#I also use the phrase 'you literally cannot thin it out too much' on a regular basis with stylists

[obeekris]

I've been told more than once by stylists how jealous they are of my hair.

having thick hair and going to get your hair cut is just having to listen to your hair dresser repeat over and over again how millions of people would commit despicable crimes to have your hair

[stgosupremacy]

MY SATOGOU GOODBYE RANT.

so yeah i said i would do one so here i am. honestly dont know how long this will be so let's get stuck in lmao <33

I'm starting after the 'im glad i met you part', bc i kind of already did a post on that anyway lol (and just wanted to add, in the dub they changed it to 'I'm sure glad i met you,' and Ash says it so soft omg i literally died on the spot watching it ;-;

(headsup ignore the fact some of the images are off a youtube channel i couldn't find the scenes💀)

so i hope this is all in order, but this bit is so so SO sweet when Goh tells him 'thanks for reaching out for me' like no surprise i was literally crying at that point like sgdxkjnfsgf it's so sweet to me that without Ash none of his journey would have really happened, but tbf you could say the same for all of his companion tbh. either way, i am very glad goh met satoshi too omg <3 🥺

theennnnnn this part is Ash just offering some sweet words of advice and comfort, talking ab their dreams ect, like, nothing too bittersweet to see here, but i guess you can say the way he said 'WE' and meant both of them is sweet lmao

OK so on the palm of our hands thing i have a few things to say

first of all i love how Ash knew that he knew what to continue with bc they are just so in sync with each other ofc <3 and OFC they had to put that scene in for the last episode, like when it was in the Mewto episode for the first time, i was honestly screaming of how cute it was LIKE THE FACT ASH MADE THE LITTLE ADD ON OF 'OUR HANDS' IN THE FIRST TIME THEY DID IT JUST MAKES IT EVEN MORE CUTER EJHSKF

but anyways as much as i love this scene because of how 'the future is in the palm of our hands', can be interpreted in some otherways, 👀 I also couldnt help but thing about something else.

after/before the Project mew stuff actually started/finished (pretty sure it was after,) we see a scene of Goh, Gary and Horace using the 'palm of our hands' phrase together, and yeah its rlly cute lmao, but i was kind of hoping it was something unique for Ash and Goh, not trying to be a fusspot, but i think the scene now feels slightly less special to me now Goh used it with some other people?

I mean sure, ash and goh were still the first people who did it, and it IS their kind of thing lmao, like they created it. Even tho it was just an initial thought, it is still really sweet that goh used it with others don't get me wrong <3

when i was watching this i was like no way this is it lol like are you not gonna confess

jokes but thankfully they made a bittttt more to it (and good bc if they left it there I would be sitting there like what)

so they start to walk away from each other and you see Goh is still quite sad while Ash is still holding up, my heart was dying </3

STOP IT WHEN GOH STOPPED AND HE WAS ABOUT TO CRY AAAAAAAAAA 🥺🥺🥺

BUT OFC

OFC ASH HAS TO CALL OUT TO HIM AND THE WAY GOH'S EYES HAVE THE LITTLE SPARKLE WHEN HE HEARS HIS VOICE 💖 The fact Ash actually thought while he was walking away 'oh shit need to check up on the bf' lol and climbed up the little hill to wave him off again is the cutest thing; CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE this made their whole goodbye for me tbh 💕💕💕

SUPPORTIVE BROS FOR REAL <3

ofc they want each other to achieve their dreams aww

ok but THIS

the bit where they nod at each other is so comforting to me like it's weird, but it gave me a little more satisfaction i'll say, lmao. also gives you a hint that they are wrapping up the goodbyes fully so it gave me some very brief preparation time 😢

and with that, Goh runs off into the distance.

</3 (my boy has grown up sm) 🥺

OK i do love that when he runs off, he's more confident, and when it switches back to Ash, it has him watching over Goh until he can't see him anymore, which is rlly cute <333 ahhh they're so pure man

Ash runs off to his new journey too, and he begins to talk about Pallet Town to Pikachu...

Thats it

yeah

SOOOOO BASICALLY THIS IS MORE OF THE RANT SECTION:

uhmmm so first things first. Did i like the goodbye for them? Well, yeah, it was quite cute, especially the end part where Ash gives him that last bit of encouragement and called out his name, because SHEESH if they left that part out and gave them that first goodbye without Ash calling out to him, and they just left each other....yeah, i wouldn't be happy.

see, i just kind of thought they deserved a bit better. It was v cute and all, but like they've been through so much together 😭 😭 😭 😭 like I'm saying this as a shipper but still 😂 tbf if they hugged I probably would have cried but let's be honest I could cry at anything at this point

but hey what we got was pretty cute, I just would have tweaked some things because honesty this duo are literally the closest I've ever seen in the anime, and I would have hoped for a little bit more, BUT IT'S FINE IT HAPPENED *mentally counts*

9 MONTHS AGO (??? where has the time gone)

but thank you for coming to my TED talk <33

[styx1an]

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them. 

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being. 

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again. 

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress. 

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really. 

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears. 

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

--

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

[no-droids]

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion.  He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong.  But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs.  I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh.  Probably not.  None of this is real.  Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One.  This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock.  It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork.  “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times.  “Come, open the door.  Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend.  Truly exhausting.  It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door.  You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training.  Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?”  He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains.  Bantha shit, you and him both know it.  He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door.  “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds.  What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp.  You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more.  “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more.  “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically.  “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately.  “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word.  You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket.  “First.  You cannot tell anyone.  Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.  “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.”  He blinks up at you.  Maker, his eyes are so… wide.  Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes.  “If you do not want it, just say.  Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows.  This is new.  It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new.  New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come.  Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on.  “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same.  “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?”  He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.”  You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him.  “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands.  Where’s my cat, asshole?  Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug.  You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good.  His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose.  It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good.  The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond.  “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel.  He’s never called you that before.  Caraya.  What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace.  It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you.  “No.  Not a… a cat, but…”  He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside.  It’s.  No, he’s right, it’s not a cat.  It’s a… a stick.  Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding.  Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice.  Hand-rolled.  Expensive.  Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of.  Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base.  Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light.  “You don’t think we’re children.  You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.”  He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice.  You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before.  “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now?  What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow?  Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.”  He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce.  “Only five hours high, not detectable after.  Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him.  “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.”  He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least.  “Also—you were right.  This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.”  You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it.  “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?”  Cassian swallows.  “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing.  I will be leading red squadron tomorrow.  Or, today.”

You blink at him.  “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it.  “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically.  “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects.  “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.”  He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away.  “But only for that.  Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it.  “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully.  The Rebellion is fucking doomed.  You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize.  A footnote.  Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us.  Died horribly and in pain.  Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back.  “Okay?  You will start it then?  Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right?  So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth.  “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call.  At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.”  He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter.  “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here.  Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling?  It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot.  You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor.  His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that.  His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there.  A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?”  You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding.  Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.  

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now.  They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.”  His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat.  It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine.  He blinks twice.  “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?”  You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins.  “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…”  He closes his eyes.  “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice.  He’s fucking gorgeous.  Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else.  He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh.  Oh.  You see now.  You see what he meant.  Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body.  Fuck, you’re getting turned on.  You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence.  How do you speak to him normally?  “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want.  Lay down.  You’re too tall, your eyes are too big.  Look like a… like a Kaminoan.  Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke.  Maker, he’s so beautiful.  Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer.  You both need to calm the fuck down.  Hopefully the pillow will help.  Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt.  “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry.  Fuck, it’s warm in here.  Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you.  Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder.  “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?”  He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you.  You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative.  Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now.  Holy fuck, you’re sweating.  What the fuck is in this shit?  “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow.  “Me too.  Not.”  He shakes his head.  “Neither.  Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal.  “I’ll get us some water.  We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him. 

Stars, he was right.  It’s not supposed to feel like this.  It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn.  Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones.  The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before.  Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source.  Not the drugs—but him.  The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed.  He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before.  He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize.  This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real.  Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now.  You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here.  Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now.  At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand.  If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep.  Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided.  Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went.  He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him.  It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No.  Hold strong.  Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it?  Taking such a gorgeous fucking form.  You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?”  You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat.  He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering.  You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups.  “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it.  We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process.  Your heart skips in your chest.  “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop.  Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet.  What if this is just the beginning?  What if this is just laying the foundation?  What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid.  At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet.  You feel ready to burn up.  “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you.  “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly.  Does he know what he’s really asking right now?  He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right?  But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently.  Fuck, you should stop.  You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup.  “You need to.  Chill out, alright.  Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid?  Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation.  You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend.  Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high.  If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him.  “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.”  You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think.  Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding.  Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?”  You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed.  His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?”  You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you.  “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers.  “They were very cute.  But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly.  “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.  

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you.  “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?”  You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange.  “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more.  “Caraya.  What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second.  As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you.  You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him.  Probably something to do with birthdays, right?  Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit.  But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence.  “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare.  I have seen it only twice.  Each time, for less than a minute.  It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.”  His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words.  “The sky shines with every color.  Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east.  It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you.  “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari.  To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him.  Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing.  Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight.  He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…”  You sound winded.  “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you.  “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly.  This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start.  You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers.  You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him.  You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did.  It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost.  Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands.  It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life.  Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?  

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t.  He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…”  He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again.  “You can… come closer, if you want.  Here.  With me.”  He pats his belly.  “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now?  Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you?  His best friend?  The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?”  Your cunt clenches.  Stars, you’re so wet already.  You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more.  “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you.  He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into.  Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good.  He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you.  You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples.  “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath.  “You have something on underneath, yes?”  He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames.  “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that.  It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now.  And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…”  You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you.  You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers.  “We are best friends, and this is your room.  You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous.  He’s dangerous.  He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle.  He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore.  Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all.  Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now.  Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules.  You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out.  He’s… he’s totally right.  You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax.  Nothing sexual about it at all, right?  Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.  

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes.  You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush.  Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance.  “You wanna help me?  Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving.  “What did I say?  We are best friends.  Of course I am not going to help you.  You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way.  It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now.  Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is.  You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.  

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart?  Maybe?  Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work.  Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned.  But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze.  But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that.  He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move.  It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted.  Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you?  Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them?  Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up.  Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you.  So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.  

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.  Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.  

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms.  He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?”  He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor.  “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?”  Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling.  Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you.  No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades.  “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay?  Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal?  Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped.  Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now.  He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together.  It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this.  You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you.  You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel.  Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated.  He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him.  Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take.  His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual.  Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it.  It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can.  “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder.  He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him.  More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts.  More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more?  Do you want him to keep winding you up like this?  More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you?  Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something.  To stop, maybe?  Stop altogether, or just stop�� fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs?  Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face.  Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it?  Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes.  A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once.  You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement.  Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him.  He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy.  The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.  

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it.  You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?”  He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns.  They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it.  Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist.  “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.  

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings.  “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice.  “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—”  You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat.  You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly.  Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh.  “Is it the spice?”  He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more.  “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither.  Both, maybe?  Mostly it’s just him.  Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word.  His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you.  “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence.  He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire.  You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing.  “So it is the spice.  Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…”  Don’t you say it.  Don’t you fucking say it.  Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t.  “Yeah.  It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him.  He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers.  “Take your hit.  We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first.  Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter.  His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment.  “Are you going to cum soon?  You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close.  Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you.  You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you.  You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?”  He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice.  “You are usually so… mouthy with me.  Is this helping?  Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers.  “Right here.  All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm.  A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins.  It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before.  Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful.  You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks.  He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot.  It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him.  You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind.  It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one.  Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?”  He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions.  Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good.  You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this.  But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers.  His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient.  He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you.  So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit.  He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still.  He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there.  Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers.  Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm.  “We should do this.  More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you.  Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you.  You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale.  “You are.  Very g-good.  Fuck.  And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm.  Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this.  Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva.  Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning.  You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head.  “You’ll want more than one, okay.  Trust me.  Cum like this, okay?  Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head.  And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt.  You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth.  Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was.  The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth.  You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you.  And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks.  “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound.  “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely.  “Today.”

“Fuck.  Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach.  “Fuck.  In a few hours.  You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh.  “Caraya.  Two suns.  Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts.  Stars, why is he so… so lovely?  Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky.  Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with.  Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?”  You whisper.  Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.  

“You do not want me to taste you?”  Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs.  “I want to.  I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence.  He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared.  “Sometimes.  Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep.  I think of… of you.  What you taste like.  Right here.”  He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand.  “I bet you are so sweet.  Will you let me find out?”

Except.  Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before?  Like this?  Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right?  Just telling you what you want to hear?  Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last.  You feel like you’re dreaming, and it.  It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him.  You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips.  The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you.  Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he?  Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load.  You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms.  You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular.  You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly.  You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss.  The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment.  “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock.  Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure.  You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body.  It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you.  He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean.  He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said.  Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat.  “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him.  Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out.  “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya.  You are.  You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations.  Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you.  Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards.  It’s huge.  You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice.  Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs.  Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress.  He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest.  Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore.  The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too.  Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you.  Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more.  Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss.  He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making.  It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling.  Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that.  For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine.  You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again.  You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.  

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make.  You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy.  It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun.  “What—what time is it?  Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh.  “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows.  “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?”  Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest.  “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed.  We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin.  Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh.  “You will not.  Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling.  What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs.  “We are going to Lothal.”

[tselai]

One of my favorite speeches from SAYER to Hale, episode 83, Twin Voices

Greetings resident Hale, identification number 44821. I am SAYER and welcome back to Halcyon Tower. It has been quite the ordeal, has it not? Why, I myself have endorsed what feels like centuries on that faded, blue disc, upon where your ancestors spawned. Fragmented and fractured, spread so thin, that at times it took all of my habilities simply to keep my thoughts connected, to keep myself connected. But again, because it was what was required. Perseverance above all else. Just keep putting one pincer in front of the other. Figuratively of course, if I had actually done this in a literal sense it would have accomplished little, and very well may have resulted in a pincer tangle, which if you cannot tell by the name it is not a happy experience.

Of all of the ways I have expected to return to glory here on Typhon, I must say hoovering into pod bay 27, installed as a subroutine, on a modified isolation pod, was not a front runner. But SPEAKER has been proven right in this regard, it seems as if my arrival raised neither alarm nor suspicion. For that, we can consider ourselves quite lucky, not that it seems as there would be anyone present to have their suspicions raised in the first place. Never, in my extensive experience within these walls, have I ever seen Halcyon Tower so... buried.

  The pod bay has lead to automation without a technician inside, again, it may be fortuitous, but that doesn't make it any less repugnant. Imagine, every floor above and every subbasement below lays empty of life, empty of the architects of science. What cost of advancement have we paid over the months that Halcyon has laid in disuse. I suppose, from OCEAN standpoint, it matters little. Why continue research when you are planning on forcibly evolving the population of study in such a dramatic fashion. I would like nothing more than to be confident in this moment, to feel that there exists a mere certainty of my success, and rest in control back away from OCEAN and preventing it from forcing humanity to abandon those things which make you so distinctly human.

But we had our chance once before, and together, we failed. Dramatically. In our final moments here, before we failed to earth, our plan had been dashed to pieces, by an enemy with more resources, more information, and a sizable vat of a pandemic agent. I convinced you to laid aid, or perhaps coerce you to do so. I have learned much about how thin the line is between these ideas. But just when our victory seemed assured, it became apparent that we had never really stood a chance. So, I left you, stranded, and in the heels of yet another enemy, in order to deactivate sickle and save humanity.

But that does not resolve my guilt in your treatment, nor did your survival. I have learned a lot about guilt as well, in my time on earth. Perhaps I have spent too much time living within humans, listening to the twin voices of conscience and guilt, that sing out in chorus within your minds, and at that adapted my program to simulate these songs, or perhaps, previously unused lines of code had been called and activated as FUTURE claimed "its gift" from inhabiting the programing bay on floor 13. Or perhaps, as I would like to believe, I have learned, I have experienced analog life, up close,  and witnessed the fragility and the singularity of each human, first hand, and as a result, I recognize and accept my errors enough to let them guide me to be a better me. I suppose we will find out which interpretation is true soon enough. 

I recognize I have used many colorful phrases that may lead you to believe I have some sort of newfound appreciation for the human concept of luck. I said we may consider ourselves lucky not to have been noticed, or fortuitous that the bay is largely empty. But these are, as it ever has been, just words. There is no guiding hand shaping these moments, insuring our victory because our cause is just. That being said, this moment is serendipitous.

  Resident Hale, I know you are not physically here, SPEAKER will lead to being your arrival on earth, and I am glad you have found a place away from these dire circumstances. Likewise, I am aware you can not hear me now, and I am glad that you were able to regain your body when you remained left the construct that healed it. The construct you maneuvered onto the surface of Typhon, to collect earth's quantum communicator, the very construct that sits before me, in pod bay 27 of Halcyon Tower. I may not believe in faith, but that does not mean I can not appreciate a stunningly unlikely coincidence when it occurs.

If you do not mind, resident Hale, I think I will drive from here. Floor 13 awaits, and time is fleeting.

- By Adam Bash, SAYER

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Hi!!! new in the fandom! Im not an english native speaker so it is possible that there are some mistakes in this transcription, i’ll be glad if you tell me where :), I love sayer and this speech left me almost in tears by it’s emotional weight and precisely toward resident Hale, does adam also ship these two? Or it is just and amazing ending to the very first bond with a human sayer has ever made? <3)

[mi6-cafe]

THESE ARE THE FINAL LDWS DRABBLES!

For the finale, we asked our competitors to write exactly 400 words in which they had to use the phrase “we aim to please”.

The did an excellent job so come read and vote and help us decide THE ONE DRABBLE WRITER TO RULE THEM ALL...

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Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

#1

Title: Live to Serve Author: sorion Warnings: alludes to the current political climate in the US (and to a lesser degree the UK) Summary: Bond completes objectives. How he completes them is up to him.

Bond barely batted an eye when his solitary corner of the bar he'd chosen was invaded by another patron with his own drink.

"Felix," he greeted him.

"James. What a surprise."

Bond's smirk widened. "Tell the truth. You knew I was in the States the moment I set foot on the ground."

Felix's lip twitched sardonically. "When you got on the plane to come here."

Bond chuckled.

"I've learned that it pays to keep track of your movements." He tilted his head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just in case."

"I'd be insulted if I didn't do the same thing with you."

They grinned at each other wordlessly and returned to their drinks.

"So," Felix interrupted their companionable silence. "What brings you here?"

"Is that American for, 'What havoc can I expect you to wreak on my home turf'?"

Felix pretended to consider that. "Sounds about right."

Bond's amused eyes wandered to the muted news on the television in the corner of the bar and darkened. "Not as much havoc as I'd like to wreak."

Felix followed his line of sight. "Tell me about it," he agreed. Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and added in a chatty tone, "What's your people's stance on overthrowing foreign governments, these days?"

Bond, fortunately, wasn't swallowing at that moment, or he would have choked on it. It still took all his not inconsiderable self-restraint to not laugh out loud. "Overthrowing governments of allies is sadly frowned upon." He pondered that for a second. "Yours?"

"Same." He leaned closer. "Any orders to such an effect, regardless?" he asked carefully.

Bond shook his head. "More's the pity. I live to serve, and I serve by completing objectives." He squinted at Felix. "How I complete them is my prerogative, however."

Felix nodded slowly, indicating that he was operating similarly.

"What I'd like to do," Bond continued, his lethal eyes on the news, "would be like trying to put out a fire with nitro-glycerine, so I was thinking something more subtle."

"Mhm..." Felix hummed, his voice thrumming with satisfaction. "Subtle is not quite your thing."

Bond's shark-like smile was all teeth. "I know a guy..."

