the time the soup bowls are empty and the dishes are drying in the rack, the craving is no longer something you can brush aside. It’s no longer just pickles. It’s pickles and peanut butter. Crunchy peanut butter, specifically, the kind you already have in the pantry. And the thought of it — salty and tangy and just a little sweet — is like a loop stuck in your brain. You can feel it growing, blooming into an obsession you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

So you finally bring it up as you’re both clearing the table.

“You know, pickles and peanut butter would taste so good right now,” you say, hoping maybe speaking it out loud will get it out of your system.

Quinn pauses, plate in hand, and gives you a skeptical glance. “Pickles and peanut butter? Together?”

You nod, setting down the glasses you’ve just picked up from the table. “Yeah. Like, on the same spoon. Or maybe a pickle dipped in peanut butter,” you add, tilting your head thoughtfully.

He squints at you like you’ve just suggested something completely alien. “You don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” you say, exasperated, “but it’s a pregnancy craving. I can’t explain it.”

Quinn smirks, a playful glint in his eye. “So, the baby’s got you craving… that?”

“Apparently,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual, though you can feel the craving getting worse now that you’ve spoken it into existence.

It comes up again later as you sit cross-legged on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Quinn flips through TV channels.

“Pickles and peanut butter,” you murmur under your breath, almost to yourself and from the corner of your eye, you catch Quinn’s side-eye, his brow quirking as he lowers the remote slightly.

“You’re still thinking about that?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though there’s a hint of skepticism, like maybe he’s hoping this craving had run its course.

You glance up, shrugging as you bite your lip.

“Yeah,” you admit, and then, add quickly, “but it’s fine. I can wait until tomorrow.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you for a beat, and you can feel the weight of it. He’s studying you, half waiting for you to crack and half trying to decide if he needs to intervene now or risk hearing about pickles and peanut butter in his sleep.

“You sure?” he says finally, his tone light, but there’s something else beneath it — like he knows you’re holding back.

“Positive,” you say, nodding firmly.

And for a while, you convince yourself that it's true. That you're completely, utterly and positively sure that you can wait until tomorrow.

So you curl up under the blanket with Quinn, his arm draped loosely over your shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm — a quiet, familiar rhythm that usually soothes you without fail. The TV hums softly in the background, and his chest rises and falls against your side, steady and warm. It should be enough.

But it’s not.

The thought of that perfect salty-sweet combination gnaws at you, persistent and unrelenting. You try to distract yourself, to focus on the show Quinn seems semi-invested in, but every passing second feels like the craving is growing claws, digging deeper into your resolve.

You take a deep breath, glancing up at him. His profile is soft in the glow of the TV, his expression relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he absently strokes your shoulder. He’s content, comfortable. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.

Almost.

“Before I say something,” you start, your voice tentative, measured, the prelude to what you know is a plea, “just remember that I’m carrying your baby.”

Quinn doesn’t even blink. His lips quirk into a small smile, his thumb pausing mid-circle on your arm.

“Our baby,” he corrects gently, his tone warm, teasing, like he knows exactly where this is going. Of course he knows. He always knows.

You hesitate for a beat, building up your courage before blurting, “I’m really, really craving pickles and peanut butter.”

His head falls back against the couch, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he drags a hand down his face.

“Baby,” he says, his voice full of mock exasperation, “it’s pouring outside. You said it could wait until tomorrow.”

“I thought it could,” you insist, sitting up straighter, as if that’ll help your case. “But I’ve been thinking about it since dinner, Quinn. I don’t think I can sleep until I have it.”

He looks at you, his brows furrowing just enough to show he’s debating his options, though you both know there’s only one.

“I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate,” you tack on, your tone earnest as if that might tip the scales further in your favor.

Quinn exhales a long, dramatic sigh, one that would almost sound convincing if not for the way his lips twitch at the edges, betraying the affection underneath. There’s no real frustration in him — just the soft resignation of someone entirely smitten, hopelessly incapable of saying no.

“You haven’t even asked me anything yet,” he points out, tilting his head as he meets your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a flicker of amusement he’s trying not to show.

It’s infuriatingly endearing.

“Will you please go get pickles?” you ask, your tone so sweet, so endearingly earnest, that he doesn’t stand a chance.

That gets him.

His lips twitch, fighting off a grin, as he pushes himself to his feet, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters under his breath, the corners of his mouth betraying the tease.

He disappears down the hall, and you hear the faint shuffle of a jacket being pulled off a hook, the jangle of keys being found. When he returns, he’s already slipping his arms into the sleeves, his shoulders settling with the kind of resigned acceptance that says he knows this is his life now — and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He moves toward the door, stooping to pull on his sneakers, the drizzle outside faintly tapping against the windows. Just as he’s tying the laces, he glances back over his shoulder, one brow quirking in that playful, knowing way that makes your heart squeeze.

“Anything else while I’m out?” he asks, his tone warm and teasing, like he’s already resorted to a grocery list. “Ice cream? Chocolate syrup? A gallon of peanut butter to get us through the next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you peek over the back of the couch.

“Just the pickles. And maybe… the good kind?” You ask innocently, like maybe you’re asking for too much at this late hour.

Quinn groans, a sound full of exaggerated exasperation, but the grin tugging at his lips gives him away.

“The good kind,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mock seriousness, like the words themselves are some great inconvenience. “I’ll see what I can do.”

But there’s no hiding the fondness in his eyes as he steps closer, moving behind the sofa. He plants his hands on the cushions, leaning over until his face is just above yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin with a quiet kind of devotion. Then, he presses a kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the steady comfort of his presence.

“You owe me for this,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that makes your heart flip.

You tilt your head toward him, grinning as you meet his gaze, your affection spilling over. “I’m giving you a baby, Quinn.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like he’s indulging some monumental injustice. But the way his lips twitch, the faint curve of a smile tugging at the corners, gives him away.

“Yeah, you are,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a gesture so instinctive, so achingly gentle, it makes your chest tighten.

There’s a flicker in his eyes of pure adoration that doesn’t even try to hide. It’s the kind of look that says a thousand things he never could — about how much he loves you, how much this life you’re building together means to him, how he’d cross any distance, brave any storm, just to see you smile.

And then he huffs, a soft sound somewhere between affection and surrender, before leaning down further, his breath warm against your skin. His lips brush against yours, soft and deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s all tenderness and quiet longing. It lingers, unhurried, his hand cupping your cheek as if to keep you right there, as though this moment is his anchor before he steps out into the cold.

“Be right back.”

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Slipknot - Wait and Bleed 1999

"Wait and Bleed" is a 1999 song by American heavy metal band Slipknot, released as the their debut and lead single from their 1999 self-titled debut album. After being remixed to replace the screamed vocals in the verses with more melodic singing, it was released as the lead single from the album in July 1999, and peaked at number 34 on the US Billboard Hot Mainstream Rock Tracks chart in February 2000. It remains one of the band's most popular songs.

"Wait and Bleed" earned Slipknot a first Grammy nomination in 2001 for Best Metal Performance, and won the Best Single award at the 2000 Kerrang! Awards. The song enjoyed a degree of commercial success, reaching number 34 on the Hot Mainstream Rock Tracks chart and number 27 in the UK Singles Chart. It was also ranked number 36 on VH1's "40 Greatest Metal Songs" list. This track, along with "Left Behind", "Pulse of the Maggots", and "Snuff", were released as downloadable songs in the Rock Band series. A remix version of "Wait and Bleed" by Terry Date was featured on the soundtrack for Scream 3.

"Wait and Bleed" received a total of 50,6% yes votes - phew, just barely managed to avoid a tie! 😲 Previous Slipknot polls: #100 "The Blister Exists".

[3liza]

i mean the truth is that we do not need and should not have all this stupid plastic clutter in or houses. no one should be producing or selling this shit. everyone make your own merchandise and charge a living hourly wage to sell it 🤷 sorry to be so simplistic about this but it's one of the results of the lack of class unity specifically in the means of production-owning creative class, who is not mentioned or dealt with by the core Marxist texts as far as I know (i asked about this earlier on here, did marx ever address in his analysis people like, for example, a professional photographer who owns a camera ans prints his own dagguereotypes? or a portrait painter or idk, independent milliner or seamstress? these people all own the means of production and do not employ anyone, and the answer from better educated people than I was that no, Marx didn't mention them), I'm not well read on this at all, there is just a big void where leftist analysis of what modern economists call "the creative class"

I'm getting off topic. my point is make your own keychains in your kitchen. it's actually not hard. you can even mass produce (on a small scale) little plastic crap if you want, with resin and a UV lamp, or a 3d printer, or a laser cutter and acrylic sheets (or just use balsa wood damn, at least its biodegradable and less tacky).

all this stuff is available to little creators AND there are hundreds of people who already own these machines who will take work for you and produce your designs. you just have to actually find them and know them and email them. that's what I mean about the class unity issue with creatives. we have no large scale union, we have no large scale class consciousness, and we're all sending our orders for little plastic crap to sweatshops instead of emailing a guy with a laser cutter in his garage and saying "hey Keith can I get uhhhhhhhhhhh 50 laser cut keychains of this twerking Diggler design I made, like how much would that cost" and he's like sure here's the work and materials cost and tbh it's always always less than i think it's going to be. you just have to do some basic arithmetic and then order shipping, and I hate order fulfillment with my life but you can actually pay or barter with someone to do that for you too. learn to delegate and then factor that into your unit cost. this is basic shit every commercial creator needs to know. they should teach you this in art school but they dont

don't give me crap about "I can't afford a laser cutter" either because I just told you to email Keith. and all these machines get sold secondhand when a manufacturer or hobbyist needs to upgrade. i got a color laser printer perfect for making zines and wheatpastes and shipping labels from a retired lesbian on capital hill for $75 and it was still full of ink. my friend gave me her 20 year old canon dslr because she just didn't need it and didn't want to bother selling it. it works fine because I spent the time finding the right drivers and shit for my computer. and card readers exist. Craigslist. Facebook marketplace. nextdoor sales section. eBay. everyone always forgets eBay. eBay lets you save searches and will email you when it finds a guy selling his vinyl plotter in your city with local pickup. I'm serious

[p0orbaby]

Little fic where is alexia dating an English player who finds it difficult how affectionate Spanish people are with each other. Alexia having to reassure her that it’s a Spanish thing and she’ll try to be less touchy etc.

-

You’re not sure when exactly it starts to get on your nerves, but by the time you notice, you’re on a sun-bleached terrace in Barcelona, watching Alexia kiss three people hello in under five minutes. It's an odd thing to obsess over, and yet here you are, eyes narrowed as you sip on an overpriced cortado that tastes like dust and regret. You’re not jealous. Of course not. That would be absurd. You’re simply... perplexed by the excessive touching, the relentless stream of hugs, kisses, and arm squeezes that seem to form the bedrock of Spanish existence. Everyone’s always touching someone.

In England, a handshake is intimate enough, and in London, where you’re from, if anyone dared speak before your tea even cooled, you’d probably alert the authorities. But here? It's practically a greeting card in motion. You’ve seen grown men embrace in the street like they’ve just survived a shipwreck. It's baffling.

Alexia sits down across from you, smiling in that way that makes you feel foolish for being annoyed by anything. She’s impossibly beautiful, and the knowledge of that fact gnaws at you constantly. She’s all golden skin and nonchalance, legs casually crossed, one hand fiddling with her sunglasses as if she’s in some sort of commercial for ‘cool.’

“Are you okay?” she asks, her accent making every word sound softer than it should be, like it's wrapped in velvet. She’s genuinely concerned, or she’s pretending really well. You can’t tell which.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fine”

And then, because you’re not actually fine: “Do you have to kiss everyone?”

She looks at you like you’ve just asked if the sky is blue. “It’s how we greet people here”

“I know that,” you say, setting your cup down with more force than necessary. “But does it have to be every time? You’ve kissed three strangers today already, and it’s not even noon”

Alexia blinks at you, then laughs. “It’s just being polite”

Polite? You're thinking. In England, you say "hi" and move on with your day. No one has to swap saliva to prove they like you. But this? This is something else.

“Well, it’s... it’s excessive.” You try to explain, gesturing vaguely in the air like you can catch the sheer madness of it all. “People just... touch all the time. And I’m not used to it”

Alexia’s mouth twitches, trying to suppress a smile. “We’re just more affectionate”

“Affectionate?” you say. “It’s like a plague of hand-holding and cheek-kissing”

She finally lets out a laugh, full-bodied, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle. “You sound like an old lady”

“Maybe I am,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face. “Maybe England has made me emotionally unavailable”

Alexia reaches out to touch your arm, then stops, hesitating, her hand hovering mid-air like she’s not sure if it’ll set you off again. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” you sigh, waving her hand toward you, now feeling like the crazy one. “It’s fine. Just... give me a heads-up before the next 12-person cuddle fest”

She grins, leaning back. “I can try”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re so annoying”

“And you love it

You do. And you hate that you do, which is probably the worst part of all this. She knows you’re wound too tight for your own good, and she’s infinitely more relaxed about everything, like the world bends to her will instead of the other way around.

You finish your cortado, now cold. “You realise you kissed the barista on the way in, right?”

Alexia nods, grinning wickedly. “She made my coffee right”

You groan, but you’re laughing, which only encourages her. “I’m never letting you set foot in the UK again”

“That’s fine,” she says, leaning in, all confidence. “Spain suits you better anyway. You just don’t know it yet”

[steddieas-shegoes]

documentary

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the music'

rated m | 723 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: modern era, famous corroded coffin, established steddie

📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹

"Steve!" Gareth calls from the couch of the living room, not caring that Eddie was fast asleep in his chair. "It's on!"

Steve rushes into the room, nearly falling face first when he slips on the corner of the rug. He's wiping his hands on a towel, probably wet from doing the dishes after dinner.

Jeff and Frankie are sitting on the other couch, leaning forward to watch.

Eddie's still asleep somehow.

"Metal bands have always been expected to just make due with whatever already exists in the metal community. 'Don't play acoustic' and 'You can't play Coachella' and 'You can't feature a pop star.' But we just like music. We wanna share music with people."

"Listen to you, Jeff. So poetic," Frankie teases. Jeff shoves him, but they keep watching the ad for their documentary.

"We live in a time where people don't have to just like one thing. Someone can have a playlist that's got us right next to Dolly Parton and Taylor Swift if they want. If people saw my playlists, they'd think a group of teenagers made it."

Eddie doesn't even wake up when his voice fills the room, his face on the screen.

"Corroded Coffin announces world tour with a new opening guest for every show. The artists range anywhere from Chappell Roan to Sleep Token." A male reporter is shown on the screen.

"No one's doing it like them, that's why we love them," a few fans say into a camera during an interview.

"The members of Corroded Coffin refused to do a documentary for years, too busy writing, recording, and performing music for the masses. But they've taken time off this year, focusing on personal time with loved ones and staying out of the limelight they worked so hard to reach. We finally managed to sit down with them and find out who they are...behind the music."

The ad changes to a fast food commercial and Steve laughs.

"That was somehow more dramatic than anything Eddie's ever done," he says as he walks over to wake up his still sleeping boyfriend. "Ed, you missed it."

Eddie's eyes blink open, but he doesn't seem to remember that he fell asleep with everyone in the room. He grabs Steve's thighs and pulls him down so he's straddling his waist.

"Hey, big boy. Was just dreamin' about you."

Steve laughs. "You can tell me all about it later. When your best friends are not sitting a few feet away."

Eddie turns his head, but doesn't take his hands off of Steve's hips. "You should all go. I have business to attend to."

"You missed the ad, dumbass," Gareth says, throwing one of the pillows at Eddie. "Keep your hands to yourself until the next run."

"Don't you think it's already on social media?" Frankie asked before Eddie could.

"Probably, but it's different on tv."

Eddie squeezes Steve's hips, but lets him get up. He sits up and smiles up at Steve. "Later?"

"If you can stay awake, sure."

Steve leaves the room and Jeff, Frankie, and Gareth all start teasing Eddie immediately. He lets them; He knows he's a lovesick idiot.

When the next ad comes on as scheduled, Eddie watches it silently.

He pulls his phone out and calls Wayne, asking if he saw it.

And then he starts crying.

Everyone's in complete shock.

"Steve! Eddie's crying!" Gareth yells.

This time when Steve comes rushing into the room, it's with panic in his eyes. He seems to realize what's going on the moment he sees Eddie, though. He shoos everyone out of the room as he makes his way to him, kneeling in front of him and placing his hands on his face.

The guys don't hear much, but they can make out Eddie blubbering "we worked so hard for this and it's happening" and Steve's gentle shushing and praise.

"Should we get pizza delivered?" Frankie asks.

"I think now's a good time to just leave," Jeff suggests. "We can get hibachi."

"Hell yeah!" Frankie fist pumps and opens the front door, holding it open as Jeff walks through it.

Gareth looks back towards where Steve has Eddie's head against his shoulder, hand in his hair. He smiles to himself as he leaves to join Jeff and Frankie.

They really did work their asses off to get here.

[cityofmeliora]

notes on Primo's characterization 💖

let's talk about Primo! i think he's a really, really interesting character!

i've said before that i think Primo is the only one of the brothers who takes the whole ~satanic death cult trying to bring the end of the world~ thing seriously.

Primo was indeed very serious about the cult. maybe too serious? even some other members of the cult dislike that about him.

NAMELESS GHOUL: The first Papa Emeritus was someone very rigid, very strict, and very solemn. A real son of a bitch! (laughs) To be honest, we don’t miss him at all! MyRock #44 (2017) translated from French by @ a-wandering-ghoulette)

the best source of Primo characterization is a 2010 interview with Sweden Rock Magazine where Primo and the Nameless Ghouls kidnapped the interviewer. though i quote *a lot* of it here, i strongly recommend reading the full interview because it is truly fascinating. notably, Primo himself speaks in this interview rather than a Nameless Ghoul.

Primo is a misanthrope who believes humans are "vermin" that have doomed themselves due to their "intellectual decline". in his eyes, they are unworthy of life and will eventually be destroyed.

“Human beings are vermin, thus the end of humanity is ultimately a good thing. We play but a vanishingly microscopic role in this cosmos of nothingness.”

The devil-worshipping organization that the Ghost leader speaks of is claimed to operate on a worldwide level and among many different areas: from politics and business to religious movements, in the entertainment industry and on the street. It does not have a name, but its existence “can most easily be explained as a living and ongoing result of humanity’s intellectual decline and eventual decay.”

Primo affirms Ghost's mission statement as originally presented in the band's old Myspace page: to spread the devil's influence and convince other people that humanity deserves its inevitable end.

According to the statement on the band’s page, Ghost’s main mission is to trick mankind into believing that the end of the world is ultimately a good thing. “Our only task is to accompany the world’s downfall.”

A question comes to mind: wouldn’t the band, which with its poppy hard rock could by all means appeal to a much wider audience than ordinary black metal acts, gain more attention by engaging in more commercial modes of expression? “We have other entertainment groups within our organization who are doing just that. Our task is to emphasize the devil’s message in the part of society that has, to varying degrees, already accepted it. It’s directed at the social grouping that goes to the type of concerts that we perform. Our goal is to be able to carry out our black mass, our ritual, for them. Other members of the cult work with far more subtle modes of expressions, better suited for consumers who are not as receptive to the truth.”

though he openly calls the organization a cult, his religious belief is sincere.

to Primo, the band's anonymity and use of costumes are a way of showing reverence and humility in their task. if Satan is the Father, and Antichrist is the Son, the band is the (unholy) Ghost: the force which connects humanity to the power of the Father and the Son. for the audience to think of Primo or the Nameless Ghouls as individual people would distract from their message. when he takes on the role of Papa, he becomes one with their cause.

