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kj-1130 · 4 years ago

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Nothing For Me

Part 5

(gifs not mine)

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Part 4|Part 6

It was a strange sense of deja vu; except this time you weren’t staring at the glow in the dark stars that still lingered across the ceiling, you were staring at the back of your eyelids. Your thoughts still played loud in your head. They were like a playlist that was on repeat and you couldn’t press the pause button.

It was noisy but empty, if that made sense. A strange, but not unusual feeling to you.

The demons crawled into your head, made it their home and decorated it. And you just couldn’t find the strength to kick them out.

The back of your eyelids became something you had grown accustomed to staring at. If you weren’t awake and suffering at the will of your own mind, you were sleeping--hoping that your thoughts would turn off then.

You couldn’t see the light from the tv, but you could hear it. The ‘f.r.i.e.n.d.s.’ theme song was quite an interesting mix with the yells of ‘no one cares,’ ‘you’re invisible,’ or ‘just disappear.’

But you couldn’t sleep because the music was so damn loud. Apparently, the avengers retrieved the scepter and were celebrating. You were invited to attend by Natasha, but you didn’t have the willpower; to talk to perverted business men all night or to get out of bed--either one.

So you tried to ignore the sound of faint chatter and clinking glasses. Or maybe you would listen to it; it was undoubtedly better than whatever was going on inside your noggin.

Time passed. You didn’t know what time it was. Time is an illusion anyway.

The days were all just one big blob of nothingness to you at this point. Everyday, you felt the same, did the same thing, thought the same thoughts. So what’s the point of trying to tell whether the darkness you saw was from outside or from the back of your eyelids.

The back of your eyelids. What a strange sense of deja vu…

Stars reminded you of Michelle. The two of you always watched the stars together. It was your thing.

You’d never thought you’d have a thing with anyone. You were glad you had one with MJ.

You opened your eyes. The stars that were stuck to the ceilings seemed like they grew dimmer over the years--just like your eyes.

It was significantly quieter than it was before. You guessed everyone had homes to return to. What was a home?

Your mom was your home. But she’s gone now.

Maybe Michelle could become your home. Yeah. She keeps you warm and you do the same for her. Maybe she could be your home.

Pounding footsteps were heard throughout the hall. As tired as you were, your curiosity won out. You slowly sat up despite your body’s protest and made your way towards the door. Yeah, if you were in a horror movie, you definitely would’ve been dead by now.

Just as you were about to reach out for the handle, the door flung open causing you to jump back. Looking up, your eyes connected with red ones.

“You’ll do just fine, little Stark.”

The two former agents sped down the long halls of the tower. They reached the door and saw splinters all over the ground.

Natasha slowly walked in on high alert. She and Clint searched around the room; the bathroom, closet, anywhere where someone could hide.

The redhead faced her friend with a forlorn look on her face. Her head shook slowly.

“She’s gone.”

You were in your room--your old room. There was music playing downstairs; Whitney Houston. An artist your mom would listen to during her free time.

“Mom?”

You ran down the steps into the kitchen and stood at the entryway. She stood with her back to you. Her fro was pulled into a messy puff and she was wearing her robe; the same robe you would wear as a cape.

It smelled like french toast. You always ate french toast together on the second Saturday of the month. It was tradition.

“Mom?”

Her head lifted and she turned to face you. Instead of her glowing and blemish free skin and that beautiful, gentle smile, all you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You gasped and backed into the well causing one of the paintings to fall.

Your mom chuckled and when you looked back, her face was normal.

“You’re always so clumsy.”

Your breathing was still labored. You watched as the woman you knew as a mother picked up the piece of art. It was the one she got from her mother--your grandmother.

“You okay? You’re looking a little flustered.”

She strode towards you and rested a hand on your cheek and then your forehead.

You resisted the urge to flinch as her cold skin made contact with yours.

“C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Your body was on autopilot as you followed her to the counter. She passed you a plate and took a seat next to you.

“Useless,” was whispered and disappeared into the wind.

You looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“You okay?”

You glanced at your mom before nodding.

“Yeah. Thought I heard something.”

“I’m glad I died.”

You whipped your head towards her and found the mummified version looking at you once again.

You stood and set your fork down before running up the stairs. You entered the bathroom and locked the door before sliding down the far wall.

The door was thrown open before her figure flew over to you.

Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a gasp.

Everything hurt. It all hurt.

Frantically, you pushed yourself to the corner of whatever room you were in regardless of what the throb of your head was telling you.

The rocks began crunching as if someone was walking on them. Your head whipped around in every direction trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“Your father took everything from us.”

“Yeah. Well he’s a taker not a giver.”

Your mom always told you your mouth would get you in trouble. You just hoped she wasn’t right at this moment.

Looking up, you were met with two pairs of eyes; one a woman the other a man.

They both seemed significantly older than you. The woman walked closer and bent down in front of you and her eyes started glowing red. You began hyperventilating, praying she wouldn’t harm you.

She lifted her hand to your temple and rested her fingers there.

“It’s time we get our revenge.”

All you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

Your head was pounding and your neck was killing you. Groaning, you craned your neck and searched your surroundings.

Hands touched your shoulders gently. But it didn’t matter how gentle it was because you didn’t want anyone touching you with their hands that could kill you with the right movements.

You swatted them away from you--with your own hands that didn’t stand a chance against a lot of people.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Kid, calm down.”

Rubbing your eyes, you looked around as your vision cleared. In front of you stood Clint. His face was decayed; just like your mom’s.

You scrambled back and curled up in the corner of the corner closest to you.

“Hey. You’re safe. You’re okay,” he said gently.

Your gaze transferred from one area of the jet to another frantically. You wanted something to stand out at you; make it’s obnoxiousness force the visual of it in your brain. Anything would be better than seeing her face like that.

You didn’t even notice the archer moving closer to you until he rested his hand on your shoulder. You flinched hard and gently pushed it off of you.

Clint nodded in understanding and continued to kneel in front of you.

“We’re about 15 minutes from a safe house, alright? You can eat something and then rest there. That okay?”

Nodding your head, you leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

The most powerful thing you knew of was Cap’s shield. Seems like that witch was taking that spot.

True to Clint’s word, the jet landed less than 15 minutes later. You were the last out although Steve did end up waiting for you. His hand landed on your shoulder and when you turned to look at it, all you saw was bones and tissue. You stumbled back and hit your back on the quinjet.

The supersoldier looked at you with worried eyes before slowly walking away.

You watched the backs of the superheroes get smaller as they walked towards the porch of the safe house.

Is that what they were? Heroes? Everyone always described them as these indestructible beings that would always be there to help civilians and save the day. But who was going to save them?

They didn’t look so indestructible. They just looked like a group of people with the weight of the world--no universe on their shoulders.

Watching everyone enter the house, you decided to follow a moment later. Cap, ever the gentleman he was, held the door open for you and let it shut once you slipped inside.

“I know all your names,” the woman who stood next to the archer said. She scanned the group before her eyes landed on you, her head tilting slightly.

You tuned out the rest of the conversation as you looked around the house--no home. It looked like a home. Not some model house that some cookie cutter family lives in. A home where parents were raising their children to be themselves and nurturing them with love and care.

The room wasn’t spotless. There were legos and toys on the floor. It didn’t smell like cleaning supplies. It smelt like a homemade meal; one that would make any stress from the day just melt away.

A hand tugged on the sleeve of your shirt causing you to glance down. It looked just like the other ones; just a decaying, withering hand.

You flinched in response and quietly stepped away, not wanting to cause a scene. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down and saw a little girl that didn’t even seem the slightest bit fazed by your little episode.

“Can you play dollies with me?”

“Actually,” Clint cut in. “She needs to rest. (Y/n) can play after a nap, alright?”

The little girl nodded and went to minding her business.

The archer placed a gentle hand on your back and you tensed under his touch. You heard him whisper to his wife before the two led you up stairs.

“You good to clean yourself up?”

You grabbed the towel and extra clothes out of his hands and sat them down on the bathroom counter.

“I’m fine, Clint,” you muttered while pushing him out of the room.

You sat in the bed of the spare room that Clint’s wife, who you learned was Laura, said that you could stay in.

A knock reverberated through the room, the sound of the door opening following suit.

You felt a dip in the bed, but you refused to look up from the spot on the covers.

You didn’t want to see a decaying face.

You didn’t want to see someone dead.

You didn’t want that image stuck in your brain like a starred picture on google photos. You didn’t want to give your mind a chance to somehow twist it all around--inside, over and out--and convince you that it was all your fault.

You just wanted to have a few seconds of peace instead of the roaring tides that were washing through your head, even if it was false.

“What did she make you see?”

You swiped your tongue over your dry lips and shook your head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a moment of silence and continued to mess with the unraveling thread in the blanket.

“Look at me then.”

You hesitated, but eventually lifted your head.

“I said look at me, not at the wall. Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath your lip began to tremble.

“Please.”

“Don’t make me do it,” you whispered.

A hand was turning you towards her before you could even stop it, but you managed to close your eyes.

“Whatever she showed you is not real. I’m here and I always will be.”

You only saw her ivory skin and forest green eyes. There were no visible bones or muscles. Just her red hair and sad smile.

Your eyes fitted around her face, making sure that it wasn’t a cruel trick your mind was trying to play on you.

Natasha lovingly patted your cheek and pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get some rest, alright?”

You couldn’t rest, long story short.

It was so noisy up there and you just couldn’t get it to calm down.

Every time you closed your eyes, somebody’s dead body was infiltrating your mind. Whether it was Clint or his kids, Natasha or MJ.

MJ. Oh shit.

You threw the covers off your body and slowly lifted yourself from the bed. Making your way downstairs, you heard some chatter coming from near the kitchen.

“I thought you were dead.”

A hand immediately flew up to your mouth as if that would stop the words that already came out of your mouth. Muttering a ‘my bad’ you walked up towards the group of adults while simultaneously scanning your surroundings.

“I am,” replied Fury.

Clearing your throat you took in a deep breath. But before you could speak, somebody beat you to it.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You rolled your eyes and prepared to talk.

“Does anyone have a phone I can borrow?”

Practically everyone raised their eyebrows at you in confusion. You let out a sigh and started wringing your hands

“I-I need to call MJ. Please.”

When it was clear that desperation was shining through your eyes, Laura was quick to get up.

“Sure, honey.”

Everyone else was left confused.

“Who the hell is MJ?”

Laura gave you a phone and told you, you could call from the couch.

You were swift to dial her phone number and bring the device to your ear. You bit your lip, waiting for your friend to pick up which she did after the fourth ring.

“Who is this?”

While you were grateful the phone was picked up, it wasn’t who you wanted to answer.

“I-it’s (y/n). I-i-i’m just calling from a d-different number. I-Is M-MJ home?”

You knew all the adults were staring at you and as much as it made your skin itch and crawl, you didn’t care about it as much as you cared about talking to MJ.

There was shuffling on the other side so you could only assume that her mother was traveling around their apartment.

“Thank goodness. I thought you died or something,” she chuckled.

A smile rose to your face before you could even think about it.

“I mean, close but no.”

“I-You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”

“It’ll probably be on the news by the end of this week anyway.”

You had finally relaxed into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You could still feel them staring holes in your skull and it was making you feel like you were exposed and vulnerable.

It was silent for a moment before you heard let out a sigh MJ let out a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Do you wanna come over and talk about it?”

You let out a hum before answering, “I can’t”

“Why? A-are you hurt? If so, I can come over there and-”

“No. I literally cannot-”

“It’s not a big deal. I can-”

“I’m in another state.” There was a pause on the other side of the call. “Or country. I-I don’t know where I am.”

You heard the girl clear her throat before taking a deep breath, obviously processing what you just told her.

“So that’s what you meant when you said-”

“Yeah…”

You clicked your tongue a couple of times, wondering what was going through Michelle’s head at the moment as the silence lingered.

“I guess you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

You let out a small chuckle, something you only seemed to do in MJ’s presence.

“No longer in Kansas.”

The conversation could no longer continue as you heard your friend’s mom yell for her.

“Well, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

The two of you never said ‘goodbye’ to each other not wanting it to feel like it was the ending of something.

You handed the phone back to Clint’s wife and made your trek back to the stairs before you stopped.

“Where am I exactly?”

The archer blinked owlishly at you while you stared at him with a raised eyebrow. You shrugged before continuing your way to the room you were staying in.

“Eh. I’ll figure it out.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see.”

They left. Again. Not surprising.

You should be used to it by now. They had people to save anyway.

It was late at night and you couldn’t sleep--what’s new?

You didn’t want to bother anyone but you just couldn’t stand the commotion. You couldn’t stand that being the only thing you’re focused on.