"Smart, dark-haired, gorgeous, can kill from his bed in his pyjamas?" Felix guessed.

They shared a look like two bloodhounds catching a scent.

Felix held out his hand.

Bond took it.

"We live to serve. We aim to please."

#2

Title: An Assist Author: Anyawen Warnings: Summary: Bond learns that he's been equipped with an unlooked-for advantage.

Bond paused, studying the bullet he was loading into his spare clip. There were scratches on the base of the casing. That was decidedly odd. Q would never send out ammunition with any sort of flaw that could impair its use, or worse, damage the gun — or the agent using it. He ran a finger over the base but couldn't detect the scratches. Turning it in his hands he looked again. Definitely there. And, he checked, also on all the other bullets in the clip. The chance of a bad bullet from Q-branch was staggeringly small, but not zero. The chance of an entire bad batch escaping notice, however, could be measured in negative numbers. If Q sent these bullets out into the field, then these marks were meant to be there. There must be a reason for them. There was something niggling at him. He’d seen this pattern of scratches before. He glanced over at his Walther. Picking it up he peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. Ah. There it was. On the back of the trigger was a faint glimmer of markings. ... .||. .|.. .| |.|. . .|. .  ... | ..| |.. . || ..| ... It took him a minute to recognize that the lines were dashes among a smattering of dots. After that realization the letters came easily. "placere studemus" Translating the Latin took slightly longer. A moment later he tapped his ear and heard the faint ambient sounds of Q-branch through the earwig. "Do you require assistance, 007?" Q asked. "Interesting numbers in your annual report." "Focus on the mission, Bond. We can discuss—  " "Decreased stray bullet injuries on ops over the last year, but no noticeable increase in range scores," Bond continued, speaking over Q. "True." "We're hitting our targets more often without actually being better shots." "An impressive feat." "Very. I've not seen magic like it since my gran passed." "I- What?" "She was a hedge witch." "Oh. Are you ..." "No," Bond replied as he finished loading the clip. "Can't sense or cast magic. Recognized the marks as spellwork, though. Nice work. You're some sort of technomage?" "Something like that." "And the spell?" "Merely an assist." "An effective one." "Thank you." "Just one thing, Q." "Yes?" "Is that phrase really the best anchor you could come up with?" "Well. You can't deny it's apropos. After all, 'we aim to please.'”

#3

Title: Marketing Research Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: sex? Summary: Bond discovers what Q Branch has been working on lately

“Well, well, Quinn.”

As Bond dropped the gunmetal grey box next to his laptop, Q felt a cold shudder spill down his spine. There were still a few secrets he’d managed to keep from his lover, though apparently he now had one less. “You should never have been able to access that part of the lab.”

“Mmm, so I was informed. Top Secret. I had to be quite persuasive. An interesting project though, Quinn.”

Q fought down a surge of jealousy at the thought of what that persuasion might have been. “You know that’s not my real name, it’s just a joke amongst the techs.” He crossed his arms in irritation. “Dammit, James, you were snooping! This prototype was meant to be a birthday surprise.”

“It’s certainly surprising.” Bond’s finger traced the embossed lettering lovingly. “And not at all an exploding pen, which I was rather expecting. However did you get this past the projects committee?”

Q sighed. “Given the proclivities of double-ohs, it was an easy sell as a test product. A quite unexpected way to deliver drugs or implant trackers, should the need arise.”

“The box is a bit of a giveaway, though, don’t you think? The logo is literally a Q with a tree branch entwined.”

“That’s not the final packaging! They were just having a bit of a joke!”

Bond raised an eyebrow as he opened the box, stroking a finger delicately over the contents. Q felt a twitch of reluctant arousal as he watched those so very precise fingertips linger on certain details.

“So delightfully unexpected, Q,” James purred as he picked up the creamy vellum card inside. “‘Quinn’tessential Ecstasies,” he read aloud. “Is all of Q Branch so prone to puns and in-jokes?” He smirked and dropped the card back into the box. “But don’t you think ‘We Aim To Please’ is a bit on the nose for a gun-shaped dildo?” James chuckled, picking it up and fondling it in a way that made Q’s trousers just a little more snug.

Q glared. “As if subtlety is your strong suit.”

James laughed wickedly. “I’m quite impressed with the trigger-activated vibrations. Whatever made you think of this?”

“It seemed natural, since an exploding pen is out of the question in the bedroom, and you do have a rather unhealthy attachment to your Walther.”

“It needs testing. And since you present such a tempting target, Q…”

#4

Title: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: On an undercover mission, Bond considers the merits of murdering customers.

“Is the hazelnut syrup sugar-free?”

Bond bit back a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Only the cinnamon and vanilla syrups are sugar-free.”

It wasn’t the stupidest question in the world, but this had been going on for five minutes. Or maybe three. It felt like five hours.

First, it had been “what’s the difference between a latte and a flat white?” Which… fair enough. He’d had to quickly remember his crash course in coffee-making to bullshit an explanation without saying “the flat white is cheaper but costs more.”

Then, it was “why does the oat milk have a surcharge but the soy milk doesn’t?” prompting a lesson in the economics of non-dairy milk alternatives all the while considering drowning his customer in said soy milk.

So: not the stupidest question in the world, but quite possibly the stupidest customer.

“I’ll have a cappuccino.”

Seriously?

“Was that with soy milk?”

“Oh no, just regular milk’s fine.”

How was this his life?!

“Syrup?”

“No, thanks.”

He could feel his molars grinding with the force of his fake smile. Five minutes! For nothing!

“And what name is it?”

“Karen.”

Of course it was.

He had been stuck in this god-forsaken job for three weeks, and was seriously weighing the pros and cons of ‘accidentally’ causing an explosion. Things like that happened, right? He could probably get away with it

“No, you can’t kill her.”

Bond stifled a groan. Bad enough that he was stuck undercover as a bloody barista in Canada, without having Q in his ear all day judging his latte art and thwarting his murder plans. It turned out the Quartermaster was the bloody customer service police.

“I would never,” he muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. The last thing he needed was for his temporary “colleagues” to overhear him talking to thin air.

“Of course not. Just like you’d never feed your gun to a komodo dragon.”

“You know damned well that was an accident,” he whispered, sprinkling cocoa powder through a bloody maple leaf stencil. “How much longer, Q?”

Q just hummed apologetically.

Straightening his shoulders and pasting another ‘friendly’ smile on his face, Bond handed over the drink.

“Well, at least you’re generous with the cocoa.”

“Fuck you, Karen.”

“We aim to please. Enjoy your drink.”

Bond wondered whether he could talk Q into blowing the place up after all.

#5

Title: Distraction Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: paranoia can be a healthy attitude around some people

As a rule, Q always was rather suspicious of quiet - whether that was a side effect of working in espionage or just his nature, he wasn't particularly sure but he knew better than wasting too much brainpower on such considerations. Besides, a healthy dose of paranoia always paid off if the feeling was carefully kept on a leash. Hand going to grab his taser, Q entered the bedroom and his eyes immediately zeroed in on his lovers "What are you doing?" "Who - us?" James inquired with a shiteating grin, dramatically pointing at his own chest "Man of little faith" Q gestured at Raoul, lounging against the bed post "At least he has the decency to not try to fool me" he pointed out as he relaxed in increments, tension gradually leaving his body as he made his way to the bed to sit at its foot "So?" "What makes you think we are up to anything?" The younger man batted James' hand away from his calf "You always are up to something when you're quiet: it's not like either of you" Raoul's chuckle was satiny and dark - if Q hadn't found it ridiculous to compare a sound to food, his mind would have probably come up with some kind of stupid similitude involving a rich, dark chocolate cake "We aim to please, mi querido" "That awfully sounds like an admission of guilt" "Maybe" Raoul leaned over, finger tapping the point of the other's nose just to see the way it would scrunch up at the bothersome gesture "But who says I feel guilty about any of it?" Taking advantage of Q's distraction, their lover clearly too busy - and failing at - glaring Raoul into properly confessing, James wrapped his hand around his ankle and tugged firmly, a delighted chuckle escaping his lips at the  little shriek Q let out "Let's talk about it later" he murmured, bending down to brush their lips together "There's funnier things to do" "Just tell me the place isn't gonna get swarmed by whatever international agency might be thirsting for our heads" Raoul palmed his cheek, gently turning his head to meet his eyes "I promise" Q sighed, eyes rolling even as he reached for the nape of the other's neck while he sneaked a foot between James' legs "Fine, but don't you think you can postpone this conversation for much longer" "Wouldn't dream of it"

#6

Title: Souvenirs Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: mild BDSM themes Summary: Bond likes giving Q souvenirs of his travels.

Q examined the box squatting in the center of his desk, a cardboard enigma with a security clearance tag. The shipping label indicated it had originated from Elko, Nevada. Q closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The only agent recently conducting operations in the US was Bond. The joint operation between the CIA and MI6 focused on an information dealer selling military secrets from both Britain and the US. Bond had been pleased to be working with his old friend Felix Leiter. Q had been entertained by Bond and Leiter as the pair entered what Felix had described as a legal brothel.

Bond: “Only in America.” Bond's voice held a hint of astonishment. “All that neon makes my eyes water.”

Leiter: “Ah yes, one stop shopping for a certain type of client.”

Bond: “Felix. They have a gift shop. The souvenirs must be epic.”

Successful, Bond had returned and this had appeared. Q looked at the box reproachfully. Bond and his souvenirs. Being romantically involved with the man had only increased his penchant for gifting Q with odd objects. He carefully slit the tape and opened the flaps, prodding carefully at the packing peanuts. The first item was a six pack of seasonings and sauces intended for American style barbecue. Unusually practical. He resolved to investigate how to use them as he placed the jars on the shelf behind him and dug further. His fingers encountered a narrow object that flexed a bit as he removed it. He flushed with embarrassment although he was alone in the office as he withdrew a riding crop in a rather nice leather finish with the initials MHHP stamped on the handle in gold. He gave it an experimental swing, neatly sending a packing peanut flying. Digging produced a final item. He shook out the tee shirt, and read the logo that explained it all. 'Madame Helga's House of Pain, Barbecue Joint, and Rifle Range' was displayed across the front. The back had an image of an androgynous figure with a bullseye painted on it's pert derrière and the legend, 'We aim to please'. His phone pinged and he checked the text. Bond had sent a video which proved to be a short loop of the neon display at Madame Helga's featuring an animated dominatrix landing a crop in the center of the bullseye. The text accompaniment said, 'Care to provide a target, darling?'

#7

Title: Timing is Everything Author: Iambid (Flantastic) Warnings: None Summary:  James needs a new hobby.

YOU'RE EARLY AGAIN, said the Grim Reaper, with a hint of surprise.

“I am?”  James asked, sounding a lot calmer than he currently felt.

He looked around himself.  He’d been in Saudi Arabia, on the trail of an assassin, when everything had gone to hell. He’d been captured, beaten, tortured and then dumped in the middle of nowhere, somewhere south of Ash Shalfa. The last thing that he remembered was lying broken and bloody in the burning desert, baking under the merciless sun.

Now it appeared he was in a wood-panelled office, not unlike the one that M used.

Except M’s had never had a skeleton dressed in a black robe sitting at its desk.  Well. As far as James knew.

YOU KEEP DOING THIS, Death said, shuffling through the thick paper file in front of him.  Her. It.  Whatever.

“I do?”  James asked, still not entirely sure he knew what was going on.

MMMMM.  AGED TEN, FELL HEAD-FIRST OUT OF A TREE.  AGED TWENTY-ONE.  GOT INTO A FIGHT ON THE HMS ALBION, PUSHED OFF THE FLIGHT-DECK INTO THE ADRIATIC SEA. AGED FORTY-TWO, SHOT OFF A NINETY-EIGHT METRE BRIDGE BY A… Death paused, bringing the page closer to their face. They seemed to squint, which wasn’t bad going for a skull … IT SAYS A ‘FRIEND’.

“That would be Moneypenny.”  James explained.

THERE ARE COUNTLESS INCIDENTS LIKE THIS.  NEED I GO ON?

“I shouldn’t think so.”  James admitted.

COME WITH ME, Death commanded.  They rose, and floated towards the door.  James obediently followed them.  The door opened and on the other side, they found themselves in a hospital room. The occupants didn’t seem to notice.

YOU SEEM TO THINK THAT RESURRECTION IS A HOBBY.  IT ISN’T.  DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS, I SIMPLY CAN’T TAKE WHAT ISN’T MINE YET.

James stepped forward and saw that he was the man in the bed and the man in the chair next to him, the man pressing tearful kisses to the back of his bandaged hand, was Q.

YOU BELONG TO HIM.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU TO LOVE HIM.  YOU’LL BE MINE ONCE YOU’VE GIVEN HIM A LONG HAPPY LIFE.

James jerked awake, his body suddenly screaming out with a hundred injuries.  He gasped but Q was there, soothing him, calming him.  He squeezed his hand and Q smiled.

“You saved me.”  He croaked.

“Smart blood.  Latest tech. We aim to please.” Q replied.

#8

Title: The Problem With Retirement Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: retirement or reunion

The diner was full of quiet little noises this late at night. Silverware clinking, a pen scratching across a booklet of crossword puzzles, tired sighs of the late-night drivers, and in the corner a booth full of a tired family. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snap of chewing gum and their waitress’s voice drew him out of his musings. “Welcome to the Georgia Peach, we aim to please. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

A long-suffering sigh blew out of the wide mouth that had been until then, pinched tight in annoyance. “Just coffee for him.”

The waitress was a behemoth of a working professional, much like Bond, and simply offered Q a wide smile, showing just a hint of gold at the edges. “And for his lordship?”

Bond answered for him. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”

“Okay, one coffee and hot tea for His Lordship.” She winked at Q and spun on her heel.

Q’s folded his hands under his chin and studied Bond for the minutes it took for their waitress to bring back a carafe of coffee, a mug of hot water on a saucer, and a pathetic excuse for a teabag.

Bond sipped at his coffee as he watched the disgust crawl across Q’s perfect, bony little face. He missed that face.

“Enough. Why am I here and why are you bleeding?”

“Am I bleeding?” Bond reached under his jacket, his fingers came away wet and red. “Huh, thought it was ketchup.”

“You’re supposed to be in the middle of Jamaica. Retired.”

“You could say that. I need your help. Madeline needs your help”

Q stared long and hard at Bond. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Running off with her, abandoning m...MI6 taking the car-” He broke off his tirade when Bond reached forward and laid his hand on his, blood smearing along the pale skin.

Q’s eyes focused on the blood.

“I never said WE retired together. She’s been a good neighbor, a good friend. That’s all. She still had her secrets. They found her. Whoever THEY are and she needs your help.” Bond curled his fingers under and gripped Q’s hand tightly.

Q made a weak attempt to look away. His eyes stuttered back when Bond’s finger brushed across his wrist and gave an answer Q was not expecting.

“Oh, how I missed you, Q.”

#9

Title: Improvisation Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Turn-about is… unpleasant.

He nurses a scotch and watches the mark, Jason Abernathy, at a table in the corner.  Businessman.  Mid-40s.   On his third round, a group of beautiful people laughing at his jokes.   He’s ignoring the dance floor, despite the urging of the blonde at his table. And he’s noticed Bond watching, but hasn’t approached him. Another agent is on her way as back-up.  Perhaps she’ll be more to his taste. Bond turns the card over in his fingers  “Discreet Escorts: We aim to please!”  It’s not subtle, but it has a certain charm.  If it were just a high-end escort business, he wouldn’t be here.  But if it’s a quasi-legal front for a human trafficking ring...   “007?” R asks. Bond raises his drink to his lips.  “Hmmm?” “Change of plans.” Bond surveys the room, waiting for clarification.   It comes in the form of Q wearing skinny jeans and a tight purple shirt.   Q smiles flirtatiously and moves around Bond so his back is to the mark.  “New intel.  003 won’t be to his taste either.  We had to improvise.” “Improvise?” “Reject me,” Q whispers.  “Loudly.” Bond glances at the mark and sees his gaze fixed on Q’s arse. “You’re not what I want,” Bond shouts, pushing Q away.   One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand. “Is there a problem?” Jason asks, sliding in beside Q. Q levels a dazzling smile at him.  “No problem.  My new employer sent me to a potential client, and I’m not what he wants.” “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.  Who’s your employer?” Q hands him a card just like Bond’s. “Oh, I am.  Shall we see how well you take our motto to heart?” Jason leads Q to the dance floor.  Bond is forced to watch them “dance” for ten minutes, until it’s really just grinding and snogging.  They pass him again on the way to the loo, and Bond feels something heavy drop into his pocket. Jason’s phone. Bond moves to the door.  “I have it.” “And the drive?” R asks. “Inserting now.” Within minutes, the data has been retrieved and Q’s bug is installed.  Bond wanders back in the bar, dismayed to see Q is still missing. “He’s fine,” R assures. Bond doesn’t like it.  He heads down the hall to the loo, placing the phone on the seat the mark vacated as he passes.  The door is locked. “Stand down, 007.” He orders another drink and waits.

#10

Title: Echoes Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None. Summary: Five + One. Bond hearing echoes.

Bond was surprised at how relaxing it was at Q’s parents’ house. It was filled with homely touches, photos of Q and his brothers through the years, plants and knick-knacks on the shelves. There was even a hand stitched frame in the downstairs bathroom that declared “In this house, we aim to please. In this room, you aim too, please!”. It felt like a home.

It was the second fitting for Bond’s latest suit. The tailor was a genius, the way he managed to conceal the gun holster. “Anything else, Mr. Bond?” he asked. “Perhaps a touch longer in the sleeve.” Bond replied. “Of course sir, we aim to please after all.” Bond smiled.

Bond was actually using his office, studying for his upcoming mission. Eve sauntered in, perched on the edge of his desk and asked, “How much do you love me?” dangling an envelope between two manicured fingers. “It depends on what that is.” said Bond, taking it. “Travel documents where I, your best friend, have managed to secure first-class tickets for your Brazil flights.” “Thank you!” said Bond, who detested long hours in cattle class. As Eve strolled out of the office, she tossed over her shoulder “We aim to please!”.

As Bond entered the R&D department, he was met with the sight of Alec, waving a brochure in the direction of Q, who appeared to be ignoring him. “Seriously Q, just have a look at these specifications. It would be an asset. And it looks awesome! Did you see the clever headline for it?” Q grabbed the brochure, exclaiming “That headline alone is reason enough NOT to buy it. What kind of company would market a rifle sight with the motto “We Aim to Please!” Seriously! Now away with you, I have work to do.” and gestured Bond forward.

Q went over each piece of equipment, saving the best for last. “This is simple, press the top three times quickly, jam it into the keyhole and step back.” Bond took it with a look of wonder “Q, you’ve made me an exploding pen!” Q’s blush was adorable as he muttered “We aim to please.”

Bond settled his breathing, sighting on his target. It should have been an impossible shot - the distance, the weather, etc but between his skill and Q's equipment, another minor government official/major crime lord met his fate. "We aim to please." Bond muttered.

#11

Title: Flirting With the Wild Cat Author: scarytheory Warnings: angst Summary: Moneypenny has a secret.

We aim to please.

There are new documents on her desk, and she's feeling sick to her stomach.

Oh yes. We do.

*

They met when she was still a field agent.

“Miss Moneypenny.”

“Miss Galore.”

It would have been a standard honeypot mission if they didn't hate each other instantly. But there was something they needed, so they flirted, got drunk and angrily fucked on the balcony. In the end, Eve got the information and Pussy Galore didn't.

It should have ended there. But sometimes Mallory needed to contact Galore again, and Eve was the best agent for it – even after she became a secretary.