You refer to yourselves as a group of nameless spirits - should this be taken literally? Is the band actually something other than human? “To make it easier for mortals to deal with the fact that we, as individuals, have no significance in this experience, we have chosen to act as ghosts - hollow and diffuse.”

Why did you, as a leader, choose an outfit so similar to the one worn by the Catholic Pope? “For the Pope it is a way of showing reverence and seriousness, and at the same time humility before his task. He uses it to step into the body that is the essence and the fog, something we advocate too. It is our way of becoming one with the fog.” Things become clearer when the leader speaks of the meaning behind the name of the band: “Akin to the tripartite view so stubbornly proclaimed by the Christian faith, we too believe there is magic in the concept of three and we are part of it: there is a god, Satan, a son, Antichrist, and a ghost in the middle that is the inexplicable - the fog.”

Primo has a theistic view of Satan, believing he is real deity who speaks through / inspires the band's music. in this way, the Ghoul Writer could be considered a sort of prophet to him.

That’s right. Ghost have their music written for them. In one online interview, a so-called “ghoul writer” is mentioned who supposedly composes melodies and lyrics with the help of ungraspable powers from beyond – devilish whispers instruct him which words should accompany which chords, and so forth. “There is indeed a human individual who composes patterns of tones and words which operate ever so beautifully in unison. However, I am of the belief that there is a higher being who speaks through this individual,” asserts the Pope.

like a proper cultist, Primo cannot imagine having a life / identity outside of the cult. he remembers that there was once a time when he was not a member of the cult, but he cannot remember what it was like to be that person. his devotion to the cult has been a core part of who he is for a very long time.

How he got involved in this movement and dedicated his life to Satan, he has a hard time answering. After a long silence, the singer says: “I find it very difficult to remember the life I had before I found the darkness. It is therefore very difficult to answer your question. My memory doesn’t go that far.” Surely the Pope must remember something?           “I cannot remember a time when I did not find myself part of the dark energy. That does not mean that I remember nothing from my past life, only that I cannot remember how I felt then. This is because it was a time when I did not know very much.” Was it by coming into contact with other members of the organization that you found this darkness? “As I said, I do not remember when this happened. But I think…” He chooses his words carefully. “… I believe that, like many others, I was woven into this dark through subtle, human components found within it. Once again, my intellect was not as developed as it is now, so I have great difficulty in explaining what happened - when and where, and to what extent.”

while he cannot say exactly what happened to him or when, Primo seems to have had genuine spiritual experiences. he was always connected to the dark energy, and he feels that he became awakened and that his intellect has developed since he truly found his faith.

despite being a misanthrope, Primo admits he was brought into the darkness by some sort of human connection. he might actually have the capacity to care about some people.

in a Kerrang feature where Primo gets quizzed on "demonology, serial killers and stuff like that", he says the cult knew witches who were burned at the stake, but he doesn't like to talk about it. it stood out to me that he says he doesn't want to talk about it, because he speaks so openly and matter-of-factly about other dark / upsetting topics. at the very least, it appears he doesn't like it when bad things happen to other members of the cult.

WHAT DOES THE PHRASE MALLEUS MALEFICARUM TRANSLATE AS IN ENGLISH? A) HAMMER OF THE WITCHES B) HAMMER OF THE DEMONS C) HAMMER OF THE GODS PAPA: “That would be the witch-hammer. We knew some Witches, but unfortunately a lot of them were taken away.” KERRANG!: “As in burned at the stake?” PAPA: “Correct. But I don’t like to talk about that. (Answer: A) ✔

he seems to be quite pleased about other people dying, though. and he is certain they all go to Hell.

6. NAME ANY TWO OF THE THREE ORIGINAL MEMBERS OF MAYHEM. PAPA: “Though one was not an original member two of the band are actually burning in Hell, and they’re good guests, certainly. But yes, I will say Euronymous and Necrobutcher.” (Answer: Euronymous, Necrobutcherr, Manheim) ✔ 7. WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THE SHIP THAT WAS DISCOVERED FLOATING ABANDONED AND UNMANNED IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN IN DECEMBER 1872? PAPA: “It was that ship with such a heavenly name, the lady Mary Celeste.” KERRANG!: “And can you finally tell us where all the people went?” PAPA: I’ll check the records. Obviously they’re all in Hell now, but the way they got there is a little cloudy. But then our Lord too works in mysterious ways…“ (Answer: Mary Celeste) ✔

some of Primo's other responses in this article reveal he has a dark sense of humor and perhaps cruel inclinations. when talking about possessions done by the cult, he says "sometimes you just want to do it for the hell of it" and "you want to make a bit of sport out of it", referring to a possession that (allegedly) influenced a serial killer. he refers to the victims of these possessions as "poor [name]", but his remarks on their misfortune don't indicate any actual remorse or sympathy. it might even be intentionally ironic.

5. WHICH PAINTER ALLEGEDLY UNDERWENT AN EXORCISM IN 1947? PAPA: “Poor Salvador Dali. You know we had his missus possessed as well, all in the name of Satan…” KERRANG!: Is possession something that’s done for serious reasons or just to pass the time? “Well sometimes you just want to do it for the hell of it…”  (Answer: Salvador Dali) ✔

13. WHAT AMERICAN SERIAL KILLER CLAIMS HE WAS COMPELLED TO COMMIT HIS MURDERS BY A DEMON THAT POSSESSED HIS NEIGHBOUR’S DOG? PAPA: 'That was that poor boy, the Son Of Sam. That sure was a successful possession, although it did involve far too much crotch-sniffing and turd-eating.“ KERRANG: "Is it easier to possess a dog than to possess a person?” PAPA: “Not necessarily, but you want to make a bit of sport out of it.” (Answer: David Berkowitz/Son Of Sam) ✔

also, many of the events Primo speaks about would've happened before he was born or when he was very young, so it seems he's studied the cult's history very well, and he keeps tabs on their current activities. he does his research!

and as a fun fact: Primo is pretty good at math :)

14. IF YOU’RE TRICK OR TREATING AND THREE HOUSES GIVE YOU SEVEN SWEETS, TWO GIVE YOU FOUR, AND ONE GIVES YOU NINE, AND YOUR PARENTS THEN DOUBLE WHAT YOU HAVE, HOW MANY SWEETS DO YOU END UP WITH? PAPA: “76.” KERRANG!: “That was alarmingly fast, sir. Are good mathematical skills important when you’re burning in the fiery pits of Hell?” PAPA: “We all have our different strengths, but of course the number we are most used to is 666…” (Answer: 76) ✔

there's not a lot of information about Primo, and what exists is hard to find, but i live to bring knowledge to the people 🫡. these are all the sources i have on hand that talk about Primo. if anyone else has other articles / videos talking about Primo, i'd really appreciate it if you shared them!

[youremyheaven]

Jupiter & Rahu Influence Among Popstars

When I look at pop-stars across industries, I have noticed them all often having the same planetary influence showing up one way or another (usually nakshatra's ruling planet but less often, rashi lord as well).

Now, lets look at what or who a "pop-star" is. The simplest definition is that "a pop-star is a highly successful singer of pop music". Some would say that being a pop-star is the pinnacle of fame. They are at the very top of the entertainment industry food chain.

Actors pretend to be other people for a living but a pop-star is one who has to pretend to be an exaggerated version of themselves for a living. Most pop-stars have an alter ego or stage persona that they project, sometimes these alter egos have different names, other times they don't.

If you think about it, being exalted to the status of a superstar, akin to a God or deity and being adored, worshipped and obsessed over by millions of people, for being "you" is a bit bizarre in itself. Actors spend months making movies and playing a character, someone singing and dancing on stage and "being" themselves sounds simpler even though, in truth, it is a much harder job. If your full time job was being an exaggerated version of you, you'd struggle immensely with your sense of self. Most people would have some kind of breakdown, being unable to distinguish between what is "really" them and what belongs to the persona.

I'm by no means suggesting that Jupiter influenced people are exempt from having an identity crisis. In fact, I would say its the opposite. I think due to the expansive and boundless nature of Jupiter, which has a tendency to exaggerate the effects of whatever it touches, most Jupiter natives kind of permanently live in a state of "in-between-ness" , this feeling of being stuck in limbo is reflected in how each Jupiter ruled nakshatra falls between two rashis, one air and another water.

Punarvasu- Gemini & Cancer

Vishaka- Libra & Scorpio

Purvabhadrapada- Aquarius & Pisces

These 2 elements are very different from one another, Air element is typically associated with the intellect and ideas, whereas the Water element is associated with emotions, spirituality, wisdom etc. So, Jupiter, the planet of luck and abundance, the "Guru" (teacher) is one that is "well rounded" in the sense that it is both practical as well as spiritual and emotional. This also insinuates that, in order to amass abundance and be fortunate in life, one has to have a mixture of opposite qualities and be "well rounded". Duality is an innate theme of Jupiter, and whilst many think of duality as having opposite qualities, its wiser to think of Jupiter as the union of opposites. Light and dark, good and evil, feminine and masculine, peace and violence, love and hatred, all co-exist together here. Due to the scholarly "Guru" nature of Jupiter, it becomes the duty of its native to rise above the lower manifestations of these energies and embody the principled nature of it. In this sense, its not just the "meeting" of good and evil but the triumph of good over evil.

I had already explored in a previous post about how having an alter ego/multiple identities is kind of a Jupiter thing. Most Jupiter influenced individuals majorly struggle with their identity simply because they feel like they're "all things" and this sort of commercial marketing of "aesthetics" and "niches" is very limiting. They're all things, all at once. This can be disorienting for others who struggle with their identity for other reasons (Nodals who struggle with over-attachment and detachment, Malefic gworls who don't have very many hobbies/interests/passions to base their personality off of). Its hard to explain what "being everything" is like to people who don't have a sense of self/reality to begin with, or those who have a very narrow or rigid understanding of themselves. We're familiar with Rahu mania but Jupiter mania often flies under the radar because they seem so put together on the outside, unlike Rahuvians who wear their madness on their sleeve.

Most people would have a tough time figuring out how a Jupiter native actually felt or if they were going through something in their personal life because they're usually stoic af and very well kept. Their world could be falling apart but they will never lose their etiquette or their manners. This can lead to scenarios where they're either not given adequate consideration for their suffering because they dont "look/seem" like they're going through it OR people tear them apart for seeming too "cold/nonchalant" even in the face of crisis. People like to see vulnerability because it makes others more humane and relatable and sometimes the stoicism of Jupiter natives can irk others because it makes them seem robotic or beyond human.

How does all of this tie into Jupiter being the most common planetary influence among pop-stars?

I had already mentioned that pop-stars are idolized for simply existing. Having the expansive energy of Jupiter helps one become a vessel for the projections of others. You can be anything or anyone to everyone. I have observed Jupiter influenced individuals code switching irl, in the sense that they have an entirely different personality depending on who they're interacting with and usually have several different friend groups that have nothing remotely in common with each other.

Many anons have mentioned dating Jupiter men who seem very sweet and giving and then being mindblown when they turn out to be insane party animals who smoke and drink till they drop and go batshit insane at the club. They seem too "goody two shoes"-y to be about that life, yet they are.

Being a performer/pop-star seems to suit Jupiter natives because it gives them an outlet to channel their manyyyy sides. Even their alter egos have alter egos and if they had to live normal lives, it would kinda drive them crazy unless they found some phenomenal ways to compartmentalize all that stuff. Not to rely on anecdotal evidence (I'll cite more "celebrity" examples after this) but there's a guy I know whose chart is heavily Jupiter influenced and he is the most responsible family man ever and provides for his whole family but he is also extremely passionate about weed, does not say no to a drink and LOVES to party. He lives in an apartment complex with a lot of people our age and mf is always at someone's house party 😭😭 I am in no way implying that these things CANNOT co-exist, that you can't both be a hardworking family guy who looks after everyone AND drown yourself in booze but typically the kind of person you associate with one kinda lifestyle is not who you associate with the other, if ykwim

There are many examples of these "contradictions"

Miley Cyrus, Vishaka Moon

She is known for her wild, freaky stage performances and her no-nonsense personality but beyond all that, Miley is a homebody who has a gazillion animals and lives a very "simple" (or simple, for a celebrity anyway) life.

Beyonce, Vishaka Moon

Beyond all her glamour, Bey is veryyyy lowkey and raises honeybees in her backyard and harvests her own honey. She's very spiritual and is all about her family and minding her own business. I know this isn't news to anyone but isn't it interesting how the biggest pop-star of our time, known for her fierce performances and larger than life persona, is actually a tradwife? A proper Southern lady, if you will.

Jennie, Vishaka Moon

In a recent interview, she said:

"Anyone who meets me will say I’m so far from what I represent as me onstage...it's a part of me , a switch inside of me that I can just click.”

(This is SOOO Jupiter coded of her)

Jennie's friend Deb Never described her as:

“She’s shy and really humble and very sweet,” she says. “And then as soon as it comes to music and how she performs, it’s this flip side, this opposite person where it’s like in your face and very outspoken. It’s not like she’s acting. It’s being able to let out a whole other side of you that you don’t get to in real life. There’s a vulnerability in that.”

I had mentioned a few times previously about how Jupiter and Rahu's energies can be veryyyy similar. Jupiter has more structure and can keep the mania and obsession under wraps a bit more than the average Rahuvian (Jupiter is a benefic, Rahu is a malefic, so the limitless energies are channelled in more "beneficial" ways by a Jupiterean and in less beneficial ways by a Rahuvian). Looking at the charts of entertainers who were/are highly successful, the Jupiter + Rahu influence recurring is crazyyyy.

Frank Sinatra is considered one of the earliest pop-stars. He is a Shatabhisha Moon.

Elvis Presley, Shatabhisha Moon

Aretha Franklin, Punarvasu Moon, Vishaka Rising

Billy Joel, Punarvasu Rising

Michael Jackson, Shatabhisha/Purvabhadrapada Moon

I am not trying to imply that people without Jupiter influence can't be pop-stars, they can!! But when they aren't Jupiter influenced, they're usually Nodal

Mariah Carey, Punarvasu Moon

Whitney Houston, Shatabhisha Rising

Celine Dion, Venus atmakaraka in Purvabhadrapada and Mercury amatyakaraka in Purvabhadrapada

Taylor Swift, Ardra Moon

Diana Ross, Vishaka Rising

Eric Clapton, Swati Moon

The shapeshifting ability of these natives is what allows them to flourish in an industry where you're essentially selling yourself as a product.

Adele, Ardra Rising

Lady Gaga, Swati Moon

Ariana Grande, Ardra Sun

Rihanna, Shatabhisha Sun

Dua Lipa, Ardra/Punarvasu Moon

Katy Perry, Swati Sun/Mercury/Rising and Vishaka Moon

Billie Eilish, Purvabhadrapada Rising

Shakira, Punarvasu Moon

Lana Del Rey, Ardra Sun, Vishaka Rising

Halsey, Punarvasu Moon & Mars, Vishaka stellium (Venus/Jup/Rahu) and Swati Mercury conjunct Rising

Janet Jackson, Ketu conjunct Rising in Vishaka

Lorde, Vishaka Sun & Mercury

Sabrina Carpenter, Purvabhadrapada Moon & Rising (she's also Bharani Sun and that's why she's an it girl)

Chappell Roan, Shatabhisha Sun/Jupiter/Ketu

Charli XcX- Ardra Rising

[pandapetals]

One Of Your Girls

worst wolverine/logan x fem!reader - inspired by a troye sivan song, fluff, cute, happy ending, wade being wade, no y/n used, no reader description

Wade ships you and Logan together and tries to help make y'all a couple.

read on Ao3

You sat on the worn-out sofa in Wade’s living room, half-listening as he rambled on about his latest grueling day of being the “sexiest superhero alive.” He and Wolverine—or Wolvie, as Wade annoyingly liked to call him—had teamed up again, taking down some bad guys and saving the world, or at least a very small part of it.

“So there I am,” Wade continued dramatically, gesturing wildly, “surrounded by ninjas, which isn’t really a surprise because let’s be honest, ninjas are kind of my thing at this point—classic Deadpool. But Wolvie’s just there, growling and stabbing his way through, and I’m like, ‘Dude, we get it, you’re the strong, silent type, but maybe use your words once in a while?’”

He kept talking, something about the “grueling emotional labor” of working with Logan, but you weren’t really paying attention anymore. Your gaze drifted to the hallway, where Logan emerged from the bathroom with a grunt, a small towel barely hanging around his waist. His skin glistened with droplets of water from the shower, the muscles in his back rippling as he stalked down the hall.

You tried to tear your eyes away, but it was like gravity itself was keeping you glued to him. Logan moved with that same effortless intensity, his brow furrowed like he was annoyed at the mere existence of the towel. The heat rose to your face, and you quickly looked down, but not before catching a glimpse of Logan’s rough hand wiping the moisture from his chest.

Wade, of course, noticed because when doesn’t he notice?

“Geesh, I knew you were down bad for Wolvie, but—” Wade started, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to share some scandalous secret.

Without thinking, you slapped his shoulder to shut him up, your face burning as you tried to compose yourself. Wade, ever the drama queen, let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched his shoulder like you’d just thrown him into the sun.

“Ow! That hurt my feelings,” he said, turning toward an imaginary camera because, of course, he was breaking the fourth wall. “She hit me, folks, and not in the fun, sexy way either.”

You shot him a glare, your lips pressed into a tight line, though you couldn’t help the flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Wade wasn’t done. He never was.

“You know, it’s always the quiet ones,” he added, stage-whispering as if that would somehow make Logan disappear or teleport out of the apartment in embarrassment. “Can’t say I blame you though. Look at him, all angry and dripping wet—he’s like a feral wolf in an Old Spice commercial. Honestly, if this was the kind of quality content the MCU promised me, I wouldn’t have jumped ship for Deadpool 3: The Comeback —coming soon, by the way.”

Logan, ignoring Wade as per usual, had already stalked off toward his room. He muttered something unintelligible, probably about how Wade was going to get his ass kicked later, but the low rumble of his voice still made something in your stomach twist. He hadn’t even looked at you, but you felt the heat creeping up your neck, spreading to your cheeks.

Wade, of course, was not done with his commentary. “Dude, he didn’t even throw you a glance,” he said, wagging a finger. “I mean, if I walked out of the shower looking like a damn Greek god with claws, I’d at least give a wink. Maybe even a smolder. Oh, wait!” He perked up and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a faux-conspiratorial tone. “What if he’s doing that on purpose? You know, like a power play? He’s got the whole brooding, tortured thing down—girls love that, by the way.”

You slapped him again—lighter this time, but Wade still let out an exaggerated groan.

“Oh, c’mon! The sexual tension in here is thick enough to slice with one of Logan’s claws. You’re telling me if he showered in your apartment, half-naked, and you wouldn’t immediately jump his bones? What are we even doing here, people?”