You decided to go to the kitchen to see if Laura needed help with anything considering she did just have a whole team of unexpected guests.

The scene downstairs, kind of seemed… upsetting to you. The lights were dimmed, it was quiet, and the woman you were searching for was hunched over a cup of tea.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

The brunette’s head snapped up and she met your gaze. Her eyes held a melancholy undertone in them and you just couldn’t imagine what was swirling in her mind.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

You took a seat next to her on the couch and fiddled with your hands.

“I just… worry sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah. Clint can be an idiot sometimes.”

You both shared a chuckle but the deafening silence still returned. The air flowing through the home could be heard. You could probably hear the kids’ breathing if you tried hard enough.

“Why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up? Isn’t that like, bad for the baby or something?”

Through the corner of your sight, you could see Laura shaking her head at you as a small smile danced across her lips.

“I asked first.”

You let out a sigh and shrugged your shoulders.

“Just...couldn’t sleep I guess.”

The woman nods in response and takes a sip of her tea. It was obvious to her that something else was on your mind but she didn’t pry and you were thankful for that.

Instead, she just grabbed the remote and turned the television on, an episode from the sitcom Living Single playing quietly.

A weight was felt on Laura’s shoulder and she looked down to see the young teenager resting with small breaths escaping her parted lips. The woman was careful to free an arm and wrap it around your shoulders, you subconsciously snuggling in further.

Walking down the halls of the compound, you searched all the doors. As you reached one, you raised your fist to knock only for the door to fly open before you could.

You clear your throat before looking towards the ground.

“May I, may I come in?”

The person nods and you hesitantly step inside the room and take a seat at the desk.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Me too,” Wanda nods.

There was this awkward, tense silence that just floated through the room that seemed almost impossible to get rid of. It was suffocating.

“I’m sorry about the uhhh, whole mind thing.”

You too nodded in response and gave your reassurance, your mind focused on her accent. It was comforting to say the least.

It had been at least two weeks after the whole ultron thing. Tony was obviously oblivious to what happened to you.

When he ignored or neglected you, it was like a paper cut--never acknowledged or thought about until something provokes it.

You had passed the witch a few times in passing, but never truly held a conversation with her.

You knew of the passing of her brother and you knew how hard it was--is to lose a loved one. Especially if that loved one was the only one that made you feel like you weren’t completely and utterly alone.

“I know it’s not my place to say but,” you paused to take a deep breath. “Don’t let this hold you back. I-I was never given the chance to grieve my m-mom properly and, and I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you, I guess.”

At this point, you felt like you were just spitballing. You figured she already knew what was going on in your head so why not just be open about it.

“And I’m pretty sure the others will come around. Clint seemed to like you.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth lifted a little and she gave a breathy laugh.

“And I guess, I like you too.”

“Thanks.”

You took a moment to gather yourself before heading towards the door.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

“So to recap, you were kidnapped by a robot with murderous tendencies, got your mind manipulated by an enhanced individual, and now you’re living and somewhat acquaintances with said ‘enhanced individual’.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Michelle chuckled in response and shook her head in disbelief.

“That’s crazy.”

You shrugged with a frown and scooted closer to her. Your shoulders were touching but neither of you moved.

“Eh, I’m kind of getting used to the crazy.”

You were watching the stars on the roof of her building again. MJ brought some snacks and a blanket which the two of you were currently snuggled up in.

The food was eaten quite quickly and silence was quick to wash over the two of you. But the silence wasn’t like it was with Wanda or even Laura. With MJ it was a peaceful and serene moment; like the two of you were in this indestructible bubble that only you two were allowed in. With her you felt safe.

You turned your head towards Michelle only to find her already looking at you. Both of your faces heated up but neither of you could look away. Instead, grins rose to both of your faces before the girl pulled you closer to her.

Yeah. Michelle was home.

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Taglist

@leahnicole1219 @thebadasssass @littlegasps @lengendarymcnuggies @stillmanicc

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #black!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #clint barton #clint barton x teen!reader #laura barton #nothing for me miniseries #michelle jones x fem!reader #part 5 #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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Pairing: doctor!Jungkook x reader (ok, technically clinical technician!Jungkook lol)

Wordcount: 1.6k

Genre/Rating: Fluff! strangers to friends to a lil’ more 👀👀

Tags/Warnings: mentions blood just for a moment (when talking about JK’s work). shouldn’t be anything too crazy, Jungkook is just your annoying new neighbor that sings abnoxiously loud in the shower. oh, and did I mention that the two of you share a wall?

a/n: You wonderful, beautiful people! This post is a commission for the ARMY for AAPI Justice and Advocacy Event. Please click here to find more resources and consider donating to the cause! And THANK YOU @ezralia-writes for commissioning this! *insert round of applause and flowers* I hope you enjoy!

April 23rd

You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

You’d been living in utter bliss for the past six months, having moved across the city to a relatively quiet part of town. You had a neighbor; you were sure of it. Had seen their car in the parking lot too many times to not have one.

It’s just, you never heard them. Let alone saw them.

Which was completely fine. The loud, obnoxious lifestyle people usually adopted in a city as bustling as Seoul had never suited you anyway. For six months, you basked in the glorious silence from your next door neighbor. The only signal that you ever got that they were even there was the occasional time you’d both be showering at the same time. Your bathrooms shared a wall, which you tried to ignore. Thankfully, your neighbor seemed to ignore it as well.

So why is there a man suddenly belting out I Will Always Love You as though performing a one-man tribute to Whitney Houston?

The sound of his booming voice nearly knocked you off your feet as you made quick work of shaving your legs. Surely he must have heard your shower running! Can’t a woman get some peace and quiet on a Friday morning?! There’s nothing to celebrate yet!

You even make a point of clearing your throat loud enough to be heard on the other side of the wall, but he doesn’t falter in his loud, albeit dazzling, rendition of the song. He pauses for a second, giving you just enough time to let out a sigh of relief and begin on your other leg.

Leg soapy and ready to be shaved, you make it halfway through one swipe before the singing starts up again.

He only paused to switch songs. Whitney Houston tribute over, he begins a passionate ode to Adele’s greatest hits.

“What did I do to deserve this?” You sigh, resolving to finish up before the song is over and you’re subjected to another.

May 1st

It begins innocently enough. After a week of subjecting you to his siren-like voice, there’s a knock on your door. Of course, you assume it’s the food you’d ordered, so you just finish throwing your sweatshirt on before wrenching the door open.

“Hey,” you look up to tell the deliverer that you just need to grab your wallet, but your mouth runs dry at the sight before you.

Grinning with a friendly smile that might be a bit of overkill, a boy – nah, a whole man if we’re being honest here – gives you a sheepish wave. His long brown hair is falling into his eyes, which he meticulously brushes off to the side.

“Hey! You must be my neighbor!” When you keep staring at him with what you hope is a look of neutrality, he flushes a deep red. “I- er, I mean, obviously. That was kind of dumb of me…”

“You’re not the food guy?” It’s the only you can think to say, willing your eyes to focus in on his face and not the way his sweatshirt and sweats look on him. “Uh…I mean, yeah. Neighbors.”

The man before you lets out an adorable chuckle at your silly comment. “Oh, good. I’m not the only awkward one here.”

“Woah! I’m not awkward! I’m just hungry!” You cry out, making him only laugh harder.

“I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, nose crinkling as you look at him with wide eyes. So this is what was on the other side of the wall, belting out Mariah Carey this morning. “I just moved in last week, and realized that I haven’t even come over to say hello. You know, like a friendly neighbor should.”

“Hey, Jungkook.” You look around, wondering if there’s anyone else outside witnessing this incredibly awkward first meeting. “I, uh, well…I’m me.”

He snorts. “Yeah, I know. I’m assuming your name is the one on the mailbox? Next to mine?”

We have mailboxes??

“Oh, ha! Yeah, that’d be it.” You shuffle back and forth on your feet, unsure of what to say next. “Well, I thought you were the delivery service-“

“I just delivered food, too!” Jungkook says with a grin. He runs his hands up and down his arms even though it’s not cold outside. “I was thinking that…you know, we could eat together? I actually ended up ordering extra, but it looks like that wasn’t necessary.”

You grin, settling against your doorframe. “Ah, so you’re here to woo me with takeout? You should’ve just said so.”

It looks like Jungkook’s considering moving again. He swallows thickly, eyes flitting over to you before staring down at your floor. “Actually…I heard you watching TV…were you watching Wanda Vision?” When you nod, he sucks in a breath. “It’s just, I haven’t bought a TV yet, and-“

“Oh, tough luck. Good luck with that.” You burst out into a fit of giggles at the tentative look in his eyes. Silently forgiving him for all those mornings that doubled as musicals over the past week, you wing the door open a little wider and gesture for him to come inside. “Come in, I need someone to bounce theories off anyways.”

That’s all it takes before Jungkook is bounding inside, settling down on your couch with an air of comfortability that seems so at odds with his shy nature. Then again, everything about him seems to contradict his shy smile.

You like it.

June 2nd

What originally started as a simple friendship; Jungkook brought food and you let him have the remote; quickly turned into constant interaction. You learned that he had a roommate that was hardly ever home named Taehyung. He has a brother that he visits every other month. He works as clinical technician, but he’s known more for his beautiful voice more than his title as doctor.

Apparently he was known in the lab for singing little lullabies to the glass flasks containing different samples of blood and other fluids, even occasionally chatting with them as though they were avidly listening.

The more you learned, the more you really wished your old neighbor never moved out in the first place. Especially as you slipped on some shoes to take out the trash one night only to run face first into a familiar chest.

“Jungkook,” you groan, rubbing your nose and peeking up at the boy-like grin he wears. “What was that for?“

You step around him, closing the door to your apartment and heading down the stairs to where the dumpsters were located. “My bad. I was just about to knock.”

He matches your stride, hair whipping about in the wind. You realize that he’s wearing his lab coat, making you furrow your brows. “Aren’t you supposed to leave that at the lab?” You ask, pointing to the white coat.

Jungkook pouts, looking down at his coat as though just remembering that he was still wearing it. “Oh, well I have to wash it, you know. I brought it home with me today.”

“Ok…but why are you still wearing it?” You give him a half-smile as he reaches to open the lid to the dumpster, allow you to throw your trash inside.

Jungkook blinks, as though this latest question completely threw him for a loop. “Uh…I thought it might help.”

“With what?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You think doctors are sexy, don’t you?”

“What?!” You choke out quite literally, beginning to cough. “Who- I never said that!”

Jungkook grins maliciously. “Yeah, but I heard you watching Grey’s Anatomy the other day. And it was on your recently watched.”

You begin to walk away, waving him off. “That doesn’t mean anything, Jungkook. So what? It’s just a show.”

Running ahead of you, Jungkook bounds up the first few steps before turning around to face you again, effectively cutting off your escape route. “Be honest. You don’t find them the least bit sexy? This coat does nothing for you?” He runs his hands down the lapels for emphasis.

You attempt to push past him. “What is even happening today?” Jungkook stops you in your tracks, hands on your upper arms and trapping you against the railing.

“I thought I might as well give myself a chance,” he mumbles, head tilted to one side as he takes in the way you’re staring up at him with utter confusion. “Don’t you wanna go out with a doctor?”

You blink slowly. “You…you’re setting me up with a doc-“

“Yah!” Jungkook groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many way do I have to say it? I want you to be the Wanda to my Vision!” “Jungkook, we’ve talked about this…” you sigh, hiding your laugh at his impatience. “They have a toxic relationship, why would I want that?”

“Don’t make me do this!” Jungkook whines, cheeks turning pink. “Just tell me yes or no!”

“To what?” You ask, feigning ignorance. “I don’t even know what you’re asking.”

“Nooo, you do,” Jungkook presses in closer as though that’ll help you understand. “I want you and I to…to…you know, I think we’d be good together.”

You frown. “Aren’t we together right now?”

“I swear-“ Jungkook takes a step back, sighing up at the sky. You snap your fingers, having a sudden epiphany.

“Oh, you mean together like we start singing duets in the morning through the wall?”

He blinks before bursting out into a fit of laughter. “I…yeah! Exactly!”

“No. But I will let you take me out on a date.” You give him a long look. “I’ve never been kissed by a doctor before, you know.”

Jungkook turns an impressive shade of red. “O-oh. You haven’t?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’. Turning to head up the stairs, you leave him in his shock. “Wonder what it’s like.”

Taking off in a run, you only get about a two second head start before Jungkook overtakes you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close, wide eyes eating up every inch of your skin.

Tilting your chin up, he breathes out, “Well, why don’t we change that?”

masterlist

commission a request!

