#< tag for this serries i think...

[impish-baby]

AAAAAAA MORE ANGST FAMILY PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSSSSS ITS SO GOOODDDDDDDDDDDD

Infant and innocent - platonic yandere estranged familly x reader continued - 🧸

"You don't have to sit in here with me." Your voice is meek as you settle on the bed, plate balanced delicately in your lap. "Really, I was going to go home anyway."

The fact that your grandfather is with you instead of enjoying the party with everyone else fills you with guilt. You're not even close with him, haven't seen the man in years, but here he is eating dinner with you away from his family.

"Eh," he waves a hand dismissively, like he isn't wasting the holiday by doing this. "I want to, now hush up and try the roast aunt tammy made." Your grandpa reaches over to cut it up for you, like you're a kid who can't do it themselves.

The gesture is embarrassing but causes an odd warmth to spread throughout your chest. It's reminiscent of the days you barely went up to his knee, you can't tell if the nostalgia is comforting or agonizing.

"Good, huh?" He smiles as you eat, occasionally taking a bite from his own plate. "Tammy wouldn't stop raving about the new recipe she tried, guess she wasn't just bragging." The meal continues in relative silence, but it isn't awkward. It's the kind where you're just content to enjoy someone's company.

After a moment of hesitation, you cautiously lean your head onto his shoulder, trying not to scare yourself out of being vulnerable. The kiss pressed to your forehead makes you think that maybe some things aren't that far gone after all.

[joons-cinnamon-bun]

The Case of Us.

Summary: You and Namjoon are an unlikely pair, clashing from the start. He’s a seasoned detective, used to working alone and running on instinct. You, a rookie, fresh off acing your detective exam, ready to prove yourself. At first, you butt heads—your sharp, hardheaded approach grating against his calm, measured demeanor. But there's an undeniable pull between the two of you, an unspoken understanding that begins to form as you both tackle case after case. Through the chaos of the job, you rely on each other more and more. And though you're still figuring out the balance between the stubborn rookie and the seasoned detective, you both know one thing for certain—you're a hell of a team. A/N: Oh Hey everyone... So, I did it again—I got overwhelmed by life and felt the need to write... And you know the drill. (I ended up re-reading Chapter 4 of Holiday Pretense so many times that I couldn’t tell what was repeating and what was just my brain spiraling. And i guess I rage-quit for the day) So instead, I ended up writing something completely different. But this time, it's really random and far "into the story". Also, that pancake dialogue is loosely inspired by a conversation from "Castle"-oldish detective serries i love to this day. Call it a teaser if you will? (I wanna know if anyone would be interested in something like this.) (besides those 5 wips i have already lol. i need professional help 😓🥲) (thank you always @callmenoona25 for proofreading. love you) Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: detective/ thriller. neo noir(?) Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: Guns. Mentions of serial killers and bodies. Crimes. Corpses. police/detective lingo. Detective Yoongi and Jungkook being the best duo. (Also, if you know me. I tend to keep it light- not very gore. But i do have a genuine obsession with true crime/detective stories/criminology. So this might turn off some readers. proceed at your own discretion) tag list: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch7 @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne @oneshallsmile

The dead of night. The scent of rain still clung stubbornly to the damp, heavy air, even hours after the downpour had stopped. Your tv was on, though it was on mute.

Then you heard it.

A sound—a shuffle by the doorway.

Instinct took over. The lights went dark in an instant, your hand moving with practiced ease to the gun at your hip. You gripped it tight, steady, breath held as you listened.

The sounds didn’t stop. The lock turned. The knob twisted.

Before the intruder could take a step inside, you struck—slamming your full weight against him, pinning him to the doorframe, gun pressed firm against his throat.

“Holy shit-!”

A familiar voice. Your grip tightened for just a second before recognition set in.

“Namjoon?”  you didn’t lower the gun.

“Who else would it be?” his tone was maddeningly casual, one hand gripping your wrist, pushing the barrel down to his chest, right above his heart. “Just— don’t shoot the face.”

Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, the rush of the adrenaline refusing to fade. You let out a slow breath, easing the gun off his chest but not fully lowering it.

Namjoon let out a short chuckle- half amused, half exasperation. “Nice to see you too,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the impact.

“You could’ve called.” you shot back, eyes still sharp, scanning his face in the dim light. he looked tired, damp hair falling messily over his forehead, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been running all night.

“And argue with you over the phone?” he asked, rubbing at his throat where the gun had pressed, “I think it worked out better this way.”

Your gaze flicked to the door, still slightly ajar. “You picked the lock?!”

He shrugged. “Old habits.”

You exhaled through your nose, finally lowering the gun all the way. “What the hell are you doing here, Namjoon?”

His smirk faltered slightly. For the first time, you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way is fingers curled slightly over the damp paper bags he was carrying.

“I-” he took a breath, like the confession hurt, “I’m worried about you.”