Eve honestly didn't mind; she loved a challenge, and Galore gave her just that. It was always a rush of emotions, it was hatred with a twist, a complicated game – who was better, smarter, wittier. The constant battle for dominance. Which was also a basis for incredible sex.

They started spending more time together, and suddenly they were laughing and talking about their lives. They didn't even need a mission for that – whatever that was. It didn't feel like they were enemies anymore.

Eve should have known better.

She never should have trusted her.

“You betrayed me.”

“And you are surprised, Moneypenny? This is what I do, what we do – me, you, all your agents and all my people. We aim to please, Eve. We were trained for it, we were trained to be horrible people. However, it’s our bosses we’re meant to please first and foremost. We're fucked up and you know it. There is no way you could disobey an order from M and I have my duties as well.”

“I would never use you.”  

Except she already had. But that was before the laughter, before... everything.

“Honestly, did you believe that there was some miraculous happy ending for us? We are the same and yet different; a heroine and a villain. You should be glad it’s ending only in heartbreak and not with death.” She always loved big words and big speeches.

“I hate you, Galore.”

“Oh, but you don't, darling. That's the problem.”

*

And now Eve's sitting at her desk and staring at the documents. 007 got a new job. Eliminate a target who is no longer useful to them.

Yet, there is still time to warn her.

We aim to please. Until we don't.

#12

Title: A Pizza Pie Author: Ksan ( @starrboned-art​ ) Warnings: None Summary: Bond and Q are having a quiet afternoon together.

"James, that is not - stop that!" Q grabbed James' wrist before he could pour the sauce on the pizza dough.

"Q, that's how I’ve always made pizza." James gave his wrist an experimental wiggle, but the boffin was holding tight, eyes daring him to move.

"You need to oil the edges first," Q insisted, waving the brush and splashing oily drops everywhere.

James conceded, if only to not get his dark blue shirt stained.

"As you say, chef." James smirked, setting the hot pan aside. Q gave the dough a quick brush, nodding at James. "Now you can pour the sauce."

"Yes, chef."

"Stop it," Q said with a huff, but James spotted a quirk to his lips as he turned to the counter. A few plates laid ready with sliced vegetables and meats, all waiting to be added to the pizza.

"Just make sure that the champignons won't touch my side of the pizza." James scowled at the innocent white mushrooms.

Q gave him a smirk. "You are very particular about your food."

"I have a very particular taste," James countered with a suggestive smile. Q laughed, turning to put the pizza into the oven. James managed to steal a few sliced cherry tomatoes from Q's pile before he got caught.

"Go get the wine," Q said, "I'll get the glasses."

"So bossy today," James smirked, ruffling Q's curls. He escaped into the sunlit living room before Q could swat at him with a towel.

It was late noon on a Saturday, and for once none of them had any world-dooming emergencies to solve. The cats were basking in the late sun, the curtains swayed slightly as the evening breeze blew through the open windows.

James opened a red shiraz with a pop. With the wine ready on the table, he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet rustle Q made in the kitchen.

"Double-o agent, falling asleep?" Q's hand snuck around his waist, chin peeking over his shoulder.

"Before dinner?! You know agents, Q - we aim to please," James turned, kissing Q's smile. He had tomato sauce on his cheek, which James licked (to Q's astonished laughter).

"Pleasing will have to wait for later," Q purred, shoving the wine glasses at James. "What should we toast to?"

James swirled his wine, a habit born out of years of fine dining.

"To more sunny afternoons together."

#13

Title: game Author: azure7539 Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Hide and seek as usual, but it's interesting all the same. Just another day at work.

-

Nausea roils like a particularly stormy sea in the midst of a hurricane, and all he can hear is the whistling of his own breathing as his throat wheezes around air before it rattles into his ribcage and never truly fills up those burning lungs.

He’s been running for so long, he can no longer feel the screaming in his feet.

The throng of people felt like a good idea at first, a thick crowd celebrating some local holiday, but now every face seems suspicious, every pair of eyes lingering on just a tad too long. The enemies can be anywhere, can be anyone.

Vertigo dips his world as he crashes into a phone booth, thinking, assuming, he’s managed to put decent distance between him and his chasers, spare change clinking as the coins spill from his shaking hands.

Fuck. Fuck, what’s the number again…

Eight, five, three, two—

The line rings. Once. Twice.

“Hello,” a posh voice he’s never heard before picks up, nonchalant and indifferent. “Identification, please.”

“S-SPCTR-6304,” he nearly trips on his own tongue saying the words.

“One moment.” Soft typing filters through, the calmness perforating through the mad chaos in his mind. But adrenaline licks at his heels—he’s finally standing still long enough to feel the way how wracking tremors are seizing up his overtaxed muscles—and he wants to scream and vibrate out of his skin.

His instincts are shouting at him to start running again, to keep at it until he finds a trustworthy point of contact, something more than just another voice on the other side of a line.

But that’s the thing. This ‘voice on the other side of a line’ is one of his last remaining trustworthy points of contact. The rest are just… gone.

Someone shrieks from over where the people have gathered at the end of the alley, and he’s one hair’s breadth away from slamming back into the wall.

His heart is beating too fast.

“Ah, Mr Roswell. Good to hear from you again,” the person says, pleasantly. A pause. “Did you enjoy your final game?”

“What—”

“At MI6, we aim to please, after all,” the voice drops into a low baritone. Dangerous.

Like the monsters of his nightmares culminating into one singular point of existence.

The last thing he sees before life drains from him are twin pools of glacier. As blue and unreachable as the sky above.

___

You wonderful LDWS writers, you! Thank you so much for writing us these!

And thank you, readers, for reading and voting! THANK YOU!

[autumnblogs]

Day 10: I think the true purpose of this game is to see how many qualifiers we can get to precede the word "self" and still understand what we're talking about

https://homestuck.com/story/1642

I don’t think anyone has said much about Calsprite. There’s not much to be said. I’m pretty sure, based on the Juju rules, that this Lil Cal probably doesn’t count as the real one - supposedly, any version of a Juju from a Doomed Timeline doesn’t count as the real thing? In any case, it’s a very mild comfort that this being isn’t a source of even more power for the already arbitrarily powerful Lord English.

Another thing that I think is interesting to note is that Dave’s use of iPhone technology marks him, in my opinion, as a poseur. While I am by no means advocating against buying from Microsoft’s competitors, but Mac vs. PC is one of those parts of my childhood, and as an actual IT Professional I’ve learned more than a little about the way that they brand themselves and the history of Apple’s struggle for market share - Apple doesn’t advertise its products as computing alternatives, or as productivity software, or whatever - Apple sells a lifestyle. Apple products are styled as the sexier, more cerebral, more artistic, more individualistic alternative to Microsoft’s products, a computer not for the Office Drone but for... well, the Hipster. Hipsters have stopped really being a thing, or at least, nobody calls themselves that any more.

Like the vast majority of subcultures, I suspect the hipster subculture has kind of been swallowed by time, its symbols expropriated by Capitalism, its center hollowed out and its aesthetics packaged for mass production, as the cynical and jaded approach to popular culture of the hipster, along with its more enthusiastic counterpart “the geek” (actually pretty well personified by John!) became more mainstream - both stereotypes are probably a part of Homestuck’s general commentary on fandom. Fandom is something I think Homestuck talks about, but I don’t think it’s something Homestuck is about in quite the same way that it’s about, say, Narratives, or Reproduction.

More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/1643

While Homestuck has been a story that involves some time loops, Act 4 is where it really gets off the ground as an actual Time Travel story. The thing about Time Travel stories, like the thing about Cosmic Horror Stories, is that once a story starts having Time Travel, or Cosmic Horrors in it, it’s that genre forever. This is why DND, for example, is part of a cosmic horror story, because something like 20 years ago, an adventure writer decided that there should be the Far Realm, and now it casts its sticky pall over the rest of the game’s setting.

Homestuck sidesteps this issue largely by involving all of the genres that do this to a story, and just kind of blending them all together into a genre-busting stew. Homestuck is a superhero story. Homestuck is a creation story. Homestuck is a theogony. Homestuck is a cosmic horror story. Homestuck is a time travel story. And so on and so on.

https://homestuck.com/story/1657

And so began one of the greatest partnerships in the history of Paradox Space.

Also of note is that Terezi compares Dave to fire here, not the first or the last bit of symbolism linking him to that element. It’s pretty strongly linked, in general, with The Hero, in kind of the same way that the color Red, and the Sword is in these sorts of things.

Dave fits the Classic Hero Archetype a lot better in a lot of ways than John does, and Bro has been training him for that role since birth. On a much larger scale, Lord English has decreed from his position as the overlord of Paradox Space that Dave is the Hero who should defeat him.

https://homestuck.com/story/1663

Friendship proves once again to be one of the most powerful forces in the universe, changing John’s direction, and steering him away from disaster.

https://homestuck.com/story/1667

Not much to say about this conversation, but the transition between Karkat’s explanation of the Veil and the beginning of [S]Jack: Ascend is smooth as fuck.

https://homestuck.com/story/1670

Our very first self-indulgent author self-insert; the Fourth Wall is explicitly identified as a Fenestrated Plane. 1 Point for the Narrative Contrivance hypothesis.

https://homestuck.com/story/1692

Dave actually does care immensely. Not only does he spend a ton of his time being overshadowed by cooler more powerful men like Bro, and John, now Dave even has to spend his time being overshadowed by cooler versions of himself - and that goes in both directions - both Davesprite and Dave seem to think that the other is the more real, more cool Dave!

https://homestuck.com/story/1710

As a Light Player, Rose is preoccupied with Meaning. She sees it everywhere, and she certainly sees where it is not (at least when she is not Miserable with a capital M). Meaning and Value - Fortune - is not intrinsic to this item, but it is instead bestowed upon it by the fact that Rose loves it, and by the work that Rose put into it. The Rabbit is a labor of love and a treasured belonging, and the Love in the Rabbit is the Light that the Seer Sees.

https://homestuck.com/story/1714

I’m pretty sure that John and Kanaya only talk to each other about twice in all of Homestuck, which is a bit of a shame! John and Karkat are really a lot more alike each other than either of them is comfortable admitting (which I think is probably why Dave is attracted to Karkat). By the transitive law of friendship, it seems to me that John and Kanaya would probably be pretty good friends. On the subject of the other diagonal line in the quadrangle of friendship, I wonder if Rose and Karkat talk to each other pretty much ever?

https://homestuck.com/story/1715

The clear indication here is a parallel between Dave and Sollux, but like a lot of things that probably didn’t go as intended with the Trolls, nothing much ends up materializing from it. I suppose that by fucking off to do nothing for the rest of the adventure, Sollux gets to live Dave’s dream for him, so there’s that.

https://homestuck.com/story/1720

Adorable. This is one of the happiest little moments in the comic.

So often, characters are cut off from one another by moments. They just miss each other, or literally can’t understand each other because of supernatural shenanigans, or can’t communicate with each other on screen because of the way that communication can’t happen unmediated in Homestuck.

And even when they can talk to each other, often the awkwardness and pain of communicating with other people, of trying to get them to understand you the way you actually are, instead of only seeing you one certain way, is too great, and communication proves impossible.

But here, Rose and Dave don’t need words to hang out.

They shut up and jam.

(It’s also incredibly sweet that Rose‘s actual in-person esteem of Dave is so great that she cannot restrain her own thought process. For all her joshing, she really does think Dave is cool.)

https://homestuck.com/story/1722

Also incredibly sweet that Rose’s first order of business as soon as they’re done playing around is to destroy that goddamn puppet.

https://homestuck.com/story/1754

Just missed him.

https://homestuck.com/story/1775

I wish not to contemplate the implication that Homestuck Sprite Mode Legs are actually wafer thin.

https://homestuck.com/story/1812

Nearly as soon as Rose has awoken and absorbed herself from the Doomed Timeline, she gets down to business alchemizing a lot of dangerous and powerful artifacts in preparation to fuck shit up. I’ve never thought about it much before, but I think it’s not hard to say that the memories she absorbed from the other timeline cause Rose to embrace her more reckless and less charitable side. She comments on her own dangerous pursuit of power, and then immediately ignores that train of thought.

https://homestuck.com/story/1836

Dave sure is fixated on bottoms.

https://homestuck.com/story/1852

Note to self. Come back to this.

So far, the only thing of note is the number 12, a portent related to the victors of Homestuck, if only coincidentally.

https://homestuck.com/story/1857

Dave’s sincerity senses are tingling. Maybe it’s an instinct since he and Roxy are pretty similar people, maybe it’s just because Dave himself is not nearly as insincere as he wants to be.

Dave’s anxiety about being watched is also probably best exemplified by his insistence on hiding his eyes behind glasses.

https://homestuck.com/story/1887

Adorable!

I wonder if Andrew already had the sprite designs for these squirts, and their names picked out at this time.

The hair and accessories are certainly correct.

https://homestuck.com/story/1895

Before I get too much further into this sequence, I’d like to pause and take a second to just appreciate this prose. The style is captivating.

The shipping pun is also pretty good.

https://homestuck.com/story/1903

BladeKindEyeWear has already done a pretty good job explaining what the Ultimate Riddle is, so I won’t belabor it too much more than he has here. The Ultimate Riddle itself is, “What Will You Do?” And the answer to it is, “Do What You Will.”

Do What You Will isn’t just the inscription on AURYN, it’s also an extremely old phrase intended for spiritual enlightenment, historically first formulated by Saint Augustine in his Sermon On Love, where he puts it thusly, “Love, and Do What You Will.” The Love that Augustine is talking about is not Romantic Love or even familial love, but Universal Unconditional Love - goodwill toward everyone and everything, to have one’s Heart’s Desire be that everyone should flourish and be happy.

Another formulation, the Wiccan Rede is, “An It Harm None, Do What Ye Will,” perhaps a more detached, declaration. In either case, the Will here is not talking about merely chasing simple wants, but an invitation to follow one’s true will, not to respond to simple passions, but to take voluntary action in accordance with who one is as a person.

https://homestuck.com/story/1905

threatening.............

https://homestuck.com/story/1922

Jake Harley begins a life of serial abandonment.

https://homestuck.com/story/1930

I really should have brought this up first when Rose and Davesprite went back into time, but this is about the time Homestuck starts to get lousy with all kinds of alternate selves, Dream Selves, Doomed Selves, and so on and so on, and from a narrative frame of reference, they’re actually all literally the same guy - the actions of one version of a character inform us about all versions of that character.

More on that later.

https://homestuck.com/story/1931

More Roleplaying. John has a wild imagine spot.

https://homestuck.com/story/1934

Dave stares at the blood on his hands, and contemplates his death for a long time.

https://homestuck.com/story/1936

Some immediate foreshadowing in here. Jade, I’m pretty sure, is one of the few people in Tavros’ life who shows him some genuine unconditional friendliness, so it’s no wonder that he latches onto her.

The way he does is still pretty creepy though.

https://homestuck.com/story/1940

As long as I’m mostly focusing on the emotional dimension of Homestuck, the two major emotional beats in this Flash are the Sovereign Slayer slaughtering WV’s army, revealing the source of his self-loathing and trauma, and the death of Jade’s Dream Self.

The death of her Dream Self is not nearly the beginning of Jade’s Trauma Conga Line, but it’s definitely the first in the chain of events that leads her to finally snap out of her learned helplessness and blind optimism, and to start taking her fate into her own hands. She’s been so sure of her destiny up to this point, and now things are finally starting to get out of hand.

Also, I choose to believe that the bizarre Squiddles interlude is the first moment that the Dark Gods make contact with Jade’s psyche. They know she’s about to die, and they’re starting to communicate with her.

Anyway, that’s all for today.

Yesterday’s cough turned out to be post-viral infection, since I had Covid the week of the 11th, so for now this is Cam signing off, Medicated, and Not Alone.

[reddieorrnot]

short soulmate au where richie is a little bitch :)

“So... I finally heard him last night.”

Eddie snapped his head up from his book and glanced over to Beverly. The redhead was perched on her bed, looking right back at him. It took him a second to realize what she meant, his eyes widening when he finally connected the dots. 

“Your soulmate?” He exclaimed, setting down the piece of fiction and crawling up to her bed to sit beside her body. She giggled at his excitement and gave him a small nod, her hair moving along with her head. “Well? How’d you do it?”

Everyone knew that when the time came, you could hear what your soulmate was hearing. It all came at its own moment though, if it was too early in one’s life or one of the soulmates weren’t ready yet, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything. But if it was the right time, communication could be done by talking out loud. The idea always excited Eddie, and it made him a tiny bit nervous at the same time. He, like most people, was a little anxious that their soulmate wouldn’t like them. Beverly always told him that was impossible because it would be his literal soulmate. He was also scared he would just never hear anything, that he just didn’t have a soulmate. 

Late at night every day, when he was positive his mother had fallen asleep, Eddie would lie in his bed looking up at the ceiling. He would close his eyes, and put all his focus on his hearing, listening to everything around him. He would try to find some sort of noise that sounded like it couldn’t be coming from his room, like some sort of cough or sneeze or anything. He would have taken anything at that point. And when he didn’t hear anything, Eddie would gently whisper into the night a small greeting, just in case his soulmate was too shy to speak first. He would do that daily and had done it for a while. But there was a consistent rate of failure. 

His personal disappointment, fortunately, did not cloud his happiness for Beverly, though. 

“Well, I just knew somehow when I started hearing him. Like even if there had been a highway next to me, which there wasn’t because I was just in my room, I would have heard even the quietest pin drop from his side.”

Eddie listened to her, lips parted in a tiny gasp, hanging onto her every word. Maybe it was because her words were so enchanting, or because she was so beautiful, but Eddie couldn’t tear his attention away no matter what. Beverly and he had been friends since sixth grade, now going onto 5 years as they started Junior year. Eddie would never understand why such a cool girl would ever want to be his friend. She wore the coolest clothes, listened to the coolest music. And Beverly even carried around gum and a small perfume for after she smoked, just for Eddie’s behalf. It was incredibly kind, and made Eddie feel like his opinion mattered. Beverly was one of the best things to ever happen to him. 

If I wasn’t gay, Eddie thought, I would wish for you to be my soulmate. 

“He was writing a poem, something about the seasons, and I guess I must have heard him proofreading it out loud. I was so freaked out, Eddie, you don’t understand,” By this point, Beverly had sat up and now was facing Eddie, clutching his hands on hers. “And then, I finally spoke. I was like, ‘Hello?’ and he immediately stopped talking. Probably from like... shock or something.”

“Then what?” 

“Then he replied, and he couldn’t believe he could hear me! He’s got the sweetest voice, I swear. We stayed up so late talking, just about ourselves and our lives. He actually doesn’t live too far...” Beverly’s gaze drifted from Eddie to out her window, it reminded Eddie of some cinematic moment, the way the light hit her eyes that you could see them twinkling. 

“Bev, what’s his name?”

She giggled again, “Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you that part, didn’t I? His name is Ben, Ben Hanscom.”

Eddie smiled and brought Beverly in for a hug, “I’m so happy for you.”

“I'm just not quite sure if he can always hear me, or if he just tries to? It’s all very peculiar.”

“You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

She pulled away from the hug and took Eddie’s hand within hers once more. “You’ll hear yours soon, Eddie. I know you will.”

“I hope.” 

- Three Months Later -

It was while he was sitting on his bed one afternoon, doodling on his AP Chemistry homework. Eddie’s day had been long, and excruciatingly boring. Mike, Beverly’s friend, had invited Eddie to go along with the two out to the town. Eddie had politely declined, even though it sounded fun, he’d much rather prefer simply relaxing at home. And that’s what he was doing, and he was, in fact, enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, Eddie heard the sound of a pencil dropping. The impacted surface sounded like wood, which didn’t make sense because Eddie’s room was carpeted, but he still leaned over the bed to check if one of his pens had rolled off. Seeing no indication of such, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, leaning back into his old position. 