#jungkook x reader #doctor!jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #bts x reader #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #Jeon Jungkook x reader #doctor!bts #bts neighbor au #bts as your neighbors #jungkook neighbor au #armyadvocatesaapi

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literate-lamb · 4 years ago

Text

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises.

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store.

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night.

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him.

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.”

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops.

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches.

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair.

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date.

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say.

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it.

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days.

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?”

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things.

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour.

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby.

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane.

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka.

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling.

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled.

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago.

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster.

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you.

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.”

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?”

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers.

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors.

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand.

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms.

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third.

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?”

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar.

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt.

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world.

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two.

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

“Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry.

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know.

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in.

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.”

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire.

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.”

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers.

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.”

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence.

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back.

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed.

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.”

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running.

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately.

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?”

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.”

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt.

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand…

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this.

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end.

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive.

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.”

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—”

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room.

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his.

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his.

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red.

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds.

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala.

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it.

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you.

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it.

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived.

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself.

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America.

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar.

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said.

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access.

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter.

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes.

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment.

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication.

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #happyhoelentinesday2021

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years ago

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Laura Poitras fired from First Look

Seven years ago, the Academy-Award-winning documentarian Laura Poitras co-founded First Look Media, and its subsidiaries/sister companies The Intercept and Field of Vision.

Late last year, they fired her.

Poitras has published a lengthy letter about her dismissal in which she says that she was fired for publicly criticizing The Intercept's handling of the Reality Winner leaks - an incident that ended with Winner in federal prison for five years.

https://www.praxisfilms.org/open-letter-from-laura-poitras/

The Intercept investigated its handling of the Winner leaks, and concluded that it made mistakes. But Poitras says that the internal investigation was never independent, and allowed people who were implicated in the failures to oversee the postmortem on those failures.

First Look says Poitras's dismissal was "natural," and the result of her "stepping away" from her duties at the company to do "her own projects."

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/media/laura-poitras-fired-intercept-first-look-reality-winner/2021/01/14/478a9c30-55e7-11eb-a08b-f1381ef3d207_story.html

I have an interest here. I have sincere, deep admiration for Poitras. I contributed to the program book for her one-woman show at the Whitney, reported out a Snowden leak with her team, and one of my proudest moments was the cameo my book HOMELAND got in her doc CITIZENFOUR.

And I have worked with First Look; I worked for months on a video project with them, and then they optioned my novella UNAUTHORIZED BREAD. Everyone I've worked with there was bright, committed, passionate and good at their jobs.

Despite all that, I have no personal knowledge of any of the underlying facts.

Here's what I do know, though: Laura Poitras is one of the bravest, most talented filmmakers and journalists I know. She is both a good person and very good at what she does.

And I also know that The Intercept publishes some of the best investigative journalism today. Their work has been hugely important to me and my understanding of the world. Not a day goes by that I don't learn something profound from its work.

When you put those two facts together, here's what you get: profound sadness. A media entity that means a lot to me has fired one of their best journalists, who also helped found the organization. This is not a good day. Poitras's work is critical to this ghastly moment.

First Look is much poorer without her.

Image: Katy Scoggin https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Laura_Poitras_2014.jpg

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic

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psitrend · 5 years ago

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Interview with Artist & Photographer Xing Danwen

New Post has been published on https://china-underground.com/2020/05/29/interview-with-artist-photographer-xing-danwen/

Interview with Artist & Photographer Xing Danwen

Xing Danwen‘s subjects include conflicts between globalization and traditions, problematic environmental issues created by the development, the urban drama between desire and reality.

Xing Danwen started her visual art practice with painting medium and took a professional study at the primary art school affiliated with Xi’an Academy of Fine Arts. She continued painting and did her BFA at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing. In the late 80s, she met photography and was immediately drawn into this medium. As a self-taught photographer, she was one of a few artists in the late 80s and 90s in China that was exploring the boundaries of photography and using photography as an art form. Through the camera, she observed and challenged the questions on Chinese society, humanity, female identity, and the generation that was born in the 60s. In 1998, she went to New York with a grant and fellowship from the Asian Cultural Council. Xing Danwen exhibits domestically and internationally, including the Whitney Museum of American Art, Pompidou Center, International Center for Photography, Victoria and Albert Museum, 1st Yokohama Triennale, and Sydney Biennale 2004, etc. Her works are also collected widely by museums and privates, including Whitney Museum, Pompidou, ICP, SF MoMA, FNAC, the Progressive, Groupe Lhoist, etc. She has been awarded several important awards at home and abroad. In 2018, she was awarded the Silver trophy for the Best Artist of the Year by AAC. Also, she is listed as the 10th from “25 Asian Art Female Power” by Art Bazaar magazine Japan in 2019.

Official site

You started as a paintress and in the late 80s, you were drawn to photography. Can you tell us about your beginnings? What did it mean for your artist’s path?

My beginning was very simple. I just like to paint. Like many children. It was just a hobby, but I kept doing it and started dreaming to be an artist. At that time our education for art was very basic, just about painting and sculpture. So, making a painting, for me was a simple understanding of moving toward art. Later, when I was in art school, coincidentally I met photography by reading a photo magazine at my professor’s studio. That moment it added to my vision of making visual art. I didn’t have any photography class and I even didn’t have a camera. So my understanding of photography was also very intuitive. Photography is another medium of visual art. For me, it’s the same as a painting, just different media. What I like about photography is that the media has its own kind of language of reality. But at the same time, if it is real? Therefore, in my work, fiction and fact, and illusion and reality often play important roles.

You were part of the first generation of contemporary artists in China. You experienced an important and significant time in the art scene. How did you feel and what is your feeling now about your experience of the beginning of China’s contemporary art movement?

It was like we were looking for the way in the fog, but with strong belief and courage, brave and adventurous.

I am a Woman, ©Xing Danwen

What were the biggest challenges during that period? Have you faced some unexpected moments that made you ask if it was your right path?

Society was very suppressed, and the mentality of the public was very closed. These made us a small group of artists without support and understanding, often under siege and without security. For example, one weekend in June 1994, after Ma Liuming’s performance at his residence, we were all arrested. Two artists, Ma Liuming and Zhu Ming were detained for more than two months, and finally convicted of pornography and repatriated. Even so, I have never doubted myself and what we have done. We are not afraid. Where there is oppression, there is resistance. This made us more courageous and motivated.

Can you tell us how the idea of “Born with Cultural Revolution” came to life? What is the story behind it?

“Born with Cultural Revolution” is part of “I am a woman” series. I separated them into two bodies in the end, because of Mao’s icon. These three images are together as a triptych. In the picture, the lady is a friend of mine from my hometown. She was born in 1966 and was pregnant with the new generation which creates layers of generation issues.

Born with Cultural Revolution ©Xing Danwen

Where did the idea for “I am a woman” come from? What did you want to communicate?

When I made this work, I was in my twenties, an age full of questions and doubts about life and love. This work is an exploration of women’s issues, especially to myself and the female gender through the bodies and eyes of my female friends.

The art critic Gu Zheng wrote in 2006:

“Xing Danwen’s I Am a Woman, of 1994-1996, boldly rejects that the female body has most often been represented under a male gaze. It can be considered one of the earliest images of nudity shot by a woman in China’s photographic history. As advocated by its title, it represented the establishment of assertive self-consciousness by a woman. In an enclosed space, Xing Danwen, through rich and varied visual angles, tricky shadows, and interwoven female bodies, concocted a private space for women, intangible for others. This pictorial space could only be shot with the mutual trust and interdependence of the women involved. Usually, it is a privilege of the man to imagine the woman and structure her image, and it is the man who is motivated to watch and present it. However, in Xing Danwen’s work, it is of a woman watching a woman, a woman defining the emotion and body of a woman. By representing the woman’s body, Xing Danwen provided for the first time a concrete shape to the existence and advocacy of the new woman in China. If these photographic images mark the wakening and consciousness of the artist as a photographer, then her photographing the female body establishes her own female identity.“

Can you share with us any meaningful stories from backstage of your art projects?

I think disCONNEXION (2002-2003) and Because I am in the Mountains (2017). When disCONNEXION was finished, the first exposure was at the Whitney Museum in New York, in an international large exhibition called “The American Effects,” which was a very controversial show criticizing how America brought so many negative effects to other countries. Regarding “disCONNEXION”, 80% of the electronic waste was shipped from the U.S.

disCONNEXION (2002-2003), photography Xing’s concerns are not only related to large cities. She has traveled to southern China to explore the effects of electronic trash recycling on villages and small cities in the Pearl River Delta in Guangdong Province. In disCONNEXION, her critical eye and sharp lens examine the aesthetics of technological waste, reflecting environmental concerns, but more importantly, anxiety about changes in the lives of workers along the south coast, whose ghosts can be sensed despite their absence from the frames.

disCONNEXION, ©Xing Danwen

Because I am in the Mountains (2017), Installation with coal coke and mixed materials This sculpture presents a panoramic miniature of a contemporary landscape made from coal coke, the synthetic material that results from burning coal. In this work, Danwen Xing creates a contrast between the polluting medium and the scene depicted. Confusion is triggered speechlessly by the divergence between the apparent disaster that is contemporary life and the beautiful vision of a natural landscape from traditional Chinese ink art. Xing expresses clear concern for the threatened nature, but more importantly, she borrows a phrase from Chinese philosophy: standing on Mount Lu means that one cannot see its true face. She engages with a visible symbolic complex, recognizing that it is impossible to observe objectively when we are lost within ourselves. Well, I choose these two bodies of work, because they share the same concern about environmental issues and a clear notion of the problematic reality under urbanization, although the works are made in a different times with different media, forms and have different artistic languages. The first is a series of photographic works, made from 2002 to 2003. This work is focused on electronic waste and the pollution caused by it. It lifts the veil of the nightmare following the development of our digital era and consumption. At that time, I was just returned from New York, and I faced constant change in Chinese cities. This was very disturbing to me because I realized how much damage was caused by rapid development. When I got an assignment from the French newspaper Libération to go to the Guangdong Shantou area, along with the Pearl River data, I immediately got my eye on the most developed economic zone and the biggest manufacturing area for “Made in China”. I focused closely on the detail of the subject with a very minimum aesthetic, only depicting the facts of the object. For one year, I had been to this region forth and back for several trips to develop this project. Through different parts of this area and villages, I saw the electronic trash was dismantled without any technical support, it was just cut, burnt, and disassembled with the bare hands without any safety protection. Millions of migrant workers and their kids just lived with these most toxic chips from the computers, and the air was full of poisonous burnt plastics, socked into the river and soil. I asked the workers if they knew how harmful to their health. They answered: “Well, we can not care so much. We are here just to make some money and later we are going home anyway.” You see, it is happening everywhere with such a short vision of the business. People work hard to make a quick profit, but at the same time damage their own life without any consciousness, and bring up more problematic issues. Many years later, in 2017, I created another work “Because I am in the Mountains”, which is a sculptural installation, made with another kind of waste: coal coke. After I had located my studio in the suburb of Beijing, I was obliged to heat up with 15 Tons of coal every winter because we didn’t have enough energy, either electricity or gas. Since then I discovered the coal coke from the stove. I found it very beautiful like a mini scholar-rock. So I started to collect them and had kept thinking to make something out of it. At the beginning of 2017, the idea got clear, which is to build a landscape, like the concept of traditional “ink art” with the coal coke. The aesthetic is a beauty of poetry, but I insert the human being’s signs and trails, such as houses, roads, and a small town, even a construction site, etc. That metaphor how urbanization is taking place everywhere in China. Nature is destroyed, the human being pollutes the living environment and the air, with or without consciousness, somehow like me. I can’t deny that I have been one of the polluters of Beijing’s air too. What a shame! Well, this work got its premiere in my 1st large-scale museum solo show “Captive of Love” at the Red Brick Art Museum in Beijing in the fall of 2017. Of course, for two years, the Government restricts using coal and every polluting material and provides a better energy level, now we all heat with a clean energy:-). The title of the work “Because I am in the Mountains” is a phrase from a very famous poem by Song Dynasty poet Su Dongpo: “when you are inside Lu-mountain, you can not see the true face of the mountain”. It is exactly a depiction of what is urbanization happening today.

Because I’m in the Mountains, ©Xing Danwen

Your art career is full of intimate portrayals. Is there any of your work that you are particularly connected to or that marked a significant moment or change in your personal life?