You huff, incredulous, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Clearly.” he gestured vaguely towards the gun in your hand. “Doesn’t change the fact that as your supervisor and partner, I worry about you.” He moved with ease, setting the bags on your kitchen table, leaving a trail of wet footsteps all across your tile floor.

“Namjoon, I’m not a rookie anymore.”

Namjoon let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning against the counter. “I never said you were.”

You crossed your arms, watching him. “Then stop treating me like one.”

His eyes flicked to yours—sharp, unreadable. “If you want me to stop, then quit making it so damn easy to worry.”

That shut you up for a second.

The weight of his words lingered in the space between you, thick as the humidity still clinging to the air. You glanced at the paper bags on the table, the edges crumpled from his grip. “What’s this?”

“Dinner.” He peeled one open, pulling out a takeout container. “Figured you haven’t eaten.”

You frowned, but your stomach betrayed you with a quiet growl. Namjoon heard it—of course he did—and the smirk that tugged at his lips made you want to shoot him just on principle.

“I was going to eat.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow, flipping open the container. “What, exactly? Stale instant noodles? Maybe those grotesque granola bars you like to keep in your purse and only eat after they expire?”

You huffed but didn’t deny it.

Namjoon grabbed a pair of chopsticks and held them out. “Sit. Eat.”

“Is this standard procedure with all your trainees?” The sarcasm was thick in your voice, but you still took a seat across from him.

“Just the ones that get themselves targeted by serial killers.”

Your grip on the chopsticks faltered for just a second.

Then you scoffed. “That supposed to be a joke?”

Namjoon didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m serious.” His voice had dropped, low and steady, the kind that sent a chill down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You eyed him warily, then set the container down. “About what?”

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing at his temple like he already regretted this conversation. “There was another one.”

Your fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the table. “Where?”

“Downtown. Two blocks from our last case.”

You didn’t need him to elaborate. Your mind was already connecting the dots, pulling up images you didn’t want to see.

Same M.O.? You almost asked, but you already knew the answer.

Namjoon watched you carefully, like he was waiting for the realization to hit.

It did.

“That’s why you’re here.” The words tasted bitter. “You think I’m next.”

His jaw tightened. “And you clearly agree. Why else would you sleep with your gun strapped to your hip?”

“I think you guys are overreacting.”

“Is that why you called the protection detail off? You were supposed to have uniforms watching you right now.”

“The captain is being absurd.” You take a bite of rice “Much like you are right now.” You argue between mouthfuls.

“You’re impossible.” He watched you with that usual superior look of his, that challenging glare that made your blood boil.

“So, what? You decided to break in and deliver takeout because you think I have a target on my back?”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his silence spoke louder than any answer he could’ve given.

Your stomach churned—not from the food, but from the implications hanging between you.

He wasn’t here just because he thought you were in danger.

He was here because he knew you were.

“I’m staying the night.”

You snapped. “Oh, like hell you are!”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. He just set down his chopsticks and looked you dead in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m staying the night,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You shot him a look that could cut glass, but his expression didn’t change. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn't quite place.

“Not a chance, Namjoon,” you snapped, pushing yourself away from the table. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, you need to not get killed.”

The words snapped like a gunshot between you, sharp and final.

Neither of you spoke.

Outside, the rain threatened to start again, fat droplets tapping against the glass.

You held his stare, your jaw clenched and shoulders squared, the air between you so tense it felt like either of you might snap.

“Fine.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you sleep on the couch.”

Namjoon’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Deal,” he said, nodding in silent agreement as he slowly backed away from the table. He didn’t argue further—there was nothing left to say once the terms were set. “I also got us a bottle of wine to celebrate you finally taking an order from me.”

“You’re impossible,” you counter, using his earlier line.

You resumed eating, though the rice had lost its appeal. Each bite felt heavy, burdened by the tension between you. Every clink of chopsticks and scrape of ceramic against the table punctuated the silence like a metronome counting down the moments until something else would shatter the uneasy calm.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen counter, where the bottle of wine sat like a silent witness to the strange turn of events. He seemed content to let the silence stretch between you, his presence still an unspoken weight in the room.

The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but you didn’t care to break it. Not yet. The thoughts swirling in your head—the things you hadn’t said out loud—kept you rooted in place. The noise of the rain outside, once soothing, now only added to the discomfort that crawled under your skin.

Namjoon poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow and deliberate. When he placed one in front of you, you took it without a word. He watched you for a beat, his eyes searching, trying to gauge what was really going on beneath the surface.

You took a sip, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the cold unease that wrapped around you. The day, the case, everything was starting to feel too close, too personal. And Namjoon’s silent presence wasn’t helping, no matter how much it was meant to comfort.

After a few minutes, Namjoon cleared his throat softly, watching you look down into your glass. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I set up my gear in the living room?” he asked, voice low. “Just in case we need to move fast.”

You frowned, glancing toward the door where the muted TV light played over the wall. “It’s your turn to be my backup tonight,” you muttered, half teasing, half warning.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I never leave your side—even if I’m on the couch,” he replied, a trace of amusement in his tone that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You shot him a sidelong look, then set your glass down. “Get your things, Namjoon. And for the record, I’d prefer not to have a detective rummaging through my living room,” you added, attempting to lighten your tone despite the unease creeping in.