You groaned, running a hand over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment. “Wade, for the love of God—”

“God has abandoned this apartment long ago,” Wade interrupted, standing up dramatically, his arms wide as if making a declaration. “But don’t worry, I’m here now, and I’m more than willing to give you both some fantastic relationship advice.”

You shook your head, biting back a laugh. "Wade, the last time you gave relationship advice, you told someone to ‘just show up shirtless’ and that would fix all their problems.”

Wade grinned, completely unbothered. “Did it work?”

“They were arrested for public indecency.”

“Semantics!” Wade waved it off, flopping back down beside you. “Now, where was I? Oh, right. Wolvie. You know, he's probably sitting in his room right now, thinking about you. Brooding, shirtless, glaring out the window like some tragic anti-hero from a really dark fanfic.”

Before you could respond, Logan reappeared—this time, fully dressed but still clearly annoyed. “Wade, shut the hell up.”

Wade, undeterred, turned toward you and whispered loudly, “See? I told you he was brooding. He’s totally into you.”

You shot Logan an apologetic look, though you could tell from the tightness around his jaw that he was this close to throwing Wade out a window. Logan didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on you just a second too long before he stormed off again, muttering something about “goddamn loudmouths.”

Wade leaned back on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head with a smug grin. “Oh, yeah. He’s in deep. ”

The rest of the day was filled with more of Wade’s sarcastic quips and Logan’s signature gruffness, but beneath the surface, something had shifted. By the time the sun set, Wade had finally left leaving you and Logan alone in the apartment promising to bring back pizza.

Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking worn out, his head hung low as he rubbed the back of his neck. You stood in the doorway, watching him quietly for a moment before stepping closer.

“You alright?” you asked softly.

Logan grunted in response, his usual noncommittal way of saying “I’m fine.” Before he glanced up at you, and something in his expression softened. His shoulders relaxed slightly as you sat down beside him, the silence between you comforting.

“Wade get to you?” you asked with a smirk, nudging him playfully.

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “That guy never knows when to shut up.”

“Yeah, well, you gotta admit, he’s got a point,” you teased, nudging him again. “You do tend to brood.”

Logan gave you a look, his usual scowl softened by the hint of amusement in his eyes. “I don’t brood.”

“Right. Sure you don’t,” you said, smiling as you sat on the bed beside him. The air between you was lighter now, but that familiar, charged tension still lingered, just under the surface. “So… was Wade right? You were totally into me earlier, weren’t you?”

Logan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair, his muscles still tense from the fight and the usual Deadpool chaos. “You’re ridiculous.”

“ You are,” you countered, your voice taking on a teasing tone. You leaned in closer, bumping your shoulder against his. “I mean, look at you. Everyone loves you. I swear, every time we go out, every woman in the room is practically lining up just to—”

“Would you stop? You sound like Wade,” Logan grumbled, his voice low but without any real annoyance. He shook his head, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you nudged him again. “I’m serious, Logan. I’ve seen the way they look at you. Like they’re all just waiting for their turn to fawn over the ‘mysterious bad boy.’ The brooding, the claws, the ‘I’ve been through hell’ vibe—it’s working for you.”

Logan shot you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “I’m not trying to ‘work’ anything.”

You shrugged, your grin widening. “That’s the problem. You don’t even have to try. You just walk into a room, grumble a bit, maybe glare at someone, and they’re hooked.”

He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, please. Next time we’re out, I’ll start keeping a tally of all the looks you get,��� you teased. “What’s it like being the main character in everyone’s secret fantasy?”

Logan huffed, giving you a side-eye that would’ve scared anyone else, but you just smiled. “Keep it up, and I’ll start sounding like Wade for real.”

You burst into laughter at that, imagining Logan in full Deadpool-style monologue, breaking the fourth wall mid-fight just to complain about your teasing. “I can’t wait for that.”

“Not happening, darlin’,” Logan muttered, but his voice was warm, and the smirk playing on his lips betrayed him.

The playful banter between you felt easy, natural—like this was how it should be. No walls, no tension, just you and Logan, comfortable in the teasing, in the back-and-forth that had become the foundation of your relationship. For someone as tough and guarded as Logan, moments like these were rare, and you cherished them every time. 

As the laughter faded, the mood shifted. You were still sitting close, the air thick with something more. The lightheartedness gave way to a quiet intensity, and suddenly, the space between you felt smaller and more charged.

Your eyes flicked to his, and you found him watching you, his gaze a little softer now, a little more focused. The teasing smile on your lips faltered, but only for a moment. You leaned in slightly, just enough for your shoulder to press against his, your hand brushing against his forearm.

“You know,” you said softly, your voice quieter now, more sincere. “I wasn’t joking earlier. You really do have people falling for you left and right.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “Doesn’t matter,” he said gruffly, his voice low. “I’m not interested in ‘people.’”

There it was. That honesty, that vulnerability he rarely showed anyone. You’d gotten used to the way Logan opened up in small doses, revealing just enough for you to see through the tough exterior he wore so well. Each time, it made your heart flutter a little more.

You raised an eyebrow, your voice dropping to a whisper. “No?”

Logan shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “No.”

For a moment, the room felt completely still, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The weight of what he wasn’t saying hung between you, and you could feel your pulse quicken, the tension between you building by the second.

“Good,” you murmured, leaning in just a little closer, your breath mingling with his. “Because I’m not interested in sharing.”

A low growl rumbled in Logan’s chest, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as his other hand cupped your cheek, his rough thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Who said anything about sharing?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you closed the distance between you, your forehead resting against his. The moment stretched on, your heart racing in your chest as you waited for him to make the next move.

Then, finally, Logan closed the gap.

His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, the kind that sent heat rushing through your entire body. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was steady, intense, like Logan was savoring every second. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You kissed him back just as deeply, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him—his warmth, his strength, the way his body seemed to mold perfectly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your lips still hovering just inches from his. Logan rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your cheek as his thumb traced lazy circles on your skin.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he muttered, his voice rough but affectionate.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, feeling the damp strands still clinging to his head. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling back just enough to look at you. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do.”

A Few Days Later…

The teasing between you and Logan hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others. Especially Wade, who had already managed to weave an elaborate tale of unrequited love between the two of you, complete with bad fanfiction-level plot twists.

“So, you guys finally make out?” Wade asked one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smug grin plastered on his face. “Or are you still in the ‘awkward pining’ stage?”

You sighed, giving him a deadpan look. “What do you think, Wade?”

Wade’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh my God, it happened, didn’t it? I mean, of course, it did! I knew it! Everyone, Deadpool called it—Logan and his better half finally—”

Logan shot him a look that could kill, his claws extending just slightly. “Wade.”

Deadpool raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! Or, in this case, the super-insightful, super-hot guy who predicted your inevitable romance. I’m just here to celebrate. Maybe I should write a poem about it.”

Logan grunted and shook his head, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Wade turned his attention to you, winking like the two of you were in on some grand scheme.

“You’re welcome, by the way. All my meddling totally paid off. You owe me one, well I guess you owe the writer of this fic but I’m totally taking credit.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. “Sure, Wade. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Sleep? Who needs sleep when you’ve got love to keep you warm?” Wade sighed dramatically, holding a hand to his chest. “Honestly, I should start a matchmaking service. First Logan and you, next the world.”

Logan groaned. “Wade, shut the hell up.”

Wade grinned, unfazed as ever. “Love you too, peanut.”

[cherriegyuu]

midnight rain | lsm

pairing: seokmin x f!reader genre: angst, smut, a little bit of fluff word count: 17k summary: after seven years away, you finally return home. meeting seokmin again wasn't in your plans, but life wasn't willing to let you have it your way. warnings: minors do not interact, kissing, oral, swearing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this) a/n: this is part of 1k event, it was requested the dearest @ressonancee. but also, it's part of svt ans songs from midnights. i just wrote two in one and something that was supposed to be short became this monster. i hope i wrote seokmin in a way you'll like it. prompt: “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do." Seokmin ➝ Midnight Rain He was sunshine, I was midnight rain ↳ it was the oldest story in the world, the bright boy fell for the grumpy girl.

Letter #1

Seokmin,

You know, I've always been very proud of not being a very attached person. I've always been proud that I can put myself first and second, because I know I need to do it, because I know that no one else will do it for me. So, when I came here and dropped everything I had, I thought it would be a lot easier than it actually is.

When I turn around in bed at night, after days of trying to get used to the time zone and weeks to the weather and the people here — which are both bad and for completely different reasons, nothing is like in the movies — I always hope to find you there by my side and being able to snuggle up to you like I always did. I wake up in the morning and make enough coffee for two people and take two mugs out of the cupboard, and only then do I realize I'm alone here. I don't need two mugs and I made too much coffee. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, I find myself typing your number, which I have memorized despite the fact that no one remembers phone numbers, because phones exist for a reason.

You have no idea how much I miss you and what I would do to be able to hear your voice again. I would do anything, I swear I could. But I know I no longer have that right. I know that what I did is unforgivable and although I want your forgiveness, I hope you never forget what I did to you.

You were still good to me on the last day. You took me to the airport, you said goodbye to me, you hugged me tight like you know I like it and you did your best not to shed a tear in front of me.

Every now and then I catch myself thinking that I messed up. I could have done my master's where we graduated, I didn't need to move to the other side of the world and leave the life I knew behind. But at the same time, I accept it. Coming here was my dream, it was always what I dreamed of even when you were by my side as well. And maybe that's why I never told you about the application, about being approved. Maybe I waited until the end, until the very last second to tell you because I knew you were the only one capable of changing my mind.

When I was by your side, I started to dream of a different life, a life that had you at all times and in all aspects. But, as you may have already noticed, I chose my first dream.

I know I won't regret it. I can't afford to regret it. You’ll become who you always wanted to be and I’ll be there to give you a standing ovation. Not there, next to you, but from afar.

yn 

“That was Sunday Morning, by Hong Joshua. Ah, whenever I hear this song I remember my college days. I've said this here a few times, and I think I sound like a broken record by this point, but Joshua and I went to the same college and he was always singing this song in the hallways. Any small gathering between friends he would pull out the guitar and sing. So I'm sorry, but you're going to have to listen to this song at least once a week for the next year. Or until he releases the next one.”

Seokmin looked at the monitor to his right as a pre-recorded commercial for the next show started. The comments were going up too quickly, which made reading them an almost impossible mission.

On the other side of the glass, Chan made a sign indicating that the commercial was over. Seokmin looked at his friend as he lowered one finger after another and finally pointed at him. Chan placed a sheet of paper, which was always used, against the glass, which said “last, chat”. Indicating that he still had one more question to answer.

“We have time for one more question” Seokmin said, opening the internal chat he used with the other radio employees and read the question that Chan had sent “I ended a relationship of almost four years a few months ago, but I still can't understand what happened. I haven't even returned his things yet. How do I get in touch saying I want to return it?”

Seokmin swallowed. He knew that Chan hadn't done it on purpose, that he had no way of knowing everything that had happened between him and you, but he hated how much the question resonated in his head. It was a feeling he shared and for him it had been a little worse because you lived together during your last year of college. So when he entered the house and saw all the furniture, the decorations, your clothes still in the closet, it was like entering a time machine. In that 30 square meter space, for a few minutes, you still hadn't left.

He took a deep breath, away from the microphone so the sound wouldn't be picked, and leaned forward.

“It's a difficult question, really. If it's been a few months and he still hasn't picked his things up, it's because he doesn't need them, so I don't think you should bother contacting him. Hmmm”

He bit his lip and rested his elbows on the table, thinking if he should continue talking or if it would be better to stop there. Seokmin always thought it was better not to let personal feelings show on the radio, but he had moments when he couldn't follow his own rules.

“I can tell you from experience that sometimes silence is better. Because if you know the truth, it could hurt you even more. When I was in a similar situation, after a while I simply discarded the person's belongings. At first, it will be difficult, because you’ll see that shirt you gave as a gift, that letter you wrote and remember what it meant, the moment you gave those things to him. But little by little you will achieve it. Don't feel obligated to just move on when you're not ready. People will always tell you that it's about time, that it's been so many weeks or months. You’re the one who knows about your feelings.”

Chan knocked on the glass again, almost desperate because Seokmin's answer had been too long. It wasn't the first time he had gotten lost in what he was saying and maybe had been talking in circles. It always happened that he remembered you when he answered a question.

And in that specific question he was being a hypocrite because he knew that if he opened his closet, deep inside it, he would find at least two boxes full of your things hidden. He rarely went near those boxes, he liked to pretend they didn't exist and most days he managed to achieve that thought. But there were other days…

“So we come to the end of another Cupid's Corner with Minnie. See you again next week. Cupid’s Corner with Minnie: Unveiling Love’s Melody, One Relationship at a Time!”

Seokmin removed his headphones, stood up, and waved at the cameras he knew were pointed at him. He grabbed his phone and the bottle of water he always carried with him. The red light above the door finally went out and Seokmin left the studio.

Immediately, Chan appeared beside him. He had just gone blond, and it strangely suited him.

He knew the youngest was desperate, not that he was doing a good job of hiding it. The disheveled hair, pointing in all directions, also helped a lot.

“You’re going to have a heart attack if you continue like this” Seokmin said laughing.

Chan was the newest employee, handpicked by Seokmin a few months before. Seokmin needed someone to help him organize the broadcasts after his previous assistant quit because she had gotten a job in the field she had studied. Seokmin even talked to her and offered a higher salary that would come out of his own pocket, but nothing seemed to help. Not that he blamed her, in her place he would have done the same thing. But in the position he was in, changes made him uncomfortable so he did what he could to make sure everything stayed the same.

Maybe it was trauma.

“It’s because they yell at me, not you.”

One of the reasons Seokmin chose Chan as his new assistant was his sincerity. In the middle of the interview he “I think there are things in your program that need to change” and started listing things that he thought were dated or ideas that had been used too much and therefore didn't have the same effect on listeners. The others had found him presumptuous as if he wanted to know more than those who worked at the radio. Seokmin disagreed and that's how Chan got the job.

“They yell at you because you’re the new guy, no one yelled at Jiah”

Chan made a sound in the back of his throat, like a scoff.

“That's because everyone was afraid of her” Seokmin rolled his eyes and reached for the folder Chan was carrying “Oh, right. Tomorrow is your lecture for the communication classes, but they said it is possible that students from other courses will also be there, because it’llll be in the auditorium”

Seokmin nodded, reading the guidelines Chan had made. He needed to admit that he was organized and had absolute control over everything he did. He was sure that if he asked about Wonwoo's program, Chan would know how to answer as if he worked directly with him.

“You know how it is, I have fans” Chan pretended to vomit “If you go tomorrow, we’ll go out to dinner later, I’ll pay”

"Deal"

Seokmin always found it strange to be called to give lectures at the college where he studied. He wasn't a teacher and he didn't think he had done enough to be someone who could give advice to someone. In fact, Seokmin was sure he hadn't done anything big. His life, to put it very simply, was flat. At least, almost all of his life.

Seokmin has always been the type of guy who makes plans and follows through on those plans. When he was sixteen he got it into his head that he wanted to work in radio. It wasn't without reasons, of course. He joined the school radio and despite doing very little, because the school director had to know everything that would be done, even the nouns he would use in the sentence, he fell in love with the idea. That's why he decided he should study journalism in college, that way even if his radio career didn't work out, he would still have a profession.

But his dream was to work on a radio, to have his own program. So that's what he did.

He entered college as planned, sunk into student debt, and graduated exactly as he had planned. In his last semester, he got an internship at the biggest radio station in the country. He was on cloud nine. It was as if he had received the green light in life and everything was on the right track.

At least that's what he thought. At least that was what he had forced himself to believe. The internship became a permanent position and one day he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. That's why he never felt prepared to give anyone advice. Despite having decided on the career he wanted to pursue, he knew that he also needed to count on a little luck and help. The only words he could offer were “you work hard, study, make contacts, and throw the rest into luck’s hands”. It wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to hear when he was a student looking forward to the future, so he certainly wouldn't say it to anyone.

However, Chan convinced him that it would be a good idea to give the talk.

“You’re going to tell me how you got here, that’s all. An unknown face who quickly went on air to cover someone for one of the most beloved radio broadcasters in the country. I'm sure if you say that shit fell on your head, they'll like it” Chan had said laughing.

Overall the lecture went very well. Better than expected. He answered the questions as honestly as possible and used his best smile to get rid of the more awkward questions.

Despite the good day, he knew he didn't want to repeat the dose anytime soon.

“They want to know if you would be willing to do one of these a semester” Chan whispered because he knew the answer Seokmin would give, so it was better for the students not to hear.

“No” was all Seokmin said “But I’ll still buy you dinner”

Chan punched the air in celebration, catching the eyes of those around him, but he seemed to care very little.

"I just…"

What Seokmin was about to say, an announcement that he needed to go to the bathroom, died in his throat as he looked straight ahead.

Letter #2

Seokmin,

I thought I would be able to adapt faster here. It was very hard in the beginning with transport, getting around in general was very difficult. So I chose a weekend and went walking around the neighborhood where I live. I don't know how long I'll stay here, but I thought I should check it out. Besides, I can wake up in the middle of the night and decide that I want to eat something that I don't have at home, so it's good to know if there are any stores or markets that open in the middle of the night (in this neighborhood there aren't any, maybe that's why I won’t stay here).

I discovered that going out there, although productive, wasn't such a good idea. Nothing wrong happened, I didn't get hit on or someone was rude to me. Quite the contrary, most people pretended they weren't even seeing me. The problem was that everything made me think about you.

I walked by the store that sold a lot of random old things and decided to go in. You know I love filling the house with trinkets. I didn't find anything there that I liked, but I saw that they were selling camera films. For a moment I forgot everything that had happened and all I could think was, I think Seokmin is running out of film, I need to buy more because he will only realize when he doesn't have any left.

I bought it and brought it to the apartment. I opened the door and called your name. It was only later, when I noticed where I was, that it wasn't our apartment, that I realized what I had done.

Even without meaning to, even when I try not to, I find myself looking for you. Everywhere. I go to a restaurant and think about what you would like to eat, I see a dog on the street and I imagine you bending down to pet it. It's not on purpose, I just can't help it. I try, but it's in vain.

I wonder if it will pass. Will this feeling that I succeeded in my career but ruined my personal life disappear or will I feel like this forever — or at least for a good few years?

yn.

It was as if all the air had been ripped from your lungs and there was no way in the world to get you to breathe.

Somehow, some way, Seokmin was standing in front of you, in the middle of the college hallway.

For a moment it was as if you had been transported back in time, to when you were still 22 years old. In another moment you would have simply run up to him and thrown yourself into his arms as if you hadn't spent the whole night clinging to him, as if you hadn't seen each other before classes, as if you hadn't shared the smallest space in the world on the subway for 20 minutes. And your body seemed to remember all of this, like some kind of muscle memory, because you felt like you were being projected forward. Towards him.

You thought Seokmin would talk to you, you were sure he would. But you saw the way his gaze changed, the way it went from complete surprise to a hard look, completely different from anything you had ever seen from him.

In your memory, Seokmin was always brilliant and was always willing to welcome everyone with open arms, even when he felt more shy. You didn’t understand, that look he gave you was completely different from what you imagined could happen.