It is hard to say which one in particular. Several bodies of work have been important in different moments of my artistic development. But nothing has changed my personal life. They are all part of my artistic journey with achievements. The work “A Personal Diary” perhaps is an example of a significant moment. Different media: performance art, Photography, performance-based experimental film. In 1992, I graduated from the Central Academy of Arts and I was obliged to stop painting, only work with the camera, because my living situation was too unstable. At the same time, I met the artists unconfident Zhang Huan and Ma Liuming from the East Village in Beijing. They were very urged to be photographed by me. And I was looking for a subject for my work too. Therefore, we agreed to collaborate, since we share a mutual interest. At that time, I didn’t know what was performance art but I was curious about the difference and they were photogenic. Therefore, it came to very interesting conjunction with these three roles: photography, performance, and artwork. As my purpose was very clear I liked to make my work, instead of documenting it for others. It comes to a debate about the relationship between photography and performance art. I have never thought and intended to document the performance, but I interpreted it with my unique gaze. Many years later, I stepped into staging and acting for my work with both photography and video, including performance-based experimental films, I become more conscious of the conjunction and how the media merge, as in my museum solo exhibition “Captive of Love”, the curator Tarek Abou El Fetouh has stated comprehensively: Through photographs, installations, and videos, she positions herself inside the event, as a subject, a model, or a critical eye, creating a visual language that is both subversive and poetic.

A Personal Diary, ©Xing Danwen

Besides photography, you work also in the field of mixed media, video, and multi-media installations. Which of these art techniques reflect you most as an artist?

As a visual artist, I don’t like to be limited to photography. According to my idea and subject, I like to choose the most appropriate media and express well its particular language. It is part of the creative process of each new work, sometimes it causes a lot of study and experiment when it is something new technically. It is a challenge, also fun with the new experience and the new technology. I am not against anything traditional, I enjoy the hand-craft work too. Anyway, I hope I can be free and capable to use different materials and media in my works. In the past years, I didn’t work much with photography, but more with material-based work and installations, and also many more experimental short films.

How much has China changed compared to when you started your artistic career? How do you see the new art community? Do social media and new technologies help art and artist to get closer to the audience or there are new kinds of layers and filters?

A lot of changes. In the 1990s, we didn’t have many public exhibitions of contemporary art, we didn’t have a market, also we didn’t have an art press. At that time, everything was underground, secretly. The audiences were artist friends in the circle, and the artist community was very small, finger accountable. Today in China, art becomes an industry, with international art fairs, and hundreds of domestic galleries. and so many social media for the art press. Yes, there are so many exhibitions that the artists have a much better platform to display their artworks, more chances, and opportunities to be shown and seen. People from my generation become more independent, no longer grouping, and the young generation is more fit for the commercially driven art world.

Installation view of Xing Danwen’s I’m a woman, 2019 at UCCA, Beijing. ©Xing Danwen

What role gender has played in the development of Chinese contemporary art? What does it mean to be a woman artist working in China today? Does gender still matter? Are women slowly changing Chinese art?

Women in China are like everywhere in the world. They are part of society and culture. When you want to talk about Women in any country, you must understand the circumstance. In China, in 1949 Mao Zedong declared that women are half of the sky. Women and men are equal socially stated in China. Women are encouraged to work and go to school the same as men. But where does the imparity come from? The answer is tradition which is the fundamental problem. China is still a macho society. Men are dominant. Virtually, what is standard for a good woman, traditionally everywhere is the same: to be a good wife as a servant, to be a good mother as a maid, and to be a good partner as a capable assistant.

Anyway, a woman should never consider herself and what she needs. In general in my generation, when women are independent, smart, especially economically independent, it would never be considered the best choice for a wife. But not every man is this way, and the new generation is different, I think. The new generation in China is very different from mine because they’re all from one-child families, which means he or she is a king or queen:-) They are the center, get all of the attention from the parents and families. The parents would give the kids the best education and material life, whatever the parents didn’t have. Today in art schools, there are more female art students than males. Perhaps, they are more female artists now but in general, still not many.

Well, whatever, I like to advise that a woman wants to be truly independent, only to be smart with an independent mind is not enough; she has to first gain economic independence. Talking about women artists, I think it is difficult in any country and any time because it’s a very independent, intelligent, and competitive profession. It requests a lot of struggles and challenges. Especially with my generation in China, they were very few women artists. Besides the tradition, there are some essential natures and features we should understand about women in general. Here are some of my analyses.

Urban Fiction (Xing Danwen), ©Xing Danwen

1st, Emotion, and love. How to transform and convert the feelings into a creative idea or art-making? I have been observing in my own life, often a woman artist makes a strong voice when she is in an emotional hardness; but when she finally found her love and is happily located, her work lost the edge. Do you understand what I mean? It seems that her emotion got another path to be expressed, not in artwork anymore.

2nd, Focus, and concentration. One of a woman’s nature is nursing and nurturing. Often, a woman enjoys taking care of the family and her loved ones, at the same time she got distracted from her focus when she is not capable to manage her time and energy. After some time, she might lose the track of her career, and not be able to catch up, become unconfident.

3rd, Persistence, and courage. As we know, being an independent artist is with lots of pressure and competition. If you don’t work hard and fight against the difficulties and your limits, you won’t be able to approve of yourself. Believe in your heart with ambitions, don’t easily give up on any frustration, never lose your strength and direction. Compared with men, women are somehow easier to give up.

After all, it doesn’t matter for a man or a woman artist, to be a real good artist, this profession requests intelligence and a strong mind, aside from the skills and techniques. Therefore, the quality of the artwork counts! I was born during the Cultural Revolution and I grew up, under the official promotion of “Men and Women are Equal: a woman is half of the sky”. Among my five-member family, I have a younger sister, my parents, and my grandmother. My grandmother was born in the revolution of 1911 in a family-owned old-style private school.

Installation view of Xing Danwen’s A Personal Diary, 1993–2003, at Red Brick Art Museum, Beijing, ©Xing Danwen

So she had an education and graduated in her senior middle school. The only man in my family is my father who actually is the quiet one, instead, all of the women have strong characters 🙂 My grandmother was a very strong independent woman. She married a very nice man who was a big engineer in the garment industry, but unfortunately, he had died too early from a medical accident at forty. So my grandmother was alone and brought up my mother. She worked as an accountant in a factory, supported my mother in studying, completing her university. From the beginning, she always said, a good education is extremely important for a woman. We should first establish a profession and become economically independent before settling into a family. It is quite unusual in my generation, I think. So I grew up in such a family. I never feel that I’m second sex. I don’t have any doubt about equality with a man. In school, I was always at the top. And I am always in the best schools. But, please don’t think I am a lucky one. No, life has never been easy for me, as an artist, as a person, and as a woman. But I always worked very hard with both art-making and making a living. And I enjoyed the experience and struggles. I didn’t fight in the sense of being a woman, I’m more fighting to be a confident person and a good artist.

Also, you may ask me, what about love in life being a woman? I have been very clear since the beginning that I won’t give up myself for a man. I want to be myself. The man who loves me should respect and like who I am. I like to be friends with the man, and I have learned a lot from them too. I think the most important is to be fair and equal to each other.

If you could go back and tell yourself one thing before beginning your career what would it be?

To be an artist!

Photos courtesy of Xing Danwen

#ChinesePhotographer, #ChinesePhotography, #MaLiuming, #ZhuMing

#chinese photographer #chinese photography #Ma Liuming #Zhu Ming

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theminionjcfucked · 3 years ago

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The BB23 Houseguests as Marvel Characters- requested by anon

Alyssa: Pepper Potts- she’s played by Gwyneth Paltrow who is annoying as fuck. That’s enough for me.

Azah: Gamora- While she is a strong personality and wants to do what’s right, she does tend to let her emotions lead her, which isn’t always bad, but isn’t always good. She needs to not let herself be taken over by any pelvic sorcery.

Brent: Nick Fury’s eyeball- better off without him. 🤷‍♀️

Britini: Rocket Raccoon- Loud and unafraid. She often says exactly what’s on her mind. Also, she’s gonna get that arm.

Christian: Hulk- The strongest person with the weakest mind. Very easily swayed and his temper gets the best of him. Needs constant supervision.

Claire: Captain Marvel- Big Bi energy from this one. She has a dominating feel to her but she can be a bit on the boring side.

Derek F: Drax- Doesn’t understand what most people are saying. I vote to evict Gamora. I’ll do you one better: I cast to evict Gamora! I’ll do you one better: I sadly to evote Gamora!

Derek X: Spider-Man- Funny, charming, and wicked smart. Has a heart of gold and is always there for his friends. And be honest: we’re all gonna cry when he tells us he doesn’t feel too good 🥺😭😭

Frenchie: Thanos- we know how that went.

Hannah: Valkyrie- Bad ass bitch. She doesn’t mince words and has a strong head on her soldiers. Doesn’t take orders from anyone but herself. Also could run me over with a car and I’d thank her.

Kyland: Thor- Strong individual. Pure dumbass. He lets Loki lead him astray, and easily falls for his traps. Thinks highly of himself, sometimes to the point of being condescending.

Sarah Beth: Loki- Up for some mischief? She’s got havoc to wreak and plans to foil. She is devious but does have a soft underbelly for certain people.

Tiffany: Scarlet Witch- She’s the most powerful one but doesn’t know how to contain it. She sometimes gets caught up in her emotions and power, but she usually can smooth it over.

Travis: Groot- he was groot.

Whitney: Mantis- she’s cute but didn’t have a lot going on upstairs. Really just doesn’t get it.

Xavier: Vision- Incredibly smart and loyal to a fault. He thinks rationally and sees the big fret picture. Knows what needs to be done.

#big brother #bb23 #cbs #Houseguests As

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

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for your song fics, could you do feeling whitney by post malone with cal? also if it's not too much to ask, if you could make the reader an asian reader insert? there's not too much rep for asians in 5sos imagines so i just wanna feel a little more included haha. you can do anything you want with the story really. thank you so so much : )

Thanks for the song suggestion! I truly, and deeply, hope that I did your request justice. Please reach out if I’ve done anything wrong and I’ll take it down.

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on Kofi

*No one has my permission to repost even with credit, including translations. Copyright be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020*

______________________________________________

Starry Nights

You met Calum when he was younger. As you sit and watch him now, you remember the way his voice cracked sometimes, or the way he’d get fluster when girls would approach him. You remember the lanky boy he used to be and how he never really talked much. He still doesn’t. But right now, there’s still not much he has to say as he tips the glass bottle up.

You’re holding yours between your fingers and blinking your vision into focus. You’re praying your cheeks aren’t red, but you know they are. You know anyone can look at you and have a barometer for how much you’ve had. Tonight though is a lighter night. Calum called you, while you were eating lunch and sounded like he had a lot on his mind but didn’t want to disrupt your day.

“Silence from you this long is not good,” you say, setting the bottle onto the tap between you and Calum. Duke’s perched under the sun chairs, right under Calum’s feet.

Calum turns, taking in the inky black of your hair. The way it fades almost matching exactly to the darkening sky. “I don’t know,” he starts, sighing. “I’ve got the life I’ve always dreamed up.” You nod, waiting for him to continue as you wipe the sweat off the glass off your fingers into the palm of your hand. “But sometimes I feel like a fraud.”

Without thinking you let a small scoff out. You’re not stranger to that feeling. “Me if you asked my family what the hell I was doing with my life.”

You moved out to LA just to get a change of pace. And while it wasn’t necessarily a lie that you were moving because of a job, you hadn’t told your parents about the whole art thing too. How you had gotten serious about it. You didn’t tell them about the nights you spent in the basement of a studio, splattering paint and failing, but also succeeding and landing into art shows. It really was only supposed to be a hobby, like it was when you were a kid. But you couldn’t silence the voice inside your head that made you crave the artistic release.

“You’re not a fraud. I’m sure they don’t think that.”

“Well, it’s because they don’t know,” you laugh. “But you’re not a fraud either, Calum. If I’m not a fraud, then you’re not a fraud.”

It’s at times like this, as you stare up into the skies that you wish more often you could see the stars out here. You know they’re there, but you can’t see them. It’s like the best friend that somehow wound up at a different university, or moved halfway across the country, you always keep contact, you know what’s happening with each other. But you can’t see each other like you want.

“Do you think the stars feel like frauds? Like, think about it,” you start. “We’re seeing death right before our eyes. Dying light and do you ever think stars wish we understood how they felt? Like they’re not some sort of symbol for hope or whatever. They’re literally dying.”

“God,” Calum laughs after licking his lips to collect the last drops of his ginger beer. “You surely know how to make this morbid.”

“No--really, like think about it! Stars we are seeing died light years ago. What hope is left?”

“Residual,” Calum counters. “Maybe even after we’re gone we can mean something to somebody. Even if it’s just like, one person, or even if it doesn’t make waves like we wanted. Like, maybe my music doesn’t have to turn tides now, but it can mean something to some kid forty years from now.”

