#oh man he's so good and his music is so soothing and yet thought provoking and there aren't even any words

[whilstiveputdownthisfic]

from Jake Curran's IG stories

as of 12:02 pm edt on Sunday, June 2nd, 2024

[polishksiezniczka]

Monsignor | Camerlengo Patrick McKenna x Reader

You meet il camerlengo for the first time at Mass, and he soon becomes captivated by you.

My first full-length oneshot! Sort of a slow burn but with some delicious fluff at the end. Please let me know if you have any requests or ideas for future works! 1.8k words

You had recently moved to Rome, your next diplomatic assignment being the US Embassy to the Holy See. The new challenges of your position were taxing, but you were proud of the work you did for your fellow citizens.

Being the good Catholic you were, you went to Mass as often as you could. And when in Rome—which boasted more than 900 churches—it was your goal to visit as many as you could. Although you had been living in the city for only a week or two, you had visited several parishes closer to your apartment to see if one appealed to you.

Today you decided to go to St. Peter’s Basilica for early morning service, hoping the crowds wouldn’t be as large. Aware of the Vatican’s strict dress code, you decided on a lovely vintage chiffon dress you had recently scored at a chic consignment shop. Its light coral color brought out the Y/E/C hues in your eyes, and it elegantly graced your figure while still leaving much up to the imagination. You paired it with sensible pumps and a loose white cardigan. You were feeling springlike today, it being a warm Sunday in April.

While you had visited the Vatican several times already on official diplomatic visits, you hadn’t yet as one of the faithful. As you silently made your way to the chapel, you marveled at the beautiful art surrounding you—the work of masters.

You chose to sit near the center aisle a few rows from the altar. The chapel quickly began to fill up; in a matter of minutes, you were surrounded by a trio of devout Italian nonne, clad in all-black, and a gaggle of starry-eyed Korean tourists.

As the processional music began, you felt your body ease into a state of peace. The ancient rituals of the Church always soothed you; they had not changed since you were a child and so provided a sense of comfort amidst an unpredictable world. You sang along, losing yourself in the beautiful melody.

When the hymnal ended, you lifted your gaze from your songbook to the altar. Your heart stopped as your eyes fell upon him—quite possibly the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

He was young, no more than 40 years of age. His hair was a rich auburn color, swept neatly into a well-groomed combover; you couldn’t help but admire how perfectly it framed his handsome face. His eyes, a lovely shade of blue, were mesmerizing. They reminded you of cerulean pools, clear and bright. His brows were furrowed in concentration, making him appear serious. His jawline was set in a strong, dignified way, sloping attractively down to his chin; there you could just make out a slight cleft. For all you knew, he was one of the marble statues carved by the same masters who had designed the basilica you were standing in.

Who was this man? That’s Father to you! you scolded yourself. You were in Church. And not just any Church—the Church! You tried to suppress your nascent infatuation, but you quickly succumbed to it, your eyes selfishly dragging down the rest of the priest’s body. He wore a white surplice over his black robes, highlighting the alluring musculature of his shoulders. His collar was a burst of white at the base of the column of his throat. His hands were clasped together in prayer in front of his chest, and you watched his eyes squeeze in concentration as he prayed along silently with the cardinal who stood beside him. His whole demeanor radiated safety, comfort, and protection.

You couldn’t help but stare, the chants of the prayer fading into the background. You couldn’t even look away. Even when he turned to look at you. You observed his eyes widening ever so slightly, his brow arching in curiosity. Regrettably, he seemed to catch himself after a few seconds, quickly averting his eyes away from you and back to his superior. The moment was so brief, you seriously doubted its authenticity. But there he was.

Mass passed by in a haze, your attempts at concentration all but shot. You tried to restrain yourself, but somehow your gaze always settled on him. It wasn’t until the pews ahead of you began to slowly shuffle toward for Communion that you momentarily became sensible again. As you stood and made your way toward the altar, your hands began to perspire. You ran through the expected response over and over again, worried you might choke on your own heart, which had invariably lodged itself in your throat.

Just as you had expected, he was even more beautiful up close. Like an angel. You were so taken by his handsomeness, his kind smile, his spellbinding eyes that you felt your chest tighten. Your eyes suddenly found the marble floor inexplicably fascinating.

He held up the thin wafer. “Il corpo di Cristo.”

You peered up at him from beneath your lashes and met his kind cerulean eyes again. They beamed down at you, joy and curiosity radiating from them. You quickly lost your ability to speak, momentarily dumbstruck. He must have sensed this, as a smile quirked the corner of his lips; you thought you were imagining things when the faintest chuckle reached your ears. If only you knew what he was thinking!

“Amen,” you whispered hurriedly, accepting the wafer in your trembling hands. You bowed to him and quickly stepped aside to genuflect before the altar. As you made your way to back to your pew, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance over your shoulder at him. As you expected, he was dutifully administering communion to the remaining parishioners. You sighed softly as you retook your place and knelt down.

Of course that’s what he’s doing! you scolded yourself. For the love of God, he’s a priest—why would he have feelings for you? Silly, foolish girl.

Your thoughts consumed you for the rest of Mass, even during the last processional hymnal. If only you had noticed the young priest’s longing glance at you as he walked past.

After the processional ended, you prepared to leave, but your shame got the best of you. As a penance you knelt and said five Hail Mary’s to atone for your distraction.