When you made the decision to return, you knew that there was a possibility of meeting Seokmin, no matter how small it was. You didn't know if he was still friends with the same people, if he still kept in touch with them. You certainly hadn't kept in touch with anyone - except for the two times you talked to Joshua. The possibility existed, but being realistic you knew it was as big as winning the lottery.

Of all the places you thought you could find Seokmin, college was the last one and maybe that was even why you accepted the job. When you were taking the last tests, the ones that would say whether you would graduate at the end of the semester or not, Seokmin was categorical in saying that he would never set foot inside college again. So you thought it was a place he would never go, but there he was. And in your first week, when you needed everything to go well. Not to show that you were ready and that you could do the job, but to reassure yourself that you had made the right choice in accepting the job.

You didn't have time to decide whether to talk to him or not. Seokmin made the decision for both of you. He continued walking as if you weren't there, talking to the boy next to him, laughing. The only indication that he knew who you were was silent once and one that only you could distinguish.

He turned around and left as if nothing had happened.

Was it possible that only you had felt that way? That just your heart had decided it didn't know how to beat, as if a storm was raging inside your body?

You didn't have time to analyze what had just happened. You just forced yourself to take a deep breath and also keep walking as if those brief seconds weren't enough to make your entire world turn completely upside down.

Seokmin dragged his feet into the room, tripping over the rug at the foot of the bed. A curse came out of his mouth, followed by a burp. When he invited Chan to dinner he had no intention of ending the night drunk, being carried home like someone who had just had his first drink.

It had been years since he had gotten that bad and it was comical that the previous occasion was also connected to you.

The memory of leaving you at the airport, on a flight in the middle of the night, was still vivid in Seokmin's mind. Worse than that memory, was the one of you telling him that you had gotten a place in a master's degree on the other side of the world, 18 hours before leaving the country.

“I need to tell you something” you said as he pulled his coat over his head and patted his pockets, making sure he had grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone. He needed to leave as quickly as possible, he was already late.

Seokmin had plans to ask you to marry him. He had rented a house where you could spend the weekend, where it would be possible to see the stars. He had prepared himself, but he needed to leave right that second so he would have enough time to go to the house, get everything ready and come back to get you. The owner of the house would help him, since Seokmin decided that he wouldn't tell any of his friends because they might just ruin the surprise.

“I'm already late” he said, quickly looking at his watch. "Did something happen?"

He asked, noticing your already somewhat desperate look. He knew that whatever had happened couldn't be good.

To be honest, he had noticed that something was wrong a few weeks before, and for a while, he decided it would be better not to get into it too much. He knew you well enough to know that you would offer the information when you felt ready to do so. But thinking back on everything, he wished he had asked before, he wished he hadn't given you space, he wished he had forced you to talk to him sooner.

“I passed my master’s degree abroad”

Seokmin’s first reaction was to be happy for you. He knew how much you wanted that, that it was your dream. So he did what any boyfriend would do, he hugged you and congratulated you, told you that you had tried so hard and that they would be idiots not to accept you. The feeling was true and his smile was genuine. He was happy for you.

Knowing what he knew, every now and then Seokmin wondered if he would have done anything differently if he knew what the next words would be out of your mouth. He could have made a fuss, he could have begged you to stay, he could have offered to go with you. But at the time he didn't do any of that.

“I’m leaving today, I need to be at the airport at 11 pm”

Seokmin's ears rang deafeningly. It was as if he had been punched and needed to brace himself against something. The sofa was the closest piece of furniture.

He thought he heard it wrong, he wished he was dreaming, but all he had to do was look at you. It was true. It was as if a puzzle was being completed in Seokmin's mind. The way you had suddenly become distant, how every time he entered the room you hurried to change or close whatever you were looking at on the computer. He didn't even know you signed up. He imagined that you must have done some kind of test, some interview and he didn't even know anything about it.

He had no idea.

Had he been a bad boyfriend, someone who was so focused on making the long-awaited proposal that he had ignored everything else? Or had you hidden it so well that he hadn't noticed?

"What? You’re leaving today?"

It was like the world was spinning too fast and he was trying to keep up with what was happening. It was like being on a roller coaster that kept on falling. He remembered well how the little box with the ring he had carefully chosen weighed in his pocket.

“I didn’t even know you had applied for a position” he whispered, almost just to himself “You didn’t tell me”

And it was at that exact moment, when he looked at you, that Seokmin realized that your relationship was over. You avoided looking at him, your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, which was his. He saw your eyes fill with tears, you swallow hard, and remain silent.

It was unlike you, to stay quiet when you had too many things going through your head. He desperately wanted you to talk to him, to tell him what had been going through your head. He just wanted to understand. Did you believe he would somehow stop you from going? If there was one thing he knew about you, it was the fact that you always put your education first. It wasn't a secret and you didn't want it to be. He just didn't expect things to happen that way.

Seokmin sat in front of the closet, on the floor, and with difficulty opened the doors. Deep in the back, behind several shoe boxes, were two old boxes that he hadn't moved in years. Part of him wished the things inside the boxes were ruined, that they had mold and anything else that could ruin its content. But he had been careful, kept everything in order, taken all necessary precautions, and cleaned the closet periodically.

He ignored the first box and pulled the smaller one towards him, placing it on his bent legs. Seokmin wasn't one to revisit those memories, he liked to keep them as far away from him as possible, but on nights like those, it was impossible.

Seokmin knew what he would find and was sure how he would feel, but he still took the lid off the box, but he didn't dare take out any of the items inside it.

He knew he had reached his lowest point when he was holding on to memories he had of you and not focusing on what was actually happening in his life.

Letter #3

Seokmin,

I talked to Joshua today. Talk is a bit too strong of a word. We exchanged a few words on Instagram. He posted a photo and I liked it, he sent me a DM asking if I was ok and how things were going. I lied, of course. He said everything was fine and he was happy. He didn't talk about you and I didn't ask.

It was very hard to contain myself. I want to know how you are. The more selfish part of my brain wants you to be just as bad as I feel. You know that little demon that sits on our shoulder? He assures me you're even worse. And I hate to think that's the case, but at the same time, I'm sure you're not okay. I know you, we dated for four years, we lived together for almost two years

You were always the more emotional one of the two of us. You were never afraid to show your feelings, not for me or anyone else. You always loved so openly, without any fear. I admit that at first, it scared me a little.

I was an 18-year-old girl who came from a family that had no idea how to show affection, so I was always more reserved in that aspect. And there you were with your beautiful, bright smile, with open arms, affectionate with anyone who came along. I thought you were a crazy person who didn't have the slightest notion of the world. It took a while for me to realize that your world was brighter than mine in ways I couldn't understand.

You were always so untethered, free, showing yourself to anyone who had eyes. When I was closed and more reclusive, you were open and expansive. When I was very shy or reserved, you were more charming and brighter than usual. Not even my worst mood, which seemed endless at times, was a problem for you.

One day you just showed up and decided that you would stay by my side, no matter what. Believe me when I say, I tried to push you away. But with each passing day you were further under my skin.

A kiss at a random party turned into a date at every party, parties became meetings at the college library, which led to coffee dates. One day you decided at the end of each date you had to take me back to the dorms and you kissed me for a long time on the side of the building where no one could see — or at least I made myself believe no one did. Then that alone wasn't enough and you were always with your fingers intertwined with mine, or your arm around my waist. And kisses were no longer reserved for empty streets, of course not. You kissed me anywhere, anytime, no matter who was watching.

You were sneaky, Seokmin.

When I realized it, I was in love with you. Your arms were my refuge. You were my safe space. My home.

yn.

You hated that Seokmin’s reaction, or lack thereof, had gotten to you so much. It was like being punched, and then one more, soon the punch became a beating and to finish with a flourish, it was as if a truck had run over you.

You had plans to go out at the weekend, though alone. Everything was so different, the places you knew no longer existed and friends from the past no longer spoke to you. You would have to rediscover the city without anyone's help. Despite your plans, you couldn't bring yourself to leave the house.

When you decided to return, you knew there would be no way to escape Seokmin. He had become successful not only in his career as a broadcaster but also as a celebrity of sorts. You never imagined you would see his face in magazines or on billboards selling fried chicken. You didn't expect that when you turned on the TV you would see his face in different programs.

In fact, you knew all of that was happening, but somehow you managed to convince yourself that you wouldn't have to see any of it. You managed to make yourself believe that you would not be haunted by his images and voice.

When you were away, you always listened to his programs, more than once each one, but it was almost like a relationship between fan and celebrity. You could separate very well what was him and what was you. But being there, in the same country, in the same city, it was much more difficult to make that separation.

Because once you were back, Seokmin was no longer just the radio host with a show about relationships. Far from it. Seokmin was your college sweetheart, the guy whose heart you broke but who, even after seven years, was still in love with.

That was the reality. you were still in love with him. There was no relationship in the world, no man in the world, that would have made you forget about Seokmin. Sometimes it worked, sometimes you managed to forget about him for a few months and that feeling of loss, of emptiness, that had settled deep inside your heart became smaller and smaller. And then it would come back full on as if it had never left.

Maybe that was your curse, your punishment for leaving behind someone you could have spent the rest of your life with. And somehow you knew you would have been happy. Or at least a different kind of happiness.

After spending the weekend holed up inside your apartment, after convincing yourself that you needed to prepare for teaching classes and unpacking the move, she decided that on Tuesday night she would explore the city.

Exploring wasn't the right word. You had discovered that one of your favorite restaurants still existed, it had just changed location. And, despite being on the other side of the city and being completely aware that you would have to pay a fortune for a taxi or risk taking the subway alone almost at closing time, you decided to go anyway.

You needed to feel like one thing hadn't changed, or at least still be recognizable.

You heard your name being called a few minutes after sitting down. You raised your head, recognizing the voice, but couldn't tell who it belonged to. Directly in front of you was a woman, with short hair, in her fifties.

“It’s really you!”

You stood up and a second later you were being hugged. Maybe you had gone there for that reason, knowing that there would be someone there who would recognize you. Or at least you hoped there was. And when you were welcomed with open arms by her owner, Niah, you wanted to cry for the first time in a long time.

“Hi” was all you could offer, your voice weak.

You quickly turned your face away, trying to be discreet as you wiped away your tears. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of someone else. Tears were reserved for dark moments in the silence of your apartment, they weren't meant to be seen by people you didn't even know in a crowded restaurant.

“Look how beautiful you look. You haven't been around for so long. Seokmin told us that you had gone abroad to study, but I thought you would come back sooner.”

You just managed to smile, even though it was embarrassing. It was strange to hear his name coming out of someone else's mouth so easily. For years, his name was just an echo in your own mind, almost as if it were a fantasy of yours.

There were days when you managed to convince yourself of this, that Seokmin was nothing more than a dream.

“Are you just visiting or are you back to stay?”

“I'm staying” you said after a second, when you managed to find your voice again “I got a job here, I have nowhere to run”

Niah laughed and hugged you once again, tighter this time.

"Great, that makes me happy. We always miss you” Niah smiled and ran her fingers down your cheeks, brushing away some tears that were stubborn to fall “What do you want to eat? Today it's on the house. Consider it a welcome gift.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat and the remaining tears.

"What do you recommend?"

The amazing thing about meeting Niah again was that she still acted exactly the same way. She didn't see you as someone who had simply packed a suitcase of clothes and left the country overnight. To Niah you were still that same person from 7 years ago who ate whatever she put in front of. You and Seokmin were always guinea pigs for all the new recipes.

The food was still wonderful, if anything it had just gotten better.

You had a fork halfway to your mouth when you heard the door open, the sound of the bell indicating the entry of a new customer. You almost instinctively turned to look. You choked on your own saliva when your eyes met Seokmin's.

It was as if you were back in the hallway that day. Your heart simply stopped, and the world fell into suspension. For a moment, it was as if you had been transported to the past. You were almost certain that if you looked at the table you would see books open next to the cutlery; you knew that if you looked at Seokmin for another second or two his face would break into the most beautiful smile, he would wave and call your name.

But your illusion shattered into small pieces as his neutral expression contorted into a frown. With the same foot he entered he turned to leave.

“Seokmin!” you called him, getting up from your chair.

Part of you thought he was going to continue out the door, but he stopped. Half of his body was outside the restaurant, the other inside.

“Hurry up and close that door!” Niah said leaving the kitchen “You’re letting out all the heat”

Even with Niah's voice calling him, Seokmin remained standing at the door. You sat back down, but without taking your eyes off him. He didn't know what he expected of him, but he felt an indescribable relief when Niah pulled him by the sleeve of his coat and forced him to sit in front of you.

“The restaurant is packed, so you will have to share a table” she said as she turned her back.

Seokmin shook his head, clearly against sitting there, staying in the restaurant, but he still took off his coat and hung it on the chair before leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

It was clear he was working out, his shoulders had gotten broader and his arms bigger since you last saw each other. You almost laughed at the pose, remembering all the times you had seen him in a similar situation. But this wasn't the time to laugh when everything else was screaming that he was uncomfortable with the situation, that he didn't want to be there.

It didn't take a genius to know that Seokmin wanted nothing to do with you. His reaction to seeing you in the hallway the week before and the way he was looking at you in that moment were enough answers.

You felt like the walls were closing in around you and there wasn't enough air in the room.

What were you thinking when you called his name? What were you thinking when you silently watched Niah pull him inside? Why were you still sitting there?

A waiter who worked with Niah passed by your table and you called him discreetly, not wanting to attract the attention of the restaurant owner.

“Can you wrap everything to go, please?” you turned to Seokmin “You can have the table. I was already leaving”

It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

Seokmin laughed lowly, scornfully, his sideways smile making the hair on your arms stand on end. In general, Seokmin has always been the type of guy who didn’t lose his cool easily, who would always rather let things go than have any kind of confrontation. But when he really got stressed out or nervous, it took a while for him to calm down again.

You had seen that storm in his eyes very few times in the years you spent together. The last one was when he went to the airport to say goodbye to you. That day the storm was just confusion and pain, you knew you had done that to him. But he sat there in the restaurant, in front of you, in silence while the people around him chatted animatedly, completely oblivious to what was happening between the two of you.

"What it was?" you rolled your eyes.

“Ah, nothing” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture “It’s just like you to do that”

You narrowed your eyes at the same time you felt your cheeks get hot.

"Do what?"

"Runaway"

Letter #4

Seokmin, 

It took me almost a year to convince myself that it was okay for me to look at social media. I convinced myself that every woman does this, that every now and then we look at our ex-boyfriend's Instagram, just to find out if his new girlfriend is ugly. I've told you this several times, but every female experience is universal.

I wish you were one of those low profile people, who post a picture every 6 months and it's a cut mango on a pretty plate. I wish you hadn't posted so many pictures. But more than anything, I wish I hadn't spent hours and hours looking at the photos. I wish I hadn't been analyzing every photo of you, I wish I hadn't thought “that's a new mole” and wondered which others had appeared since the last time we saw each other.

I had memorized every mole of yours. On your face, on your arms, on your back. On the worst days, when I missed you in a way that almost made me give up everything and go home, I kept remembering each one of them. I tried to remember the sound of your laugh, your voice, how you stroked my hair until I fell asleep when it wasn't a good day.

I keep wondering if one day this feeling will just go away.

It's been a year since I left. I went out with other guys, and I almost dated one of them, but you're always there in the back of my mind, almost comically because even against my will I can't help but compare them to you. I can't help but think that only you know how I like my coffee, how only you know that if I'm in my worst mood, there's no joke in the world that can make me laugh.

I know it's not fair to them. I gave you the chance to get to know me, I allowed you to get closer. I wanted you to come closer to me. Now I wonder if you're doing this for someone other than me.

I like to imagine that you also compare other women to me, that even now that you're dating I stay there, in the back of your mind, making fun of you.

Unfortunately, she's not ugly, but your smile was brighter when I was next to you.

yn.

To say that Seokmin had spent the rest of the week in an envious mood was an understatement. He was stressed and everyone around him soon noticed the change. He really tried not to let his personal life get in the way of his work. It was something he never struggled with. Work was work, what happened when the lights went out and he left the radio should never cross paths with each other. That week, however, it was impossible.

Meeting you at the restaurant caught him off guard. That day in the college hallway had been difficult, but he managed to just keep walking as if nothing had happened. He liked to pretend like he hadn't gone out with Chan right after and drank like there was no tomorrow, like he hadn't opened the boxes he had kept for years and cried while looking at the photos of the two of you together.

He had gone to the restaurant that day because he needed some form of comfort and didn't want to call any of his friends because he knew he would end up telling them everything that happened and would receive advice and words he would rather not hear. The restaurant was the best idea he had. Or maybe the worst possible one.

Maybe he had done it consciously, because he wanted to see you one more time, and wanted to make sure he hadn't imagined you. It wouldn't have been the first time.

In the first few months after you left, Seokmin got into the habit of visiting places he went with you, or places you liked to go alone. It was probably a form of torture, but he liked to imagine it was a way to forget and overcome the breakup. On several of those days, he believed he saw you. He realistically knew it wasn't you, he clearly remembered seeing you get on the plane and waited until it took off to leave the airport.

The worst thing that could have happened to him was you calling for him. Seokmin couldn't help but wonder if he had always reacted that way to you, if your presence was always so great that before he even saw you he knew you were nearby. That day, as soon as he opened the door, before he even saw you sitting there with your eyes wide open, he knew. He knew you were there.

The last thing he expected from you was you saying his name, as if asking him to sit with you, that Niah, knowing how the relationship had ended, would have made him sit in front of you.

Seokmin noticed your discomfort, the way your spine had become a little straighter, the way your eyes were hard and cautious at the same time. Your reaction made him angry. What right did you have to behave that way, as if you were hurt when all the decisions regarding a relationship both of you were in had been made by you?

You were the one who signed up for a master's degree abroad. It was you who never told him about your decision. It was you who kept everything secret, making him believe that the two of you were on the same page and that despite your different goals, you would be able to pursue them together.

Turns out he was wrong, those dreams were just his and didn't include him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chan asked for the thousandth time.

For the first time in a long time, Seokmin was having a hard time hiding how he really felt. That polished, carefully carved mask had fallen. It was a completely atypical day and everyone was able to notice his sudden change in mood. Even Chan, who normally did a great job of ignoring all the problems around him and focusing solely on his work, seemed to be walking on eggshells around him.

“It’s really obvious, isn’t it?” Seokmin asked in a low voice and Chan just nodded "And if I pretend it's because of the new segment, will anyone believe it?"

Again, Chan nodded. Since he had started the program, 3 years before, Seokmin would receive calls and speak directly to listeners. Although there were always interactions, those were always done through live chat and email when he received questions or stories from people who were not listening to the program when it was airing.

Seokmin wasn't nervous about the idea, he was actually excited. Chan knew this and knew that whatever the problem was, it was still the same as the day of the lecture. He didn't want to ask, and he didn't want to seem invasive, but he still wanted to make sure Seokmin was okay — or at least, well enough to do the program.

“I think everyone is already thinking that” was a lie and even Seokmin knew it, but he was grateful.

“You may already know this, but today we will start a new segment. We'll call it the heart to heart helpline, at least until we find a better name at least” Seokmin's voice and laugh resonated through the taxi “We'll take your calls and some of you will be able to talk to me and ask your questions live, instead of by chat. Each person will have a maximum of 2 minutes and we will answer 6 calls today”

You had left the house completely willing to avoid anything related to Seokmin. Realistically, you knew you couldn't do anything about the billboards and his face at bus stops, but you could very well avoid his radio show. And for a few weeks you had managed to do just that.