And you grin, bringing your bottle to your lips. Calum turns and watching you, the smile evident even as you drink. “You little shit!”

“Feel like a fraud still?” you ask. The second you started being negative you knew Calum would counter you. Which would in turn help him counter his own negativity.

“Not as much as before. But it’s more like, why did I get chosen for this and not some other kid? I could’ve had football. I had a whole other route laid out for me.”

“You lucked out kid. Because you’re talented and because you deserve it. Sure, you could’ve had success with football. But let’s be honest, it’s grueling--physically. If you got severely injured what else would you have had? Let’s be honest. You were a kid when all that was starting, would you have had the same guidance, and even bad experiences about being smart with money.”

“It would’ve been a whole different world for sure,” he muses. It’s silent between you, the both of you reclined into the seats. Duke’s tags and paws click signaling his trot back to the opened back door. “Pool’s cleaned,” Calum says, turning to face you again.

His grin is boyish but drips with whatever crazy plan he has concocting in his head. “What’s that supposed to mean to me, Hood?”

“You’ll see,” he laughs, standing. He pulls his arms through the white tank and slips out of the basketball shorts. He takes out in a run before letting himself sink into the water. It rushes around his head and ears and for a second, it’s just him and the tile of his pool, just him and all the racing thoughts being pushed out of his head because water is invading.

Then he’s floating, arms rising and his head breaks the surface just in time to see you jumping into the water next to him. The wave crashes over him and he laughs, waiting for your head to crest the surface too.

Both of you are disrobed, letting your limbs bob as the water settles back down around you, the water is bathed by the twinkling string lights that finally flicker on and even though the amber hue is soft, it’s bright. He can watch the water refract light off your skin.

Water drips from your lashes and you wipe at your face with wet hands. “You’re a mad man, Hood.”

“Thanks. For listening.”

“You’re not a man of many words. It’s not hard,” you laugh, using your arms and hands like a scoop to carry some water up and then dump it back into the pool. It trickles down your arm. “But I mean, you can always come to me. Just to talk. Just to listen. Whatever it is.”

“It means a lot, you know.” Calum says, standing not too far in front of you. You catch the reflection of his gold chain against his chest and silver bracelet dazzling on his wrist. “And you know, I’m there too. For you.”

You nod. “I know.”

Calum swims to the edge, arms resting onto the scratchy concrete. “Maybe the stars feel a little bit like you said. Like they want us to understand that they are dying light. But still light enough to guide the way.”

You join him, arms holding you up too as your legs kick in front of you. “And maybe having choices isn’t all bad. Can’t move forward if you’re so worried about that left turn you took, you know?”

His laughter is mostly an exhalation as you too share a short gaze, soft and understanding. The right side of his face lifting higher into a smile. “Some might call it a right turn.”

“I agree with the some people.”

-H

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anhed-nia · 4 years ago

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BLOGTOBER 10/4/2020: SOCIETY

Without having a survey to back me up, I feel comfortable asserting that as a horror fan, you go through different phases with SOCIETY. It’s a basic fact of life, and yet it morphs and mutates underneath you, shocking you anew just when you think you’ve got a grip on it. You never forget your first time, because there is simply nothing like it. Then, after you get over the initial shock of its patented brand of body horror, you start to take it for granted; it's so broad and monolithic that it becomes something like the Grand Canyon--when it’s not right there in front of you, you begin to experience it more iconically, as part of the wallpaper of existence, rather than an in-your-face confrontation with the limits of experience. Then, you revisit it every few years (or months, depending on what sort of person you are), and the prophylactic layer that your brain has wrapped around your memories of it--the one that allows you to think of SOCIETY as a fun, wacky cheap thrill--begins to crumble, and you realize all over again how iconoclastically vile it is. Wherever you happen to be at, with this inimitable genre landmark, you'd be hard pressed to deny that it earns its royal status among horror movies, just for being so uniquely fucked up.

Filmmaker Brian Yuzna is best known as the co-creator of the indispensable RE-ANIMATOR (or as the co-writer of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS...depending on what sort of person you are, again), itself a milestone achievement in the blending of sex and gore that so characterized '80s horror production. That film clearly brought out the best in Yuzna and frequent collaborator Stuart Gordon (also of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS fame...among other things), but it's interesting to see how they operate apart, to understand the unique ingredients that each filmmaker brought to the more perfect union of their classic Lovecraft adaptation. Gordon skewed darker and more intellectual, as evidenced by the end of his career with the shattering mob thriller KING OF THE ANTS, the disturbing true crime drama STUCK, and the Mamet-penned EDMOND. Yuzna, for his part, is almost anti-intellectual, preferring to cook up blackly comic, semi-pornographic nightmares like his two increasingly horny RE-ANIMATOR sequels, the terminal S&M fantasy RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD 3, and the shamelessly hokey comic book adaptation FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED. Yuzna's lack of shame is really his defining feature as an artist, and nowhere is this more obvious than in his directorial debut and signature masterpiece, SOCIETY.

Salvador Dali's "The Great Masturbator," a chief visual inspiration for SOCIETY.

Yuzna was able to leverage the success of RE-ANIMATOR to lock in two directorial opportunities, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR, and a bizarre body horror exercise about a Beverly Hills orphan who discovers that not only are his adoptive family from a different bloodline, but they're not even from the same species. That both pictures employed the writing team of Woody Keith and Rick Fry gives you a little taste of what to expect from SOCIETY, but to be frank, the latter threatens to make the former look like a very special episode of ER; "overkill" barely begins to describe SOCIETY’s ambitious assault on the human body. In a recent interview, the philipino-american director giggles perversely, "I think my friends were a little embarrassed for me (when they saw SOCIETY)," and this sound bite reminded me that the last, most important ingredient that Yuzna contributes to any project is unabashed joy. It's a little hard to imagine stomaching SOCIETY without it.

In this unusual scene from the class struggle in Beverly Hills, Billy Warlock (son of HALLOWEEN 2's Michael Myers, Dick Warlock) plays Bill Whitney, a rich, handsome, athletic high school student with a heavy duty anxiety disorder. Although he appears to have it all, he is plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, reflecting suspicions that the family that spoils him is also out to get him. Perhaps this is all understandable, though. Bill is under a lot of pressure these days, with his parents devoting all of their attention to his sister's coming out party, and his narcissistic girlfriend pushing him to ingratiate himself to the assholes higher up the social ladder; it's enough to make any teenager feel alienated and insecure. But, do these garden variety anxieties account for his visions of his sister's body deforming itself unnaturally, or the dubious evidence he finds that her debutante ball involves incestuous orgies and human sacrifice? Is Bill simply crumbling under the strain of societal expectations, or is the friction with his shrink, his parents, and his peers all symptomatic of an elaborate plot against him by elites who are truly less than human?

I can’t believe they use this cheapo blanket trick MORE THAN ONCE in a movie that is famous for its unforgettable special effects, and I guess I kind of love it.

In case I haven't made the answer abundantly obvious, I'll add that while SOCIETY is the purest expression of Yuzna-ness on the market, it has an important co-author in Screaming Mad George. The eccentric japanese FX master, whose name is apparently an amalgamation of Mad Magazine, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and...George, has produced some of horror's most outrageous makeup and visual effects, mostly for Yuzna, many of them in SOCIETY. If you've seen even a trailer for Alex Winter's 1993 oddity FREAKED--which is itself a grossout criticism of American social standards--then you are already familiar with SMG's trademark style. He specializes in twisted perversions of the human form that would make a cenobite blush, driven by a penchant for puns, and influenced equally by THE THING's Rob Botin, and Big Daddy Roth’s Rat Fink style. Screaming Mad George is instrumental in articulating Yuzna's premise: that behind the shimmering veneer of success and sophistication, the upper class are just a bunch of degenerates, who literally degenerate into something unimaginable behind closed doors. It's impossible to imagine SOCIETY without his sinuous, slithering monstrosities, or his indescribable realization of their most important social event, "the shunt".

One of many great images from a zine I wish I owned, on SMG’s Facebook page.

It's easy to get overwhelmed by SOCIETY's visual impact, but its message is just as potent now as it was at the end of the Reagan era: Rich people are not only different from the rest of us, but in fact, they aren't even human. Writers Keith and Fry make an interesting choice of hero to help put this across. A lazier writer would have selected any archetype from the Freaks and Geeks set to create an easy Us vs Them tension, but SOCIETY is led by a promising young man who, for reasons he himself does not yet understand, is just not "the right kind of people". Bill appears to have every advantage in life, including a level of popularity that wins him presidency of the debate team despite his nerdier rival’s superior prowess--and yet, he suffers from a stigmatizing psychiatric disorder that is the natural result of feeling indefinably different from one's peers, and intuiting that, as a consequence, they don't even really like you. The shallow jock with deep-seated emotional problems is a much more interesting protagonist for this kind of social allegory than the charismatic outcasts that you get in movies like THE FACULTY and DISTURBING BEHAVIOR, for whom the idea that the elites could be aliens is just de rigueur.

It's worth noting that this complexity of character extends to Bill's love interest, sympathetic society girl Clarissa Carlyn (Playboy Playmate Devin DeVasquez). At first, she seems villainously eager to introduce Bill to the many splendors of "the shunting", but as the plot against him mounts to its horrifying conclusion, she defects. There appears to be a reason for this, although honestly, this is the most difficult part of SOCIETY for me to wrap my head around. Clarissa lives as an essentially independent adult, only burdened by her mother (Pamela Matheson), a possibly brain damaged hulk who lurks in and out of various scenes just to be disturbing, always announced by some toots on a tuba, before eventually siding with our heroes. I'm really not sure what's supposed to be going on in this part of the movie, except that this character contributes to a number of distasteful jokes. But, I hold on to the idea that by virtue of whatever disorder Mrs. Carlyn suffers from, she serves the purpose of priming Clarissa to rebel, since her very existence makes her daughter something of a societal outcast herself. That's the best I can do.

In any case, everyone working on SOCIETY commits completely, with Mrs. Carlyn being no exception. The movie's climactic orgy of the damned is an all hands on deck operation, just as reliant on Screaming Mad George's artistic abilities as it is on the actors' responsibility to make you believe that this fucked up shit is really happening. There's a visceral patina of sleaze spread over the entire film, dripping from the way that characters talk to and touch each other, flirting and flaunting their bodies in a distinctly unseemly fashion, even when it stays within the realm of mundane reality. This constant sinister, insinuating attitude on the part of the whole cast lays the foundation for what is to come, and while I appreciate everybody's hard work, my favorite performance is from an actor who only comes in at the very end: David Wiley as society king Judge Carter. Wiley's career consisted almost exclusively of the most ordinary sort of television work, which makes his outrageous turn in this alien porno flick all the more respectable. While other characters transition from suspicious pod people to full-on mutated perverts, Judge Carter has to show up just for the finale, establish his authority, rip off his clothes, and plunge straight into a sea of slime, happily fisting his way through the cast. Wiley meets this challenge with aplomb, making of himself a hybrid of Robert Englund and Gene Hackman, perfectly embodying the movie's joyful absurdity, and never betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment.

SOCIETY is very much a don't-look-down type of endeavor, a fairy that could expire at the slightest lapse in faith. There's a visual pun in the last act that's so gross, so offensive, so frankly idiotic, that I don't have the courage to describe it; my whole body tenses up when I know this scene is coming, as if it were the meat hook scene in TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE or the brutal rape in the middle of SHOWGIRLS. I don't like it, but at the same time, I respect Yuzna's unhesitating commitment to show it to me, and I think that actor Charles Lucia should get some kind of award for shouldering the burden so valiantly. SOCIETY is a daring movie in the truest sense, a film with more balls than brains, and in this it exposes the limitation of intelligence and taste, and the real need for pure transgression, in producing art of any real value. You might argue with me about whether Yuzna's masturbatory magnum opus really qualifies as art, but to respond to that, I'll quote the great transgressor Alejandro Jodorowsky: "If you are great, EL TOPO is a great picture. If you are limited, EL TOPO is limited." So stick that in your shunt and smoke it.

youtube

PS Here, have this stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

#blogtober #2020 #society #brian yuzna #screaming mad george #woody keith #rick fry #billy warlock #Keith Walley #devin devasquez #david wiley #horror #black comedy #satire #body horror #social criticism

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hoochy-coo · 4 years ago

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You said Camila Cabello makes for a boring pop star. What would make for an interesting and good pop star? Love hearing your opinions btw!

The bare minimum is to actually make interesting music. It doesn’t have to be groundbreaking (not everyone is Gaga or Madonna) but has some direction and make it your own. I also think not everyone CAN be a pop star, and a lot of these girls that the industry is trying to shove down our throat doesn’t have what it takes. Other than that:

Charm: I don’t just mean your persona, I mean as a performer - give us some depth, some complexity, some fun, SOMETHING! You don’t need to be on J.Lo’s level of performer/dancer but at least do something to keep the audience watching - put on a show!