As you left your pew, you noticed how quiet the church had become. A few people remained, some finishing their prayers, others snapping pictures of the ornate altar. As you walked to the back of the chapel, you observed a small group of parishioners clustered near the back, no doubt socializing among themselves. You had planned to walk around them, but the group suddenly parted, putting you directly on course for him. The priest who had awoken in you a reaction so powerful, so complete, you couldn’t even think clearly.

The two parishioners he was speaking with said their farewells; then, he turned and noticed you. As your eyes met for the third time that morning, his face broke into a radiant smile. You approached him slowly, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You did your best to hold his gaze and maintain an air of confidence after your embarrassing conduct during the liturgy of the Eucharist. You stopped just short of a foot away from him, subconsciously holding your breath.

“Buongiorno, signorina,” he said. His voice was so velvety, so delightful, it practically overwhelmed your senses. Being so close allowed you to better study his chin’s adorable cleft, making you swoon. “Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bellissima basilica mentre sei in vacanza?” His presence was oh so alluring—you couldn’t help but relax as air suddenly filled your lungs.

“Buongiorno, monsignor,” you replied carefully. “ No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro per l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti.”

He smiled knowingly, his eyes alight with intrigue. “So, you are an American?” The soft, gentle lilt of his accent sent a shiver up your spine. How was it possible that this man’s normal pleasantries were enough to provoke such a response in you?

“Yes, I am.”

“In that case, may I be the first to welcome you to Vatican City.” He bowed his head slightly in deference to you. “I am Father Patrick McKenna, il camerlengo to his Holiness. May I ask your name?”

“Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The camerlengo’s smile widened, and you momentarily glimpsed his dazzling white teeth. “Y/N…” he repeated thoughtfully. You cherished the way your name rolled off his tongue. “How lovely. Named after Saint Y/N if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, Father,” you shyly responded. “I was raised in a very devout home.” You quickly averted your gaze to the floor, worrying that you had revealed too much about yourself. You certainly weren’t prepared for the camerlengo’s next remark:

“I…I hope to see you next weekend.” He spoke softly, tenderly.

Your eyes shot up to his face, eagerly finding his own. The camerlengo’s eyebrows were raised expectantly; a gentle smile graced his handsome features.

“Of course, Father. It was such a lovely Mass.” You tried to convey as much sincerity as you could with your voice.

He took your hand in his and cradled it, making your heart flutter even more rapidly in your chest. “I’m glad you thought so. In the meantime, do not make yourself a stranger.” For a moment, his eyes were expectant, and he nodded solemnly—as if holding you to a serious pledge—but his fervent expression quickly melted back into one of compassion again. “You are welcome anytime.”

Your cheeks took on a lovely pink color at his words as you beamed at him.“Grazie, Padre.” Reluctantly you added, “I believe I should be going now...” Your eyes flashed over your shoulder, subtly indicating a group of nonne eager to speak with him. “I would not want to keep you all to myself.” You shyly lifted your gaze to the camerlengo again.

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with mirth at your remark. “May God bless you, Miss Y/L/N. Arrivederci.” As he said this, he traced the sign of the cross on your forehead, the scent of him filling your nostrils briefly. He smelled clean and masculine with a delightful hint of spiciness, which you immediately recognized to be frankincense. You savored the warmth of his skin on yours.

“Addio, monsignor,” you whispered breathlessly.

You found the courage to look into the camerlengo's spellbinding eyes once more before you turned to leave. As you exited the sacred space, you smiled to yourself, his words reverberating within you: do not be a stranger.

"Never, Father," you whispered. ¤

Translations

nonne = "grandmothers"

Il corpo di Cristo = "the body of Christ"

Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bella chiesa durante le vacanze? = "I haven’t seen you before at St. Peter’s. Are you visiting our beautiful basilica while on holiday?"

No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono appena trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro con l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti. = "No, but I am new to Rome. You see, I recently moved here a few weeks ago. I work for the US Embassy."

@seraferna @lemairepstuff

[irondevilpunisher]

A Saved Dance

Karedevil One-shot

Premise: AU in which anguished teenage Matt Murdock finds himself in Vermont and unexpectedly bonds with a girl he saves named Karen Page. 

****

Vermont, it seemed like a good idea at the time. These days Matt Murdock was looking for places to escape. Forget the past. Forget all about the pain entwined with his father’s death and Stick abandoning him. And especially avoid his irritating anomalies thanks to that freak accident when he was ten. Giving him unique heightened senses which only further alienated him from the rest of the world. Matt just didn’t want to deal with it anymore nor stay in New York. Too many memories and harsh realities. And Matt was sick of everyone’s pity over his blindness which never held him back from his academic achievements and his ability to fight like a ninja warrior. 

But no matter what he did to fill that void of loneliness, reading, training at his father’s gym, running on rooftops or attending mass at his Catholic church; none of it helped. The only thing Matt could think of at the time was...taking his saved allowance, leaving the orphanage he’d been staying at for six years and hopping the Greyhound out of Hell’s Kitchen. Careful to deflect suspicion that he was a runaway. A skill that came in quite handy during Stick’s teachings. If he could successfully block out nightmares, slept most the way. Never did Matt imagine winding up in Vermont of all places though. It wasn’t even his first choice of destination. 