That day at the restaurant had almost been a cathartic moment. Somehow, it was as if something had clicked and fallen into place. The Seokmin you left behind no longer existed. It had been a naive thought to think so. You didn't expect that he would still be exactly the same person, of course not. Seven years had passed and Seokmin, like you, was approaching his thirties. Obviously, many things had changed, but you still expected to see traces of that 22-year-old boy you had known and loved.

You didn't spend more than five minutes with him at that table. And it was much more than enough. He had accused you of running away, of continuing to do this for years. Of course, that could be his view on everything, but it was never your intention. The only problem was that you hadn't been able to tell him those things. You had been so lost and so completely helpless in front of him that you had forgotten that you knew how to speak and form sentences.

You had spent years of your life writing letters to him, letters that he would never read, but that was beside the point. You wrote letters as a way to appease the emptiness you felt in your heart. You never, not for a second, thought you were running away. You never wanted to run away, but Seokmin seemed to believe you did.

In a sudden burst of anger, you took your phone out of your bag and dialed the number Seokmin spoke on the radio. You didn't expect your call to go through. In fact, you didn't even know what you expected.

“Please wait a minute, we will connect your call” a non-robotic voice said as you paid for the taxi.

Seokmin was still chatting animatedly with a listener who didn't have a real question, but who “just wanted to say that I really liked your show and that I’m a fan.” It was impossible not to roll your eyes. If she, and everyone else, knew how much of a complete asshole he could be just because he had the opportunity, they would never want to see his face again.

Or maybe they would team up against you in favor of the immaculate Seokmin. God knew how easily a man could turn public opinion in his favor with a beautiful smile. And God was also a witness that Seokmin's smile was simply wonderful, one that took your breath away, one that made you smile along because it was contagious.

“Welcome to the heart to heart helpline” Seokmin’s voice sounded in your ear “What’s your question?”

You didn't really think that your call would get through to Seokmin, you didn't think the signal would be good enough inside the elevator, but none of that seemed to be a problem.

“Hello, can you hear me?” he asked.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You knew you were going really crazy, but you decided to throw caution out the window and be the crazy person everyone used to believe you were.

“Yes, I’m here” you could have sworn, that even over the phone, you felt Seokmin tense up “It’s a question about an old relationship, we broke up years ago, if that’s okay”

You struggled with your keys, trying to unlock the door as quickly as possible. You needed to get to your computer or tablet, whichever was closer. It was almost a physical necessity to see Seokmin's reaction to your voice, your question.

You always knew how to tell if he was truly calm or if he was masking what he was feeling. You wanted to know if you still had any other sort of effect on him. Whatever it was, it was better than angry disdain.

“Old relationships should stay in the past, don’t you think?” he finally said.

You nodded as you ran into your room. You knew you would find the tablet under your pillow — you were sure that if your mother saw it she would say that your brain would explode due to the radiation from the device. With a few taps, you opened the stream of Seokmin's program.

“I think so. But the problem is that we keep seeing each other. I don’t think it’s something either of us want, but it seems inevitable.”

You turned the sound off, you just wanted to focus on his reactions. Seokmin swallowed hard, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes fixed on the microphone in front of him. To anyone, it just seemed like he was concentrating on the call, on what the person on the other end of the line had to say, but you knew very well that it was to hide his reactions.

"Your question?"

“Well, he called me selfish and said I ran away when we broke up, but that's not exactly what happened. I wanted to talk to him, but I don’t think he wants to listen to me.”

Seokmin took a deep breath and seemed to think about what to say next, his eyes no longer on the microphone, but on the ceiling.

“And why does he think that about you? You probably gave him reasons, don't you think? I don’t think anyone would think that about someone without anything having happened.”

“I always dreamed of studying abroad, so when the opportunity came, I went. I…"

“Did you tell him you were going?” Seokmin clenched his fists on the desk, his fingers gripped the pen in his hand tightly until his knuckles were white. “Did you give him a chance to say something or did you just walk away?”

You were speechless, eyes focused only on Seokmin. The way his hair perfectly framed his face, his sculpted thin nose. He was still exactly like he was seven years ago, just somehow different. He was the same, but he also wasn't.

You hadn't given him the chance to say anything, you had just walked away, but because you believed it was the best thing to do. You would have stayed if he had asked, I would have aborted all of your plans for him,

“Long distance relationships don’t work” you said finally, your voice lower “especially when there’s an ocean separating people”

“I'm going to guess and say that you were together for a while because I don't think anyone would care that much about a quick relationship” his voice became more sober, completely in control of his emotions, the opposite of what you felt,  like you were enclosed every second that passed “I agree with you, long-distance relationships don’t work. Different cities are already complicated, I can't imagine what it would be like to be with someone who lives in another country. You didn't give many details, but I believe he had reasons to feel that way, just as you had your reasons for leaving without warning. I think the best thing for both of you is to let it fall into oblivion. It makes no sense for either of you to dwell on these feelings. Maybe your desire to talk exists because you think you've left things open with him, but he may think that what's in the past shouldn't be remembered. Maybe you're just a bad relationship he wants to forget.”

Letter #5

Seokmin

I found out by chance that you now have your own radio show. One day it was an empty slot in the schedule and the next it was your voice. To my joy and delight, it was one of those programs that also had video streaming. I say joy and delight in a very ironic way.

But I'm not lying when I say I'm happy for you. You always said it was your dream and in a way, here we are, achieving our dreams. It would have been better if we could have lived through this together, I think. Maybe if that were the case I wouldn't have this empty feeling inside my chest.

But I discovered a long time ago that I can't keep crying over spilled milk. I left and you moved on with your life. They were conscious choices, I knew what I was doing. I knew that making this choice would have hurt both of us, but I also knew that we could overcome it. It's just taking longer than expected. I honestly thought that by this point, so many years later, we would have been able to live as if the past were just that, the past.

But it's not like that for me or for you.

I may be completely crazy, but your show is about love advice and how to deal with heartbreak. Sometimes, when I hear you talk, I'm sure you've already dealt with all your feelings, after all, you've had other girlfriends. But there are other moments, when you answer a question or when you read one of the pre-written texts when I'm sure that what you said applies directly to what we both had.

I'm going crazy, aren't I?

It's been four years since I left. I already finished my master's degree and started my PhD, exactly as planned. I have a date tonight with a guy who seems genuinely nice, but here I am, writing yet another letter that will never be sent to the guy I was in love with.

What am I still doing?

yn

Seokmin had always believed that for a relationship to truly end there must be no trace of it anywhere. When he told his listeners that they should get rid of items, it was not a lie. He was just terrible at following his own advice. The old story of do as I say, not as I do.

Finally, he decided it was time to take his own advice. With a little pain and resentment added to the mix, of course. At this point, he wondered if he could already be considered a masochist or if he still had a few boxes to tick to get the title.

Getting your address had been easier than expected. All he had to do was ask Niah, who offered the information without any resistance.

“Being thirty didn't make either of you any smarter,” she said as she leaned across the table and wrote the address on the napkin.

“Almost thirty” he felt the need to correct her, but decided he would ignore the hidden message in her words.

Seokmin never stopped going to Niah's restaurant. It was there that he had cried his sorrows over the cheapest drinks possible, he didn't have the money to pay for the good ones, while Joshua tried to console him. He had never seen Niah so stressed and angry. She hadn't said anything, but you could clearly hear the sound of her cutting the vegetables more aggressively than necessary.

Little by little she became calmer about the situation and started talking about you with the same affection as before. Seokmin always thought she had somehow kept in touch with you, or at least found a way to get your number or a way to contact you. At first, he had been angry, but somehow he believed he didn't have that right. It was only after a year that Seokmin decided to ask and the answer he received was “if I still had contact with her, I would have already screamed at her about disappearing without telling anyone”.

Asking Niah for your address was the only option he had. He refused to go to college, where you worked. He didn't know what would happen, whether you would be friendly with each other or the conversation would end in a shouting match just because. Because after years of no contact and considering the way things ended, it was pretty obvious that resentment could resurface — at least Seokmin had resentment up to his neck and knew that not releasing them all at once required almost inhuman self-control. 

He looked at the building one more time before getting out of the car. It was one of those without a doorman. Seokmin knew that if he rang and asked to be let in, the probability of being sent to hell was very high. So he pulled up his cap down and covered as much of his face as he could while he balanced the boxes on his arms.

He stood there like a madman for almost twenty minutes until someone finally left the building. Seokmin felt like he was committing a crime when he slipped through the door before it closed. Even though the feeling was strange he made himself believe it was the only option he had and he really didn't have any bad intentions. He just wanted to return your things and, hopefully, arrange that if you ever met again, you’d simply pretend you don't know each other, instead of talking nonsense to each other.

Seokmin took a deep breath once before knocking on the door. He heard footsteps and a second later the door opened.

When you imagined what your Wednesday night would be like, the only option that crossed your mind was to order a pizza and watch a movie — the random option of Netflix seemed like your best friend and the only possible option because you weren't even able to choose what to watch by yourself.

Not even in your wildest daydreams could you have imagined that Seokmin would show up at your door with two boxes in his hand.

You were partially tempted to close the door on his face, but you knew that doing so would only make the whole situation worse. If Seokmin, who clearly didn't have any good feelings about you, was standing there at your door it was because he had something to say. Or more precisely to hand it over to you, considering the boxes in his arms.

Silently you stepped aside so he had enough room to enter. You wanted to slap yourself for the complete war zone that your living room was in. You were still unpacking the moving boxes, not that you had taken much with you. It was too expensive to send things from one country to another, especially furniture. You had only focused on your clothes and books and a few things you wanted to keep, and that alone was more than you were willing to spend. In addition to the boxes, you had all the things you still had to buy, but you still didn't have the mind to do it.

You had so much going through your head that cleaning the apartment was just another task you wanted to avoid. But it was one that could be left for later. In the few minutes that Seokmin spent there, you wished you had tidied it up, that he hadn't seen how that room represented your life at that moment: a complete mess.

"What are you doing here?" you finally asked when you managed to get your vocal cords to work properly.

Seokmin didn't seem to care about the mess but paid attention to everything else around him.

He placed the boxes on the counter and took off his cap, pressing the brims with his fingertips looking for what to say next. He had rehearsed an almost poetic speech in the car, something about being adults and how your relationship had ended a long time ago, so neither of you should have any regrets left. But the moment you opened the door and looked at him it was as if all the words had simply evaporated from his mind, as if he had never learned to speak in the first place.

It had always been that way with you. Sometimes when he looked at you, even when you were still together, he got lost. He was like a man adrift who had finally found solid land. It was as if he heard a click and the world started to move once again.

One of his favorite things, when you were dating and living together, was being able to come home after an exhausting day and see you sitting on the sofa in the living room, your computer on your lap, while you studied, occasionally shouting profanities at the computer. On those days, Seokmin would simply push the computer away and lay his head on your lap.

“Just five minutes” he used to say with his eyes closed.

You’d laugh, fingers immediately running through his hair, as if it was the most natural movement in the world.

“Who do you want me to insult today? You know my vocabulary is very colorful.”

How many times had he slept in that position, without meaning to, and you had to drag him to bed because “it's comfortable for you, but my legs are numb and you have to take a shower, you won't sleep dirty next to me, sir”.

It was impossible not to wonder where it all went wrong.

“I came to return your things” he pointed at the boxes.

You suppressed the urge to bend down and rummage through the boxes. You wanted to know what he had kept, what he considered important enough to keep for so many years. You knew he no longer lived in the apartment you shared. When you were looking for apartments you saw that that one was up for rent. It was necessary to restrain yourself from choosing it. It wasn't a good apartment, at least not at the time — the photos on the website said the property had undergone renovations two years earlier and had no tenants since. It wasn't big, it barely fit one person, but it was what your extremely limited budget could afford at the time. Somehow you and Seokmin turned that small space into a home full of life. Of love.

In the places where you lived, you bought all kinds of trinkets to fill the space, furniture you didn't need and never used, hoping to imitate, for even a second, the feeling you had in that little 35 square meter apartment.

You never quite managed to do that.

“Thank you” you said sincerely “I thought all my things had gone in the trash”

You laughed and Seokmin squeezed the back of his head and pointed at the boxes.

“I sold what I could, I didn't want to put it in storage because I really thought we would never see each other again. The money is in an envelope”

“Why did you keep all this?” the words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself “You should have thrown it away or, since you sold it, you should have spent the money”

Seokmin had asked himself that question several times before, sober or not, and he never had an answer. After a while, he simply stopped questioning and accepted it as something he had to do, to have some kind of sanity. It didn’t. Knowing that those boxes were inside his wardrobe, having to go through them the two times he moved, only brought back memories that he would like to forget.

Ever since you had seen each other again for the first time, memories that Seokmin had struggled to bury came to the surface as if they had just happened. He started to dream about you, dreams that range from memories to things that never actually happened, he started to wonder if it would be okay to talk with someone. His brain always screamed NO, so he was stuck just dreaming.

“I don’t have a good enough reason. It is what it is, I guess,” he said.

The last time Seokmin felt so embarrassed around you was right when you met and even then it only lasted a few minutes. The 18 year old Seokmin was much braver than the 29 year old man in front of him.

That boy, without any guilt or remorse, would have asked every question that could cross his mind. You’d say “your mind is beautiful, it even echoes sometimes”. Seokmin wanted to still have some of that boy's strength. Maybe that was the only way to know what he wanted. He wouldn't ask and he knew you wouldn't offer the information to him without being pressured.

“I think in the end, we both got what we wanted.”

You realized you said the wrong thing when you looked at Seokmin’s hands. A second before he was clutching his cap until his knuckles turned white, the next his long fingers were still. You didn't want to see the expression on his face. You knew what you’d find. You messed up, but couldn’t take back what you said.

“You got what you wanted” Seokmin corrected you, his voice firm, his tone hard.

“You always wanted to have a radio show”

“No, I wanted you. I could adapt to everything else if it meant I would have you.”

You shook your head. You knew it wasn't true. Hell, even Seokmin knew it wasn’t true. The first time you talked, Seokmin mentioned how much he wanted to be a radio host and have his own show, of any kind. I don't have a preference, I know I can give anything my own colors. You felt envious of his certainty, of the way he knew he could do it.

“The show has always been your dream” you tried again, despite knowing it was in vain to argue with him.

“My dream was to have a life by your side. You never, not once, told me that you signed up to study abroad, you never even mentioned it. When it was time to go you just got on a plane and disappeared. You never even gave me the chance to follow you. I could have been a journalist anywhere in the world”

Seokmin hated the direction of that conversation, hated being so exposed in front of you after so many years. In the past, it wasn't a problem. Before he wanted to be exposed in front of you, he wanted to share everything he was, every aspect of himself with you. No more. The problem was that he couldn't just stop. A gate was opened and there was no way to close it.

“So, what? Would we both be living based on our dreams? Because this is a dream, and you know it very well.”

You clung to the top rail of the chair, your head lolling forward in an almost futile attempt to stop him from seeing the tears forming in your eyes. You knew you couldn't hold them.

You weren't the type of person who cried often, you did what you could to avoid it, but when the tears came it was impossible to simply stop them from falling.

“Yeah, maybe I was really dreaming, because I believed that you loved me in the same proportion, but it’s quite obvious that you didn’t”

Seven years of pent-up frustration couldn't just disappear, he should have known. He should have imagined that going there would be a problem, that being in the same space as you without any kind of interference was a mistake. But he was still there and there was no way to escape. It was better to end everything quickly than to keep those feelings for another seven years in the hopes of one day being able to say something.

Seokmin watched as you went to one of the boxes in the corner of the room and opened it forcefully, tearing the cardboard, and causing some of the contents to slide across the floor. He felt his body freeze as a roll of film stopped at his feet.

“So explain to me, why do I buy a roll of film every time I pass by a store?” you put both hands inside the box and took out several rolls of film, of different brands and models. “Explain to me, why have I followed your career all this time and never missed a damn show in the last 3 years? Why would I wake up in the middle of the night to watch the broadcast and then listen to the show again while going to work because I just wanted to hear your voice?”

You walked to another box, but you opened this one a little more carefully as if wanting to protect the contents.

“Why did I spend 7 years writing letters that would never be read to a guy I never loved?”

You threw several envelopes at Seokmin’s chest. Your face and body shook out of anger or another feeling he couldn't quite tell.

Seokmin bent down to pick up one of the envelopes from the floor. His name was written in your careful handwriting. He didn't need to look at all the other ones to know that they were also addressed to him. He didn't know how many letters were scattered on the floor, or if there were any left in the box. The only thing he was sure of was that he had no idea how to proceed.

“If that doesn’t say I loved you, if that doesn’t say I still love you, I don’t know what the fuck does.”

Seokmin saw the first tear run down your face and fell silent. He knew he should turn his back, he knew he should walk away, just like you did seven years before. Instead, he took four steps in your direction, his eyes never left your heaving chest and the tears that ran freely over your cheeks. 

At that moment he knew that he only had two options: he could turn around and leave, he gave you back your things that alone made his plan a success; or he could kiss you like he had been wanting to since the moment he saw you again.

To hell with his plan.

Seokmin held your face in his hands and pulled you to him, crashing his lips on yours. It was an all too new feeling but also familiar, almost like coming to a remodeled home. It was him and it was you, if only it was just that simple. 

You sighed into him, your arms wrapping around his slim waist while your hand balled a fist full of his shirt. There were so many moments where you wished you could be right in that spot, again in his arms. Dreams and daydreams, wishful thinking, whatever you could call it. Thoughts of Seokmin had always been a constant in your mind. It was impossible not to compare other people you went out with to him. 

Your longest relationship had been one of almost a full year. Although the beginning had been good and easy, with you somehow managing to avoid any and all Seokmin related dreams and thoughts, it turned sour the second he crossed your mind.

“Seokmin, I…”

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes so intense that it was difficult to keep looking at him. 

“Let’s not overthink it, okay?” was all he said. 

You held his face for a couple, searching for something in his features, anything at all, that could indicate that the moment wasn’t for that. But all you saw in him was the same emotions you felt, the same need and desire. 

You pulled Seokmin to you again, this time hungrier, your chest pressed to his. Your mind was loud telling you all the reasons why you shouldn’t be doing that, why having him so close to you was truly the most dangerous situation you could possibly put yourself in. But all of those voices, all of those words and thoughts were silenced the moment he kissed you again. 

His lips were hungry, demanding all of you. And it was so easy to just give in to him, to his hands roaming on your body, down your back until he reached your ass. He gave it a light squeeze and ran his hand back up again, this time under your shirt. You moaned softly at the contact of his skin on yours, as he kissed your neck, bitting on the exact same spot he found years before. 

He smiled over your skin. 

“At least this hasn’t changed”

It was all too much but not nearly enough. Just having him that close to you was dizzying enough but him touching you and enjoying the fact that you were just as weak for him at twenty nine made you never want to let go of him again.

“Where’s your room?”

You took Seokmin by the hand, guiding him through the narrow corridor. 

Your room was barely a room to begin with. You had no furniture except for the mattress lying on the floor, your clothes were either on the suitcase or on the chair on the side. 