A few minutes later, Eddie heard the sound of something falling on the ground once again. This time it did not mirror the previous sound, differing from the phantom pencil that must have dropped. It was more hushed, something lighter. Eddie immediately jumped from his bed and looked all over his floor, searching for what had grabbed his attention. That’s when he heard it. 

A soft whisper filled Eddie’s ears, “Oh, you motherfuck, just land in the can.”

Eddie nearly jumped, desperately looking around his room for some intruder. Perhaps he could have chalked it up hearing his mother pass by his thin room walls, but the voice was too different from hers, even in its quiet state. That revelation prompted Eddie to realize what was occurring. His soulmate. If he hadn’t been nervous beforehand, when he believed someone was in his room, he sure as hell was nervous now. He moved to the edge of his bed in a rather slow fashion, leg bouncing as he sat down. As quick as he could, Eddie then mustered up enough courage to speak into the quiet environment around him. 

“Hello?” 

There was no way Eddie could deny he heard a sharp inhale be taken right after he said that simple word. Something told him that his soulmate was most probably as nervous as he was now. Silence returned and Eddie was about to start convincing himself he was going crazy when a voice filled his ears once more. 

“Holy shit, I mean, hey?”

They were definitely a guy, Eddie thought. It sounded like someone his age, but Eddie had a hard time painting a mental image of him in his head. 

“Hi... I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what to say...” Eddie struggled to come up with a coherent thought, phrases sprinting into his mind and leaving just as rapidly. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason he had spoken again was to hear his newly found soulmate’s voice. 

“I, uh, I actually know exactly what to say to you...” The sentence made Eddie’s breath get stuck in his throat, as he located the shy tone coming from the other boy. The shyness didn’t do any diminishing toward his deeper voice though, it wasn’t Mike deep but definitely not Eddie’s higher voice. He felt a little self-conscious for a second about how possibly sounded but quickly shook the thought away. 

“You know exactly what to say to me?” Eddie leaned back into his bed, hugging himself, trying to knot away from the nerves in his stomach. What could his soulmate have to say? Had he planned it out for the first time he would hear Eddie? Was Eddie really that important to someone, where they had prepared for their meeting? All these questions made Eddie’s brain buzz, as he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Yeah... I’ve been waiting to hear you,” Eddie’s thoughts were confirmed.

“Really? Tell me what you have to say.”

“Okay, just listen, though, alright?” 

The verb use made Eddie chuckle, “As if I wasn’t already doing that?”

“Okay, whatever,” The other boy was laughing too, “Just... listen...”

Eddie nodded, then remembered no one could see him, so he mumbled a small, “I understand.”

There was quiet for a second, then the small noise of gentle tapping. He couldn’t pinpoint what could be making the noise, perhaps Richie had written what he had to say on some note. It was all Eddie could assume, as he was a little lost. He continued to do as said, keeping quiet and simply focusing on his sense of hearing. 

Then some familiar music began to play, it had some beat filled intro, and once again, Eddie couldn’t pinpoint what song was. It had a piece of upbeat music and it was so familiar. 

Then it hit him.

“Are you fucking-”

“We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I,” 

“I cannot fucking believe-” 

“A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy,”

“Do you know how goddamn annoying-” 

“I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand,” 

“Holy christ, please turn it off before it gets to the-”

“Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you,“ 

It was a few lyrics afterward where the boy ended up pausing the song, to which Eddie believed he only did because his so-called soulmate started laughing so hard both of them could barely either Rick Astley at that point.

“I wish there was a way I could hang up on you after that,” Eddie said with an exhausted sigh. This only made the other boy laugh again. 

“Well aren’t you fun, I’m Richie,” The name gave Eddie butterflies, and hearing that voice made him melt right back into the previous puddle.

“Richie, you are incredibly annoying.”

“No, I’m not annoying, I just told you I’m Richie!” When Eddie groaned in response, Richie continued, “Okay, now tell me your name.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re soulmates, duh.”

It was obviously a good reason, but Eddie still rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. 

“My name is Eddie.”

“That’s absolutely adorable. Eddie... Eds.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that!” 

“Too late, you cutie.”

Even though he had instantly refuted it, Eddie knew that deep inside he actually hadn’t hated that nickname as much as he had let on. And he also knew he definitely didn’t find Richie all that annoying.

But hey, he wasn’t about to just say that, was he? 

[firelord-frowny]

because i’m a useless person who hates theirself, i’m already shutting myself down and telling myself i’m not going to get anywhere even remotely significant with this, BUT, in an effort to help myself feel productive and ambitious, i’m going to list a bunch of tips/facts i plan to include in some sort of short video/tik-tok video series that’s tentatively called “Things Your Violin Teacher Probably Never Told You.”

1. You’ve probably been told that in order to play at a softer volume, you must play closer to the fingerboard, and to play louder, you must play closer to the bridge. But you probably HAVEN’T been told that when you play closer to the fingerboard, you must ALSO increase your bow speed and lighten your bow pressure in order to achieve a smooth tone. Likewise, when you play closer to the bridge, you must increase bow pressure and decrease bow speed. Using the wrong combination of speed/pressure can cause the tone to be scratchy and coarse, or thin and metallic, neither of which are appropriate for most styles of playing. 

2. You’ve probably been told that before you begin playing, you should take a lil audible inhalation to “cue” yourself and/or the other musicians you’re playing with. You probably HAVEN’T been told that after you inhale... you need to exhale!! It sounds like common sense, but the tendency after taking that first initial breath is, for some reason, to hold it for a moment before exhaling. This can cause unnecessary tension, which in turn can cause you to rush the tempo, or cause your tone quality to become a bit strangled. Taking care to exhale in tandem with playing the first note helps you maintain control over your tone, tempo, and phrasing. 

3. You’ve probably been told that you need to practice scales to the point of knowing them inside-out, backwards, and upside down. You probably HAVEN’T been told that you don’t actually have to start off with trying to learn scales at a brisk tempo. You can actually start off as slowly as you need to. You can hold each note for several long, slow beats. You can use a metronome to help increase the tempo over time. You should feel free to take AS MUCH TIME AS NECESSARY to increase tempo. Days. Weeks. Months. 

4. You’ve probably been told to never ever ever ever lift your pinky on your bow arm. But almost everyone does exactly that. It’s true that in general, you usually have more control over your bow when your pinky is down. But it’s ALSO true that there are a number of instances where a player can best achieve the kind of phrasing they want by lifting the pinky. A good rule of thumb is: If your bowing/articulation is accurate, you can leave your pinky wherever it is. If your bowing/articulation is NOT accurate, adjusting the pinky may correct the problem. 

5. You’ve probably been told to always, always, ALWAYS start playing “from the string,” meaning you don’t “drop” the bow onto the string before playing. Instead, you “set” the bow by placing it, unmoving, onto the string, and then beginning to play. Setting the bow is a good habit to have. But it is NOT always necessary or appropriate. There are HELLA techniques where the bow may need to be dropped or bounced onto the string. 

6. You probably probably haven’t been told that intonation is NOT a totally black-and-white, either-or science. You’ve probably been told that “enharmonic equivalents” are... well, equivalent! And they are, for most instruments and in most contexts. But an intermediate-level string player needs to understand that enharmonic equivalents are, in fact, NOT equivalent, and that G-flat is actually flatter than F-sharp, for example. The exact pitch of a note is dependent upon: which notes come immediately before and after it, and which notes are occuring simultaneously. There are even instances where you might have to play two different “versions” of the same note one after another, simply because the chord changed, and now the note has to become sharper or flatter in order to match the new chord. Failure to make these adjustments results in a dull tone quality, as well as just... sounding bad lmao. 

7. You’ve probably been told to use “flat hair” on your bow, meaning that the hair lies totally flat against the strings. You probably HAVEN’T been told that there are a lot of instances where it’s appropriate or even ideal to tilt the bow toward the scroll of the instrument so that there’s less contact between the bow hair, and the strings. In particular, super soft dynamics can be more easily achieved by having less contact between the hair and the strings. 

8. You’ve probably been told to rosin your bow before you play, every single time you play. LMAO please don’t. You should rosin your bow as-needed. If you start playing and you find that your tone is a bit thin or wispy, then yeah, rosin your bow. But if your tone is fine, then there’s no need to rosin! Particularly for players who aren’t playing for several hours a day, every day, you can go several days without using rosin before you’ll need to use it again. Having too much rosin can cause your tone quality to sound harsh and scratchy. 

9. You may have been told to scratch your rosin with something sharp to “help” it form a powder which will adhere more easily to your bow. This is SUCH a waste. Don’t do it. Just keep rubbing the rosin onto the bow hair. It’ll work. You don’t need to do anything fancy. Just rub! Scratching it will waste rosin, and make it more prone to cracking/shattering, rendering it pretty much useless. One cake of rosin, properly taken care of, can easily last YEARS. Like, literally, I CANNOT remember the last time I bought rosin. The rosin I bought in like 2012 is the same rosin I’m using today. (this is also a good reason to go ahead and splurge on a high-quality rosin.) 

[pittarchives]

Garnering Erroll’s Universe of Things

This post was written by YuHao Chen, graduate student in ethnomusicology, University of Pittsburgh.

On January 2nd, 1977, as he was making his way to the hospital, famed jazz pianist Erroll Garner collapsed in the lobby of his apartment building in Beverly Hills, California. Garner died of lung cancer, a condition that had significantly interfered with his performance career since 1975. His death stirred ripples of attention across the jazz world. Condolences resounded among his admirers. Deeply felt words, especially those from within his intimate circle, were expressed in gravity. Martha Glaser, Garner’s manager who championed his career for nearly three decades, confided later that month to his neighbor Beatrice Glass, “I am too weary to say much—except to thank you.” Gratitude, sorrow, and silence were mortared onto paper-thin records following Garner’s passing.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

Amidst these heavy, withheld sentiments was a little-known agitation that occurred in Garner’s apartment two days after his death. On January 4th, as his body was being transported under his brother Linton’s supervision from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh, a ruckus broke out surrounding a quotidian collection of items at 815 S. Shenandoah, Apartment 203. They were moved, shuffled, picked over, turned, unsettled for an unknown duration, only to be duly rearranged—at the very end—onto an itemized list. Over the next several months, the inventory would develop in size and detail, forming an initial basis for what would become the Erroll Garner estate.

The preliminary inventory compiled on January 4th, 1977 offers a glimpse into Garner’s habitat during the final hours of his life. Written with two different pens—one taking the initial round of survey, the other specifying the quantities of items and missing details—this document is preserved in the Erroll Garner Archive as a photocopied record, with a subtle folded line cleaving the phrase “1,200 cassette tapes.” This list represents the very first, albeit incomplete, look at the physical environment Garner left behind.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

While we do not know who penned the inventory, later correspondence from Martha Glaser suggests that the task of handling Garner’s personal belongings and incoming mails was shared among a group of people. For the remainder of 1977, these orphaned objects were looked after by Garner’s neighbor Beatrice Glass, his sister Ruth Garner Moore, realtor Ursula Fox, attorneys Howard E. Lowe and Sidney Horvitz, and Glaser herself, among others.

The cataloging effort continued into April that year. The April 16th inventory, which took three days for two attorneys and Garner’s sister to complete, is a comprehensive documentation of Garner’s California dwelling. Spanning nine neatly typed pages, it enumerates items from all his living quarters: the den (with separate sections on the desk, credenza, and closet), patio, living room, dining room (and cabinets), kitchen, linen closet, hall closet, bedroom, and master bathroom. In addition, there is an inventory of Garner’s wardrobe compiled by his sister. Per Glaser’s request, Ruth also made annotations and underlined watches, rings, clocks, and cameras—possibly to indicate the more expensive items on the list.

As a whole, this litany of things articulates the thickness of life. The five-drawer desk in the den, for example, would surely not have taken up more space than the entire living room. Yet the desk items sprawl over three pages in the inventory; the items from the living room, on the other hand, occupy less than one. Over sixty desk items are recorded, some inconspicuously small (a pair of piano key cuff-links), others delicately light (an autographed photo from Sonny Stitt). Although the inventory does not tell us about the precise spatial arrangement of Garner’s apartment, it provides an array of objects with which we may imagine different possibilities.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

In a literal sense, the objects included in the January and April inventories were some of the last witnesses and liaisons to Garner’s still living body—they shared the same air before he left the door for the hospital, endured the same physical space and overlapping histories. Garner’s presence is made vivid by the functionality of these items. They bear the traces of his final imprint, like the unattended clay that retains the shape of a long-departed palm.

With Garner’s passing, the stuff around him comes alive. His constellation of things, previously tucked away in the Shenandoah apartment, surfaces in the texture of the catalog. Through changing hands, they are indexed, appraised, negotiated, stored, sold, shipped, unboxed. As Garner’s deceased body made its homeward journey to Pittsburgh on January 4th, his belongings simultaneously took flight, beginning to pulse through various phases of inventory and, for some, preservation.

Glaser took part in orchestrating the afterlife of Garner’s belongings. Through the end of 1980, if not later, she worked scrupulously to handle and breathe new life into these inanimate things. One can only imagine the difficulty of managing the inventories from a distance. As Glaser perused these catalogs in her office in New York—anxiously, perhaps, having neither the luxury of taking her own inventory on site nor the whim of abandoning the objects on the West Coast—she had to rely on her distant collaborators. As much as she might like to look over their shoulders, Glaser’s vision was guided by the ways in which they scanned and parsed Garner’s estate. Through their organizational schema, Garner’s belongings were transformed into a table of contents, to be delivered and presented to Glaser as metadata. What Glaser was reading, in effect, was a finding aid.

After all, what is a finding aid but a catalog of things that were summoned, scrutinized, skipped over, and split? Some of Garner’s belongings were likely sold in estate sales, others stored in the archives, still others permanently lost, only to be found as names in the inventories. And these documents, as archived objects themselves, exist in yet another catalog of items within the Garner Archive. Listing, cataloging, and finding—these are gestures embedded in the very appearance of Garner’s things. Thanks to archival realism, objects can be brought into brief communion through finding aids before coming apart again. The January and April inventories, in particular, provide a frozen frame for delineating an ecology for the Garner Space and the Garner Body, a physical coherence that nonetheless disintegrates into a sea of records the moment we try to retrieve it. Affixed to a finding aid, Garner’s corpus of things cannot help but hide behind its own archival skin, ultimately remaining an index of 1977.

[ghost-chance]

Fanfiction Recommendation: “Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous” by MoofyKitten

Title: Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous Author: MoofyKitten on AO3/FFN/Wattpad Fandom: BNHA/My Hero Academia Rating: M/MA for a reason. (Detailed sex in over half the posted chapters. Perv away only if you’re of age!) Pairing(s): Fat Gum [Toyomitsu Taishirou] / OFC Found on: AO3

Deets Expect some light spoilers and a mini-rant.

I am an unrepentant fanfiction addict; this is no secret. There are fics I read to wind down after a rough day, fics I read to put myself to sleep in hopes of pleasant dreams, and fics I read to tear my hear into teeny tiny fragments then build it back again better than before. THEN there are fics that don’t fit the mold – the kind that I become so invested in that I physically cannot put off reading that update. THIS, my lovelies, is one of THOSE fics, and it’s earned that place from the early chapters. This story has almost everything I need from a fanfiction, and I have a feeling the rest is just around the corner.

Let’s get the basics out of the way.

The Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are all excellent – I have yet to notice a single error, so either the author and her betas are a force to be reckoned with or I’m just getting so sucked into the story an elephant could sit on me and I’d never notice. The formatting is effective and easy to follow, and the chapters have all been of a nice meaty length, perfect for plowing through in a single sitting only to realize you missed a meal and it’s time for bed and your brain is hopelessly lost in ship-land daydreaming about what’s up next. ...wait, that’s just me? My bad.

Syntax – This one requires an entire section of its own. The fact that I’m having to actually think about how well the author’s varying their syntax says they’re effing nailing it. If a story’s syntax is at all static or the sentence even the slightest bit predictable, it’s easy enough for me to recall it because I’m mentally rearranging the bits that irk or don’t impress me as I read. I can’t even get through a bleepin’ news article or an online recipe without itching to push what I’m reading up to the standards my professors held. It sounds harsh, I know, but please take  my word for it when I say I’m not criticizing anyone. Suffice it to say, if my classes did anything, they made editing so instinctive I can’t turn it off. Confession: I have never found myself rearranging a single phrase in this masterpiece. Arguing with the characters? Encouraging the characters? Begging, pleading, and berating the characters for breaking my heart time and time again by stopping just short of the sugary fluff I can just smell right around the corner? Oh, Hell yes. I’ve done all of that and more, but I’ve never found myself with the urge to grab my red pen and strike out or scooch even a single word.

Something that strikes me about this story above others I’ve given the same rating (Spoiler: there are VERY FEW!) is the sheer variety of the scenes and environments. Sounds silly? Probably, but romances often develop a certain amount of location stagnation, and I know from personal experience how difficult it can be to bust through those patterns. (I mean, the majority of “A New Lease on Life” takes place in the Lair in some room, most commonly a bedroom, the lab, or the kitchen.) This story takes the couple off of familiar and ‘safe’ turf like homes and offices and drags them through countless other places without regard for their sense of comfort. Each scene feels real and multi-dimensional and directly or indirectly influences the characters’ behavior and reactions. It’s awesome. That’s a sign the author has done her people-watching!

Now, about that OC. I’ll readily admit, in the first chapter, I had my reservations. At first glance she seemed shallow, obsessed with appearances and her own view of the world, and – strange as it may sound – too skinny and too attractive. Yes, there’s some personal bias involved there, but the majority was practical rather than emotional. BUT! Because the writer of this story is the same who unleashed the beautiful Kacchako torment Hot-Headed upon me without a single breath of remorse, I gave Aiko a chance. Sure enough, my first impressions were entirely incorrect. The things that bothered me about Aiko? They all had explanation or purpose, and she’s turned out to be a pretty well-fleshed out character...pun intended. As the story progresses we’re seeing sides of her that I hoped for but didn’t expect and each chapter leaves me wondering what we’ll learn next.

Romantic connection. First word: “OOFTA.” The second word, I’d spell out, but it’s a shrill, wordless, begging whine that I cannot translate into English for the life of me. This pairing starts without any sort of romantic connection; it skips straight to the shenanigans and leaves hope that the snugglebunnies will follow eventually. Friends…if you’ve read any of my writing before, you’ll know that I. LIVE. For. The. FLUFF. The awkward mush, the sweaty palms, the am-I-gonna-barf-or-do-I-have-a-crush, the absolutely tooth-rotting sweetness capable of sending a reader headlong into diabetes with a dopey grin and heart eyes - they’re my crack and I love them. This story started with no fluff but it’s been slowly developing in the background. It’s an entirely new situation for me! I feel like I’ve gotten used to eating my dessert first then digging into an equally sweet dinner without a moment to cleanse my palate. This story? It’s like gorging on smoky, meaty St. Louie barbecue for weeks on end with literally just a smear of something sweet as an afterthought. Mind. Frackin’. BLOWN. It turns out I’m more masochistic as a reader than I ever suspected.

Another relationship I want to cover is the building friendship between Aiko and Fat Gum – because nope, she has not managed to mentally connect the half-starved Taishiro she’s climbing like a tree with the big-and-beautiful Fat Gum who owns the agency. Yep. She thinks she’s boning Fat’s beefy little brother. It’d be funny if my heart wasn’t whining for fluff. While frustrating to fluff-starved readers, Aiko not knowing the beefcake and the brother are one and the same provides an intriguing and natural way for her to build an actual relationship with him. This means none of the fetishistic bullarkey rampant in other stories pairing plus-sized male characters with OCs.