He couldn’t see it the way everyone else did but he did sense its exquisite hi-def details. This place was so much quieter than the noisy filled streets he was used to back in New York. Calmer and more serene despite detecting cows mooing in the distance. Crisp autumn air, maple trees mixed with fresh baked pumpkin pies filled Matt’s lungs whenever he breathed, painting the picture of a humble little farming community. It was peaceful here but Matt had to admit combing the sidewalk with his cane and backpack slung over his shoulder, he missed the darkness he felt back in Hell’s Kitchen. It was easier to be discreet from casual observers whenever he did his rooftop routines. Easier to be alone. 

“Hey stop it!” He suddenly heard a girl’s voice cry out in peril. “Give that back!”

Matt had been stalking around town all afternoon until twilight, finding himself parked in front of a chain-linked fence to what he sensed was a school. And judging by the rowdy pop music blasting from building at this late hour, some festivities were taking place. Possibly a themed dance. Not really his scene though he’d never actually been to one and couldn’t help feeling at little curious at the time. That changed the second he heard her voice calling for help, provoking Matt to jump the fence like a super athlete and charging in the direction of the three young assailants.  

They were around the corner of the school building,he picked up sounds of fiendish chortles and chatter among the boys. Matt figured this girl’s harassers had stolen something pretty valuable, a hair clip, childishly tossing it back and forth while she attempted to retrieve it. That didn’t go so well. She was pushed down on the ground with a loud THUD! At that moment Matt intervened. 

“Hey!” Matt barbed, tightly grasping his cane. “I think you better leave her alone.”

“Oh and who’s gonna make us?” jeered one of the boys. Matt could tell he was taller and a little bit older than him. Built like a football player. In between taunts the bully paused and Matt’s brows furrowed. Practically feeling this kid’s gawking eyeballs on his white cane. “I’m not into hitting cripples Dude, so take a hike.”

Matt firmly stood his ground. These boys didn’t intimidate him. “Not until you return this girl’s property. Then I’ll leave.”

“Last warning chump, get out of here!”

“You heard what he said this has nothing to do with you!” spat another boy.

“Like I said,” Matt taunted with a dark smirk. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could hear hands closing into lethal fists. These’s boys were looking to mess with him. “Then I guess it’s your funeral.” One of them growled.

Normally Matt hated getting involved in random altercations, it went against his personal morals but for some reason he just couldn’t ignore this. He could’ve easily taken the high road and just verbally persuaded them to do the right thing. Wouldn’t have had to resort to humiliating these punks; effortlessly countering all their assaults, blocking oncoming punches and reversing each attack impressively with his own. Occasionally using his cane as a weapon. Left, right, he repeated the steps in his mind; maneuvering with the agile and speed of a gymnast. Nonetheless Matt’s intentions weren’t to hurt these boys yet he couldn’t deny the satisfaction it was giving him. 

“So do you feel like returning this girl’s property now?” Matt snarled breathlessly, gripping the main boy’s elbow into a backwards hold as the other two kids groaned in pain. “Or do I have to snap your arm?”

“F-FINE! Fine I’ll do it!” he whimpered. “Just don’t hurt me anymore man!”

“Good answer.”

Releasing the punk, he stayed true to his word handing the girl’s hair clip to Matt then he and his buddies resumed to limping off their shame. Matt chuckled in his throat wiping off some blood residue from his mouth, listening as their scurrying footprints faded into a deafening silence. He was alone again...isolated as he’d liked it...well except for a delicate yet rapid beating chest not belonging to him. 

“Its alright.” He reassured. “You don’t have to be afraid. They’re gone.”

As Matt went to retrieve his cane off the grass, a sweet voice so weightless like a dove’s feather tickled his ear.

“Thank you.” She said. Matt could’ve sworn his heart stopped and was now in the presence of an angel as vanilla soap and apple permeated his nostrils. Her voice was so pure it shone light through the pitch-blackness. And there was something oddly soothing about this girl’s presence while she slowly approached. “I didn’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t...Timmy and those guys are such jerks.”

Exhaling he nearly forgot to breathe in his response. “Are you okay?”

“Better...now.” Matt didn’t have to assume she nodded saying this. From what he could tell she was two years younger than him, at least thirteen or fourteen yet carried herself quite mature for most girls her age. “Haven’t seen you around town before. You just move here with your folks?”

“Uh..no.” He swallowed bowing his head. “I’m just passing through.”

Strangely enough the girl didn’t press him. “Yah I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

“I feel like escaping sometimes myself.” Said the girl. Just as he thought the conversation would end there she asked. “H-how did you do that anyway?”

Matt was taken aback. “Do what?” Throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where did you learn those moves? That was amazing.”

“Secret.” he grinned handing over the hair clip which she took. No way he was ever going to tell her the blind old man who trained him like an assassin. “I think this belongs to you.”  

“Yah its...it was my mom’s.” she confessed, voice going somber as he heard her fingers sweep through her long blond locks. “I wanted to wear it for the dance tonight. Didn’t expect Timmy Atkins to just rip it out of my hair and play hot potato with it.”

Matt perked up. “So you are at a dance.” He guessed right after all. “I figured as much. Seemed a little late for school to be in session.”

The girl laughed politely. 

“Oh I definitely think its way past that.” Then she held out her hand. “I’m Karen.”

“Matt.” He reciprocated the handshake gesture.Touch of her skin was soft and warm like silk he didn’t want to let go.Then again it was getting late and he needed to find a place to crash for a while. “Well...I guess I better be going.”