Attitude: You don’t have to be a diva but have some grit. A good example of this is Rih, Whitney, and Mariah - they’re not afraid to give us sass and that shows in every aspect of their career. Pop girlies these days seem to lack that because they’re too well-packaged by their label and don’t want to step out of line.

Style: My main concern isn’t even personal style. I just want a good carpet/stage/performance style that is cohesive and complimentary of the music they put out.

Willingness to experiment: I don’t need these girls to do the complete opposite of their last era but at least try to expand your horizons through features. Show us that you’re versatile enough to hop onto a genre that no one thought you could do and give a decent verse.

Be your own artist, your labels: FIGHT FOR YOUR VISION! LEARN FROM BEING IN THE STUDIO! There is nothing more frustrating than a pop artist who has years in the industry and has picked up nothing/hasn’t tried their hand at producing/hasn’t tried to pen a verse, etc.

And I need these girlies to understand that they don’t have to be well-liked, they just have to be interesting enough for people to give a fuck about their projects lol. Playing it too safe will make you forgettable tbh.

#ask #answer #music

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trenchcas · 4 years ago

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episode origins p1

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

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

season 1

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

wendigo: they’re fighting a wendigo

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

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

bloody mary: based off the legend

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

hook man: they’re fighting a hook man

bugs: bugs

home: they go home

asylum: they go to an asylum

scarecrow: scarecrow

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

route 666: racist truck yes

nightmare: sam’s visions

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

shadow: meg’s stalkery?

hell house: it was literally a hell house

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

provenance: painting provenances, it’s in the episode

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

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

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

season two

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

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

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

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

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

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

the usual suspects: based off of the 1995 movie

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

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

hunted: gordon hunted sam

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

nightshifter: a shifter in the night

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

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

tall tales: yeah i think this one is self explanatory

roadkill: someone got killed on the road

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

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

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

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

all hell breaks loose: yes it did

season three

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

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

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

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

bedtime stories: they were bedtime stories

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

fresh blood: fresh blood yes

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

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

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

mystery spot: mystery spot

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

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

long-distance call: long distance call

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

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

season four

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

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

in the beginning: they go back in time

metamorphosis: with the rugaru but also sammeh

monster movie: monsters and movies

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

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

wishful thinking: yeah

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

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

family remains: there are remains

criss angel is a douche bag: idk?

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

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

death takes a holiday: death took a holiday

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

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

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

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

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

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

lucifer rising: lucifer rose

season five

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

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

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

the end: yeah it’s the end

fallen idols: i think we get it

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

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

changing channels: channels were changed. the end.

the real ghostbusters: based on the 1985 animation

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

sam, interrupted: i’m not sure?

swap meat: meats were SWAPPED.

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

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

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

dark side of the moon: a pink floyd album

99 problems: that one jayz song whatever

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

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

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

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

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

season six

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

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

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

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

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

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

family matters: based off of the 1989 sitcom? maybe

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

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

caged heat: based off of the 1974 movie i think

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

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

unforgiven: sam does unforgiven things

mannequin 3: the reckoning: not sure

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

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

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

frontierland: they went to yeehaw town

mommy dearest: based on the 1981 film? maybe?

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

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

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

season seven

meet the new boss: they met the new boss idk

hello, cruel world: sad sam

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

defending your life: a 1991 romcom! wow!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

plucky pennywhistle’s magic menagerie: yeah idk

repo man: it’s a 1984 film too

out with the old: they were fucking around with antiques

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

party on, garth: hahaha

of grave importance: it was very important

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

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

there will be blood: there was blood

survival of the fittest: everybody fought idk

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

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nightwingshero · 5 years ago

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Unwanted

Okay guys, so I’ve been working on two different stories for FC5: one that follows the game and the other is a burlesque/mafia au that I couldn’t get out of my head. This is the first piece of work I’ve posted for Wren and John, and its for the burlesque au. I’m going to be posting my work on AO3 soon, but I got really excited about this and wanted to share it! Trigger warning for some alcohol use and dark thoughts, so read at your own risk!

Her green, venomous eyes were taunting. She sneered at everything that came across her withering gaze, her hips swaying with a little extra effort to gain the attention from those around her. It was in vain, of course, with Rowan’s performance still in full swing. But that didn’t stop this woman from holding her head high as she looked down her nose to our dancers. We’ve had people in here before from the first class. Most of the time, they were pleasant, friends of Whitney or John. Some just stopping through to check out the club they’ve heard so much about, but that southern charm had never failed. Until now.

She flipped her platinum blonde hair, the curls catching the little light that created the ambiance. Her short emerald dress hugged her curves, showcasing her breasts perfectly. I was almost impressed. I shifted a bit, fidgeting with the material of the outfit I wore for my last performance. I was talking to John before he had ducked outside to take a call from a client. I stood there, waiting for his return, but as her gaze narrowed on me, I knew I was in for it.

“Where’s John?” she asked in a clipped voice. I would have thought her beautiful, if her personality had matched. I frowned at her.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s asking?” I asked in curiosity. John had people come in here and there, asking for his time. This wasn’t new. He would brush them off, telling us to make sure to ask who they were and why they wanted to see him. He was so allusive here, insistent that his business hours were always clearly communicated. If those expectations weren’t met, then too bad. He took his schedule seriously.

She sneered at me, her glossy lips shimmering with her teeth. “I’m his fiancée. Now, go tell him that I’m here.” My brows shot up in surprise as my heart stopped. Fiancée? He had never mentioned…

“I didn’t realize he was engaged.” I replied quietly, hoping to keep the disappointment hidden. I felt deflated, as if someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to stay neutral, not give away how my heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the thought of it. But she smirked, her green eyes twinkling.

“Well, he is.” She let out a little laugh. “Its cute, you know? This little crush you have.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh please.” She snapped. “It’s so obvious. He probably already knows. You wear it on your sleeve. It’s disgusting and pathetic.” She clicked her tongue as she gave her a look of pity. “Let me guess, you’re some country girl from the middle of nowhere who is trying to make it in the big city. Am I right?” I don’t answer. I’m raging, the blatant rudeness wiggling under my skin. But I can’t seem to defend myself. My tongue feels heavy and the tears are coming. It only fuels her, knowing she is so close to making me collapse into myself like a house of cards.

“Oh honey, did you really think he would go for that? Some little girl playing dress up when she belongs back on the farm? You’re way out of your league.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as she squeezes with a false sense of reassurance. As if we were in this together, the two of us against the world. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Saving you from the humiliation of rejection. John has standards, a particular taste darling. And this? This isn’t you. It’s not fitting in the slightest. Whore isn’t exactly on John’s radar. He prefers women of class, love. You’re beneath him. It’s time for you to understand that you’ll never be good enough for him.” She smiles again, before rubbing her hand on my cheek. Then with a slight smack against my skin, she’s gone, and my eyes are catching Whitney’s shocked ones.

The room spins as I lean against a chair for support as Whitney tries to call for me. Fight or flight is strong in my veins, roaring in my ears as my stomach twists and twists, creating something I don’t recognize within me. Reforming, as I stumble to the back, desperate for something I can cling to, something real I can put inside myself to make me real. I’m a ghost of something as I gather my things to leave. The breath in me is gone, forcing me to choke on the stale cigarette smoke Adelaide is supplying. I’m almost in a trance, and yet I feel some sort of clarity. The fantasy broken like a magic mirror, and suddenly I am seeing my true self in the broken pieces lying before me. I barely register Faith’s words, but I’m sure she’s asking if I’m alright. I smile, say yes, pretend that I’m still the same person on that stage. She’s not convinced and so I tell her I’m going home. My sleeve must be dirty from everything that shows there.

I leave quickly, feeling like a fool. Perhaps I should laugh, like most clowns do, pulling all those emotions out of my sleeve like a colorful handkerchief chain. That would require a voice, something I was lacking. A mime would be more fitting. My body the tool, invisible and locked inside a box I created for myself as I tried to put on a display. A vision no one had wanted, the piece of art that sat in the back unwanted. I forced a sob down as I entered my car, fumbling for the keys.

I wish I could say that I remembered getting to my apartment. Out of character for small town Wren, sweet little Wren. The box was closing in, my chest threatening to implode. I let go, the tears and sobs forcing my body curl into itself on my bed. The little moments were a mirage, something my naïve brain believed to be something more. How many times had he been there to protect me? His bullet wound had only just healed. How many times had he saved me? The disaster of a date with Detective Pratt merely weeks ago. I could still taste the fear on my tongue as Pratt plied me with glass after glass of wine. The gentleness in which John had handled me, almost caring. Like I was the most fragile thing in his world.

I scream them into my pillow, the broken pieces of my heart. Pieces of my soul shattering like the illusion of him, the illusion of what I thought we could have become. I breathe in deeply and that’s when I feel the shift, the steel resolve of my psyche overcoming me. It’s the numbness I notice first, turning my sobs into nothing. I rise, making my way to the kitchen like a vengeful spirit that is the one being haunted. The vase is crystal, a gift from Adelaide for the new place, but it’s the flowers I want. He had them sent to me, celebrating our big show only a few nights prior. I laughed to myself, remembering the rush I had felt. For the first time, I had felt high. Elated.

I swayed, humming to myself a bit as I made my way to the bathroom. Turning the chrome handle, I began to run the hot water, desperate to feel the burn against my skin to help me rid myself of her touch. To purge the gaze that had taken me in with such disdain, as if I was a stain upon this earth. Her tainting touch scorched my skin, leaving an invisible mark that only I could see. That I could feel. And with that, I ripped the soft petals from the stems, allowing them to sprinkle down into the water. They dance across the surface, a secret waltz that only they knew.

One by one, I light candle after candle, a dark ritual that was only just beginning. My hair is twisting up and up, piling elegantly on top of my head, and then I’m dipping into the water. The warm, baptizing water welcoming me, loving me as it takes me as I am. Scars and all, it holds me securely in it’s embrace. I could almost hear the shushing of its calming voice, almost feel the comforting fingers of my mother as she played with my hair. The ghost of her was almost enough, pushing me back to a time where I didn’t have to feel the weight of loss or rejection.

And suddenly, her ghost is gone. Blue eyes have taken over haunting me, her fingers replaced by his tattooed ones. He plays me like a harp, pulling my tight strings just so he could hear me sing, watch as I move with a simple flick. The hypnosis of his ocean eyes is deep and tempting, calling for my drowning. They wish to claim my last breath, the very last bit of my being. And I’m rising from the water, panic clawing my throat because I can feel the pull, feel his gaze as I felt hers. I fight off the tears that demand to be seen, that want the show they so rightfully deserve. It was only fair, my heart screams, but I laugh at it. Life is never fair.

I stand naked in the mirror, but I see her standing next to me. The blue bloods that own this city, the embodiment of the perfect Georgia peach. A woman I could see John taking by the waist with pride. Her red lips and dark lashes, the long neck and golden blonde hair on display for all to see. My body not nearly as lean or as striking. I imagined her in her castle as a child, the beautiful princess of Atlanta, ruling her kingdom with her head held high. My childhood filled with softball tournaments and the old beaten up acoustic guitar that slept in the corner, while she attended operas and orchestra concerts. A culture I had never dreamed of, a social circle that could never be touched by the likes of me.

I dry my skin, the feeling of being paper thin is overwhelming. I laugh to myself, because I know what comes next. I know what I’m about to do. It’s silly, childish, and yet I glide to my dresser. Slowly, I pull out my favorite number, something I had always imagined wearing for him. Not on stage, no. This was something for him and him alone. I put on the bra, the black lace striking against my skin and suddenly I’m untouchable. Slipping on the lacey underwear to match, I turn to my closet, desperate for the last pieces. The silk ebony robe sending shivers down my spine as it caresses me, and it’s as if I’m being held in my lover’s arms. The heels are last, simple and elegant. Tall and black, two thin straps leaving my feet bare, the same shoes I had worn to my father’s funeral. I felt like death herself, all powerful and ready to take whatever she wanted. Provocative and demanding, a queen among men.

My hair is released, falling like a waterfall down my back. It felt good to pretend, to believe in this moment that I was like her, that I wasn’t me. That I was a woman that was cherished and wanted, an envy-worthy being. I reason with myself; I know I’ve gone mad. I had fallen off the deep end and taken flight, and it had never felt better. The feeling addicting, the need for more growing and growing. The heels clicked against the wood floor, fueling me. The righteousness they sang, the vengeance they demanded, it became a soothing lullaby.