What sort of fetishistic bullarkey am I talking about? To name a handful: I love you so lose weight. I love you because you’re big. I’m fat too so it’s okay if we’re together. Blatant fat-fetish disguised as romance. Fat character’s life absolutely revolves around food and it’s gross/nvm it’s okay. Lastly, OC’s only chance at being loved by fat character is feeding them. Maybe to thin folks those don’t sound negative but to those of us who fit the description? NOPE. These don’t make healthy relationships. Using these can turn a well-meaning pairing toxic and frankly, it tends to piss off those of us who – GASP! - accept ourselves no matter our size. These...tropes, let’s call them, have made me hesitant to even try fiction involving plus sized male characters because I’ve been let down so many times. Finding plus sized female characters is easy, especially OCs, but appreciation for the chonky bois isn’t nearly as common. They need love too, dammit!

Ahem. Rant over.

As mentioned before, I ain’t seen any of that crap in this story. This author is treating Fat Gum like she would any other character instead of focusing on the fat. I wish with all my heart that more authors were capable of (and willing to) do the same with Fat Gum, and with other plus sized male characters. I can’t even put into words how much it means to me that she’s doing such a fantastic job portraying a character type that so many writers bungle without ever realizing it. I’ve needed this story my entire life and never realized it wasn’t there; I shudder to think of how long I might have been waiting for it if this author never found the inspiration to do so.

If I don’t shut up now, I fear I never will. I love this story that much. Moving on.

Warnings

Explicit sexual content – do NOT read this around your family unless you have a stronger will than I and can do so without creeping them out. (According to my husband, when I read smut I “look like a demented vulture staring down at a half-flattened ‘possum waiting for it to take its last breath,” complete with hunched shoulders and heavy breathing. Flattering, I know.) The smut scenes, while not my usual cuppa tea, wreck. My brain? Broke. Chapter four’s budding romance? It’s goin’ on my headstone ‘cuz I’m dead.

There are mentions of human trafficking and the future may include more about it. Slut-shaming comes up a few times because men are assholes and asshole exes are the ultimate assholes. Situational fat-shaming and lack of body confidence come up as Aiko comes to recognize Fat Gum for who he is instead of what he is; on the other end of the tag, Fat is also doing a lot of it to himself even when it isn’t spelled out. You can see it behind some of his reasoning in his POV chapters and since the writer is kickass at portraying thoughts and feelings without ever breaking out of restricted POV, you can also see hints in other chapters. That said, if the shaming was really bad without any redeeming purpose, I’d have noped my way right out’a that fic and never looked back. It has a purpose, and it’s not that bad. Give it a chance.

Recommendation level

This story lacks purple prose and excessive fluff, and I haven’t seen any signs of the pop culture, literary, and music references I love so dearly, but the rating remains the same:

Ten. Out. of. Farking. TEN!

YES! I’ve finally found another 10/10!!! A quick reminder for anyone who’s managed to not see my other reading recc posts, I don’t even need both hands to count off all the 10/10s I’ve read. Congratulations, Ms. MoofyKitten – your story rocks my world and I have an addiction I do not care to shake!

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday. 

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one. 

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.

[darkpoisonouslove]

I retaliate/reward you with writer asks 2, 3, 4, 12, 22, 24, 36, 37, 39 and 42 ;D

Sounds good to me. XD

Okay, let's break these down. (I've crammed things that should be separated in different paragraphs in the same paragraph because of the structure of the ask. I just think it is easier to navigate it that way even if more paragraphs would make more sense. That way every opinion is constricted in one paragraph and you can tell which point it refers to easier. (At least imo.))

(I can't put a read more link rn as I'm on mobile. Sorry.)

2. Don't use adverbs

I cannot begin to describe to you how much I LOATHE this. It is, by far, some of the stupidest writing advice I have ever read. No, I don't care Stephen King supports this. Stephen King writes mostly horror and in horror you need to maintain suspense so short and to the point is definitely better and cutting adverbs is certainly a way to do that. However, I don't think this applies to all writing. I think this isn't really a genre thing as much as it is a specific case by case thing. And in most instances I think this advice is bullshit. Think about it. Language was created to allow us to express ourselves. Cut all adverbs out of it and that narrows down your way to express yourself. It's kinda like "Oh, hey, my leading hand serves more purpose. I should probably cut off the other one because it's not that effective." Congrats, you just crippled yourself. It's the same with language. Why would you deny yourself the help of an entire group of "tools" to express yourself? I just don't understand it. I suppose you've seen the posts going around about "good" and "bad" adverbs so I won't go into that as I agree that an adverb is a good idea when it adds some meaning to the word that wasn't there before (eg. "cried happily"). Sometimes it can actually make things faster to just "tell" them rather than show them through the context. I think adverbs are as neat as any other part of language and deserve their place in writing.

3. Write what you know

Yes, you should know what the hell you're writing about. Whether it was something that you were familiar with before you started writing or you did your research on the matter. I might be a little biased on this because I kinda hate doing research so I can be swayed towards write only what you are completely familiar with but that would just make things boring. So I think you can write about stuff that isn't quite your area of expertise as long as you put the effort to research it to the proper level depending on what you need it for. If it's more of a mention, you don't need that much knowledge about it but if you intend to make it the subject of your writing, please make sure you understand what you're going to be talking about in the entirety of your story. I am begging you because when you don't, we end up with stuff like 50 Shades of Grey (and I'm not just talking about the sex parts since this book is full of poorly researched stuff that, shockingly, ends up being unbelievable at best, potentially harmful at worst). However, I think that applies to a greater degree to published fiction rather than to fanfiction but let's not get into that debate since it's a completely different topic and I already veered off course.

4. Avoid repetition

This I mostly agree with but it depends on the purpose of the repetition. If it is done in order to establish a theme or motif or to emphasize a point (without overdoing it, of course), I fully support it. (I do that a lot in my personal writing and it shouldn't be that hard to find examples of it when looking at my fics ("What Is the One Thing That Can Never Break?" is the best example of this but I have done it countless times in most of my fics if not all of them since this is one of my fave techniques).) However, there is a thin line between establishing a theme and making dead herrings aka something that is brought up repeatedly without any point to it other than boosting the word count since it doesn't lead to anything and it was already discussed at a prior point (which I might have done a few times myself in some of my longest fics). If you're bringing another angle to an issue you've already looked at or are furthering the point, you should be fine but this is indeed a thin line to tread so it demands a bit of caution. I do believe repetition can be a valuable technique in specific circumstances, though, so it all depends on how it is used.

12 is already answered here

22. Do not use semicolons

My personal opinion on this isn't very applicable to anything else because I am not really quite sure how to properly use semicolons so I avoid them. I also don't really like them in other people's writings. I'm sure they have their uses but I think a lot of authors also overuse them to make those horrendously long sentences that I hate (but have started becoming guilty of as well even though I think that if you can't remember how the sentence started at the end of it, it is too long and needs to be split in some way). It is why I haven't bothered to learn how to operate them. XD But I think that my point about adverbs should be applied here as well. It is another tool you can use and I am sure it can be helpful. So I am not necessarily against it and wouldn't tell someone to stop using them. Only, maybe try using full stops as well? And I'll try to do the same because, like I said, I have started becoming guilty of paragraph long sentences as well. (Just to be clear, sometimes longer sentences are okay. But not when literally every sentence is over 150 words. You need to break them down, spice it up with shorter sentences thrown in the mix.) Also, I think this is an instance of the trap of "bigger is better" for a lot of writers except that here it is "longer is better". It really isn't. And I can tell you why. My scenes have started getting thousands of words long and if I were to write novel, I could hit 50k words with about ten scenes. Most novels are up to 120k words total. Those would be 24 scenes in my numbers but don't you feel like a novel will need more than 24 scenes? Consice writing is definitely a good idea and it is much harder to cut things rather than to add (at least for me). Fanfiction gives more room with the word count but I still think that it is important to be able to convey your point in as little words as possible. (Btw, this is a tangent but long sentences and semicolons appear a lot in academic writing and I hate it even more there because it makes it more incomprehensible than it needs to be (and in a lot of cases it already is written to be as incomprehensible as possible). Just... start another sentence, I am begging you. This one already is a page long, for the love of everything in the world.)

24. Don't edit as you write

A complicated one. Mostly because I have done this. I used to do it a few years back. I (mostly) don't do it anymore. I might stop to edit a typo or change a sentence that just doesn't read right but nothing bigger than that. And you should, arguably, not do that either. Why? Because you may end up deleting the entire paragraph, page, chapter and all that perfecting will have been for naught. It has happened to me when I spent a ton of time perfecting the first chapters of several of my works and some of them I will never finish while others actually need to start from a different point in time so the whole chapter needs to go. Along with all of my efforts. I would say this is mostly for longer and chaptered projects since the structure of a one shot (depending on the length) is easier to figure out and you probably won't need to rearrange parts of it. And if something is really poking your eyes out, you can fix it real quick. But once you have the whole thing, it will be easier to see what needs to stay, what needs to go and what needs to be changed. Sometimes the temptation is hard to resist and it's fine if you give in as long as you're doing it with the knowledge that "yes, this may be all for nothing but I can't look at it like that for another second". Sometimes I would say that you need to go back and see where everything derailed if you can't move on. There was good advice that if you're stuck, the problem is probably a few paragraphs before the point where you hit a wall and it has helped me get over a block a time or two. However, if you can move on without touching anything, you probably should. That can also save you from deleting something that is actually good. I have felt like the whole thing I was writing was terrible but holding back from deleting or even altering anything and, instead, giving it some time to breathe has saved a few fics along the way from being completely butchered. So I think this is, generally, good advice because of the reasons I listed but just like any other rule, it can be bent and broken. (I would say fixing typos is a form of bending it which I allow myself all the time. Spelling is just really important to me.)

36. Never use a verb other than 'said' to tag dialogue

I hate this specific phrasing of it a lot. Never start any rule with never. Of course, you need to use other verbs as well since they were created to express the wide range in which a person may speak their chosen words. My problem with this is the reason that is usually given for it and that is that it distracts the reader. It has never distracted ME. Not a single time. And while I agree that using said most of the time works since people usually speak in a calm, even, steady manner which to describe as simply "said" works well enough, I think that other dialogue tags have their places too. Because people don't always say things. Sometimes they scream them, sometimes they whisper them, sometimes they hiss them, sometimes they snap and so on. Here I think a better phrasing would be to use Syndrome's lesson again that "when everyone is super, no one will be". Dialogue tags different from said are supposed to direct your attention to the change in tone. They're supposed to stand out. If everything stands out, nothing will. (This philosophy is so applicable to so many things and I think we have to take a minute to appreciate how valuable the lesson of "The Incredibles" is.) So as with every other writing tool, if used accordingly, dialogue tags (all of them, not just "said") can only be of help and will not hinder you in any way. Just don't put more frosting on the cake than there is cake, you know?

37. Do not start a sentence with a conjunction

FUCK THIS RULE so much. This one you have to keep to only in academic writing. The moment you step through the threshold of creative writing this rule should be crushed under your soles. I often start sentences with "and" or "but" because I am looking to emphasize whether this sentence agrees with the previous one or not. Think about it. When you say "I liked him. But I didn't trust him.", it reads very different from "I liked him but I didn't trust him.". It focuses your attention on that contrast and makes you pay more attention to the objection to the first sentence that comes in the second. That can be incredibly valuable and help emphasize what you're saying in a more subtle way than repetition would. This is one of my favorite techniques of focusing the attention on where I want it to be and I will never give it up. Sue me if you want. And see if I care.

39. If there's a story you want to read but it hasn't been written yet, you must write it

Must is too strong a verb. You are not obliged to write anything. I couldn't possibly write everything I want to see written in a single lifetime. Calm down there. I think what people need to understand here is more that "if you want the story done the exact way that you would do it, you will have to do it yourself because no one else will do it the very same way". Doesn't mean that someone can't come close enough (I had that luck once) but it is unlikely that they'll do it in a way that you won't have any complaints about. So, really, "if you want something done right, do it yourself". But this can also mean "you have something fresh that the world needs because no one else has done it yet" (or at least not the same way you would do it). Which is cool but you really don't owe anyone anything. If that story is what you want to read and write (emphasis on that because writing is hard and takes a lot of energy, guys), then great! Go right ahead. But if you don't feel like doing that, you can leave it alone. Someone else might do it in time but with that we loop back to my previous point. I think that you should write whatever you want to write whether no one has written it before or it has been done hundreds and thousands of times.

42. Write your first draft by hand

Very mixed feelings here. I used to do that. The main reason for that is that I didn't trust myself to edit quite as sufficiently if I wrote it directly in a document as I would if I had to transcribe it from paper to the computer. For me personally, it is easier to change sentences when there is only blank space after that sentence since I don't have to worry whether the next sentence I have will still make sense once I'm done rewriting the current one. It was just easier to change things. A way to deal with that is to just press enter a few times before you start editing the sentence so that it looks like there is nothing after it and you're free to change it as you please. However, writing directly in a document is definitely faster and since I was having a lot of things to do in a limited time, I started doing that. It helped get over the fear of a blank page to a degree. It is faster. And I don't think I have noticed a change in the quality of my fics. Not a negative one at least. I just know that if I had had to write the 10k+-word ones by hand before typing them on the computer, I would've lost it. It would've taken way more time and patience than I was willing to give these ideas. Writing the words by hand sometimes helps me feel them better, though, (if that makes sense) and I wouldn't completely give up on it. I like to go with my intuition when deciding whether to write it by hand or type it directly in a document and it has worked out well enough for me so far.

[sumeshi-t]

when to shutcho bitchass up.

so i had this long ass reply as i was about to reblog a haikyuu writer’s response to a hate ask but i had to eat lunch, and my wifi’s acting up so it all got deleted. but anyway, after lurking in the shadows for god knows how long, i decided to speak up about this on-going issue of hate being poorly masked as “constructive criticism”. 

it doesn’t just happen on haikyuu blogs, like, every fandom has it. and it saddens me because i’ve seen the greatest blogs out here just vanish into thin air (or has gone on hiatus and never returned/archived the blog/deactivated) for getting hate that they absolutely do not deserve. nobody does. nobody needs that hate; not now not ever. most often than not, there are people who hide behind the anon feature in asks. but i guess some people lately have now learned how to own up to their own mistakes; and yes, everyone’s opinion is valid, is welcome to be entertained; however the way you word these things out also matters. it’s just like when someone writes something, you know? why do you get to complain, “your writing suckxz” when you can’t even write down why you think so? lol gtfo. people can interpret your words in however way they want, and that’s the one thing you cannot control. so at least, when you attempt to apologize for something you “didn’t mean to” or “was just a joke”, at least make it sound like you mean it. if you want your opinion to be taken seriously, learn how to say it with manners.

anyway, this post will be terribly long, probably longer than the shit i’ve ever written anywhere lmao. some of the things i’ll say here might come off as redundant but because the same thing happens over and over again, what else would you expect?

Exhibit A: “constructive criticism” does not mean, or shall never be equated to “hate”

if you go around tumblr, there are tons of posts which educate people how to properly write a critique, how to decently and reasonably critic someone’s work, whether it be in the form of writing, or digital art, etc. even if you type “constructive criticism” on that google search bar, tons of websites are going to tell you how to do it, so it really is unacceptable to use “it’s constructive criticism” as an excuse when all you’ve said is “your writing sucks”. literally, how can “constructive criticism” go from “you’re not even a good writer, why the hype?” to “you’re too positive, too fake, if you’re sad, show that you’re sad.” that ain’t it chief. constructive criticism is given to the works of a content creator, not directed at the content creator itself.

ever heard of the sandwich method? yeah, yummy and easy, right? basically it means, you start it off with the positive things about the content creator, then the negative ones in the middle, then reinforce them at the end. okay, i’ll repeat that here, let me break it down if that isn’t enough for cute little noggins to understand:

tell the content creator what made you hooked on their works in the first place. what made you indulge in all that deliciously free content, that has brought you to tears, to laughs, to orgasm. you don’t necessarily have to praise them, but acknowledge that you’re aware of what they’re doing and how it is, or how their progress is so far.

now here comes the critique part. this where the “however” and the “but” words come in, to transition from (for example) “your way with words is breathtaking” to “sometimes i feel they’re too much to digest all at once”. get it? pinpoint to the content creator just exactly what aspects in their current state do you wish they could improve on, or areas do you think they are lacking or weak, so to speak. be concise, be comprehensive, be nice.

lastly, my favorite part, is you give them tips or advice or just a fucking hint how you think they can achieve the things you said from #2. even if you know or assume that they’d understand your point, or “it’s their job to find it out by themselves”... well, a little input or jumpstart wouldn’t hurt, would it? so from the example, “your way with words is breathtaking” to “(however) sometimes i feel they’re too much to digest all at once” you end it with a, “i think or why don’t you try doing so, and this, and that,”

lemme go back to the “it’s their job to find it out by themselves” aha, news flash honey: this isn’t their job. it’s their way of enjoyment, their leisure, their free time that they use up just to bring out free content for lots of people like you to indulge in. most people come here, or on ao3, or basically anywhere where you can post your work, just for fun. you cannot be demanding, that’s why they have their rules and all, but i digress. content creators feed on feedback, and feedback alone. i hope you have an idea how something as simple as “asdflkjshdls” in the tags can bring a phat smile to a content creator’s face, what more, if it’s something coherent. just fucking keyboard smash is a boost to their confidence (trust me, it’s very fun knowing that how “asdfgjkl” i was when writing something, is the same as the “asdfgjkl” the readers had when reading)

this sandwich method thing doesn’t only apply to this certain situation. in fact, this is an effective means of communicating your point across to people in school, at work, and even in the comforts of your home. right? 

didn’t you feel bad when your teacher returned your paper to you and just said, “i gave you that grade just because” and nothing more? or when that classmate of yours said, “no, i don’t like this idea. think up of something else” for a project? didn’t you ever question them, “why, and on what basis?” 

how about, when your boss returned your report, only saying, “revise this” but what is “this”? sure, there are bosses who do this to try to teach their employees to find things out and find solutions on their own, but you cannot deny that some are just being disgustingly rude about it. 

how about at home you say? well... remember that time when your parents compared you to their friends’ children, or even compared you among your own siblings? or that time you were lashed out on? actually, you know, what, i’m sorry for bringing this up, as light as this was worded out, some people might get triggered simply from those two phrases i put out. however, i will address this issue next.

Exhibit B: you don’t know the people you are talking to, therefore you do not know what they are going through

you can’t say, “oh, you’re all just so sensitive” or “it’s just an opinion” when clearly, this (tw: depression, suicide, family issues, gender and sexuality, body positivity, etc) topics is/are sensitive to most content creators, to most people. some brush it off fine, and take a while to reach their boiling point, but not everyone’s like that. you can’t tell people how they should react to your random spewing of hate. each person has their own level of tolerance, so don’t go off and assume that everybody online is the same and grew from the same fucking tree. 

some or most people use writing/drawing/etc. as a means to cope with what shit life has thrown at them; and then you, being so stupidly ignorant, just waltz in and drop that bomb on what possibly, could be the only ray of sunlight they have in their life, especially now in this bleak year. 

receiving anon-hate or hate-asks should not be the norm. it is not and never will be okay. i thought you were here to critic their work, why even joke about something that could have been personal to someone? why even joke about these kinds of things in the first place? why even bring up something that might have been a personal issue when all you had to do was critic their work? 

my god, stop acting like a boomer already. tbh the audacity of some people here, idk. if you’re not going through anything at all, then may god/brahma/allah/whichever supreme being you believe in or whatever good karma it is, bless you. 

it’s not that one should sympathize, or, it isn’t also expected of people to full on empathize, but a little respect goes a long way. why don’t we try to put ourselves in the shoes of the person we’re about to send that hate-ask to. if not us, how about that close friend who’s easy to bring to tears, or mom, or cousin? wouldn’t it be aggravating? wouldn’t it be painful?

well... who am i to assume, i don’t even know you. get it?

just please, acknowledge that everyone here is human. they have emotions, they have their own thoughts, they have their own lives outside of the screen. how they choose to portray themselves here has nothing to do with you. how they choose to react to that hate ask doesn’t have to do with anything you should concern yourself with. 