“Wait!” Karen called after him as he turned to leave. “You don’t have to leave. Why don’t you stay, we could...go back into the dance?”

“Nah its not really my thing.” Matt faltered. “Besides I don’t even go to your school and you just met me.”

“Oh...right.”

Matt didn’t need sight to detect the whiff of disappointment in her vocal cords and the beating of her heart. Karen let out a melancholy sigh which in turn prompt him to change his mind. Sure this whole thing seemed a little awkward and he preferred his isolation but for some reason he enjoyed her company.    

“I...guess I could stick around a little longer.”

Karen’s body temperature rose delightedly. “Really?”

“Sure why not. I’ve got nothing better to do” Matt verified, balancing his weight on the cane. “What do you suggest?”

“We could...walk over to the gazebo in the garden and talk?” Karen proposed.

“Okay.”

Offering to take his hand, Karen led Matt through the grass back onto the gravel path towards the back of the building. Careful not to trip on her pale blue dress. At first neither of them knew what to say then a conversation started forming. Karen told Matt all about her life in Vermont. Informing him of her friends at school and some of her hobbies. Matt on the other hand was a little hesitant sharing parts of himself in the beginning. When she finally asked about his disability, omitting certain details like his heightened senses, he would explain how he saw things from a different perspective. 

He noticed the way she would marvel at him curiously, listening to his voice. It was flattering. Matt felt he’d made his first sincere connection with another person. And it was mutual for Karen. Arriving at the gazebo they sat down on the bench together. However Matt’s heart sank wishing he could see this place the way she did. A magnificent pavilion structure, octagonal shaped arches with dozes of flowers spilling around it according to Karen’s description. Sucking up the sweet aroma Matt depicted the scent of stonecrops, yarrow and daises. The smell of Autumn his favorite season. 

When the evening got chillier Matt offered his flannel shirt to Karen. If he'd thought of wearing a jacket he would've preferred to give her that.

“So...where are you going?” Karen queried spontaneously. 

Matt turned to her with a baffled expression. “What?” 

“You’re carrying around that backpack full of stuff.” she noticed him gripping the bag under one arm. “You must be going someplace.”

He froze and Karen realized she’d gotten too evasive. 

“Sorry I didn’t meant to pry.”

“No its fine.” he said uncertainly. “I guess I just...needed to get away for awhile.”

“From your family?”

Matt’s lips tightened in a straight line.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Karen assured him. Then she hugged her knees to her chest. “Sometimes I wanna disappear to a private island. I use to write stories about it all the time.”

Matt’s head poignantly ticked. “You did?”

“Yah, I really want to be a writer someday. What about you?”

“I going to be lawyer.” he replied confidently, it was the one thing he was sure about. “I’ve been reading law books since I was ten. It’s all I’ve wanted to do.”

“That’s great! I’m sure you’d be good at that.”

“How so?” Matt laughed. “We only just met.”

“Its just a feeling I get...when I’m around you.” Karen smiled gently bumping her shoulder into his. Before she had the chance to say something further a slow song interrupted the calm atmosphere, pouring from outdoor speakers of the school. It was doleful in melody, almost depressing yet Matt knew it. Hearing it once on the radio back at the orphanage. Everything by Lifehouse. “I like this song.” 

“It’s okay.” Matt half shrugged.

Then he felt Karen’s body brush passed him as she climbed to her feet.

“Want to dance?” she asked holding out her hand.

His tongue tied. “What right now?” 

“Yah I’ve got one last dance saved in me. Want to?”

Matt fumbled in his seat debating whether this was a good idea or not. He didn’t want to tell her he had two left feet let alone he’d never been to a school dance. Sure Matt had graceful rhythm and technique when it came to fighting but when it came to dancing? He floundered. About to decline the gesture when Karen took the decision out of his hands and yanked him up. 

“I’m not really good at this.” Matt admitted sluggishly. Glancing downward. 

“You don’t need to be.” Karen told him gently, placing his hands at her waist and embracing her’s around his neck. He could hear her heart racing almost in-sync with his. And his cheeks flustered. “All you do is...fall into the music and let go.”

He nodded. Holding her in his arms and they began to sway sideways, occasionally turning in a counter-circle. Matt to his surprised stopped thinking. He didn’t even step on her toes. His focus remained with her. A girl he’d just met but felt like he’d known his whole life. She stared at him hypnotically and subtly moved closer into his space. This made him nervous, mouth parting, but he didn’t resist. Chest to chest, Karen leaned her head against his shoulder closing her eyes.The smell of her hair was so fragrantly rich in vanilla. He could lose himself in that scent if he wasn’t careful. Then unexpectedly Matt’s feet stopped and Karen glanced skyward.

“Is everything okay Matt?” she asked him.

“Its perfect.” he said softly.

KAREN! Karen!

Suddenly the mood spoiled when they heard other girl voices coming from behind them. Startled Karen disengaged herself from Matt’s grasp and spun towards the people calling her name. Apparently she recognized them and probably had to go back. It was her life anyway not his. She was too nice to get wrapped up in his crazy, messed up world. As he listened to her shuffle down the steps towards the voices of her friends, Matt seized the opportunity to grab his things and split from the gazebo. He hated leaving her like this, she deserved an explanation. But being so flaky these days he didn’t have it in him to do so. 

Instead he hopped the chain-linked fence and looked over his shoulder one final time. 

“Goodbye Karen...thanks for the dance.”           