“This is unlike you” Seokmin said, his chest pressed to your back while he nibbled on the skin of your neck. 

“I… hm… I” you sturred a little when he bit into a particularly sensitive spot, making him chuckle “I’m waiting on delivery”

Seokmin turned you around in his arms while lightly pushing you down on the mattress. His eyes never left yours as he ran his hand under your shirt, moving the fabric up until your chest was exposed. 

It had been so long since you had been with anyone, it was almost like a reflex to want to pull your shirt back down. Since him, it had been hard to just let yourself be exposed to someone like that. You had become awfully aware of your body and things you never cared for or paid attention to before suddenly became worries. You didn't like that insecure version of yourself but when Seokmin cupped your breast in his hand his touch was almost solemn. 

It was probably the worst timing in the world when you felt tears burn on the back of your eyes. You pulled his face to yours again, trying to hide your tears from him once again. 

Suddenly, his touch was tender when he pushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers careful. 

Seokmin moved down on your body. When you saw his fingers on the waistband of shorts you lifted your hips off of the mattress to help him move the fabric down quicker. 

He kissed your hips and inner thigh. You moaned in anticipation, your hand taking a fist full of his soft hair. When his lips finally found your clit it was like fireworks erupted behind your closed eyelids.

Seokmin was impossibly hard in his pants, embarrassingly so like he was a teenager having his first time. 

He never thought that he would have you in his arms again and yet there you were in front of him, no reservations. Just for him. And for a moment it was like his brain was in short circuit, the small electric waves running all over his body, down to his toes. 

He licked a path from your cunt to your clit. He went down on you almost in desperation, his nose brushing on your clit every now and then. 

"Seokmin..." his name was barely a whisper in your lips, but it was also a chant. 

Your orgasm hits you quickly, leaving you short of air and with shaky legs. You were spiraling in the most enticing way possible. It didn't stop Seokmin though as he kept sucking you frantically. 

You tugged on his hair, pulling him up and to you again. 

I love you,  the words almost fell out of your lips. It would have been so easy to just say them, to be open about your feelings just this once. 

Deep down you knew that that moment would be a one time kind of thing. It was just the kind of moment people sometimes needed to just completely let go of everything. Or in this case, nothing. It was to let go of seven years of complete nothingness and silence.

You opened the button of his jeans and pushed it down, his boxers following along. You wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping him a couple of times. Realization suddenly came over you. You never expected Seokmin to show up to your place, much less that it would lead to that moment, and there wasn't anyone else in your life, so you weren't ready for it. 

"I don't have a condom" you said breathlessly.

Seokmin looked lost for a second, his brain going to his wallet, questioning whether or not he had one in him. 

"I can pull out," he said "if that's okay"

All you did was nod and Seokmin aligned himself with your hole. He pushed in slowly, savoring each moment when your pussy pulled him in until there was no space between the two of you. 

Seokmin kissed you again to give himself time to adjust to you squeezing him. You held his face close to yours, in your eyes a mix of emotions he didn't want to understand. Not in that moment at least.

"I don't want anyone else," you said looking into his eyes, your thumb running over his bottom lip "No one else can make me feel the way you do"

To hell with care and self-preservation. You let go of those the moment you opened the door for him, the moment you let him into your home, the moment you didn't push him away when he kissed you. 

Seokmin fucks you slowly, his pace torturous as you beg and beg for more. He intertwined his fingers with yours and held one of your hands above your head while the other one held your hips in place. 

"Seokmin... harder"

And it's like a switch has gone off inside his brain. His once slow pace becomes shallow. The sound of your breaths and his skin slapping against yours were the only ones heard, echoing through the empty room. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, catching you so off guard you scream because it's too much. 

You pushed Seokmin away and watched in ecstasy as he wrapped his hand around his cock, his hand working fast as your name left his lips when his release fell on the sheet by your side. 

Seokmin dropped his body over yours again, his forehead on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and ran your hand over his hair. 

"I love you" you allowed yourself to say, even if it meant nothing to him. 

Letter #6

Seokmin,

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm coming home. Or the closest thing I still have to a home. Needless to say, my mother is happy with the news. She's been tormenting me for years, asking me to come back, but since I set foot here I decided I wasn't going back.

I wanted to, but I wouldn't go back.

Every time I thought about going back, the first thing that came into my head was the last image I had of you. Your teary eyes wishing me a safe flight, saying I love you and hope you accomplish everything you want. I regretted it the moment I gave my things away and handed my passport into the hand of the airline girl. I should have come back, I should have given up, but I couldn't. That old story of putting myself first and second, you know how it goes. In this case, my entire top 10 was just different versions of me.

I think I actually felt scared because as time went by, little by little without me realizing it right away, you became a very big part of my life. A part that could change everything. I felt like I depended on you too much. It wasn't fair to you or me.

We were only 22, Seokmin. When we were so young, we thought that life was conquered and today I know that is not the case. Far from it. At 22 I had a degree and worked part-time at a cafe to pay the bills, just like you.

You might think I'm selfish, I'm sure you do based on the things you say on your show. I was selfish and on some level, I don't regret it. I did what I always planned to do, what I always wanted to do. And now I'm coming home.

Part of me wants to run and find you, explain why I made the decisions I did, why I never told you. But I know you won't want to listen to me. I wouldn't want to listen to me either. Why would I listen to someone who left just like that? It really wouldn't make sense.

But another part, this one a little more rational, says that I shouldn't throw salt into the wound after so many years have gone by. I have the scar here, hidden enough for no one to see, but prominent enough for me to remember what I did every single day.

I think that's what I'm going to do. I think that's what I have to do. It wouldn't be fair to just show up in front of you and say “hi, I'm back” after seven years.

You have become a big “what if” for me. What if I had stayed? Would we have stayed together or would our relationship have ended years ago? What if I had told you what I was doing while I was doing it? Would you have asked me to stay? What if I had given the possibility of a long-distance relationship? Would we have worked out or would you start to resent me for leaving and end up hurting each other anyway?

The most absurd thing is that I still like you, I'm still in love with you. I've always heard that distance makes love end or something like that. I haven't seen you in seven years, I don't know what's going on in your life — you're really good at hiding everything being a celebrity now — so it doesn't make any sense that my feelings haven't changed even after all this time. This guy I see online might not be the Seokmin I fell in love with, just like I'm not the same person you remember.

Every time I hear your voice I still feel butterflies in my stomach. I sleep and dream about you. When I wake up I think about you and I wonder if you think about me too. It is not normal. It's not healthy. Life went on and I think it is our obligation to move forward together. We are not a museum to only feed on the past.

Let's continue as we are now, what do you think? We will once again be in the same country, in the same city, but I think it's best for both of us to pretend that nothing will change. It's a huge city, what are the chances of us meeting?

yn

Before you even opened your eyes, you already knew what you would find. Or who you wouldn't find. You knew the space next to you on the mattress would be empty. You had noticed the exact moment Seokmin had gotten up, but you forced yourself to believe that he had just gone to the bathroom. You had kept your eyes closed and had somehow gone back to sleep.

You had been naive to think that the night had changed something, that the way everything seemed like it would be fine was an indication that things had finally gotten back on track. If any, the train simply ended up derailing.

When Seokmin kissed you it was magical, no matter how cliché and teenage it may sound. It was as if the world had fallen into place again, as if you had finally returned home after being away for so long. You couldn't help but wonder if that was why you'd taken the job, in the foolish, unconscious hope that there might be a chance, however slight, of being with him again.

You forced yourself to sit up and pulled the sheet up to cover your naked body. The shirt and shorts you wore the night before were next to you on the floor, but you refused to wear those clothes, opting to rummage through the boxes in the corner of the room looking for clean ones.

You didn't want to go to the living room, didn't want to be mocked by the two boxes that Seokmin had left on the counter, but you couldn't help it. It was as if your feet had a life of their own. When you realized it, you were already sitting on the living room floor with the two boxes in front of you.

You momentarily decided to ignore the smaller black box and pulled the large one closer. The first thing you saw was the envelope Seokmin mentioned the night before. Money, especially the one in the envelope, wasn't something you were going to worry about. You didn't care about it, you didn't lie when you told him that he should have spent it. That money would remain untouched.

There were also a few books you read and made annotations on, two stuffed animals, and all the picture frames you had left behind.

One of the things you regretted the most was not taking with you when you left were photos of you and Seokmin. You had only taken one, which was folded inside your wallet. It was already so old and worn out that it had almost turned to dust, but you would never get it out. It was you and Seokmin at Niah's old restaurant, he was smiling at the camera while you looked at him. It was your favorite picture.

At the bottom of the box was the camera you had given Seokmin as a birthday present a few months before you left. You had saved whatever money you could for months to buy him the camera he wanted, one that he always talked about and whenever you passed by a store you stood outside looking at it, almost as if it would magically appear in his hands.

You understood his reasons for leaving the camera there — or, at least, the reasons you could imagine—but you wished he had kept using it. Not because it was a gift from you, but because it was something he wanted. His smile was so big when you gave it to him, the tip of his nose slightly pointed down because of it.

Carefully you put everything back inside and put it aside.

The smaller box, for some reason, was scary. It was light and black, and you could hear its contents moving as you held it in your hands. You took one last deep breath and removed the lid.

Inside were photos you had never seen before. Photos of you alone, Seokmin wasn't in any of them. In none of them were you posing or smiling directly at the camera.

Most of them had been taken from a distance, without you noticing. In some you were inside the cafe where you worked, smiling at customers and serving tables, in others you were simply walking down the street, looking through window shops and pointing at something. Seokmin had taken countless photos of you without you even realizing it.

It was strange to see yourself through his eyes, even if it was a version of you that no longer existed. A much younger and more optimistic version. Did I smile that much? you couldn't help but ask. You never saw yourself as particularly optimistic or constantly smiling. You were happy, that's undeniable, but you didn't know that's how people saw you.

There were so many photos, from completely different moments, both from the beginning of your relationship with Seokmin, and from all the phases you went through together.

Behind the pictures were the post-its that you left around the apartment, reminding Seokmin of somewhere you had together or simply saying that you loved him. So many had a simple “I love you” written on them, others said “have a good day today!”.

You had no idea he had kept them. You always thought that once read, they were discarded, but there they were, intact as if you had just written them.

The very first one you had ever written, when you had just started dating, was also there. At the time, unlike Seokmin who never had a hard time expressing how he felt, it was almost impossible for you to be openly honest. So you wrote it on a post-it and stuck it inside one of his notebooks. He had shown up at the dorm a few hours after you left the library.

“Say it again, but this time looking at me”

You frowned, pretending you didn't understand.

“Your nose is beautiful”

You laughed when Seokmin wrapped his arms around you, squeezing a little, trapping your arms close to your body. His face was very close to yours.

“What you wrote in the note” he said softly, his cheek pressed against yours “Say it again, please”

The truth was that you had loved Seokmin, in a way you didn't believe was possible and maybe that was why you spent the last seven years writing letters to him.

Seokmin never left your mind, not truly. There was always a desire, even if veiled, to return home, to find out how he was, to just say “I know I messed up, I’m sorry”.

It was that desire that made your entire body go cold as you took one last item out of the box. A smaller box that fit in the palm of your hand. You knew what it was before you even opened it and opening it was the worst choice at that moment. Your heart, which was already broken, somehow managed to break even more, into a billion, shiny, new pieces.

Seokmin would have proposed if you hadn't left.

When the first sob echoed through the living room, you didn't try to hold it back, you just accepted the feeling of being absolutely lost and heartbroken.

The weather outside the building seemed to mimic the way you had felt in the last few weeks, torrential rain that had no end in sight. You watched the news hoping for an improvement, hoping that the rain would stop for at least a few hours, but it seemed like a distant dream.

All your students were already gone and there was nothing left for you to do. The handed in assignments were graded and the tests were ready to be applied the following week. You had never hated yourself so much for simply doing your job. You wanted to be, at least for that day, like other teachers who left corrections until the last possible second and left students desperate for their grades.

The hallway was in complete silence, a clear sign that everyone had left already. And you had already waited hours for the rain to stop, until the sky was completely dark, and if anything the rain had only gotten worse.

You sighed and picked up your bag from the chair. You wouldn't risk taking any books, papers, or documents home, the possibility of everything getting ruined was too big. Besides, you needed a rest, at that point it was well deserved.

Ever since you had opened the boxes Seokmin left behind, you had immersed yourself in work in every way possible. You had accepted all of the dean's requests and even offered to teach extra classes whenever there was a missing professor.

And even so, even though you had more work than you wanted, you still found time to look at all of his social media. You still listened to all his programs, even listened to the old ones before going to sleep.

It was almost like a form of elaborate torture done solely and exclusively with you in mind. And worst of all, it was self-inflicted. It was as if your brain liked it, begged for it.

The box with the engagement ring was next to your pseudo bed. It was the last thing you saw before going to sleep and the first thing you saw when you woke up. Instead of spending hours on your phone, you sat there, staring at the small box.

You hadn't dared to open it again. You had never felt so lost as you did that day, looking at that ring.

You wouldn't be a hypocrite to say that you had never imagined your life if you had married Seokmin, but before it was nothing more than a daydream. The ring made that dream an attainable reality. It had been in your hands and you just walked away.

A curse left your lips when you noticed that the umbrella you had used that morning was missing from the umbrella holder next to the door.

“Great, that’s exactly what I needed” you muttered, slamming the door shut behind you.

You were tired, exhausted to tell the truth. All you wanted was to get home, take a shower, and watch some relationship reality show, to escape the tragedy that was your own love life.

You closed your eyes and sighed as you reached the entrance. The next bus stop or subway station was at least a 15 minute walk away. That was a problem that existed when you went to school there, everything was far away. One would think that they would do something to improve that, but one would be wrong.

You thought about taking shelter in the nearest coffee shop, but you knew it was almost closing time. You wouldn't be the person who forces employees to stay late, not when you had worked at that exact coffee shop years ago.

Even with your heavy coat covering most of your body, the rain was cold on your back and it was hard to see anything ahead, even if it was just a few steps away. Even the sound of cars was muffled by the rain.

“yn?” a car was on your left, and it was moving at the same speed as you. The face of whoever was behind the wheel was blurred by the rain, but you would have recognized that voice anywhere in the world.

“Let me give you a ride”

You shook your head. The last thing you should do was get in the car with him. It was too dangerous, you were sure that if you looked at him for more than a second you’d start crying. Just by hearing his voice your eyes were burning and a lump was forming in your throat.

“It’s fine, the bus stop is right there”

“There was an accident back there, the bus won’t be here anytime soon”

You grumbled. Of course, there was an accident, of course, there wouldn't be a bus and with your luck, the subway would probably be closed too.

"If your car went through the accident, a taxi will too”

You quickened your pace, not because of the rain, but because you wanted to get away from him. You needed to get away from him.

“Jesus, yn, just get in the car. You’re going to get sick”

You pretended you didn't hear what he said and kept walking, face down – trying to escape both the rain and him. The first tear fell from your eyes. For the first time in days, you were grateful for the rain, because you could pretend it was just water and not a visual representation of your broken heart on your cheeks.

Seokmin stopped the car right there, in the middle of the street. He didn't care if someone was standing behind him honking like crazy — something that was bound to happen.

When he left your apartment that day he felt like he was 22 again, but this time he was the one leaving.

Hearing that you loved him was everything he had wanted, but the timing was strangely right and wrong, both at the same time.

Both of you screamed, shouted, and said what you wanted to say — or at least part of what you wanted to say. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, at the same time a new one was placed on it.

After you fell asleep in his arms, the only thing Seokmin could think about were the letters scattered across the living room floor. There were so many. He couldn't believe you had spent all those years writing letters to him.

He needed to read them all. He would have done it in the living room, but he didn't know what awaited him, so he collected them all from the floor and a few more that had been left in the box and left.

He read the first one in the car, he couldn't wait until he got home. 

Seokmin cried right there, the same way he cried when you left. Inconsolable. His heart broke and healed in equal measure with every word of yours he read.

Seokmin always believed that you left like that, without a single word, because you didn't like him that much, because you didn’t want to be with him anymore. Not that he thought the entire relationship had been a lie, but he thought that somehow the love had ended. It happened to everyone, the probability of it happening to him was also high.

The truth could not be different. There wasn't a letter in which you didn't say you loved him, not always in those words, but he knew you well enough to know that was what you said.

After reading all the letters, Seokmin called Joshua. He cried on the phone with his friend and then once again when he showed up at his place with bad beer and takeout food. “Since we’re going to talk about our college days, I think we should do the same thing we did back then” was all he said.

Seokmin was on his way to you when he saw you walking without an umbrella. He wanted to talk to you, to know if even after so long you still wanted to try with him one more time. It was better to try than to always wonder what could have been.

“I read your letters!” he shouted louder than the rain.

His words were enough to make you stop walking, but you still didn't turn to face him. It was too hard to breathe. Your chest rose and fell irregularly each time you tried to pull the air in.

You knew Seokmin had taken the letters. Part of you knew he would read them, but the last thing you expected was for him to want to talk about them.

“I know” you said when he approached “I saw they were gone, and you were the only person who came by”

“Do you know why I accepted to host a love advice show? Besides it being something I've always wanted, of course” he didn't give you time to answer “Because a part of me wanted you to listen, to know that I was okay, even if it was a lie. I thought that if I talked about it on a show that had used the nickname you gave me, you’d regret it. I thought that I should make you regret it because it was the only way I could still think about you without looking like a fool after so long. I thought you didn’t care, that you had left because you didn’t like me anymore, so making you regret your decision was the only option I had”

You shook your head. It wasn't true, not by a long shot.

“I'm sorry” you said softly “I should have told you what I was doing, that I had applied for the and got in. I thought it was my only option. It was so stupid. I was so stupid”

Seokmin laughed a little, fingers running under your eyes. A second later he pressed his lips over yours.

“I know, I read your letters”

Seokmin,

It's been a good few years since I wrote you a letter. After a while, I didn't think I needed it anymore because I started saying everything I wanted, everything I felt, looking at you. Of course, this new arrangement has its demerits, as the paper and pen don't look at me like a lost puppy. But paper and pen don't kiss me either, so it has its bonus.

I thought when I came home four years ago, I would never see you again. I thought you would just be the guy who has a radio show that I would listen to every now and then. I didn't expect to see you my first week back and again and, well,  again.

As you probably know, I've never been a big fan of rainy days. I always preferred sunny days because those were the days I woke up ready to face the world. I felt better overall. But also because they reminded me of you. You know, when the sun appears after gray days? For me, you were always like that. Grand and brilliant.

But after that day, I started to like rainy days too because they started to be full of the two of us. Rain was no longer synonymous of an unproductive day, but rather of the memory of our fresh start.

You know this, we've talked about it a few times, but I spent a few months waiting for it to sink in. Sort of expecting that one day I would wake up and it would all be a dream. It was hard for both of us, I know. It was seven years of hurt and resentment and we had to navigate this uncertain sea without a map. Nobody teaches you how to do this, believe me, I looked. I found countless books on how to start dating, how to save a relationship, and how to get over a relationship. The problem is that none of them teach you how to rekindle a relationship after seven years apart, but during those seven years one of the parties wrote letters and the other had a program just to mourn the sorrows of the relationship.