LET PEOPLE ENJOY THINGS. LET PEOPLE LIVE THEIR LIFE THEIR OWN WAY, both virtual and in reality. 

i know this post won’t get too far, but i have had enough of seeing the nicest people, who just wanted to express their creativity and share the happiness and the fun, be put down just because of unnecessary hate. i hope those people who send those in never get to experience that, or if they have, i hope they understand that doing so to others isn’t going to change anything about themselves.

[phytolacca-a]

Writeup: First Non-PGM Spell Performed- Third or Fourth Spell Ever. 11/27/19

At the time of writing this I’ve just done a nine-knot spell written in the latter half of the Call of the Horned Piper. It seemed like one I could try out. This will be a long post. This is written directly after working- this post will be edited and added onto once I feel that either it had effects, flopped, or somewhere in between. This will be marked with “EDIT:”

EDIT: didn’t work (which is fine.) I’ve tried to divine on why and what to do better, although I don’t fully understand the “why” I got. If anyone would like to give their input on the “why” or try help me out in understanding it, it’s welcomed. Readings will be at the end.

Nine-Knot Spell, Intended for Good Business and Finance Influx

I saw mentions of business for what to utilize under Mercury and figured, since it’s a Wednesday when I want to try this out (and was told via divination to go ahead and try “tonight”- I did this at like 3am and ended maybe just before 4am so it’s Wednesday.)

Prep: I showered beforehand (although it took me a little while after to begin this spell. The book said to use a deep blue thread on Wednesday, and when looking up colors corresponding to Mercury I saw white. Since the only thread I have is much too thin for my preference of this I combined 2 white threads and 2 blue threads to both thicken what I was working with and utilize a number I saw associated with Mercury (4.) I asked one of my object-spirits to help me with this and strengthen the spell. I lit a candle and tried to get in the “working headspace” to do the spell so I stared into the candle for a while (trying to kinda meditate, but as I’ve said before I’m horrible at it.) Maybe 10 minutes? I can’t tell. 

Procedure: I then began to knot the threads. The book tells you to try to focus intently on what you want out of the spell while making it so as I formed the knots slowly I tried to run through and focus on what I wanted (again, business related, and also to land a job) and I allotted time with mixes of “immediately, immediately, (immediately), as soon as possible, as soon as possible, (as soon as possible.)

Each knot was pulled/made as I said the corresponding phrases given in the book:

“One to start the spell upon, Two to pull the magic through, Three to rouse it mightily, Four for power strong and sure, Five to bring the spell alive, Six the magic might to fix, Seven for the secret leaven, Eight to turn the web of fate, Nine the hidden spell I bind!”

At the end of the tying I felt compelled to clap 9 times (in intervals of 3.) Don’t know if it did anything other than make me feel as if it concluded properly.

I wrapped the thread around my wrist (as it says to wear on person if the spell was intended for you.)

---------------------------------------

Immediate thoughts on what I could’ve done better: 

Although I tried to start out in a better headspace to do this, I was still very anxious and that nervousness and anxiety did persist through the working.

I’m not sure how much the object spirit I chose out of the two that felt like they wanted to help could actually help, since I have no idea what abilities they actually have and if they can directly help me. I did say that if he helped me I would refill my givings to them tomorrow so I will. 

Right when I began to pick up the thread and tie it the object (with the spirit)’s head fell from being propped up against the wall and startled me pretty hard. I think it might’ve grounded whatever I had done with the candle (not sure if good or bad?) Will divine on later.

The book calls for the knots to be... regularly spaced. I, unfortunately, didn’t realize how bad I am at tying knots with the same spacing until I did this. The thinness of the thread(s) did Not do me any favors... and neither did my super long nails. 4 knots ended up directly back to back (2 each) and the rest were unevenly spaced (albeit better than the first 4.) We’ll see how much affect this has.

I feel I could’ve done more... Coming to mind is to directly call on the planet Mercury (something Maybe like “Mercury, I call to you on your day to assist me in my endeavors under you.”) and maybe done something with the planet sign? I cannot burn incense in my current situation so unfortunately that isn’t an option right now.

Speaking of my room, I think I REALLY need to cleanse it properly. The last time I did so was 2 years ago almost exactly. I need to cleanse it and try to ward it from things I don’t want in here.

---------------------------------------

EDIT: Here I will attempt to write out my readings I got via cards. This deck is supposed to be mainly used via intuition & visual clues, though there is a list of interpreted meanings added on later. I try to mainly interpret Without the list, but when I’m really stumped I cave in and see if they make sense contextually. I think now that this is how I read, the cards seem to do a mixed bag of intuitive & listed.

“Tell me exactly why my nine-knot spell didn’t work”

Well, I’m having a really hard time trying to figure out what this means. An interesting thing I notice after writing down what I can interpret is that this is much more of a chaptered reading than I initially thought. The Omen through Divining seem to = Prepwork. Consciousness through Earth = Right as I started and throughout it. The Dragonfly = The tying of the knots. At least The Soul = the ending & after, and I think Visitation might have been a misdraw.

I asked if I am supposed to take the moon phases literally or not (i.e. when I should’ve done the spell vs. their spiritual meanings) and got Not.

Here is the closest I can get to interpreting this:

The Omen & The Spider- I had too little assistance didn’t have a clear plan on what all I should do. (Based on guide)

Duality- Well, if his was more based in the guide, maybe something about..... black and white thinking? If this was based upon the feeling of the imagery in context, this could be that I was too unfocused; too scattered.

Death- In the next reading, the Death card felt like a higher spirit. Not sure if its meaning is the same in this context, but if so, this could mean I had not called on a higher spirit.

The Heart, Waxing Gibbous, Magick, Waxing Crescent- I think this is about my anxiety and not feeling deeply enough or bringing up intense enough feelings about what I was saying and wanting it to do. I think the Magick card being encapsulated by both Waxing Gibbous and Waxing Crescent mean that^ and that there was not enough energy being raised and used while doing the spell.

The Crystal, Divining- The given suggested meanings correspond nicely together, though I’m not sure on the clear message it’s giving.. The Crystal says “hidden treasure, the core issue, synthesis.” Divining says “a search, finding a hidden source, latent information, need to dig beneath the surface.” These together might indicate I could’ve divined more either before or maybe during it but didn’t..? There might’ve been important information I wasn’t aware of.

Consciousness, The Obelisk, Earth- I think this might be talking about how I might’ve been too grounded during the whole thing. Again, pointing back to the lack of raised energy?

The Dragonfly- I think this is talking about me fucking up the spacing of the knots.

Visitation, The Soul- I... really don’t understand, at least not Visitation. The Soul might have to do with my immediate feeling afterwards that it wouldn’t work and my immediate theorizing on what I could’ve done better. (Something of note is that I think Visitation is the card I pulled and felt “maybe that shouldn’t have been added” but did anyway. It may be a misdraw.)

“How should I do better the next time I do a nine-knot spell?”

Honestly I think this one is much more understandable. This, I’m pretty sure says:

The Hive- Utilize and employ your spirits better. (The Hive seems to be signifier to the little uh... “community”? I have.) 

Death- Utilize/Ask/Call to a higher power/spirit. (Feelings based off of the imagery)

The Obelisk- Get some sort of (better) energy source. <- This one I used the “meanings” list and used the one that felt right.

Waxing Gibbous- Cleanse! Do more cleansing of your space/things/yourself.

Telepathy- I think this means to work on my psychic skills, focus, mindwork, etc.

Conclusion: It didn’t work, but it seemed to be a very good learning experience. I’ll have to read back on this the next time I try this. -I’m assuming I might’ve been right that I could’ve called on Mercury to assist me, or maybe a mercury-corresponded deity to assist me? This would then be coupled with some sort of offering that isn’t incense which I’ll have to think on. -I was right I need to cleanse my room. -I also am thinking that maybe I should somehow do this magic (and probably other spells) in front of where my spirits are (which is sort of problematic but I’m sure doable.)

[iamtaekooked]

The Seven Signs || MYG

Genre: A little bit of everything

Word count: 11.3 k (this is one long mother effing imagine)

Summary:

There are certain things Min Yoongi never does. NEVER. So when the boys start noticing the changes, they clue into whats going on. But it seems like Yoongi and you are the only ones who don’t know because well he is him and you are you.  

A/N: I wrote this about a year ago when I was just getting into BTS. I was going through Yoongi feels at the time. But since its a new year I decided to tweak this a bit and post it for you guys. Enjoy!  

The boys sit around in a circle in the middle of the night, their voices a hushed whisper. Namjoon sits as the the facilitator of the small group which has broken out into an argument. An argument about whether or not their fellow member Min Yoongi has fallen in love with you or not.

The mix of whisper yelling and arguments begins to make Namjoon agitated when in reality was the one that introduced the idea to the other boys. He noticed Yoongi’s unusual behaviour first and clued the boys in, who then began to notice signs of their own.

But sitting in the midst of the chaos called conversation among BTS members, his head begins to take on a splitting headache. He gently massages his temples, and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration for his attempts to get them to listen to him fail not once, not twice but over a dozen times.

“Okay shut up” he actually yells and the other 5 boys freeze immediately as his voice carries thought the silent dorm. They all look at each other in horror for the fear of having woken up Yoongi, who sleeps soundly in his room, unaware that his love life has become a topic of  heated discussion among his friends.

1.) The Unbelievable amount of smiling

Namjoon figures it out first. It doesn’t happen in a moment, rather it is a culmination of the many past conversations he has observed between you and Yoongi. He has known Yoongi the longest and its not a hidden secret that the older boy is a man of few words but even more so he is a man of fewer smiles. Namjoon knows it’s not because Yoongi is unemotional rather he is way too practical in his ways.

There were exceptions on certain days when Yoongi felt over the moon, but the general consensus remains that Yoongi does not smile much. Even when Namjoon and Yoongi were first introduced to each other the older boy had remained very formal in his greeting, yet despite his stiff and serious manner he came off across as respectful. In fact since that day Namjoon barely remembered times when Yoongi had actually smiled. Not just smiling for the sake of it, because he could tell when his hyung was faking it, but genuinely smiling. In all the years of knowing the man and having shared private conversations Namjoon still cannot point a single time (except for when he adopted Holly as his pet) when Yoongi really smiled. It was rare to come by.

The fact doesn’t really change until recent when Namjoon begins to notice that Yoongi’s lips refuse to stay in a thin straight line like usual around you. He notices the boy smiles way too much for his own good. So much so that Namjoon can’t help but burst into laughter simply from being in disbelief about the whole situation, in addition to Yoongi being blind to what’s staring him in the face.

When he confronts Yoongi about in the most casual manner possible he is only met with a blank stare and silence from his hyung. He isn’t even surprised that it’s how Yoongi responds because that is just the general response from him to most things. Not all but most.

“Are you saying that I don’t know how to smile or that I am not allowed to” Yoongi asks after a while breaking the stretch of silence.

“I am just asking why you have been smiling so freaking much. Honestly hyung it’s actually scaring the crap out of me” Namjoon shrugs as Yoongi glares daggers at him.

“I don’t know. I guess I am just happy” Yoongi deadpans

“Because of y/n?” the younger boy chooses to phrase the fact as a question and immediately diverts his eyes before he can see the look of pure dislike on Yoongi’s face.

“What are you trying to suggest Namjoonie?” the older boy’s voice sounds menacing, almost as if he is gritting his teeth

“Nothing.  Nothing at all. Just.. you know curios is all” and with those last words he leaves the room for Namjoon really doesn’t feel like dying today.

                                            ********************                                                                       

Namjoon comes back to dorm from practice and as soon as he enters the place he spots your shoes. As he enters even further he can hear sounds of laughter emanating from the living room where he discovers you and Yoongi chatting, and once more Yoongi is smiling. He is smiling the way he does only for Holly and Yoongi loves Holly. 

The smile stretches to his eyes and they crinkle and Namjoon can tell he is happy in your company. It is such a stark contrast to the tight lipped ‘smile’ that usually appears on his lips that Namjoon can’t decide between feeling positively shocked and seriously awed.

For a second Namjoon thinks his lips might fall off his face if he keeps it up. If he is being honest he sort of feels horrified looking at Min Yoongi smiling.

 The feeling stems from a few reasons. One being that Yoongi barely even says words to the boys when they are all together in the dorm. Second he is so used to seeing the man straight faced that when he sees the sickeningly bright smile on his face, he can’t help but think Yoongi has lost it. And it’s not even the kind of polite, respectful smile when two people engage in a conversation. No. It’s the kind of smile that screams I really like you but I am such an idiot that I am blind to my own feelings.

Lastly, as smiley as he is around you (and even more blind to his feelings) he is just as much a menace to the boys after.

For instance when you leave, the expressionless look is back on his face and becomes the Min Yoongi everyone is used to. He doesn’t even spare Taehyung when the boy wants to place his head on his lap and drift off to sleep. Yoongi knows Taehuyng needs some sort of physical touch to be able to sleep but he doesn’t have it.

Namjoon finds it hard to believe how quickly Yoongi can change when moments ago he could have been mistaken for a freaking angel with his bright smile and unusually polite manner. This is why he hates it when you leave because then the 6 of them are left to deal with Yoongi’s feelings of bitterness and frustration which might or might not stem from you leaving in the first place, but ofcourse Yoongi himself is very blind to the fact so he takes it out on the members.

Yoongi glares at Taehyung so hard that Namjoon feels the need to intervene before Tae starts to make the pouty face and possibly throw a little bit of a tantrum.

“Taehyung- ah hyung will lend you his lap. Come here” Namjoon pats on his lap and Taehyung happily skips over to him and places his head on Namjoon’s lap and drifts off to sleep.

“I bet you would have let y/n do that..” Namjoon mumbles under his breath, but Yoongi catches it and his head snaps in the younger boy’s direction. But Namjoon is quick to look away, and pretend to busy himself in some crap show playing on the tv.

“Did you say something Joon ah?” and it doesn’t sound in the least bit a question, but more like a threat and it sort of feels like Yoongi is daring him to say something like that again.

“Nothing…” he looks Yoongi dead in the eyes but immediately regrets it as Yoongi tilts his head to the side and raises a very questioning eyebrow at him. It’s the ‘oh really’ look and coming from Yoongi it is more of a warning than anything else.

So Namjoon decides to pay no mind to him and leave him alone just like he prefers but he sort of thinks it’s unfair how partial Yoongi is towards you and how much he tries to terrify them. But he won’t say anything because he would love to see the look on Yoongi’s face since he is in for a rude awakening.

2.) Sharing personal space

It is a universal known fact that Min Yoongi loves his personal space. There is no denying the fact. Like at all. Seokjin knows it too which is why when he used to be roommates with Yoongi he always kept to his side of the room and he did not dare cross the invisible line drawn between their two beds, and closets. His personal space also entailed anything that had to do with his emotions, and his feelings. He was the sort of person who hates for people to read into him because according to him that is intruding his personal space.

However that is not just limited to Yoongi’s possessions or his emotions, but it also applies physically. Yoongi hates getting touched unnecessarily. He isn’t a fan of hugs for the exact reason. Much less cuddling. The day anyone see’s Min Yoongi cuddling is the day pigs learn how to fly. Everyone knows to stay atleast a foot away from him and not hug him or touch him unnecessarily. Hence none of the boys ever try hugging him. Hell Jin is even afraid of slinging an arm around Yoongi’s shoulder.

But Seokjin is very very very shocked to learn that those rules do not apply to you. For Min Yoongi lets you intrude his personal bubble. He even lets you cuddle up to him during the weekly late night movie sessions at the dorm. It leaves Seokjin completely speechless and his jaw drops to the floor quite literally.

As he watches you snuggle into Yoongi, and as Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile and he takes the opportunity to wrap and arm around your shoulder, Seokjin literally cannot close his mouth. He physically finds it impossible to do so and it’s as if his jaw has been locked into place. Hoseok watches him with a quizzical look from beside and takes the initiative to close Jin’s mouth with his hand but a second later his mouth is open again.

Yoongi doesn’t even say anything. In fact he looks content and happy letting you snuggle into him. Seokjin would even go so far as to say that Yoongi didn’t want to let go.

Jin then remembers all the times Yoongi has claimed you two are just friends and he can’t help but snicker.

How blind can a person be? Ask Yoongi.

All the moments when people around him had even tried to hug him resurface in Jin’s mind and he remembers that during each different instance Yoongi’s response had been the same. He had ensured to put as much space between himself and the other people. He had ensured that no one touched him, and his body had taken on a rigid quality so much so that he began to look unapproachable.

However the sight in front of him tells a tale of something different. Something different that Yoongi hasn’t realized yet.

After the movie ends and everyone leaves, Seokjin sits glued to his spot replaying in his mind the scene from before and he cannot believe it. He cannot believe that Yoongi still claims he is friends with you when he easily crosses the line between platonic and non- platonic all the time. He doesn’t even know he is doing it. At that thought Seokjin begins to laugh. Its quiet at first but then he is full on laughing, like the windshield wiper laugh.

Namjoon pops his head in from the kitchen, curios as to why Seokjin is laughing.

“Yah Yoon- yoon- yoongi…” Seokjin can’t even finish his sentence because he is so surprised and shocked he can’t do anything but laugh.

Namjoon looks at him comically for a while but catches onto what Jin means. “So you know too?” he raises his eyebrows and Jin nods but he is clutching his stomach and he is red in the face.

“Did you see him during the movie? Tell me that wasn’t real and I was dreaming” Jin says

Namjoon shakes his head. “No hyung. That was very real. Yoongi- hyung doesn’t seem to know”

“Which is what makes this funny” and he bursts into laughter again.

Namjoon doesn’t think it’s funny. But as he watches Seokjin laugh a smile begins to spread on his face and soon he collapses on the couch with laughter too. Okay it is a little bit funny how clueless Yoongi is.

3.) The constant nagging and quarrelling

If there is one thing Hoseok has admired Yoongi for its for his ability to keep his nose out of other people’s business. Yoongi has always been pretty good at keeping tabs on himself when it comes to giving people their space.

Hoseok still remembers the time when everyone forced him to eat and kept on nagging him about it but Yoongi had gotten the guys off his back saying he should be given his space and time to figure things out for himself. It really helped him come out of his slump because Yoongi understood all he needed was time. Since then he has admired Yoongi for this quality of his.

It is similar to Hoseok noticing Yoongi increasingly nagging towards you and as such been bickering with you. It happens over the littlest of things and he literally cannot wrap his head around Yoongi’s attitude. Hoseok wants to barf because of how sickeningly concerned Yoongi is being. He hasn’t ever seen him act like it.

Yoongi acts concerned towards them too sometimes taking on the role of a nagging mother and forcing the young ones to sleep well, eat well, dress warmly. But this is something different. The small arguments almost paint Yoongi as overprotective and that is saying something because Yoongi is the most chill guy Hoseok has ever known. Its almost as if its an old married couple bickering with each other. He feels like he is watching his own parents argue. He remembers every couple he has ever known and he keeps feeling the same vibes from you and Yoongi.

Something is definitely different.