[coffee-for-himchan]

B.A.P Serenading You on Valentine’s Day

(A/N) With a lot of different things currently happening in my life, I really didn’t think I’d have the time to write something for Valentine’s day. Yet here it is, quite short but sweet, and I hope you’ll like it!! ❤❤

-YONGGUK-

The shy serenader. Singing isn’t his usual forte, and he does it rarely. It’s not like his singing voice is bad or something - in fact, he knows it close to literally melts you when he sings, but he just.. lacks confidence to do it? He has heard the rest of his members singing - hell, even Junhong has his quirky, unique voice he uses every now and then in certain songs, and it just sounds so well - and he is simply afraid that once he opens his mouth to sing, it will be impactless, unlike his rap which he can do wholeheartedly and without worrying about getting taken seriously.

He is afraid that if he sings instead of raps, the impact he intended to cause won’t be the same. 

But recently, you’d been having issues. He is away all the time, and when he’s there, he’s just a shell - resting from all of the tiring activities he just had to engage into, not quite there and on the same wavelength with you. He’s been wondering how he even had the opportunity to start up this relationship, but despite all of the complications that have been leading up to fights and arguments recently, he knows he wants to make this work. He wants to make it work in any case, no matter how big the damage.

So when he opens his mouth quite randomly to sing to “Ordinary People”, to say that you’re surprised is an understatement. Yes, he may sound shakey at  times. Take a wrong breath or two, and he might not hit every note as spot on, but the way he does it has your lips curling into a smile and your heart beating a little faster. His eyes that had always seemed to portray extra honesty are piercing right through you at this very moment, and the words rolling off his tongue are true. There are issues. But that doesn’t mean they’re unsolvable and unfixable.

“I mean, the part about taking it slow and stuff.. Maybe not,” he’s completely shy all of a sudden when he gets quiet, and loosens up only merely when you throw your arms around his neck to pull him into hugs, “But I guess you caught on to what I mean. I know life with me ain’t a honeymoon, but.. I’m trying hard. Just, please, never leave me, okay? We’ll make it work.”

“Okay, no worries,” you answer, knowing you meant it truly, giving him all of the reassurance he needed oh so much, “We’re just ordinary, right? So I’ll take all of the time in this world to fix our issues, because at the end of the day, I love you. Never forger that.”

-HIMCHAN-

The confident serenader. The radio is playing a cheesy tune which he knows more than well, and he simply loves the way you eye him up and down for the whole time since you came into the room, your stares sneaky, loving, but most of all amused when you see him moving his hips to the music, trying to come off as suggestive or something while his actual movements are rather old-man than edgy. He’d volunteered to make a special dinner for this special occasion actually, but you didn’t let him off without giving him a helping hand. So here you were, in the kitchen, and all that  was left was the frying. You had found comfort in wrapping your arms around his waist and peaking from over his shoulder to see how he did his magic, and he figured it was the perfect time. After all, if him in an apron with a spatula in hand isn’t a good start off for a serenade, what would be?

His voice is loud and nasal, scaring you at first when he starts howling along to the tune rather loudly without any previous warning. You giggle and ask him about his intentions, but he’s an artist, and artists don’t speak until they’re finished with their performance. So he just continues on singing, and you love how it sounds. How despite the initial playfulness, it still stands as hilarious until the very end, but his true feelings are poking through from underneath all of the amusement. As if midways through the song he realized that he indeed is not only singing this for the laughs, but for you. As a unique and unusual way to tell you that yes, he might be a mess on many occasions, but he loves being yours. He loves the love and the attention, the care and the thought put into it every day. And the ways he expresses all of those thoughts and feelings in ends up basically melting you into a puddle.

“How was that?” he asks with a laugh when he finishes, and you don’t have to look at him to know his cheeks are faintly tinted red, as despite his confidence, he really needs some sweet approval, “All for you. My whole heart. Served on a silver plate.”

“Hm, Kim Himchan,” you say, nuzzling your face further down into his shoulder after pressing a kiss on that spot, “How ‘bout you take that guitar and sing some more for me afterwards?”  

“We could actually see about that,” he responds with approval all over his words, and you smile, knowing more of this perfection is awaiting on the horizon.

-DAEHYUN-

The this-was-supposed-to-be-sweet-but-goddamn-those-high-notes-are-on-point serenader. His singing is ear candy. And, to some extent, it’s even melting. Those were no news, and although he often feels like he’s lacking and he could do better, there are no such feelings when he’s singing for you. He is completely free in his actions, and knows absolutely no restrictions and no shame. Maybe a teeny tiny bit of embarrassment, as he feels like giving away so many of his true feelings and putting them on the display like that maybe isn’t all that appropriate, but then again, he loves you. And he figured you should know.

Too bad that on the 14th, B.A.P had a show scheduled. But it’s not like you minded - when he told you with sad eyes all of that time ago, you simply smiled at him and told him you’d be front row center, with lightstick in hand and the matoki whistle prepared at all moments. To see you so excited about the concert lessened his guilty feelings for a little, but still, he felt like he had ruined the day. No cheesy dates or anything, maybe a bit of holding hands while on your way home, but nothing more. He felt as if you, despite not telling him face-to-face, really wanted all of those sweet couple moments that would never happen.

So once a mysterious, never before seen solo stage comes on in the middle of the show and you see his silhouette in between all of the smoke and the dim, colorful lights, you have an idea in mind. And it’s exactly what you think it is.