I've read several, so you can trust what I say on this.

It really wasn't easy, but I think we came out better, stronger, in some way.

I love you and I’ll tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Our forever begins today, in a little while. So stop crying, put ice on your eyes to help the swelling go down, and go to the aisle because I miss you already.

I love you.

yn

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[tanadrin]

one day not too far in the future, i hope, people who work in advertising will be viewed like pirates once were, as enemies of the whole of mankind. except advertisers are worse. at least pirates confined themselves to the sea, raiding merchant shipping and the spoils being sent back to europe from the new world. advertisers insinuate themselves in every corner of human life an existence, seeking to sap your time and attention and thought fifteen seconds at a time.

in seeking to grab your attention, they are brash and annoying, and thus prey on taste; in seeking to interrupt and co-opt your thoughts, they prey on the fabric of a peaceful and contemplative life. in their inability to understand the human condition, except as it pertains to commerce and the commercialization of all things, they are a cultural rot which destroys uniqueness, identity, difference, and delight. if they had their way they would commandeer every screen, every surface, every moment of quiet in existence, until the world was nothing but a gore of color and noise, to be sold in the vain hope some good somewhere might see a fraction of a percent increase in sales.

no, compared to the ad man, a buccaneer is an honorable figure--at least he has a degree of martial virtue, a certain vitality of body and spirit, and charming irreverence for conventional behavior. and he will not try to convince you of the utility of his profession, or try to cast it in benign terms. he needs no such excuses; he will simply kill you and move on. neither he, nor the arsonist, the highwayman, the bank robber, or the plunderer of graves have all together done one tenth the harm to civilization that madison avenue has. the sooner we realize this, the better.

we are not powerless before these barbaric hordes. jurisdictions all over the world have already begun to outlaw outdoor advertising, as a blight on the landscape. why stop there? ban indoor advertising, too. ban it in newspapers and on television. ban it from the internet. ban it from the radio. send an international force of marines to london and new york to arrest each and every one of those bastards. try them before the courts of the hague. spare no pity for them; they have spared none for you.

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 17: christmas vacation with lottie matthews

— summary: lottie invites you to go on vacation with her and her family.

— warnings: secret relationship. gn!reader. literally just fluff. these were supposed to be only hcs at first.

the first invitation comes out of nowhere, catching you off guard one december afternoon. lottie leans against your locker, twirling a strand of her hair as she speaks to you;

“it’ll just be us, my parents, and the insane amount of christmas decor they insist on putting up,” she says, though there is a slight nervous edge to her voice. she fiddles absentmindedly with the hem of her sweater, her gaze flicking to yours as if searching for a reaction. the truth is, she’s been hoping for this; hoping to spend more time with you, to have you by her side. usually, it’s just her and her parents during the holidays, the house too quiet beneath all the flashing lights and over-the-top decorations. this year could finally be different. this year, you could be there with her. if you agree to come along that is.

“it’s no big deal! we’re just going to my family’s cabin in the mountains. you’ll love it! it’s peaceful up there,” she continues.

you agree, partly because the thought of spending christmas eve with her is too tempting to resist, and partly because you can never quite say no to lottie matthews.

it’s not until you’re actually boarding the plane -her family having insisted on paying for “one of charlotte’s friends”- that you realize her idea of “no big deal” is wildly different from yours.

the flight itself is surreal already. you’re used to crowded commercial planes with tiny, cramped seats, so the first-class cabin the lottie’s family booked is the complete opposite of any flying experience you’ve ever had.

lottie notices, of course. she always does.

she tilts her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “are you okay?”

you nod. “i just…wasn’t expecting all of this” you lower your voice. “you said it was no big deal”

lottie laughs lightly. “it’s just a plane!” she says. then, after a beat, she adds: “but, uhm, thanks for coming with me. it’ll be nice to have someone there”

when you land and step out into the frosty mountain air, you’re struck yet again by how absolutely not “no big deal” this is: the cabin isn’t a ‘cabin’ at all: it’s a sprawling, three-story masterpiece nestled against the snowy mountainside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing warmly in the evening light. you honest to god thought these kind of places only exist in winter magazines or on postcards.

lottie watches your reaction from the corner of your eye as the car pulls up to the front. “bigger than you expected?” she teases, but there’s an audible nervousness in her voice, like she’s worried you’ll find it too much.

“way bigger,” you admit as you take it all in. she huffs a small laugh, brushing her fingers against your leg in the backseat when no one is looking.

much like the exterior, the inside of the “cabin” could be straight out of some holiday movie: sleek yet warm, with high ceilings and wide-open spaces that still manage to feel cozy. there’s a stone fireplace, and tasteful christmas decorations that look like they’ve been arranged by a professional (they might as well have been).

you step inside first, breath catching slightly, and lottie lingers behind you. as she steps over the threshold, her gloved hand finds the small of your back.

“that’s-“ you begin, at a loss of words. “you weren’t kidding about the decor”

lights twinkle softly against the pine garlands wound around the staircase railing, and a towering tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room.

lottie’s parents make a brief appearance, sweeping through the front hall as they already talk about some last-minute errands and plans to catch up with old friends in town, their tone polite but distant. exactly as you expected. they offer smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes and a few murmured pleasantries before they’re out the door again.

the sound of the car pulling away lingers for a moment before lottie lets out a long sigh. she unwinds her scarf and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

“is it always like this?” you ask gently.

“what do you think?”

you don’t have an answer, so instead, you step closer, closing the distance between you. gently, you reach up and brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. your touch lingers when you tell her: “well now you have me here”

“yeah. now i have you.”

the days that follow are a mix of quiet intimacy and subtle luxury.

festive bliss.

mornings are slow and peaceful, with lottie insisting on being the one to make coffee, shooing you back toward the couch when you try to help. “i’ve got it,” she murmurs as she tugs the blanket tighter around your shoulders before padding off to the kitchen.

from your spot on the couch, you watch her move through the kitchen, the sound of coffee brewing filling the quiet air. lottie is dressed in an oversized sweater that falls just past her hips, sleeves bunched up as she works, her thick socks muffling the soft shuffle of her feet.

when she returns, two cups in hand, she settles beside you and hands you yours. “see? perfect,” she says.

you laugh softly, pressing closer to her as the two of you sip your drinks in comfortable silence. lottie tucks her feet beneath the blanket and leans her head against your shoulder, her body warm against yours.

“we don’t have to do anything today,” she reminds you every morning. “no schedules, just us!”

you could spend hours like that, curled up by the fire or watching the snow drift lazily outside the massive windows.

afterward, the two of you bundle up in layers and step outside. the air is cold, your breath visible in short puffs. lottie insists on taking a short walk around the property each day, claiming it helps her clear her mind. hand in hand, you navigate the snowy trails, laughing as you each slip and slide on spots where ice glistens beneath a thin blanket of powder.

at night, the cabin feels even cozier. the christmas tree lights cast a warm glow across the room, and lottie always gravitates toward you, pulling you onto the couch with her to cuddle “come on,” she’ll say, her voice insistent as she pulls you closer.

like that, lottie curls up against your side, her head resting comfortably on your shoulder as you flip through old photo albums she’s dug out from one of the bookshelves.

“that’s me!” she points out, tapping her index against one of the photographs and you can’t help but smile at the sight of a much younger lottie: small and grinning, her hair pulled back in two pigtails. “look how tiny i was!”

by the time her parents return in the evenings, you’re both so settled into your little bubble of warmth that their presence feels almost like an intrusion. they always seem too busy to notice much, though, and for that, lottie is grateful this once. the sound of them bustling through the front door or calling out vague greetings hardly registers; neither of you move from where you’re curled up together, limbs tangled in a way that’s just a bit too close to be purely platonic.

if her parents notice the proximity at all, the way lottie’s hand lingers on your arm or how your fingers absently trace patterns against her back, they don’t say anything. they’re too preoccupied with their own evening routines to look closely, anyway.

there are enough rooms in the house that you’re offered a spare guest room. without knowing what else to say, you accept. but each night, after her parents announce they’re going to bed, their footsteps fading down the hall, you wait. you listen for the house to settle, the sounds of distant doors closing, and then, once you’re sure that they’re in bed, you slip back out into the hallway.

by the time you reach lottie’s door, it’s already cracked open. she’s waiting for you, knowing you’d come and now perched against the pillows. “there you are!”

you grin as you pad across the room and slide beneath the covers with her. lottie immediately pulls you close, her arms slipping around your waist as you get comfortable as her little spoon. she presses her face into your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. “it’s too cold in here without you,” she mumbles.

you laugh quietly, trying not to wake her parents down the hall.

neither of you says much after that, the silence between you comfortable. when you finally drift off, the sound of her soft breathing at your back is the last thing you hear.

on christmas eve, lottie’s parents insist on a formal dinner, the table set with fine china and candles that flicker gently. it’s the most you’ve heard them talk all throughout your stay; her mother is asking you polite questions about school, your plans for the new year, and occasionally prying into your family traditions. her father cracks dry jokes that make lottie roll her eyes but don’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

even with the slightly tense tone of the evening, there’s something surprisingly cozy about it. lottie keeps sneaking glances at you across the table, her lips curling into small smiles when your eyes meet and every now and then, her hand brushes yours under the table.

after dinner, they exchange presents already. her parents’ gifts to her are expensive, if a little impersonal: a new sweater, a pair of new leather boots….lottie thanks them politely, but it’s when she opens the small box from you that her expression truly softens.

it’s a simple bracelet, something you picked out because it reminded you of her. lottie’s cheeks flush as she fastens it around her wrist, her fingers lingering over the clasp. “it’s perfect,” she murmurs “thank you” it’s then that you want to kiss her desperately. if her parents weren’t there, watching and marveling about ‘how thoughtful your friend is, charlotte’ you would.

later, when her parents retire to bed with wishes of “merry christmas,” you and lottie settle onto the couch by the tree. the cabin is quieter now. lottie leans against you, her head resting on your chest as she fidgets with her new bracelet absentmindedly.

she lets out a soft sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. “you know…i think this is the happiest i’ve ever been on christmas,” she says, tilting her head up to look at you.

“me too,” you whisper back. you’re kissing her before you even fully realize it, your lips pressing to lottie’s. your hand slips beneath the blanket, fingers weaving into hers, the warmth of her touch grounding you as everything else fades away.

[foodfightnovelization]

More Foodfight! Material DISCOVERED

That's right, I'm back. Just like I prophesized in my last post, yet another treasure trove of Foodfight! goodness has been uncovered, and this might be one of the strangest to date...that's right, official Foodfight! Cinnamon Sleuth Cereal was sold at Albertsons back in 2007, over five years before the movie finally came out!

Okay, not really, but I had you going for a second, right? So, this IS a proposed packaging design for actual Cinnamon Sleuth cereal, but it never went into production, it never made it to stores and there was certainly never any actual cereal to be eaten. This, among several other designs and a collection of behind the scenes material, was sent in recently by a Foodfight! crewmember, who explained they were mockups created to show off possible tie-in products. I'm not sure why they chose Albertsons for these mockups but it's likely they were in talks with them at the time and wanted to show off designs including their branding. In any case, I just had the Cinnamon Sleuth box printed because I thought it'd look cool next to my collection of Foodfight! merchandise, and I wanted to see if anyone would be convinced this really existed.

I've included all the designs above in case you want to print your own- there are several more including another cereal, brownie packaging and milk cartons. Curiously, the milk cartons have Farmland Dairy logos on them, with Farmland Milk actually appearing in the finished film at several points. I'd say this confirms my theory these mockups were created to show to companies they were already actively working on deals with, but I can't say for certain that was the case.

Equally curious are these character sheets from 2002, seemingly showing off almost every model created during early production. There are so many fascinating layers to this- Sunshine is still a human instead of a catgirl, showcasing a very different model to the one seen in the initial trailer, and Maximilius Moose is still a dog named Panzer Pup, both aspects that were changed once the decision was made to change Dex to a dog. However, it may be that Dex's human design was edited out and replaced after the fact, given Dex's model here appears to be the one from the finished film (you can tell by the weird hands). In any case, it's fascinating to get a closer look at all these characters- while the majority of the models for the main cast were found recently (see my last post for more on this), there are a bunch of side characters here we've only seen brief glimpses of before, including the Pringles man and the scantily-clad Cherry Waifer. The most fascinating to me however are the Red and Yellow M&Ms- I've read through their scene in the movie's script, I've seen multiple versions of the storyboard, even rough layout animation in the workprint, and it's only now I'm FINALLY getting to see their actual character models and how they would've looked in the Foodfight! artstyle. Sure, they more or less look exactly as they did in M&M commercials that aired around the same time, but it's still amazing to actually see these characters modelled and rendered after analyzing so many different iterations of the scene as it went through development.

The crewmember in question also sent a folder containing over a hundred stills which while at first glance appear to be from the finished movie, are actually subtly different in multiple ways- usually lighting, facial expressions, or background textures like the sky or color of a hill. A lot of these are labelled "fix" which makes me speculate if after the movie was completed, the crew went back and tried to touch up the animation to make it look more appealing before release. Is there a slightly better looking version of Foodfight! somewhere out there in the world? Who knows, but really it would've been like trying to polish a turd. The movie was already ruined by then, and I don't think any number small changes would've done much to salvage it. However, that does bring me to my next interesting point...

There are also storyboards dated May 2011, depicting an alternate opening to the movie giving a much more cinematic introduction to the main characters. It's crazy to think they were still working on storyboards so late in production, but there IS actually a reason for this. I unfortunately can't upload the entire sequence due to this site's image limit, but what you might notice are a lot of characters being described as "flying over the audience", "flying into the camera" or knocking things "into the audience", with some of the boards having "(3D)" written in parenthesis next to them. It's my belief that very late into production, Kasanoff wanted the movie to be 3D, made popular by the then-recent Avatar, and this new opening sequence full of flashy 3D effects was drawn up to show off what they could do with the technology. It's not clear if any of this was ever actually animated, but imagine going to see a movie that advertises itself as 3D but only the first minute contains any 3D elements. Of course, Kasanoff requesting this is only speculation on my part, but given how the movie was ruined by the crew having to cater to his whim of directing the whole thing with motion capture (made popular by the then-recent Polar Express) it's no stretch to assume the 3D opening sequence was a similar situation.

There's a ton more that was sent to us as well, so much so that I could never hope to talk about all of it. However, it should be on archive.org at the time of writing this if it isn't already, and you can now access everything Foodfight! related through the official Foodfight! collection on there!

That's right, so much Foodfight! material has been uploaded over the past year that the Internet Archive gave it its own archive, allowing you to find everything in one convenient place (including my scans of the novelization and Deluxe Sound Storybook). It'll also be updated periodically whenever something new is found, so it'll always be the home to all things Foodfight!. Whether you're wanting to take a look at some concept art shown in ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight, read through an early draft of the script, or check out something I've talked about on my blog, it's all here at your fingertips.

I don't think there's ever really going to be an end to the depth of the Foodfight! rabbithole. I thought I was done a year ago when I finished analyzing the novelization, and look at everything that's been found since then. Every time I think I'm out, this movie pulls me back in. So...in my next post I'll FINALLY show off my collection of Foodfight! merchandise and talk about what this movie means to me, but that doesn't mean it's the end for this blog. Whenever I say I'm done with Foodfight! I end up jinxing it, so if I try to conclude things now in a few months some CD will show up with a bunch of lost footage on it, I'll get mailed concept art of a bunch of characters we've never seen before, or it'll turn out Larry Kasanoff was actually D.B. Cooper the whole time. So as long as there's something new to discuss, as long as there's a Foodfight to be fought, I'll keep updating this blog from now until forever. You better duck when they launch the cream pies!

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter three fernando alonso x fem! driver! reader ( fluff -> angst ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (4.5k words)

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III, PAPER SOLDIER . . . ( Your fourth to seventh years in Formula One, 2015 -> 2018 ) // content warning . . . ( contains non-descriptive smut, Yn is 23 years in the beginning of the chapter and 25 by the end, really fucking long ass chapter )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the 2015 season began, you couldn’t help but feel the absence of Jenson Button. Walking into the McLaren garage without him felt wrong—like something essential had been ripped away. Jenson had been more than a teammate; he was your anchor in a sport that constantly threatened to drown you.

But Fernando Alonso didn’t try to replace Jenson, and somehow, that made things easier. Instead of trying to mimic the camaraderie you’d had with Jenson, Fernando brought his own brand of companionship. He didn’t hover or press; he simply existed, radiating his unique mix of confidence and charisma, until you realized how much you enjoyed having him around.

By the second race of the season, you were surprised to find yourself laughing more than you had in months. Whether it was during strategy meetings or post-race celebrations, Fernando had a way of lightening the mood with his dry humour and his sly, knowing glances.

“You don’t always have to overtake on the outside, you know,” he teased one afternoon, smirking over his coffee. “But I suppose drama is part of your brand.”

“And I suppose being smug is part of yours,” you shot back, grinning.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to hit your stride. On track, you were ruthless and synchronised. “Chaotic villains,” the press called you, and you secretly loved it. You weren’t just teammates; you were a nightmare for the rest of the grid. Fernando’s ability to anticipate your moves was uncanny, and together, you executed overtakes that left even seasoned commentators stunned.

Off the track, things were somehow even better. McLaren’s marketing team, notorious for shoving drivers into cringeworthy advertisements, suddenly had gold on their hands. You and Fernando—two drivers who hated scripted lines and staged smiles—were unexpectedly brilliant together.

The first time they made you film a commercial, you groaned audibly when the director explained the concept. Something about racing through a supermarket with shopping carts full of McLaren-branded products.

“I hate this already,” you muttered under your breath.

Fernando, standing beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. “Tranquila, we’ll make it good.”

And somehow, he did. By the third take, the two of you were hamming it up, racing down aisles, tossing products back and forth, and laughing so hard you almost forgot the cameras were there.

“Did you see her face when I threw the cereal?” Fernando joked afterward, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I saw your face when it hit the floor and exploded everywhere,” you retorted. “Pure panic.”

From then on, every commercial and promotional shoot turned into a competition to see who could make the other laugh first. Whether it was fake arguments over who got to drive a McLaren P1 in an ad or Fernando trying to convince the camera crew to let him wear sunglasses indoors, you found yourself looking forward to those dreaded filming days.

“Por favor, it’s not about the lighting,” Fernando argued one day, slipping on his sunglasses mid-shoot. “It’s about the vibe.”

“The vibe is you looking like a smug Bond villain,” you quipped, trying to suppress a giggle.

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “the director hasn’t stopped me.”

The chemistry between you was undeniable, and it extended beyond work. Post-race dinners, gym sessions, and late-night debriefs all became opportunities for the two of you to poke fun at each other, share stories, and build a bond that felt effortless. You had been so sure that McLaren would feel hollow without Jenson, but with Fernando, it felt alive—different, but in the best way.

“Why do you even put up with me?” you asked him one night after a particularly gruelling race.

Fernando leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “Because you make everything more fun,” he said simply. “And because I know, no matter what, you’ve got my back.”

His words lingered, making your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t know it yet, but Fernando had already carved out a place for himself in your life—one that no one else could fill.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first time with Fernando, everything felt different—electric and uncharted. It wasn’t just the post-race champagne that made your head spin; it was him. His presence was commanding yet soft, every movement deliberate, every touch reverent. It wasn’t just the circumstances—a blur of adrenaline and post-race champagne after a double podium—it was him.