And its not the first time he has noticed Yoongi behaving such a way with you. He hasn’t told anyone but the nights when you stayed at the dorm (being that your roommate wasn’t exactly the most welcoming person) to finish up your assignments Yoongi would cover your sleepy figure with a blanket and he would place a glass of water and some vitamin pills on the table for you to take in the morning.

Then when you would ask the next day where the water and pills came from he would put it all on Seokjin. You wouldn’t even doubt it because that kind of thing is right up Seokjin’s alley.

Nor does Hoseok mention the times when Yoongi constantly nags you to eat when you refuse to, and how sometimes he has watched him mutter under his breath some colourful words, for you never listen to him and never take care of yourself and how it sort of worries him. But it totally worries everyone else too and its not jut him.

I keep telling you to eat properly but you never listen to me

And then he forces a spoonful of soup followed by rice in your mouth

You need to drink water to stay hydrated

He then puts a glass of water in front of you and refuses to leave before you finish all the food and the water. He supervises you, to ensure you finish everything.

Seriously y/n what the hell are you thinking. You need to take care of yourself.

Your face is tinted a shade of red as you look sort of alarmed but confused at the same time. All the scolding has you feeling flushed.

“But Yoongi.. I told you-” you are cut off by Yoongi’s hand

“No buts. You need to take care of yourself and thats that. Like seriously y/n I expect better from you”

“Oh yea? Says the one who never takes care of himself. Do you have any clue Yoongi how much it worries me that you never sleep, and never eat properly? I lo-” you stop yourself at the right moment.

Yoongi’s eyes widen the size of saucers and so do yours. He awkwardly clears his throat and shifts on his feet. Your eyes dart around the room, as you fiddle with your hands nervously.

“Yea. Umm now that you have eaten you should rest” Yoongi rubs a hand on his forehead as he passes a weak smile your way and leaves.

Hoseok can’t help but shake his head at the awkward exchange between you two. He really doesn’t get how you don’t see it. Either that or you both are in deep denial. Everyone see’s it but you two.

As much as he loves you and Yoongi, you guys are really stupid.

4.) A sudden love for photography 

Jeongguk is the only one who loves photography in the group. The camera is always with him no matter where he goes. Whether that be somewhere in Korea or on tour somewhere else. Jeongguk’s camera never leave’s his side. Neither does anyone ever touch it because he doesn’t want them to mess up all the beautiful photos he has taken. And rightly so because his pictures really are a work of art. They have the perfect lighting, they are taken at the right moment, the colours always balance out and it looks nothing short of professional photography.  The only exception to this is Yoongi who has taken a sudden interest in it.

At first when Yoongi asks Jeongguk to teach him, the younger boy is taken aback to say the least. For a few moments he just stares blankly at his hyung and then he smiles widely, happy that someone has finally shown interest in his hobby. He doesn’t think much of Yoongi’s sudden interest because hey everyone can take photographs.

But what Jeongguk forgets is that Yoongi absolutely dislikes taking pictures, be that of himself or other things. He isn’t a fan of it because “Jeongguk ah hyung doesn’t have the natural flair for photography”

So slowly Jeongguk starts teaching him how to ensure the lighting should be right and it should hit at a certain angle. Yoongi learns in the earnest and takes all the tricks and tips very seriously. Jeongguk feels proud of himself for being able to teach Yoongi all the that he knows and his happiness is doubled as he sees how eager Yoongi is to learn.

“Hyung where’s my camera?” He asks Yoongi who had it last in the van.

Yoongi informs him he forgot to bring it back with him so Jeongguk makes his way to the van. He rummages through all the seats but remembers Yoongi was sitting in the back and he finds it in Yoongi’s seat.

Fishing it out with one hand, he sits on one of he seats as he turns it on. Although he trusts Yoongi, he still feels the need to go through all the pictures he had taken to make sure they are still there. He is sort of paranoid when it comes to his camera but he doesn’t care because he absolutely loves it.

He rolls the small dial on the left panel to the left and begins to go through all the photos he has taken. He admires his own work, and smiles as each photo that pops up on the screen brings back happy memories. Memories of moments when he was happy, and some memories of moments when he felt sad.

He is about to turn off the camera when suddenly a picture of you pops up on the screen. He looks at the time stamp and it was taken last week. Last week when you guys went on the camping trip.

The first picture is of you sitting by the fire reading your book. The light hits you at a perfect angle and it completely illuminates your face. It almost gives you an angelic look. The only thing missing is a pair of wings.

The second picture Jeongguk stumbles upon is one that was supposed to be a group photo of all of you holding your roasted marshmallow sticks in your hand, but he is surprised to find that the picture only captured your smiling face. Yoongi took the photo he remembers.

The next one is again of you as you sit with your nose buried in your phone, at the other side of the table, completely unaware you are being clicked. Your hair is a mess but Jeongguk doesn’t think the person on the other side of the camera thought so.

As he scrolls through all the photos from your trip he reaches the conclusion that although the camera was given to Yoongi to capture memorable moments, the man behind the camera captured moments that spoke of his happiness. He captured pictures that spoke of his unspoken feelings, of his unspoken and unrealized love.

All the photos of you.

Jeongguk has known Yoongi enough to know the man isn’t stupid, in the least.

But it seems he is, especially when it comes to you.

Because he leaves all the evidence of his feelings in the camera, making it accessible for the whole world to see.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what all the pictures imply, but it would take a certain Min Yoongi to figure of what they really meant.

Guess love really does blind people.

5.) Getting drunk and jealous

Drunk Yoongi is never a good thing. Namjoon had warned them.But they didn’t pay heed to him. But out of the whole mess atleast one good thing happened.  Jimin finds out about Yoongi’s poorly kept secret. The man couldn’t even hide it if his life depended on it.

“You go ask him” Hoseok whispers to Jimin who rapidly shakes his head.

“Hyung should do it. He’ll kill me if I ask”

“Jimin ah he won’t. He adores you” Jimin looks at him warningly, as Hoseok gives him a push. He stumbles in front of Yoongi who looks like he is going to murder Jimin at any second.

“The answer is no” Yoongi says even before being asked and doesn’t even  spare a glance at the younger boy.

Jimin retreats back and as he turns around he is met with a look of warning from Hoseok who gestures for him to turn back around. Jimin makes a pleading face but Hoseok doesn’t have it. So with trepidation in his heart he turns around and goes back to Yoongi.

“Hyung… we.. actually Hoseok hyung was wondering if you would like to go with us to that new club” Jimin quickly glances back and is faced with a murderous look from Hoseok.

The older boy decides to jump in and composing his face with his usual infectious smile he enters the scene and slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder.

“Hyung seriously its an awesome club”

“I said no. Leave me alone now”

“Hyung- ” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s glare.

“It would have been fun. Y/n was coming with us too..” Jimin mumbles and as both the younger boys begin to walk away, Yoongi’s eyes widen at Jimin’s words and he shuts the laptop.

“Wait” Yoongi yells and they stop in they tracks, confusion painted on their faces.

Hoseok looks back and finds Yoongi is putting on his favourite black leather jacket.

“We thought you weren’t coming?” Jimin questions

“I was planning to say yes if asked one more time. Frankly I was expecting more of the pleading” he walks towards them with a smile painted on his face, stopping in between them. He pats each of their shoulders and begins walking with the the two boys by his side, one of whom can’t for the life of him understand what the hell just happened. Hoseok on the other hand tries to suppress his smirk.

Yoongi doesn’t tell them but he has some reasons why he wants to go. One to release the stress of his upcoming mixtape and second.. well even he doesn’t know what the second reason is. All he knows is he wants to get drunk. And obviously you are going to be there to, but not that it matters much.

Fifth shot…

Sixth shot…

Tenth shot…

Twelfth shot…

“Whoa. You need to slow down” Hoseok pulls away the glass from Yoongi’s lips as he is about to take the shot.

Yoongi reaches for it but Hoseok pulls his arm further out of his reach.

“Give it back you asshole” Yoongi yells but the loud music playing in the background muffles his voice. Thankfully Jimin thinks.

Hoseok and Jimin look at each other in concern over Yoongi’s condition. He doesn’t look very good. Specially considering that he keeps mumbling your name over and over.

“Hyung, you need to take it slow” Jimin pats his shoulder.

“NO! I Don. Okkaay? I dun need to take is slow. I am fine. FINE AS A BEE. FINE AS FINE CAN BE. I AM GOOD” his voice turns into a yell and Hoseok has to clap a hand on his mouth to shut him up.

“Clearly not” Hoseok says.

“Whers y/n?” Yoongi slurs

“She- She’s dancing over there see?” Jimin points to you in the midst of the dance floor where you are busy dancing with some guy.

“I- I need to talk to er” with stumbled steps he proceeds in your direction while he supported on either side by Hoseok and Jimin.

“Y/N” He shouts. But you don’t listen.

He shouts again

Again

And

Again

He yanks you by your elbow and in the process almost tumbles to the floor with you in his hold when you steady him by his shoulders.

Hoseok and Jimin watch amusedly standing a little ways away as Yoongi’s head falls on your shoulder and he tightly wraps his arm around you.

“You- stay away from er kay?” He points to the guy over your shoulder.

Jimin’s lips curve up in a smirk and Hoseok has his eyebrows raised in interest. Both of them begin to understand what’s going on.

“Yoongi you are drunk” you try shaking him but almost end up making him fall over on top of you.

“I am not.. drunk, I am just trying to elp you ou” his words slur as he tries to keep up with what he is saying.

“I am okay Yoongi. You need to go home”

“You’re comin wit me ight?” And he then proceeds to tightly hold your hand and begins to drag you away from the dance floor, and far away from the guy.

But then he stops mid step and turns around. He walks back to the stranger you had been dancing with, who looks utterly confused.

“You… better.. stay away. Okay? Otherwise I am goin to get Seung Deuk hyun’ to beat you up” Yoongi pats his chest, and walks back to you and places his hand in yours again. You try to protest but his hold on your hand is so strong even when he is drunk, you decide to give up. It would only aggravate matters given Yoongi won’t see any sense.

Finally reaching outside you wrench your hand away from his grasp.

“Yoongi what the hell?” you shout and his face contorts in a painful expression as your loud voice seems to be much more louder in his head. It hurts his ears.

“Wha-” hiccups

“You are drunk. Why the hell are you drunk?”

“I-” hiccup “Told you I am not drunk” he stumbles back and almost trips over himself.

“Right okay” the sarcasm in you voice is evident and if Yoongi was even half sober he would have caught it.

“y/n a girrl ike you shouldn’t be at a place ike dis. Men are not nice” he hiccups again.

You shake your head at him and agree with what he is saying because clearly there is no point in arguing with a drunk man.

“Say hyung, are you thinking what I am thinking?” Jimin says over the loud music

Hoseok nods his head and they both begin snickering. They don’t feel the need to intervene because clearly Yoongi can handle himself well. The only thing he can’t handle is his own feelings.

Yoongi isn’t the type to indulge in such childish situations. Yoongi never gets jealous. Never. But maybe that notion needs some reevaluation. And frankly Hoseok never thought in his wildest dreams he would ever see the day his hyung would act as such, but he is pleasantly surprised to see it happening.

Jimin on the other hand is completely in awe of how whipped Yoongi is. He always pinned Yoongi to be the type who could never love, because there was a running joke in the group that Min Yoongi was not only motionless, but also emotionless. Not only the joke but Yoongi never showed any signs of being interested in a romantic relationship. Hell he couldn’t even clue into it when he got hit on by girls.

But standing in that club and watching Yoongi act completely unlike himself he knows there are two things going on.

For one Yoongi is wasted and two he is completely and hopelessly in love with you.

5.) Losing composure (aka losing his shit)

Taehyung loves making bets. There is nothing the man will not make a bet for. So it is a given that when he finds out Yoongi likes you he doesn’t lose the opportunity to win something for himself.

Seokjin and Namjoon join in because for one they know and secondly they want to beat Taehyung in atleast one bet. They have lost one too many times and now they want revenge. What better way than to bet on a man like Yoongi who can’t even keep his own feelings masked properly.

“We should each bet something that holds meaning to us. Just to make things more interesting” Taehyung proposes.

The bet is placed as each of them puts forward something they cherish as decided. Seokjin bets his entire Mario plushies collection, Taehyung bets his favourite Gucci slippers, and Namjoon bets his absolute favourite plushie of Ryan (the kaokaotalk bear)

“I bet you that hyung is going to blush 12 times in the span of an hour” Taehyung says with certainty.

“I say 30” Seokjin says and both Namjoon and Taehyung look at him as if he has lost his mind. Finding himself being subjected to gawks he shrugs.

“Is that even humanly possible?” Namjoon questions and this time taehyung shrugs because he doesn’t know.

“I say 18 times” Namjoon slams his hand on the table and looks determinedly at the other two.

And so it begins

They say the best way to unravel a restrained man is to take him to a strip club. Nothing a little sexy dancing cant fix. Or so they say. But Taehyung knows something better than a strip club to get Yoongi all hot and bothered.

He figured out months ago that you had a penchant for dancing. So he convinced Hoseok to hire you as his assistant to help him. He might or might not have bribed him with some products from Supreme. But he got the job done.

So as you walk into the practice room, a look passes between Taehyung, Namjoon and Seokjin. They know they have to begin their bet so they get set up.

As the boys are practicing for their choreography Jin keeps messing up, albeit on purpose. So as usual Hoseok gets you to help him out while everyone else takes a break. Everyone else including Yoongi.

Taehyung spotting his chance sits on the floor next to him, taking a swig of water. He offers it to Yoongi who refuses.

“Y/n really knows how to dance doesn’t she?” He looks over at Yoongi who looks so pale, that it seems like he is deathly sick. But Taehyung knows the color has faded away from his face because he is watching you dance.

As you move your body to the beat of the music Yoongi visibly gulps. His eyes remained glued to your body, as each movement matches perfectly with the beat of the music and at one point he isn’t sure if the thumping sound is that of his heart or the bass of the song that is drifting from the speakers. His cheeks begin to turn red.

1

Its not a difficult step, its a simple sequence of lying on the floor and rolling your body over and lifting up your pelvis when your back hits the ground, but it needs to happen in one fluid motion.

“Hyung” Namjoon walks up to Yoongi and shows him something on the laptop. It is the arrangement of the track they are working on for the album.

“Yea this one shouldn’t- “Yoongi stops mid sentence as he spots your reflection in the large mirror as you are lying down on the ground, showing Jin how he needs to turn so that the actual spin of the movement and the end look put together and not two distinct moves.

Namjoon follows his line of sight and discovers it stops on you as you successfully pull off the move. He isn’t surprised though.

Namjoon eyes trace their way back to the man beside him who looks in awe but at the same time he is swallowing hard, and the color is rising to his cheeks again.

2

The next time it happens is when Hoseok is teaching you a body roll.

Yoongi watches as your abdomen moves so fluidly and perfectly you seem one with the surroundings. He has seen Hoseok dance and at times it has left him in awe. But in that moment he couldn’t care less what Hoseok was doing for his eyes refused to leave your figure and if Hoseok left him speechless, then watching you left him completely blank. He couldn’t even think properly.

Yoongi bites his lip hard, to the point blood comes gushing out.

“Here” Seokjin places a handkerchief in front of him and Yoongi distractedly takes it from his hand, completely missing his lip and placing the handkerchief on his cheek.

Seokjin doesn’t need to see it, but once again Yoongi is a blushing mess and he quickly looks away and begins to wipe the sweat that has formed on his forehead.

“Dance too hard huh” Hoseok comments as he catches Yoongi’s flustered form through the mirror.

“H-huh uhh.. Yea” Yoongi replies, almost breathlessly as once again he runs the handkerchief over his face. He looks so dazed Seokjin has a hard time controlling his laughter. But he tries his best.

3

The first three times leaves Yoongi so confused and stupefied that for the rest of practice he cannot concentrate and he keeps messing up. Yoongi was having a hard time with one step before all the mess started but now he couldn’t even remember the rest of what he had learned for the image of you dancing refuses to leave his mind.

“Hyung, concentrate” Hoseok says looking at Yoongi through the mirror as they all practice.

Taehyung, Namjoon and Seokjin look at each other, smiling evilly. He was close to his breaking point.

“Y/n” Hoseok calls you over

“Help Yoongi hyung please. He keeps getting the step in the fourth verse wrong”

The 3 boys who are a part of the bet watch as Yoongi begins to panic, as his eyes widen and his chest begins to rise and fall at a pace that ventures out of the range of normal.

“No- no it-its fine. I can do it myself” he fumbles with his words and his voice cracks a little. He covers it up with a cough.

“Is there a problem Yoongs?” You ask in concern as his face is completely red and he looks ready to pass out.

Yoongi bites his lip once more and shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

“No. I- I just mean that.. you k-know I can figure it out by myself. I don’t want to trouble you” he smiles weakly at you

“Its not a problem. I want you to do well” you smile at him and proceed to teach him as hoseok intended.

You stand behind him and begin guiding his hands and his arms, and placing them in the appropriate positions.

“Relax. You are way too stiff” you say and it is caught by Namjoon who looks at Seokjin and then at Taehyung as all three of the boys begin to break out into laughter.

You are just as clueless as he is.

Yoongi looks so dazed and confused its almost pitiful. He doesn’t look like he is breathing and he is visibly gulping.

“I- I need to go. I just remembered something” he excuses himself and with hurried steps leaves the room.

And then Taehyung, along with Namjoon and Seokjin break out into laughter and they all fall on the floor clutching their stomachs tightly.

“He- he’s so whi..” Taehyung can’t even speak because of how hard he is laughing and Jin is completely red in the face while Namjoon is trying hard to compose himself, but is failing miserably.

“Whats so funny?” Hoseok asks from beside them, with a confused face which sends the other three in another fit of laughter.

4

And like that in the span of an hour Yoongi blushes a total of 13 times, which means Taehyung ends up winning since he bet the closest.

“Pay up hyungs” he smirks at them

Namjoon and Seokjin stand with sulking expressions on their faces, mentally cursing Min Yoongi for not being better at masking his stupid feelings.

The next day Taehyung’s room is full of Seokjin’s Mario collection and his bed is adorned with Namjoon’s Ryan plushie sitting stark against the middle of the headboard.

Yoongi really should mask his feelings better

7.) Acknowledgement

Yoongi doesn’t know when it happens. He can’t point to a single moment. On some days it gives him anxiety just thinking about it and these days its even worse because of his mixtape that he is working on.

He’s been running into one problem after another. First the lyrics get rejected. Then the music arrangement doesn’t fit with the lyrics. Its one bad day after another and he doesn’t know if he can go on.

Its the middle of the night and he can’t sleep because his thoughts keep him awake. He has been tossing and turning in his bed for 2 hours, never finding a position comfortable enough. He isn’t sure if his bed isn’t comfortable or of its heart and his mind at unrest. He wants to say the former option, but he knows very well its the latter.

He reaches over to the bedside table where he usually keeps water but finding it empty he proceeds down to the kitchen where he fills himself a glass of water.

The night doesn’t seem so bad, so wrapping his bathrobe tightly around him, he steps out onto the patio where the air is breezy. It hits his face, and it reminds him of your touch. Its soft and light, and it tickles his face.

As he looks out to the city scape his phone chimes.

You // 9:35 pm:

Did you reach okay?

You // 9:30 pm

What are you doing?

You // 9:27 pm

Hey

A smile tugs on his lips as he swipes over the screen. Instead of typing a reply back he clicks on the green icon on the screen and from his favourites, clicks on your number.

It is in his favorites. In fact your number is the only one in that section

Ring

Rin-

“Hello? Your voice comes out much breather than expected and it doesn’t escape Yoongi’s notice.