He actually did it. He did a cover of one of your favorite love songs just for you, although for the other thousands of people that were at the show he, after finishing it, told that it was simply a sweet gesture because it was Valentine’s day. His whole body seems to be glowing when he sings, the way he hits all of those notes perfectly making you once again realize how good of a singer he is. But by far the most heart-melting thing is the way his eyes scan over the crowd constantly, searching for you and only you in the middle of thousands. And once he sees you, front row center, with lightstick in hand and the whistle hanging down from your neck as your mouth was agape at that moment, and you were staring back at him with wide. loving eyes, he tries not to choke up on all of the sudden feelings taking over him. Damn, he indeed loves you so much, and he hopes that this would make up the fact he didn’t take you on an actual date.

-YOUNGJAE-

The sweet serenader. Youngjae had been extra sweet all day. You were even surprised at the lack of sarcastic comments and comebacks - you even sassed him a few times, just to test the waters. But he was aware of your plans, and wouldn’t answer the proper way. By not being a savage and a tease, he was teasing you by not giving the reaction you were trying to provoke so hard from him. But did it matter, really? You loved this side of him too, and since it showed a lot more today that in usually did, you were enjoying it.

That was all the lead up to this situation you were in right now. With the television playing faintly in the background as you were lying in bed, your head comfortably rested on his chest while he drew patterns on your lower back. Just subtly talking about everything and nothing after an exciting yet tiring day of doing couples stuff. Though with every sentence he heard from you, he felt as if your answers were getting shorter, and heard one or two yawns here and there too.

“Tired, babe?” was all he asked as he felt you nodding, and smiled, placing a kiss on top of your head. He softly told you to fall asleep if you desired - he wouldn’t mind. But a quick idea crossed his mind after he said those words. And he wanted to try it, since he really thought it could be a good way to finish the day off.

“What are you doing?” you chuckled lightly when he started singing softly.

“Singing you to sleep,” he answered, kissing the top of your head again, “To help you have some good dreams, since I’m the best, right? And this way you may dream of me, maybe.”

You laughed at his over-confident self once more, yet felt the need to simply stay quiet and listen. The way he quietly sung right into your ear, the vibrations you felt going all through his chest making the experience more vivid. This was the moment you kind of realized that Youngjae was a little more low-toned than you originally thought he was, and oh boy, was his tone soothing and pleasant. And it sounded so good - all of those words rolling off of his tongue and right into your ear, sounding so loving. So calm and so true. All nice, little melodies of how he loved you, and you guessed some of those to be new and without release yet. Yeah, he had been trying out writing music recently. And you were a topic he figured he liked writing about.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you fast asleep, but not without a last “I love you, Youngjae”, which he repeated in his mind a few more times before accompanying you in dream land himself.

-JONGUP-

The unexpected serenader. It came out of nowhere, really. You didn’t know why or how, but there he was. Sitting in font of you, with your palms in his slightly bigger ones, his face of an angel making all types of grimaces as he sung his heart out in the cheesiest of ways. But you loved it. You loved every damn second of it.

To be honest, he felt nervous. He really figured he wanted to do this, but was afraid at first. Would it be awkward if he just sat you down in front of him and made you listen to his singing? And how would you feel about it at all? Would you get bored of it easily, and should he look at you in the eyes for the whole time, or can he scan everything in the room but you while he sings?

That last question had him on the edge for the last few days ever since he got the idea, so now when he sat across of you, his eyes were closed. And he didn’t open them even once until he finished the whole song. It almost seemed as if he was afraid to open them though, but the bright smile he was met with once his eyes fluttered open was an indicator he had done good. And you had liked it a lot.

“Jongup-ah, why did you want to sing for me?”

“I d-don’t know..” he looked away a little, pressured by all the attention to his sudden outburst of all the feelings he usually kept locked inside, “You usually ask me to dance for you, or I just do it myself because I know you’ll like it. But, you know.. I kind of wanted to sing instead today, since it expresses more emotion.”

One moment he was still shying away, all quiet and embarrassed, and the next thing he knew you had made yourself comfortable on his lap, your hands gliding over his shoulders as your mouth found his to press against it once. Firmly and longingly.

“Thank you,” you quietly told him, not pulling away too far since you didn’t mind the lack of distance, “You’re simply wonderful when singing, you know? And having you singing for only me felt so, so special.”

It really did - his light voice bringing out melodies that were supposed to have a feather-like feel to them, doing so perfectly. The emotion he put in seen in every little note and word - it was all for you, which is why it came out so seamless and without mistake, as he didn’t quite think about what he was doing.

He just acted upon emotion. And had brought his point across perfectly.

-ZELO-

The surprise serenader. You leaned in on your table as you watched him, a mild smile playing on your lips when you saw him fiddling around with the wire of the mic, almost dropping it in the process before looking up and smiling shyly. How long ago was the last time he used a mic with a wire anyways? But you figured there was another thing making him nervous. And it wasn’t even all of the curious stares people gave him or the fact some of his friends were waiting for him to start with their phones pulled out of their pockets already, all cameras on him.

He had actually lost a bet just a second ago. And was forced to go and sing karaoke now, since you, him and a few of his friends and their dates were at a karaoke bar.

Not the most romantic way to spend Valentine’s day, right? But at daytime you did all the cheesy couple stuff, and now upon a sudden plan change were out having fun with his friends and their dates. It was actually like a triple date, really. And it was fun.