The kitchen is dark, only the light above the stove and sink burned with life. I reached for the most expensive red wine I had, pouring a glass with a smile of satisfaction. The blood red liquid was all consuming, drawing me closer. The dark, bitter taste becoming my sanctuary, but I wasn’t done. No, far from it. And as I sat down at my small vanity back in the bathroom, I choke yet again on a sob, and force out a laugh instead. I had a plan, a traitorous plan against the tears that begged for the freedom they longed for. I knew how to trick the emotions into becoming wisps of smoke on the inside of my porcelain glass exterior. I had never been an artist, but I paint. The burgundy against my lips, the black liquid liner creating sharp edges that would dare touch without permission. The brush then creates a frame for the windows of my soul, residing in the blue green irises staring back at me. They’re heavy, sad even, but the mascara does its job and I finish with a flourish.

I’m suddenly beautiful, a perfect doll someone would love to have, to play with, and have on their arm. I wonder briefly which arm he would use to put around my own waist, and suddenly my vision swims. I scoff as I hold my head high and take a sip in victory, toasting myself for outsmarting the betrayal of my heart that suddenly matched the blue of his eyes. I was so strong, I told myself. I was better. But as I held the glass gently, it became comforting to me, whispering sweet nothings and promising me a numbness that kept me safe and sound. I knew I was lying to myself. I was far from better.

A sound pulls me from the calling, and I set the glass down as I rose. The noise led me to my bedroom window, finding a cat messing with some metal trashcans as it scavenged for its next meal. Then I hear the soft clicking of my front door, and I scoff while squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I should have known. Rowan was the only other one with a key, and I could almost bet that Faith had sent her my way. The wine’s singing int the next room, creating an atrocity of noise in my head. Perhaps just one glass, just to get the noise to go away. To make everything quiet.

Rowan would wait patiently in the living room; she respected my privacy. She wouldn’t just wander around. No, she would sit on the couch or at the kitchen table, preparing for whatever conversation she had planned on having. “Rowan, I’ll be out in a moment.” I call out in a sigh, letting her know I was aware of her and wasn’t being ignored. “I hope your show ended well. Sorry I wasn’t there to see the grand finale.” Every word was an effort, taking energy away from me. I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

I give only a few more seconds as I come to my decision and began making my way back to my bathroom. I could down the glass quickly. Rowan gives no response, but I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. But as I step into the bathroom, I freeze. The blood in my veins suddenly turn to ice and my breath hitches. The glass was missing, as if it were never there in the first place. Sad and confused, I approach the vanity. The red wine, that had matched my lips, was gone. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded that I could never be her, or any of them. The beautiful women that could seduce him with just a soft smirk, a glance in his direction as her finger curled, beckoning him closer. I cringe as I turn away. I didn’t need another reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

“Rowan, give it back. I’m fine. Let me finish my fucking wine.” I stomp down the fall, my heels screaming their wrath. That’s how I enter my kitchen, ready for war, but I stop as something catches my attention. I make my way to the sink in a daze as I reach for my empty glass, the stain from my former lipstick taunting me. The wine bottle is set down and I reach for it, not caring of the guest I had yet to acknowledge. The lightness of the glass bottle tells me exactly what I had been thinking, it had not been spared. Everything was empty, just like me.

I slam the bottle down as I clench my teeth, seething. I wanted to scream, to see the world burn with the rage I was feeling. “Rowan!” I snap and I begin to shake, but whether it was from anger or the lack of control, I wasn’t sure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I barely had any—”

I’m no longer yelling but choking on the gasp that rushes out as fingers caress my neck, a hand gripping my hip tightly. They tease at the base of my neck before tracing my collarbone. The hand on my hip is sliding and sliding until its entangled with the knot of my robe. I know this touch, this gentle melody against my skin. The same gentle caress that ran over my skin as he marked me, embedding his creation into my skin with his dark ink. A permanent work of art that would be displayed on me for the rest of my life, and then suddenly he grasps my neck, squeezing only slightly. I knew what this was. I knew that this was a punishment, his own way of showing his disappointment for my lapse. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trusted him, and I knew that concern was driving his anger. My head rests against his shoulder as his lips find my ear.

“Promise?” he asked, dead serious. His breath makes me shiver and I breath out slowly through my nose. “Promise me that that’s all you had, Wren. Do not lie to me.”

“I promise, John.” I whispered in shame. He knew, god he knew. I was usually good, drinking only in moderation and at social events. I was so careful. But he knew, in this moment, that I had no intention of stopping. I was so swept up in the hurt, in the insecurity and anxiety, that I hadn’t realized how quickly I was falling down the rabbit hole. I make a sound at the back of my throat, and I feel my armor began to fall, disintegrating into nothing as I’m fighting the tears that are coming back.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to cry. His lips find the junction of my neck and I sigh. Rowan wouldn’t have taken that step, pouring everything I had down the sink. That just wasn’t how she was. She would have lectured, sure. Express disappointment? Absolutely. John wasn’t like that. John was bold, unafraid of anything that ever came his way. I let out a shaky breath as he pulled away, his hand leaving my neck as his finger gently turned my chin. His lips found mine and I couldn’t think.

How long had we skirted around this? How many times had we came this close, but never crossed the line? The stolen glances, the shameless flirting. The way he held me the night I was almost shot in the alley, and yet neither of us were willing to take it further. I could almost laugh, because I had thought for so long it was just me. I was crushing on someone way out of my league. I had believed the words that woman had said. And suddenly, I remembered exactly why I was in this situation. I’m his fiancée.

He pulled away as the tears fell, and I looked away from him. He wasn’t having it. Gripping the front of my robe, he jerks me around. It takes only a few seconds for him to see, and without missing a beat, his hands are on my thighs. He sets me up on the counter as a sob successfully, finally, escapes my lips. His hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe the tears away. His eyes are soft and they’re pulling me in, a tug on my seams as I become undone. I tore my gaze away, trying to hide everything I was feeling.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his face close enough that I can feel his breath. I looked back, fear and hurt all over my face. “Listen to me and listen very closely. You are enough. Do you hear me? Wren, you are enough.”

“Enough for you?” I croaked as I cried. My hands twisted as the clung to his white button up shirt. I was creating wrinkles, but neither of us cared. His brow furrowed and his jaw ticked.

“Enough for me? God Wren, who gives a shit about me?” He gently pokes my chest, against my beating heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I think or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Anyone.” He sneered as a dark look swirled in his cerulean orbs. “All that matters, is that you’re enough for you. You matter, Wren. You come first.”

“But that woman said—”

“That woman is nothing. Her opinion is nothing. She will never touch you, or get close to you, do you understand? She’s a liar and a manipulator. A child throwing a tantrum for not getting what she wants.”

I shook my head, my insecurities still whispering doubts. “She’s so pretty, John. She’s so thin, and I’m nothing like her. I’m not like her.” I sobbed.

He chuckled, a soft smile gracing his lips and showing off his perfect teeth. The light gave him a heavenly glow, yellow highlighting his features that made him look warm. “No, you’re not. You’re nothing like her, Wren. But that’s one of the biggest things I love about you.” He gently pressed his thumb against my lips, helping silence my sobs as I hung onto every word. “Shhh. Don’t cry, darling. Do you not see? Do you not understand just how beautiful you are, inside and out? Do you not know what it is you do to me?”

“John—” I gasped, but he presses his lips softly against mine before pulling back.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of little else since I’ve first laid eyes on you.” He whispers. “I get to watch you, Wren. I get to watch you every night when you perform, and I want nothing more than to devour you, to have you all to myself.” He tugged the robe loose, making it fall open and his eyes travelled down. My skin heated immediately from his attention, his finger returning to my chest as it teasingly traced the top of my breast. “I waited, bidding my time for the perfect moment. It never seemed to come, though, and I had to watch as that idiot detective circled you. But I protected you when you needed, listened to you when you needed the shoulder to cry on. I wanted you, craved you, but needed you to be happy, to be ready and unafraid. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I laughed and his smile broadened as he leaned back. “So…you’re not engaged?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. We used to be, but that was years ago. She’s nothing to me.” He placed a light kiss on my nose, before going for my lips, but I stopped him. He gave me a look and I smirked.

“Did you break into my apartment?” I asked, my brow raising, and he gave me a smirk in return.

“Oh darling, I plead the fifth.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“It is not. Need I remind you that I’m innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, a breathless laugh escaping him. He gave me a mischievous smirk, something dancing in his eyes that made my lower abdomen pull as I bit my lip. “I heard about what happened, Whitney told Rowan and I everything. Rowan was enraged, I believe she may or may not have taken a swing at our unwanted guest. I didn’t stay though, I needed to check on my girl.” He tilted my chin up gently, his lips brushing mine lightly. “And you are my girl, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, John. I’m yours.” I breathed out and his lips crashed against mine once more. Everything forgotten as a sense of relief settled over me. My heart swelled as his hands caressed lovingly against my skin, holding me, and driving the last of my inner demons into the shadows as I fell into his sweet embrace.

#wren blake #john seed #burlesque au #poor wren #she needs a hug #dark thoughts #go john #sorry not sorry #please be nice #i tried #their first post

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doof-doofblog · 4 years ago

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"Go On, Pour Us A Pint!"

Tuesday 24th November 2020

Hello again everyone! Hope you're having a good week so far, this week has been such a busy one for me! I feel like there's so much I have to do! How are you coping with the slow run up to Christmas?! Have you all done your Christmas shopping? This has been the week I've managed to make a start! Let's hope COVID won't spoil our Christmas!

Anyway, I shall be reviewing Tuesday's episode, I'm really looking forward to writing about this one! Let's get stuck in! The episode begins out on the Square, the police are still pulled outside the Slater household, waiting for Kush to show his face! Whether he's being polite or maybe a little sarcastic, Ben approaches the unmarked vehicle and informs the cops that he's brought them some hot drinks. I suppose if he acts as the supportive citizen, there's no way they'll think he was involved, maybe? At this point, I'm sure the police are only after Kush, as far as I know, they're completely unaware that Phil, Ben, Kat and Shirley were also involved, of course other than DI Thompson who is desperate to get his hands on Phil! As Ben leaves hot drinks on the top of the police car, he walks away to see Martin stood on the front of the Slater household, asking Kat whether she's heard from Kush or whether she knows his whereabouts. But the only thing Kat tells him is that everything is sorted, Martin leaves looking almost disappointed that he didn't receive the answers he wanted, as he walks away, Ben questions Kat on exactly how much Martin knows, but she makes it perfectly clear to him that Martin has no idea what has happened recently.

Eventually Ben returns home, he appears to be pretty agitated about everything that is happening. Phil notices his son is looking a bit distracted, in front of his boyfriend he asks his son what's bothering him. It's then that Ben completely admits he's fearing that the police are still on the Square, Kush is nowhere to be found, the person who grassed them up to the police is still wondering the streets, to him - it feels like someone is out to get the Mitchell family. Both Phil and Callum try to persuade Ben that he's worrying over nothing, Phil explains that it could've been anyone who grassed them up, maybe a security guard or something? As Phil leaves the room, Ben confides in his boyfriend that he can't let anything happen to his family, Callum once again look defeated as he assures his boyfriend he'll try his best to try and find something, to which Ben is utterly grateful. If only he knew what Callum knew, eh?!

Out on the Square, Peter is having a run - maybe trying to get his head together? Music can be heard from his earphones as he runs, as he comes to the Square gardens, he spots both Ian and Bobby across the Square. you can see as he watches that both Ian and Bobby appear to be having a civil conversation, as Peter approaches and questions what they were discussing, Bobby reveals that he was simply asking his Father how to spell "Lasagne!". It's then the Peter questions his brother as to why he's even talking to their Dad, considering he never managed to find Peter the money for Lauren, but Bobby tries to defend his Dad, admitting that he really did try. Peter leaves the conversation leaving Bobby calling after him. As Peter walks away, he bumps into Ash, who tries to reassure him even though Ian couldn't help him, there's no need for him to take it out on Bobby.

Meanwhile, at the Cafe, Mick and Tina have managed to catch up after his return. She shocked to hear that while he was away, Mick got mugged by a group of youths, but Mick reassures her that he's absolutely fine. It's then she apologies for causing so much hassle regarding the Vic, but Mick reassures her that she was just trying to help, suddenly she announces that she's going to make it up to her brother and has a plan set in stone. Mick looks confused, what does mean, a plan?! What is she planning?! However before she can let on, Ian enters the Cafe and she swiftly makes her exit! As Ian enters we can he's walking towards Max as he's sat with the journalist from the Walford Gazette. It looks as if Max is informing the gentleman about the business he runs with Ian, however Ian seems pretty unimpressed that Max is talking to the journalist and is quick to inform him that he needs to get back to the restaurant because they're expecting a delivery. While I'm watching this scene, I feel like saying out loud "Ian has the nerve to speak to Max like that!" - Considering how much he owes him, plus they're business partners, Max is his partner, not his employee!! I'd be fuming if someone spoke to me like that, would you?! However, Max politely excuses himself from the interview and instantly Ian is looking smug and delighted to be in the spotless, however his smug grin is soon wiped from his face as the journalist mentions the topic of "Bribery"! (HA!)