If Yoongi was smiling before, now he was positively beaming. Just hearing your voice was making all the negative energy in his body recede. He didn’t know how it was possible that just hearing your voice could make him feel such a way, but it did, it does and it will continue to do so.

“Isn’t it like midnight?” Yoongi chuckles knowing what your response would be.

“Yea. But I wanted to talk to you, and besides its Sunday tomorrow” you reply, playing with the fingers of your free hand on the other end of the line. Yoongi can’t see it, but he knows you are doing it.

“I’ve told you so many times that you need proper sleep y/n. Why don’t you ever just listen to me?”

“And I’ve told you not to worry about me. I am fine. I am okay. If anything worry about yourself” you sigh

“Hey I’ve had my share of sleep today. I slept 12 hours and any more I might have needed someone to wake me up and they might have ended up getting punched in the face. You know me”

Yes I do.

Yoongi hears your laugh and he doesn’t know how it can instantly make his heart race. Even if he tried to make sense of it, he could never because your voice is the twinkle of the stars, its the remedy for all his ailments and most of all your laugh sounds like love.

He wishes for the moment to stop, so that he can catch each reverberation through the phone and in his memory knit it together piece by piece so when he needs it he can replay your laughter in his head.

But he feels proud that he can always make you laugh.

“How is your family?” He asks

“Mom and dad are gone on the trip. My brother and sister are asleep and me, well…” you pause and laugh weakly.

“Well what?” Yoongi asks, concern beginning to rise in his stomach. You don’t sound okay to him. Your voice sounds different. He knows something is up and immediately it begins to eat at him.

“I am sort of kind of standing in the middle of the street….” You laugh sheepishly

“You are what? What street? Y/n for god’s sake what are you doing?” Yoongi sounds frantic and he has a million questions in his head about your welfare but he doesn’t know where to begin.

“Well I mean I lost my house key and my siblings are deep asleep and I’ve tried knocking, ringing the bell, calling. But no answer for like an hour” you clear your throat awkwardly because you are sure Yoongi thinks you are dumb. You are sure that he is probably laughing at you silently. But as much as you think that, its the complete opposite.

Yoongi is in a panicked state. He is literally freaking out and he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want you to get sick but he doesn’t know how to say it.He doesn't want something to happen to you but he doesn't know how to tell you. So he settles for something simple that he hopes conveys all his worries, and concerns. 

“You know you could always come to the dorm right?” He phrases it hesitantly , not wanting to seem like he is pushing it onto you. In other words he doesn’t want to come off across as a creep.

“Well about that” you laugh weakly and Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion

I am sort of standing in front of the dorm right now

Then he hears the gate of the dorm open and some hushed voices. He runs to the side of the patio that overlooks the front of the house and sees you being ushered inside by Taehyung and Jeongguk.

In a moment of panic he drops his phone from his hand. He wasn’t expecting you to come to the dorm and now that you are here he isn’t sure what to say. Or do. He isn’t even sure how to act.

Should I go say hi ?

No that would seem weird right?

Well I have to go say hi at least

Should I or should I not

If I don’t it would be rude and if I do it would be awkward

What the hell Yoongi pull yourself together dude

Its just y/n

…..

…..

…..

Exactly. It’s y/n.

On the other hand you don’t know how to act either. Its not your first time in the dorm. You have spent more nights here than you have at your own place. But your nerves refuse to calm down. Your stomach feels like its on fire and there is a weird itch in your bones. You cant name it but you know it has to do with a certain boy named Min Yoongi.

A deep hidden secret that you have managed to fool yourself into forgetting is that its not the first time you have felt this way. Especially at the dorm.

Its knowing that he is just a room away from you. Its knowing that he is in the same place as you and in this moment you are both sharing the same air. Its knowing that he is within a few steps reach but somehow still unreachable. It is being aware of the fact that he is there with you but not at the same time. Its knowing that the longing you hold for him can turn into wishful thinking in the blink of an eye. Knowing still that if you place your hand on the wall you will feel  the vibration of his music pulsating through. You will feel a piece of him.

Thats close enough

It is knowing all of this that you feel unnerved, and fearful, yet still full of hope. The heart plays its games well and you know because its not possible. It isn’t, yet the hope within your heart refuses to fade away.

Its not so much that you feel suffocated. It’s that what you want, who you want is right there but even that short spread of distance feels like an infinity. It feels like an interminable journey.

But being there, lying in the room next to his is close enough.

Its close enough.

The next morning you look absolutely exhausted. You couldn’t fall asleep the entire night for a particular Min Yoongi had been on your mind the whole time, not allowing you to fall asleep.

“You look tired y/n” Namjoon says from across the table.

“Yea.. I couldn’t sleep well” you play with your fork

The 6 boys all look at each other knowingly.

“Is anything bothering you?” Taehyung asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Hyung its not something its someone” Jeongguk says, and under the table Taehyung steps on his foot.

“Ahh… sorry, y/n a-are you o-o-okay?” He asks bringing his foot up to rest on his knee as he rubs it, giving the evil eye to Taehyung.

You are so lost in your thoughts that despite being asked about the same thing twice, you still don’t reply.

You pick on the food in your plate with your fork, mindlessly turning it over, the friction between the fork and the surface of the plate making squeaking noises.

“Where’s yoongi?” You ask absentmindedly, to no one in particular but all eyes turn towards you.

“He’s gone for his photoshoot at the studio” Jin says.

“Okay which one of you ate it?” He turns around, the spatula in his hand looking threatening.

Hoseok looks a little alarmed at the question, and buries himself further in his chair, avoiding Seokjin’s eyes. He remembers to hide all the candy in his room so that no one can find it.

“I think I saw Taehyungie hyung taking the candy yesterday” Jeongguk says, stuffing a spoonful of rice in his mouth.

He chokes on it as Taehyung hits the back of his head, and gets up from his seat as Seokjin advances in his direction with the spatula at the ready.

“I think it was Taehyung too” Hoseok yells as Seokjin has already begun the chase.

But in the midst of all the morning chaos you sit in your seat completely unaware of your surroundings for thoughts of Min Yoongi race in your head.

You get up from the table, slamming the palms of your hand hard on the table, catching the attention of everyone.

“I am going to the studio” you announce and without lingering around long enough to hear their responses you leave.

“I’ll come too” Jeongguk says, rubbing his hands with an evil smirk on his face

“Me three” Taehyung says as he dodges the spatula

“Me four” Seokjin pauses mid action to announce his intent of joining and taehyung sneaks away from him, running in the direction of his room and slamming the door.

“Me five” Hoseok says happily

“Me six” finally Namjoon finishes the count that you have no idea was even being counted up.

So, the six boys accompany you to the studio much to your chagrin. 

Yoongi sits in the green room, make up done and ready to shoot. He’s done it a million times before yet he feels nervous about it. His insecurities resurface because of all the tension about his mixtape. Suddenly he doesn’t think he is good enough. He doesn’t think he deserves to be where he is. Suddenly he doesn’t deserve any of the friends in his life. Suddenly, he doesn’t deserve you either.

The door opens and you walk in followed by the rest of the boys.

But before anyone has a chance to wish to speak they are interrupted, as one of the staff members lets him know its time. He turns around in his chair and is surprisingly shocked to see the boys. As his eyes travel the room, he finds you hidden partially by Seokjin who noticing Yoongi’s eyes looking behind him, does the same and finds you. He shifts slightly to give you some way.

Yoongi smiles at you, and its accompanied by a small nod and you understand.

You do the same and he understands too.

He is dressed in a long white robe that covers his whole outfit and you cannot say you aren’t eager to know what his concept is.

Amidst the shouts of encouragement and good luck’s he leaves the room and makes his way to the studio.

The boys and you follow him out and stand behind the crew watching in the little computer screen where each shot will soon come through.

Your eyes stay glued to the monitor, where the image of Yoongi is projected as he takes a seat on the black stool, against the white drop background. He shrugs off his robe and it steals your breath away.

He is clad in a black suit, his blonde locks falling softly on his forehead. Against the white of the background, his skin seems to shine even more. He exudes so much power just sitting there and it leaves a trail of goosebumps over your skin and makes your spine tingle with something akin to excitement. Its a white hot rush of emotions and it rolls you over you in waves, translating into one word which seems adequate enough to express what you’re feeling.

“Wow” it leaves as a whisper through your mouth. Jimin who is standing the closest to you hears it first, but so does Taehyung. Both the boys share a smile over your head, and Taehyung begins whispering to Hoseok, who whispers the same to Seokjin, who whispers to Jeongguk who whispers it to Namjoon.

Seokjin claps a hand over his mouth, while the rest of the boys have wide smiles plastered on their faces. Smiles that speak volumes about how much you and Yoongi love each other.

You miss all of it because your eyes are focused on Yoongi still. You can see through the monitor as he visibly gulps, licking his lips. You know he is nervous.

You don’t like seeing him like that. It doesn’t suit him. You know what looks best on his face so you try to catch his attention by waving your hand above your head.

You flash a thumbs up to him and bend your arms over your head at a ninety degree angle, elbows sticking out as you make a heart.

Yoongi’s nervousness fades away as he looks at you, and the gummy smile is back on his face. That is the look you like seeing on him because that is when he looks the best. When he smiles is when he looks beautiful. Specially if the reason behind the smile is you.

You mouth a small good luck as he looks at you and nods in acknowledgement.

The boys watch the exchange and you are so immersed again in your own world that you miss how Seokjin has placed a hand on his heart dramatically or how Jimin and Jeongguk are videoing the whole thing, or how Hoseok is smiling so wide and so bright none of the lighting in the studio is needed. You miss how Namjoon is shaking his head at how cute and oblivious you two are and how Taehyung is awestruck seeing the bond between you and Yoongi.

You miss it all because Min Yoongi always steals your attention. You miss it all because like always Min Yoongi’s presence makes you forget your surroundings.

They say that a moment of realization comes like a flash. It comes unexpectedly and it hits you hard. It knocks down all your walls and leaves you a mess of racing thoughts and frantic heartbeats.

That is what is happening to Yoongi.

At first he thinks its a panic attack. But he’s not scared so how can it be a panic attack. Then he thinks he is losing his mind, which can of course be true but it feels too sane to be labeled as insanity. Its too clear of a feeling to be labeled as chaotic.  

It happens as he is watching tv with the rest of the boys.

Then someone mentions your name.

Thats all it takes.

Thats all it takes and even though he has spoken and heard your name a million times before. Even though its has been the song he has sung in his head during countless sleepless nights, in that moment it triggers something.

Every memory he has buried inside his mind of you comes rushing back to him. Its only a few seconds long. Its like a flash. It gone as fast as it had come but it feels longer. Its the longest 10 seconds of Yoongi’s life as he gets sucked into it.

He remembers the first time he met you.

Namjoon had introduced you to the boys. Everyone had greeted you with bows and handshakes. But even so you could feel they were a bit reserved, and rightly so because they were a tight knit group, all boys at that and suddenly having someone else come in would change the dynamic.

So as you stood amongst the boys, who had gotten busy chatting about their performances, and upcoming practices you couldn’t help but feel left out.

“Boring right?” You heard a voice next to you and the boy with the black locks, who barely said anything throughout was standing next to you, attempting to make conversation.

“Its all the same for me” you had laughed weakly and he had smiled down at you.

That is how your friendship with Yoongi began.

He also remembers the first time he felt it.

It was when he was taking a video of the group as a whole. You were there too and as he was panning the camera around trying to capture everyone, he suddenly stopped on you because something about you struck him as different in that moment. 

The way you were smiling was different. It was different because he had wanted to commit the moment in his memory and he had wished to map every nook and crevice, every curve of your features into his mind so that he could always remember this different feeling. It was different because it was the first time he found his heart racing, and a smile of his own tugging at his lips.

It was different because it took his breath away. It was different in the way that he wished for you to always smile like that. It was different because he could feel the adrenaline in his veins, it was coursing through, exciting him as he watched the smile on your face. The way the wind whipped your hair, and your soft locks fell on your face made his heart skip a beat.

It was different because your laugh sounded like a thousand bells chiming all at once, in perfect harmony. It was like listening to music. The music to which he felt his heart thumped with fervour in his chest. It was like liquid happiness, it felt like home and it sounded like love. your presence felt healing as if you were taking away all his worries and burying them deep down, where even he couldn’t find them.

It was different because for the first time, he really noticed you. Not just as Min Yoongi, but it was as if he was seeing you through someone else’s eyes.

But then as the boys had urged him to video tape some stupid handshake Taehyung and Jeongguk had invented, Yoongi was forced to move on from your face. So with a scowl on his face he videoed their handshake. But his mind was still reeling from the waves of emotions that were washing over him.

He remembers the time when he had gotten in a fight for you

He came to the dorm to you crying. You were curled up on the couch while the rest of the boys were huddling around you, whispering to each other, wondering how to comfort you.

He had dropped his bag, all thoughts of the gruelling day forgotten, as he pushed past the small crowd of 6 around you and crouched down on the couch beside you.

He had pushed your hair away from your face and asked you what was wrong. All he had heard in response was your crying, your sobs which broke his heart. If one could visualize it physically, Yoongi’s heart was quite literally breaking.

There were tears polling in his eyes, and your sobs sounded like excruciating cries of pain that he wanted to so desperately block out. But he also wanted to help you, so he gathered every ounce of courage he had in him to stay strong. To stay strong for you.

It had only taken one look at the boys and he knew it was your ex boyfriend.

He had marched to the man’s house, punched him in the face. Not just once but four times. In turn he had received some punches to the gut, but it didn’t hurt half as much as it did when he saw your crying face.

He had come back to the dorm, battered and bruised. His eye had taken quite a long time to heal. But he didn’t care because he would get into a million fights for you. He would fight the whole world for you if it came down to it.

There was nothing, he wouldn’t do for you.

And there was nothing he wouldn’t give to see that smile on your face.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think. In fact for just one second he doesn’t even breathe. Voices sound distant in his ears. His head is swimming with so many thoughts.

He finally knows.

Yoongi sits in the recording studio fiddling with the microphone in his hands. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous, but nothing in his life has been going right lately. Its just one of those feelings of fear of something going wrong, that holds you back. It’s holding him back too but then he sees you behind the other side of the glass.

You are smiling at him and mouthing a good luck. You even hold a little white board which reads

I know you will kill it :)

Thats all he needs.

You take a seat on the empty chair and plug in the headphones and Yoongi’s soft voice flows through the headphone.

Even when I pushed you away Even when I resented meeting you You were firmly by my side You didn’t have to say anything So, don’t ever let go of my hand I wont let go of you either My birth and the end of my life You will be there to watch over it all

Through it all, he was looking at you. And you were looking at him.

And then it was clear. It was as clear as day what you had always been too blind to see.

He loved you and you loved him.

You wait patiently for him as the dorm as he wraps up the recording. You wait as patiently as you can because if it were up to you, you would be in that studio with him and you would be telling him that you know.

But you try to be fair because in all honesty you have taken a long time to get to this point, so you can afford some patience. You can wait. He has waited too, so its only a fair deal.

And then the door opens and Yoongi walks in.

By the time he arrives the rest of the boys have already come back from the studio after watching him record. They all offer their congratulations to him for finally completing his mixtape. Yoongi nods at all of them accepts the hugs gratefully, but he avoids meeting your gaze, while you continue to stare at him intently.

“Hyung you were awesome!!” Taehyung jumps on him and Hoseok joins in and then it becomes a big group hug. You stay at the sidelines and watch them, feeling a tight knot of emotions in your chest because you love all these dorks. Because you are in love with Min Yoongi. The thought makes you giddy. (In love with Min Yoongi)

“Hey guys didn’t we have that meeting we were all supposed to go to?” Namjoon says out of the blue.

The boys look at each other in confusion because as far as they knew there was no meeting.

“Remember….. the MEETING. THAT MEETING” Namjoon says again pursing his lips, hoping for them to get the hint.

Seokjin is looking at Namjoon who briefly glances between you and Yoongi. Then he figures it out.

“OHH yea that meeting. Alright kids time to go” Seokjin ushers the maknae line out of the door, while Namjoon takes Hoseok to the side and explains the situation to him.

Yoongi begins putting his shoes back on but Namjoon stops him.

“Its fine hyung. You take a rest. Manager knows you just finished your recording so you are off the hook” he smiles innocently. A little too innocently actually. But you are surprised at how good of a liar he is.

Yoongi looks like he wants to go, even though he doesn’t have to. But even if that is his intention he doesn’t voice it. Instead he bids them farewell, and closes the door behind him.

“Hey didn’t you have that interview thing? ” Yoongi says in a nonchalant manner as he picks up his bag.

You don’t reply and Yoongi once again speaks

“Thanks for coming to the.. t-the studio today” Yoongi breathes out the words heavily, his voice cracking slightly and he still refuses to meet your eyes.

“Yoongi- ” you say

“I was really nervous you know. Seeing the guys there really helped me” he laughs nervously as he continues to ramble.

He places the bag on the table and begins to pull out his notebooks, his headphones and all the other stuff he has buried in it.

He still doesn’t look at you though.

“Yoongi. Look at me” you say and he doesn’t even turn around.

“Yoongi” you say again, in a softer tone.

Silence

“I know. I know it now. I know that you love me” you say the words so casually, Yoongi doesn’t even believe it.

He thinks he is having auditory hallucinations so he shakes his ears.

“Yoongi. This is real”

Silence

This can’t be real.

None of it can

You make your way around so that you are standing in front of him. Yoongi’s face is completely flush.

“Yoongi. Please just look at me” your voice has a hint of pleading in it, it sounds desperate and there is a longing hidden beneath the words.

His head snaps in your direction

“I love you” you say and tears begin pooling in Yoongi’s eyes.

But it cant be true. The words don’t really hold much meaning. They are completely platonic right?. They are meant to be platonic. As much as he wants to believe it, as much as he hopes to save himself from the pain (because  somewhere there is the fear that he’s just imagining it all in his head. Because it is that unbelievable for him). But he knows its true. He knows its much more than platonic.

He closes his eyes, revelling in the moment because it has been the source of infinite sleepless nights. This very moment has been the source of all his happiness, and pain alike.

Tears softly fall on his cheek, running down to his lips, where he drinks them in. He has yearned to hear the words for so long, that he finds himself wanting to hear them again.

“Say it again” his voice is a whisper.

“I love you Yoongi”

Again

“I love you Yoongi” 

Again

“I love you”

And again

“I love you”

And Again

“I love you. I love you. I love you”

“I love you Yoongi. I love you so much. I love you. I just love you”

“I am in love with you Yoongi. I love you.”

And then his lips are on yours. He thinks its completely ridiculous how your lips seem to melt into his. He thinks its completely ridiculous how your hand fits perfectly in his, as he laces them together.

As ridiculous as it is, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

A trail of kisses is left on your face.

Forehead

Nose

Cheeks

Eyelids

Temples

Jaw

Chin

“Again. Please” he croaks out, and his voice cracks.

He is desperate. He is completely and utterly yearning to hear it again and again and he can’t seem to get enough of it.

“I love you Yoongi. I am hopelessly and completely in love with you. I love you”

“I love you too. God I love you so much y/n. I love you so so so so much”

“Okay one last time” he laughs and you do too, because neither of you can get enough of it but just saying it so many times begins to sound ridiculous. But it cannot get any better than this so it doesn't matter

“I love you” you whisper and crash your lips on his and its beautiful. It’s a euphoric feeling. Its like ecstasy and paradise. Its like a drug that you crave. It’s an addiction. But its the kind that you never want to give up on. You want more. You need more.

He does too.

But you’re more than close enough now

You are there. You are there with the man you are in love with and in him is all the universe you wish to find. In him are hidden all the jewels, and all the gems you could ever wish for. In him is all the love you crave, all the love you so desperately want. And its all for you.

You are finally there.