Junhong’s voice filled the room the very next second. It was quite soothing and even melodic in some way, and it made you crack smiles. You really thought his voice was quite unique, plus, his English pronunciation was quite accurate yet quirky, as if he even made the pronunciation his own thing that was in his special style. Throughout the whole song, he kept glancing at you and smiling shyly, as if waiting for approval. And your subtle smiles were like a thank you to him. A thank you for turning a bet he lost around to something so, so sweet, as he was singing a love song now. Dedicating it all to you, which is why you kept blushing all the time. He looked so sincere it hurt. Singing about his true first love that keeps messing with his head in the best of the ways, which is exactly what you did. You messed him up to the point where he woke up every morning wanting you to be by his side. And boy did he love that feeling.

So once he finished and after receiving a round of applause went back to his seat, you felt his fingers tangling together with yours under the table, and you all laughed at one of his friend’s girlfriend who pouted, wanting to be serenaded to as well.

“Ain’t no one gonna top Junhong though,” you heard her boyfriend say, and looked at the man in question, “He’s a born singer.”

“I’m not, actually,” he said, but only so you heard, and upon glancing around and seeing everyone in their own conversation, you placed the quickest peck of all on his curled up lips.

“You know I rather rap, but for you, I’d be anything. Anything you want me to be,” he said before he leaned back down to press another kiss to your lips, at this point already quite careless about if anyone was watching or not.

[weannewashere]

#KeepingUpWithKym

Who comes into my mind when I think of the phrase “partner-in-crime?” Definitely not Kym. Hahaha because honestly, the things we do when we’re together are as close to crime as Duterte is to being presidential. Basically we attend paint classes, watch musicals, bake cookies, comment on each other’s tumblr, and make loom bands with pediatric patients. If we had a reality show, we’d be the GeneralPatronage-rated version of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie - we literally receive the middle finger from irate Italian drivers for slowing down to let them pass.

But it works, because sharing the exact same interest for grandma activities means we automatically know what each other wants to do when we hang out. (Also, look at us, how cute do we look in our matching pajamas hahahahaha effort tong mga pictures na to in fairness, photo credits to Kym’s camera stand lol.)

For example, this weekend. Kym had flown in from California to spend her vacation leave with her loved ones (ehem) in the Philippines. When she told me she had time in her schedule for a day together, I didn’t even have to think twice about our itinerary - stay in McKinley Hill for the night to drink tea and read books haha, have breakfast at the Venice Piazza Mall, and soak in some art at the Pinto Art Museum (we also wanted to try our hand at this archery place, but alas we ran out of time).

Good morniiiing.

Breakfast at Mary Grace. Their mushroom cheese omelette and lemon squares are DIVINE.

Riding a gondola in the Manila version of Venice instead of actually going to Venice because the angry Italian drivers traumatized us lololol.

The Pinto Art Museum is my absolute favorite museum in the Philippines. The old Filipino/Greco aesthetic, the unique contemporary artwork by local artists, the huge windows and natural light, the open, intimate vibe of the place - ugh I seriously could stay here all day.

What I love most about the artwork at this museum is that they all reflect contemporary issues - poverty, inequity, colonial mentality, gender, urban life, politics - making the art so completely relatable and thought-provoking.

Here, let me try to show you a sampler of the art:

Oh wait, you mean like paintings and sculptures? HAHAHA yes sure the museum had those too. There were so many interesting pieces, but here are my favorites because well, they made me feel things:

The Hollow Man Alab Pagarigan I dunno, I like calling this one Turning Invisible lol. My photograph isn’t too good, but at the right angle, it really looks like the figure is slowly turning invisible as he rocks back and forth on his swing.

Roulette Leonard Aguinaldo The roulette is marked with various traits such as galante (generous), magalang (respectful), malandi (flirtatious), praning (paranoid). Around the roulette are the words ikaw (you), ako (I/me), sila (them), tayo (us). I guess this artwork spoke to me because it deals with the human tendency to define people by one specific trait, as if we all get one spin at the character roulette of life.

Manyika Elmer Borlongan The painting unfolds like a tense drama. At the edge of a railroad stands a middle-aged woman in a dress, her plumpness and vacant stare suggest a form of mental retardation. She seems to have been under care for so long, but what startles us is a mannequin leg of a man that she clutches like a doll. Is she lost? Where has she come from? Why is she here? And where did she get that leg?

Even in his early career in the 1990s, Borlongan has been drawn to observe and paint unusual street characters in the urban metropolis. These are people with idiosyncracies who, under the artist’s rendering, stand as monuments to the dissonance we encounter in the streets of Manila: armless guitar players, homeless children, blind men leading other blind men, and people swimming in reused oil drums, head first.

Manyika resonates this everyday strangeness. She is someone we can indeed encounter roaming some back street in Tondo, or Paco, or even in some remote edge of megapolitan Makati, holding the limbs of an amputated mannequin like a cherished toy. Is the leg an ersatz for a partner or a relationship that is too difficult for a person of her disability? Does it stand for a lover, perceived as real? Is this a personal fetish? Does it startle us to realize that even in mental regression, the desire for a connection is present? Manyika challenges our questions, engages our concept of humanness, of personal longing. It also addresses the difficult question of Otherness: Why does she look like an Other, in her strangeness?