At the Beale household, Bobby is sat looking over his Lucy Beale charity on his laptop as Peter walks in, he seems rather nervous at his brother's appearance. They begin to discuss their Dad, Peter can't quite seem to understand how Bobby can stick up for their Father when he appears to do nothing for them, also considering the horrendous things he's done recently, stealing from their Gran and not even spending lockdown with them, and instead being at the Vic with Sharon. Bobby tries to reassure his brother that deep down, their Dad is an okay guy - while he's doing so, he appears to be tapping his fingers rapidly against the table. He begins to explain to Peter that when Bobby first arrived back on the Square, his Dad was very supportive to him (Really, not that I can recall!) However, Peter has no idea what Bobby went through, As he pressures Bobby to tell him what he means, he gently presses his hand against his brothers to calm his tapping, it's then that the teenager blurts out that he saw Lucy, much to Peter's surprise!

Meanwhile at the Vic, Ian seems to have brought the journalist over for a more private conversation. Ian questions how and where he has heard the story about bribery, it's then that the journalist mentions Suki, and how she bribed him into getting her idea for property put forward to the council. Ian tries his best to swerve the journalist off the subject, saying that this isn't a story he should be working on. But when the journalist refuses to drop the subject, and insists that that will be the only story he's going for, Ian makes one of the most biggest mistakes and drops Suki right in it! He informs the journalist that Suki isn't one to be messed around with, he even describes her as an iceberg, and where she's concerned, bribery is the tiniest tip of it!

Returning to the Beale household, Peter is trying to understand what his younger brother is telling him. He can't seem to understand that he was having haunting visions of his deceased sister. Peter questions whether their Dad and Gran knew about it, which of course they did. But Bobby tries his best to explain that it doesn't happen anymore, but the visions dead get harrowing and caused him almost to commit suicide. This scene is pretty sad to watch, Peter reveals to Bobby how much he's missing his sister and how he'd do anything to see her one last time, he slams the table in anger as he states the fact that Bobby was the one who killed her, out of all the people in the family, why would she appear to him?! But of course, Peter has no idea what Bobby went through, it was as if Lucy was haunting the poor boy, and not in a good way. Peter leaves the room, leaving Bobby alone.

Meanwhile, Kat has visited Whitney - obviously wanting to have an update about Kush. Whitney confides in Kat that he's still causing a lot of racket as he's hiding above in their attic. She mentions that Sonia will be due back from Bianca's any day, so they need to find somewhere else for Kush to hide incase Sonia finds out. However, Whitney also informs her that during that morning she hasn't heard a thing and she's assumed he's fallen asleep. Feeling a bit suspicious, Kat takes it upon herself to go into the attic to double check on Kush, however once she gets up there, she realises he's disappeared! Suddenly Kush is seen entering the Mitchell household, and he's not looking very happy. Both Phil and Ben are stunned to see him as they believed he had scarpered away from the Square, especially considering the police having been waiting outside the house for him. Kush demands that Phil gives them the money they are owed, or he sorts out the situation they have found themselves in, Kush refuses to hide any longer! But Phil isn't one you should make threats to, he demands Kush to leave his house, but as Kush stands his ground, he slowly makes his way towards him and Kat is heard from the hallway and dares him to lay a hand on her boyfriend. Once again Phil forces them out of his house, but something tells me that they're not going to stop pestering him until they get what they deserve!

Back outside on the Square, Gray has taken his children, Mack and Mia for a play about in the gardens. He strolls along with Whitney as they discuss what's happening in each other's lives. Whitney mentioning she's having to cope with Slaters, whereas Gray mentions he's having to cope with the Carter sisters. However as they continue their walk, Kheerat walks passed them and tries his best to ignore Gray but can't help but give him a look, to which he reacts pretty badly to. I think this is the moment when Gray almost revealed his dark side to his children. He confront Kheerat from across the Square, questioning whether he had a problem with him, but it looks as if Kheerat takes his chances to wind Gray up, almost knowing that this could be the chance for his children to see what he's really like. Gray warns him to keep his opinions to himself in future, to which Kheerat responds in a way of really teasing him, as if he's wanting him to show his dark side, he almost pushes him to the edge when he questions him, what's he going to do about it if he doesn't? Gray really sees red and begins to make his way towards Kheerat, but Whitney stops him in his tracks as she calls his name. It's then that Gray begins to come back to Earth and realise what his children had almost witnessed. He apologises for his outburst as Whitney begins to walk with the children.

At the Minute Mart, the journalist who was interviewing Ian walks in, Suki is polite to begin with asking whether his interview with Ian went well, the journalist appears friendly as he mentions he's exploring other local businesses, but of course, Suki doesn't let anything slip and admits she just works in a small shop. However, when the journalist begins to read out her other business prospects, she begins to realise that someone has been having words about her to him behind her back. The only way she can back herself up is by explaining that everyone in her family work really hard for what they've got and are really tough grafters. But when the journalist makes the slight dig that she's had to bribe a local councillor, Suki makes a slight threat that it wouldn't be good if a small local newspaper went out of business for writing false stories. It seems as if the journalist understand the threat she's making and leaves peacefully - however it looks as if Suki is raging from the encounter. Will she find out that it was actually Ian who attempted to throw her under the bus?!

Returning to the Beale household, Peter is still reeling from the news about Bobby being able to see Lucy. He demands his Gran to tell him why no one ever told him anything. Kathy tries her absolute best to convince her Grandson that Bobby was not well, plus the fact he wasn't able to control his visions of Lucy. Sorry but, Peter's reaction I find is pretty childish - when he says "It's not fair!" - I'm sorry to say that although I understand he's upset but how can he say it's not fair?! Bobby was pretty much tortured by Lucy's ghost! Why on Earth would Peter want to experience seeing the ghost of his deceased sister?! Kathy explains to Peter that Bobby has been trying to make up for what he did since he returned the Square, she explains that the only reason he's doing this Lucy Beale Foundation, is to make it up to his brother. Kathy informs Peter that Bobby adores him and he'd literally do anything for him. To me, it kind of looks like Peter has some horrible thoughts going through his mind when she mentions that, is he going to ask something horrid of Bobby, with the knowledge that Bobby looks up to him, will he use it to his advantage?!

Meanwhile, at the police station, Callum looks to be doing some digging on DI Thompson's laptop. Suddenly Jack walks in and questions what he's up to, Callum is quick on his feet and explains he's doing research for a fellow officer. Almost on cue, Thompson walks in and Callum makes it look as if he's managed to find a file for Thompson. As Thompson plays along with Callum's excuse, Jack pulls him for a word warning him not to use junior officers to accept specific files. However, as soon as Jack leaves the room, Callum informs DI Thompson that he's managed to come across the anonymous 999 call, he explains that this is the closest they've got to getting Phil. Although Thompson doesn't seem interested and warns Callum that he's running out of time. As he leaves, Callum looks quite suspiciously at the computer screen, is he going to be able realise who it was who called the police?!

Returning to the Atkins household, Whitney is trying to entertain the children, but they both seem pretty unhappy - maybe is it because of what they saw their Dad do?! Did his reaction frighten them?! Suddenly, Gray makes his way into the house and notices his children's unhappy faces. Whitney explains that they were going to shoot a music video, considering they've been practising for days, but the children don't seem do want to do it anymore. Gray takes it upon himself to speak softly to his kids, he kneels down to their level and tries his best to encourage them, it's then that Whitney suggests that their Daddy joins in. Little Mia then mentions that their Daddy doesn't like dancing. This seems to really touch Gray's heart, he cracks a smile and persuades his children to teach him and they jump about happily. Eventually they manage to film their music video, everyone dressed in sparkly outfits, Gray even makes the effort of throwing glitter about. Feeling very excited that they completed their music video, the children rush to give their Dad a big hug. The look on Gray's face as his children hold him is soft - I get he might have a terrible temper and anger issues - but something tells me that deep down, he is a good Dad ... Or do you all think I'm completely wrong?! As the children disappear to get changed, Whitney brings up the situation which happened with Kheerat earlier on the Square, she explains that she's never seen Gray act that way before. He looks to the floor and simply says that that is not the man he is, Whitney seems to completely understand - to her, maybe Kheerat just caught him on a bad day? Or he rubbed him up the wrong way? She reassures Gray that no everyone he cares about sees him in a bad light, to which he responds with a smile. However, what would they think if they really knew the truth on how Chantelle died and what torture she went through?!

Back at the attic, Kush has found his way back to his hiding place. Kat is trying to understand what Kush was planning, she questions his actions earlier and what he was playing at. But, understandably, Kush is getting sick of hiding, he suggests he just does a runner as he simply can't stay cooped up in the attic forever. But interestingly, when he suggests running, he says the word "We!" - meaning him and Kat?! If this is the only option of this, will they make a run for it, start a new life somewhere else? Or will Kat really take him seriously, considering she's got her children to think about, it may not be easy for her to just jump and head off. We know Kush is leaving, will this be his ticket out of Walford? Will he go on the run as a Wanted man?!

Back at the Vic, Ian is alone as he makes himself a cup of tea for himself and Sharon. He shouts to her to inform her it's ready, but as footsteps approach we see Suki enter the Vic kitchen. Ian is stunned to see her walking so freely inside his house, he informs her she can't simply walk into his property the way she has. However, she's quick to mention the interview Ian had had with the journalist from the Walford Gazette. She seems to play him to begin with, suggesting that neither of them said anything to the journalist and he has no idea about their arrangement, but things take a dark turn as she begins to threaten Ian, warning that if anything about her has been mentioned - she'll make sure he'll regret crossing her.

Returning to the Beale household, Bobby is once again alone looking at his computer screen. It's looking like he's struggling to cope as he stares at the image of Lucy on the screen. Once again he begins to count and he places the laptop screen down. Unbeknown to him though, Peter is watching from behind. Peter mentions to him that counting isn't going to help, Bobby is surprised to see his brother watching him and instantly he is completely apologetic to him about how he found out about his visions. Peter suddenly takes a deep interest in the Lucy Beale Foundation on the screen of the laptop, he notices that overall over £15,000 has been raised! He comments on how generous people have been. Peter sits beside his brother and they begin to discuss Lucy, what would she think of them right now? Would she be looking after them? Just then, Peter asks Bobby the cruellest thing, giving the money that people have raised for the charity to him. Bobby is insistent that he will make it up to his brother in any way he can but not in the way he wants, he couldn't possibly give him the charity money. Then Peter says the most cruellest, nastiest thing you could ever say to anyone - "I wish it was you that died!"

The final scene of this episode, Callum is in the Vic, he appears to be looking at his phone with a file with looks to be the anonymous 999 call that was made to the police. Before he even has time to put his earphones in and press "Play", Ben appears and starts to question his boyfriend whether he has managed to find any leads to who grassed them up. Callum seems a little bit irritable, he informs his boyfriend that he's doing all he can to find something, he instructs his boyfriend to go and fetch him a drink. As Ben approaches the bar, asking his brother to fetch him and Callum a drink, Ian seems to make a snide remark, mentioning that he still hasn't paid for his previous drink, however Ben seems to lighten the mood, saying there must be pros to him being his brother and he being the owner of the Vic now. Meanwhile, as Ben is chatting away with his brother, Callum plugs his earphones and in and presses "Play" on the recording, suddenly he instantly recognises the voice playing and reporting the robbery - Ian!!! Callum looks in disbelief as he watches Ian behind the bar!

How on Earth is Callum going to be able to tell Ben and Phil that is was Ian who grassed them up?1 What is he going to do with this information?! Something is telling me that over the next few episodes, Ian is going to upset quite a lot of people, we know he's going to end up being attack around the Christmas period, with all these different people having negative feeling toward Ian, may the list potentially grow as to who attacks him - the ones we know that have been listed include Peter, Bobby, Kathy and Max - something tells me that maybe Ben, Phil, Sharon and maybe even one of the members of the Panesar family will be added to that list! What do you guys think?! Who has had enough of Ian Beale?!

I hope you've enjoyed reading this post, I apologise it's taken so long! I'm really looking forward to what's going to happen over the next couple of episodes! Thank you all so much for reading and I'll be back again tomorrow! Love you all xXx

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