It started simply. His hand lingered on your lower back as you laughed about your overtakes, his eyes soft yet unreadable in a way that made your pulse quicken. When you turned toward him, it felt natural, as if every unsaid word between you had been leading to this.

His hands started at your waist, fingers splaying as if he needed to ground himself before pulling you closer. Your breath hitched when his lips found yours—warm, firm, and unyielding yet unhurried. With Jenson, it was always rushed, a blur of need fueled by adrenaline or alcohol. But Fernando . . . Fernando took his time.

When his hand brushed against yours that night, there wasn’t hesitation. His fingers closed around yours, a silent question, and you answered by lacing your own through his. You followed him to his hotel room, and the atmosphere shifted the moment the door clicked shut.

When his hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, you shivered. He didn’t tear your clothes off in a frenzy like Jenson often did. Instead, Fernando paused, peeling your top away like unwrapping something fragile. His dark eyes studied you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks burn and your heart race.

"Beautiful," he murmured, the word barely audible, like it was meant for him more than you.

Your breaths mingled as he lowered you onto the bed, his weight settling over you. He kissed you again, slower this time, the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin as his lips travelled to your neck, then your collarbone. Each kiss was deliberate, a silent declaration that this wasn’t just about the act—it was about you.

With Jenson, it was playful, almost careless, both of you seeking a quick fix for the emptiness racing couldn’t fill. But Fernando didn’t let you hide behind that. He demanded you be present, dragging you into the moment with the sheer intensity of his focus.

When his lips found your stomach, you felt your breath catch. He'd knelt before you, his hands steady on your hips, his touch grounding yet reverent. Then he paused, looking up at you, his voice low and steady. 

“¿Puedo?” he asked. can i

The question caught you off guard. Permission. Fernando was asking for permission. He asked for it like it mattered, like you mattered. No one had ever done that before. Jenson never stopped to ask; he assumed, and you never thought to mind. But Fernando’s request made your cheeks flush, a heat spreading across your skin that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with how he treated you. Like you mattered.

You hesitated for a moment, flustered by the simplicity of his question. You nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see in the dark. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Fernando.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, a barely-there acknowledgment, before he leaned forward again. His touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to Jenson’s rough, teasing movements. Fernando didn’t just touch; he felt—explored, cherished.

When he finally joined you fully, his body pressed flush against yours, it felt like he was pouring himself into every movement. His hips met yours in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed but deliberate, a steady, consuming pace that left you breathless. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head as he leaned down to kiss you, the connection sparking something deep in your chest.

It wasn’t the hurried, animalistic need you’d come to expect with Jenson. Jenson was fun, a rush, a release—but Fernando? Fernando was something entirely different. His touch carried weight, his movements spoke volumes, and his whispered praises in Spanish felt like poetry meant just for you.

When the pleasure crested, it was overwhelming, almost too much. Tears pricked at your eyes as you clung to him, your breaths shaky as he slowed his movements, his forehead pressing against yours. every sensation was heightened. His fingers brushed against yours again, and before you knew it, he was threading them together, holding your hand like it was second nature. You squeezed his hand back, unsure why the simple touch sent a pang through your chest and left you breathless.

It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you. His eyes held something you couldn’t quite name, something you don't quite recognizing. It made you feel exposed, stripped down to your core. And when the emotions started to bubble up, you bit your lip to keep them at bay.

But it didn’t work. As his hands soothed over you and his words melted into your skin, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness or even overwhelm—it was the feelings, the emotions he poured into you, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world in that moment. It consumed you, swallowed you whole, and left you small, tiny.

"Estás llorando," he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern. “Cariño,” His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away the tears as they fell. you're crying

“I . . .” You swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “It’s just . . . It’s a lot. I'm fine.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, his hand trailing to your hair, brushing it back tenderly. “It’s supposed to be,” he whispered. “It’s okay to not be okay. I'll be here anyway.”

Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his body pressed to yours, his hands never leaving your skin. He whispered softly in Spanish, words you couldn’t fully understand but felt in your chest. His touch was tender, reverent, as he cleaned you up, smoothing your hair and holding you close.

Jenson never stayed like this. He’d always drift away, detached even in the quiet moments. But Fernando? He stayed. He always stayed. And that, you realized, was what made him different.

“Estás bien?” he asked after a while, his voice soft against your hair.

You nodded against his chest. “I’m fine,” you murmured, even as your voice wavered.

His fingers stilled, and he tilted your chin up gently so he could see your face. “¿Segura? You don’t have to be fine.”

His words unravelled you. For once, you didn’t feel the need to pretend. Tucking your face into the crook of his neck, you let yourself feel small. Let yourself feel cared for. Let yourself feel.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was well past midnight, and the McLaren motorhome was almost eerily quiet. You were sprawled out on one of the sofas, still in your team polo, watching Fernando pace back and forth in front of the whiteboard. He was ranting about tyre degradation, gesturing wildly as if the problem could be solved with enough hand movements.

“You know,” you interrupted, stretching your legs out, “normal people sleep at this hour.”

“Normal people don’t win races,” he shot back without missing a beat, his accent thick and his tone just a little exasperated.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, grinning. “You really think the medium stint was the problem?”

“I know it was,” he said, turning to face you. His expression softened slightly when he saw your teasing smile. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Oh, I agree,” you said, sitting up fully. “I just think it’s cute how worked up you get over it.”

Fernando groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He sat down beside you, pulling the marker cap off with his teeth and twirling the pen between his fingers. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed,” you countered, leaning your head on the back of the sofa. “But fine. What’s your genius solution?”

For the next hour, he explained his strategy tweaks with the same passion he reserved for the track. And even though you didn’t need convincing, you let him go on, chiming in with questions just to see that fire in his eyes. By the time he was finished, you were half-asleep, but you’d never felt more at ease.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage was buzzing with energy after another podium. Mechanics cheered, the smell of champagne hung in the air, and you were positively glowing. Fernando was beside you, leaning against a stack of tires with his arms crossed, watching you with that familiar amused smirk.

“You really had to squeeze me on Turn 4?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to be teammates.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Teammates, yes. Babysitters, no.”

“Oh, come on!” You laughed, swiping at the water bottle he was holding. “I gave you all the space in the world.”

“All the space?” he repeated, tilting his head dramatically. “You practically left me in the gravel.”

Your grin widened. “And yet, here you are. P2. You’re welcome.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. “One day,” he said softly, his voice dipping just enough to make you pause, “you’ll regret not letting me win.”

You leaned in, your smile turning mischievous. “Doubt it.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, replaced by laughter and playful jabs. But later, when you replayed the race in your head, you’d think about the way Fernando’s eyes had softened, just for a second, like he was seeing something in you that you weren’t quite ready to see yourself.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Okay, but why am I the one wearing the ridiculous hat?” you asked, glaring at the oversized cowboy hat the wardrobe team had handed you.

Fernando was already laughing, holding a matching hat in his hands. “Because you lost the coin toss.”

“You cheated,” you accused, crossing your arms.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “How can I cheat at a coin toss?”

“Don’t know, but you did.”

The director waved you both onto set before you could argue further, and the next thing you knew, you were filming an ad for some sponsor neither of you cared about, wearing cowboy hats and pretending to “race” toy cars on a fake racetrack.

Halfway through, Fernando purposely crashed his car into yours, sending it flying off the track. “Oops,” he said innocently, his smirk betraying him.

You burst out laughing, breaking character completely. “Oops? You did that on purpose!”

The director groaned, calling for another take, but neither of you could stop laughing. When the shoot finally wrapped, Fernando walked over, placing his ridiculous hat on your head. “You wore it better,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t take it off. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replied, leaning in slightly, “you keep me around.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The race in Canada had been cancelled due to an unexpected snowstorm, and the team was stuck in the hotel for the weekend. You and Fernando were in the lobby, staring out at the swirling snow through the massive glass windows.

“Well, this is boring,” you said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

Fernando smirked, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Only because you have no imagination.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what’s your brilliant plan, Mr. Imagination?”

Five minutes later, the two of you were outside, bundled up and attempting to build the world’s worst snowman. Fernando had decided it needed to wear a McLaren cap, and you were busy shoving chunks of snow at him every time he turned his back.

“You’re terrible at this,” he said, laughing as he dodged another snowball.

“Better than you!” you shot back, lobbing another one straight at his chest.

The next thing you knew, he was tackling you into a snowbank, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. When you finally got back inside, shivering and soaked, the warmth of his hand on your arm lingered longer than it should have.

“Come to my room tonight, hmm,” He whispers in your ear with his sweet sweet and loving smile. You could only smack his chest, flustered out of your body.

“Why should I wait till tonight when I can take you right now?” He countered himself, throwing you over his shoulder and walking to the elevator.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next four years were a golden era for you and Fernando. While the big teams—Mercedes, Ferrari, and Red Bull—scrambled to one-up each other with upgrades and strategy, the two of you were a well-oiled machine. Every weekend was a masterclass in teamwork. You took turns holding off competitors, crafting daring overtakes, and, more often than not, splitting the podium between the two of you.

Fernando was always just behind you—or sometimes ahead—playing the perfect wingman when needed and pushing you to your limits when it mattered most. Together, you broke records. Four Constructors’ Championships in a row. Dozens of wins. But 2017 was different.

That was your year.

The sunset painted the Yas Marina Circuit in hues of orange and pink as you sat in your car, the weight of the championship within reach. Fernando had radioed you a few laps earlier.

“Message from Fernando, Yn; You’ve got this,” Your race engineer tells you, his voice steady, but there was an edge of emotion there, one he couldn’t quite hide. “Just bring it home.”

When you crossed the finish line, the sound of the crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was your own breathing. Heavy. Disbelieving.

“World Champion!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio. “You’ve done it, Yn! You’re the World Champion! For the second time!”

You let out a sob, laughing through the tears as you brought the car to a stop on the start-finish straight. The adrenaline coursed through you, but it wasn’t until Fernando’s car pulled up beside yours that it really hit you when you both did donuts togther.

He climbed out first, crossing the short distance between your cars with purpose. When you stepped out, he was there, arms wide, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“Campeona del mundo,” he whispered, his voice thick, breaking with emotion. His helmet was off, and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“You helped me get here,” you said, clutching his shoulders, your voice trembling with gratitude. “Don’t forget that.”

His smile was small but genuine, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll never forget it,” he said softly. “Not a second of it.”

The crowd roared, the flashes of cameras creating a dizzying strobe effect as the two of you stood there, sharing a moment that belonged to no one else. It was Fernando who finally pulled back, resting a hand on your cheek for a fleeting second before stepping aside to let the rest of the team swarm you, lifting you on their shoulders.

The team party that night was a blur of champagne, confetti, and endless congratulations. Fernando stuck close, a steady presence in the chaos. Every time someone pulled you away to talk or toast, he was there in the corner of your eye, watching with a quiet pride.

At one point, hours into the celebration, you found him sitting on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand, staring out at the skyline.

“Not enjoying the party?” you asked, sliding into the chair beside him.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s your night, Yn. I just wanted to take it all in.”

You frowned, studying him. “Fernando, this isn’t just my night. We did this together. Four Constructors’. Four years of podiums. Four years of wins. You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “It was always going to be you,” he said quietly. “I knew it from the start. You deserved this.”

“Don’t do that,” you said, leaning forward. “Don’t downplay your part in this. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He smiled again, but there was something bittersweet about it. “Maybe not. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. All you could do was reach out and take his hand, squeezing it tightly. He didn’t let go.

The rest of the off-season blurred into a whirlwind of press conferences, celebrations, and award ceremonies. Fernando was always by your side, your biggest supporter, but there were moments when his presence felt heavier, like he was carrying a weight he wouldn’t share with you.

“You’re quiet,” you said one evening, after a gala dinner where the two of you had been paraded around like royalty.

He shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “The next race.”

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you let it slide. Fernando was like that—guarded, careful. But every so often, you’d catch glimpses of something deeper. The way his hand lingered on your back when he guided you through a crowd. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he’d quietly check in on you after every race, no matter the outcome.

When the official trophy ceremony took place at the FIA Gala, Fernando insisted on standing beside you on the stage.

“You carried me through the season,” you joked as the cameras clicked and the lights flashed.

“Carried you?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you drown in the midfield.”

The banter was easy, the chemistry undeniable, and as the two of you raised the trophy together, it was clear to everyone watching that this partnership wasn’t just about racing. It was something rare, something that went beyond the track. Something neither of you could quite name.

But things don’t last forever. And getting attached is the worst part.

"I'm leaving Formula One by the end of the season," 

You froze. Time seemed to stretch, the words reverberating in your mind like an echo you couldn’t escape. You’d just arrived at the hotel room you were sharing for the week after deciding to spend the summer break together in the Caribbean. The laughter you were sharing died down in seconds and the room fell quiet.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the question hanging in the air. It didn’t make sense, didn’t feel real. You and Fernando were a team, more than that—he was your teammate, your confidant, your partner in all things chaotic, your body, your soul. To think of him leaving the sport, of him leaving you . . . it felt like the world was crumbling beneath your feet.

“I’ve decided,” he continued, his gaze dropping to your hands that were now clutching the edge of the coffee table, as if you needed something solid to hold onto. “The time has come. I’m moving on.”

The room around you felt like it was closing in. The summer air, fresh through the open window just moments ago, now felt thick, suffocating. You couldn’t breathe.

“No,” you said, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. “No, you can’t leave me. Not now. Not like this.”

Before you could even think, you were up, stepping forward, hands reaching for him, desperate. You grasped at his arms, pulling him close, burying your face in his chest as you started to sob, the tears coming faster than you could control.

"Please don't go," you whispered, your voice trembling, cracking with the weight of your emotions. “Please. I can’t . . . I can’t do this without you.”

Fernando didn’t move at first, frozen by the force of your plea. He had always been the one with the calm, collected demeanour, the one who could hide his emotions behind that steely exterior. But now, you felt him soften in your arms. He let you pull him closer, his hands coming up to your back, rubbing circles that were meant to comfort but only made the ache in your chest worse.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Yn,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I didn’t want to leave you like this. But I have to do it. It’s time.”

“No,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if you could somehow stop him from leaving. “I won’t let you. I can’t . . . You don’t get to walk away like that. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Fernando’s fingers gently cupped your face, lifting it so he could look into your eyes. His touch was soft, tender, but there was something in his gaze—something that told you he’d already made up his mind. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “But sometimes we have to let go, Yn. It doesn’t mean I’m leaving you . . . It just means I’m moving forward.”

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent thought through the rush of emotions. “I don’t know how to do this without you. You’re everything to me, Fernando. I—I don’t want you to go.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as if the words pained him. “I know. I don’t want to go either. But you have to understand, Yn . . . There’s more to life than this. More than F1 . . .. I Signed for a seat in WEC.”

“But I need you,” you choked out. “We’re a team. You can’t just leave.”

Fernando sighed, pulling you into his arms once more, holding you tight against him. “You’ve always been my team, Yn,” he said quietly, the emotion thick in his voice. “You always will be. But it’s time for me to find my own path. It’s time for you to find yours, too. You can’t hold on to me forever.”

The reality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he was right. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the fear of losing him, the terror of facing a future without him in it.

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your tears still streaming down your face. “What am I supposed to do without you?” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Fernando’s hand gently brushed your hair out of your face, his touch tender. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re strong, Yn. You always have been. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not on the grid. But you need to let me go.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t live without him, that you didn’t know how to do this without the constant presence of his strength beside you. But the truth was, you could feel his resolve, his certainty, and you knew this was a battle you couldn’t win.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound in the room was the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing. And then, Fernando’s hand cupped your face again, this time with more finality, and he whispered the words that made your heart ache even more.

“I’m sorry, Yn. But it’s my time.”

[not-goldy]

Do you think Jikook's bond (whatever it is) is a goldmine to HYBE and they are trying to profit off it?

Thanks for such an intelligent question, having had one such mentally stimulating ask in a while.

Is Hybe overtly exploiting the chemistry that BTS has and that each pair has within the band, absolutely. I mean that bit should be so easy to wrap your head around.

Romance, bromance is one of the top selling genres of all time. The idea of BTS having a super strong fated bond between them is so commercially viable literal movies and songs have been written about them. 7 dates, bullet proof, and their recent Kdrama series etc to be exact.

And ships sell. I've said this since day one. The commercial viability of ships is just an offshoot of the commercial viability of bands as discussed above.

So yes, within that context, Hybe definitely would gravitate towards the two members with the most chemistry, who also happen to be two of the most liked members of the group, two of the most popular members and the most influential members of the group.

You don't go to war with your weakest soldiers.

Jikook is a very strong ship. We all know that.

They've had the most running in the group with some of the ships rising and falling over the years in terms of chemistry and popularity.

There's a lot to do with a pair like that. Reality shows, travel shows, documentaries, memoirs, tell all, cooking shows.

I watch a lot of reality TV and it's not hard to see how Jikook would fit right into that realm.

If BTS was love Island 🏝 Jikook would get their own spinoff after the season ended.

Fans love them, they get the most votes, the camera adores them and producers have so much they wanna do with them.

Am I making sense???

Going off with the Love Island analogy, just because Jikook are fan favorite, and the crew likes to follow them every where with a camera, and they are getting a spin off show of just the two of them don't necessarily mean their bond is fake that they are only existing for fan service or that the company is exploiting them.

There's just so much to do with them. They are fun entertaining adorable and a pleasure to work with.

So to answer your question I'll say yes and no.

Yes, they definitely a Goldmine for hybe in as far as content production goes.

No because they get to kill two birds with one stone. They can make money off of them, but also they create a safe space for Jikook to have that longevity to explore and nurture their relationship. They love being together. They love doing what they do. Hybe simply allows them to live their dreams and relationship much longer.

I've always said, if any queer pair in kpop were real you'd find them in a ship because ships would be their perfect cover for it. And we've seen jikook use this card very often to get out of trouble. Everything they do would be chalked down to fan service no matter how egregious they were. It can be invalidating and frustrating but In a way, it's also safe for them that way.

If I got paid to cozy up to my girlfriend, travel the world with her, eat as much as we can, hike, experience all and any culture- yall could call us anything you want I'm taking that offer🤣🤣🤣🤣

But we gotta give credit where credit is due because to me it's Jungkook that lay the foundation for all of this to be possible when he put of his first GCF with Jimin and later Jimin lay on top of him on a couch talking bout how they ought to do it again and how he would even model for him if filming is what he wanted to do.

I think they gave Hybe the idea of what it can do with them.

You can tell these things are things they both naturally want to do and have already done. During Run, they come up with a team name, they work well together, during rehearsals they stay behind and work on their routines tweaking it a bit, they come up with cooking shows to do, stay up all night doing nothing.

They are by themselves very creative and adventurous.

So like I said, I don't think this is hybe mining them but more so amplifying and giving them the production value to do what they already have been doing which they love, fans love and the company loves.

I'm sure if any other pair had this same organic pull towards eachother and wanted to be around eachother all the time too hybe would be just as curious and invested in them but as it turns out there isn't.

We are not stupid, we see them. And we see how some members act like they can't wait to get out of set when others keep it going even after they yell cut.

We see them all.