Tinggang Baluti Salvador Alonday The subject of this bust sculpture is Superman. Look at his face and discover the little kiss of hair that is suggested across his forehead. But it is a Superman reimagined and reinterpreted in the manner of Christ as Sagrado Corazon, the Sacred Heart. Alonday merges the image of both heroes, tongue-in-cheek to create a cross commentary on the idea of redeemer and savior. After all, both heroes are not from this world, reared in the simple hearth-centered morality of farmers and workers, which in turn provides a check against their overwhelming powers: Superman with his brute strength and invincibility and Christ with His healing and ability to overcome death. This core of values lies beneath the shell of Alonday’s Superman - a heart that is both exposed and covered.

Alonda’s Superman is made to appear to be made of two metals, copper and lead. But the title refers to the possibility of Superman having a shell or outfit made of lead, the only thing that shields him from the radiation of Kryptonite. Thus with his tinggang baluti, Superman becomes truly invincible, invulnerable. He is rendered safe from weakness and death, and being so, he is able to expose his own heart. Does the artist imply that there is a need for an effective and powerful layer of protection before one can choose to be vulnerable? That even the most powerful of heroes need to wear a shell before choosing to be open to the manifestations of the heart? Alonday’s Superman casts his eyes downward in a glance of compassion. The work thus forges a wonderful sense of ambiguity, the paradox of power and love.

I don’t remember feeling this empty Joanna Helmut The painting is of an unusual visage: a young girl suffering from the throes of depression. I don’t remember feeling this empty is set in a bare blue room with an empty picture frame and a lone stool standing too close in a corner. Occupying almost two-thirds of the picture is a girl in a pink dress, with her one hand clasping her forehead in a gesture of culpability. The title of the piece could very well serve as her inner monologue and we are left to wonder why. What can cause such emptiness in the heart of a child so young? Joanna Helmut’s work derives its power not just from her carefully arranged elements and muted hues, but also in her courage to represent what the Filipino public once dismissed as taboo: the affliction of melancholy. The dismissal is one of non-acknowledgment, confident as we are that the time-honored structures of family and friendship could soothe any depression, which is misunderstood as sadness. Helmut’s emphasis on the condition of emptiness, that is the loss of vital meaning for living, is efficiently portrayed here and even strongly amplified in the subject of child sufferer. It is a work that requires the choice to observe and affirm that life is simply not a precession of values and generations, but also a cycle of vigor and shadow.

The script at the top left of this piece reads:

Poetry Loaves Wash your hands. Rid them of a lifetime’s hesitation. Roll up your sleeves. Keep paper towels on hand Preheat oven to 375. Combine flour and loud pauses for flavor Add spices to thrill away boredom: cinnamon risk, a dash of blanched candour to taste one-half teaspoon of doubt to balance. Fill the room with baking smells. Lose your hands in a mound of batter, the hill of bound matter, not yet ready for climbing. Knead the mixture until it tumbles into birth. Cover dough with a damp cloth, and rise to unseemly heights. The sun will appear in this unbaked loaf Poem should double in bulk after one uncertain age of introspection, many reincarnations and editions. Pound down dough, it will survive and be the stronger for it Do not follow recipe too closely: shut your eyes and burn the rules Roll into loaves of different shapes and sizes. Even an outspoken lump has its place.

Kasal sa Hatinggabi (Wedding at Midnight: The Church and the State) Elmer Borlongan, Karen Flores, Mark Justiniani, Joy Mallari, Federico Sievert This painting ridicules even as it exposes what hte artists perceive as a “testy and treacherous” alliance between Church and State. The scene is a parody of the rural wedding dance that often includes the release of doves hiding in a makeshift papier mache bell. The wedding couple: a politician and a cleric stand beneath this bell arch, at a dance that occurs curiously in the dead of the night, each with a weapon in one hand, while an arm seems to embrace the other. By showing them as marrying, even if in the most treacherous of arrangements, the artists declare openly that it is a match that is so ominous in their prospect for everyone. It is a painting of warning.

Oblivious Steph Lopez Two sculpted figures in wire approach each other in a tentative embrace. The taller male form stretches his right arm out to touch the female’s hip, while his left hand is bent back, reluctant. The more engaged female is inches away from a caress, her face focused on the moment of the touch, even as the male appears withdrawn, impassive, like a distant deity. The work hints at an incipient moment of intimacy, which somehow fails, and we are left seeing the gestures of affection that has either waxed or waned.

Kubli Elmer Borlongan With its face and bodily proportions stretched out like the figure of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, Elmer Borlongan’s painting of a child sleeping in a dimly-lit corner on a bare concrete floor possesses a foreboding drama that is rare in the artist’s oeuvre. The single source of light casts a long shadow of a post that runs across the feet of the dormant boy, like an ominous presence that watches over his slumber. Yet, with his palm as a pillow and the other nestled for warmth between his knees, our sleeper is unaware, almost dead to everything else in the world. It is the sleep of extreme exhaustion, from going through a day’s worth of work, or of endless meandering and seeking alms and food. It is the sleep of an animal that has run out of energy to scrounge and is content to find the darkest, most secure place it can find, as shelter.

The Undelivered Project Think of the one whom you have loved and lost. Take a pen and write an anonymous letter to him or her using the stationery provided. Empty your thoughts. Fold and seal the letter. Deposit the letter in one of the drawers - Let it remain undelivered - Move on!