He smirked. “I’ll try to behave,” he said with a wink that belied the seriousness behind his words.

Moments later, the quiet hum of preparation filled the apartment. Namjoon unpacked his duffel bag with the methodical precision of someone who’d been in high-stakes situations far too many times. You found yourself glancing repeatedly at the window, where the rain began to fall again in earnest, drumming against the glass like a ragged heartbeat.

“I’ll fetch you some blankets.”

“A few pillows too.”

You chuckle, “Do you want a facemask too?”

Namjoon looked up from his bag, a playful glint in his eyes despite the tension hanging in the air. “Only if it comes with a side of earplugs,” he teased, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table and moving toward the closet “Yeah, baby boy needs his beauty sleep.”

You tossed the blanket and pillows onto the couch, but as you straightened up, the sound of the rain outside seemed to deepen, becoming almost repetitive in its heaviness. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the low hum of the apartment and the soft drum of water against glass.

Namjoon broke the silence with a more serious note. “Try and get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”

You paused, turning to face him, your gaze met his, and for a moment, the usual banter was gone, replaced by something more sincere—something that tugged at the edges of your own quiet worry. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away, and you debated if you even wanted to let them out.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened, the seriousness in his face fading into something just slightly softer.

He nodded slowly, as if accepting your gratitude, though his lips didn’t curve into a smile. There was something grounding about the way he held your gaze, like he understood more than you were saying.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, but the words carried weight. “It’s what we do.”

You exhaled quietly, finally giving in to the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, well... it’s still nice to hear.” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding, the soft edge to your tone. “Thank you for being here. And for dinner.”

“It’s no problem,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “You know I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah.” You still sigh despite yourself, pushing towards the bedroom “Goodnight Joon.”

Namjoon watched you as you moved toward the bedroom, his eyes soft, but there was a hint of something unreadable in them. He remained silent for a moment, just watching you before speaking in that calm, reassuring tone of his.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, though his voice lingered in the space between you, grounding you in the moment.

You didn’t turn back, but his presence, quiet and constant, felt like a weight lifted, even just for tonight. The quiet murmur of the rain outside seemed softer, less oppressive as you closed the door behind you.

~~~

The smell of pancakes felt foreign in your apartment. The rich, buttery scent filled the air, its warmth cutting through the cool, damp atmosphere of the morning. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, your mind still hazy from sleep. It took a few seconds for you to process what was happening.

Namjoon.

You could hear the faint sound of him humming, the clink of utensils, the quiet sizzle of batter on the griddle. The peacefulness of it felt almost surreal after the tension of the night before.

Rubbing your eyes, you stepped out of the bedroom, the coolness of the floor beneath your feet grounding you back in reality. You walked toward the kitchen, where Namjoon was flipping pancakes like he’d done this a hundred times in your kitchen—like he belonged there.

He glanced up when you appeared, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The weight of last night still hung in the air between you.

“Morning,” he greeted softly, the scent of coffee following the pancakes.

You blinked at the scene, still a little dazed. “Did you... make this?” You gestured toward the stack of golden pancakes, the syrup bottle, and the neatly placed plates.

“I wanted to make eggs. But they expired last year, and your bacon had something growing on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We need to go to the precinct.”

“Will you relax? Just sit down and eat.”

You shot him a look, but he was already plating another pancake, as if he were completely unfazed by the chaos that had defined your life for the last few days.

“I’m serious, Namjoon. We don’t have time for breakfast. The precinct is waiting, and you’ve got a duty.” You gestured vaguely to the mess of plates and syrup bottles, your voice tightening slightly despite the absurdity of the moment.

He turned to you with an almost exasperated expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You need food. We both do. The precinct will be there when we're ready. In the meantime, we sit. We eat. You get a few minutes to breathe.”

You huffed in frustration but couldn't deny the logic behind his words. He was right, you were barely functioning on caffeine and adrenaline, and you needed a break—even if just for a few minutes.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting down at the table. “But as soon as we're done, we're out the door. No more distractions.”

Namjoon gave you a nod, his tone still light. “Oh, I forgot the newspaper.” He turned off the stove and did his little half-jog to the door.

But as soon as he twisted the doorknob, the door slammed open against the weight of the body propped against it. A sickening thud reverberating through the apartment. Your heart skipped a beat as the sight of the corpse registered in an instant—its pale, lifeless face staring up at you, eyes vacant and unseeing. The air in the room felt like it had thickened, the weight of the situation crashing down on you.

Namjoon froze for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob. Then, without a word, he stepped back, his body moving with precision as he grabbed his cell and tossed it to you.

“Call the precinct.” He instructed, fetching his gun in an instant “And stay back.”

Your fingers trembled as you caught the phone, the shock still running through your veins. You barely registered the coldness of the device against your palm, too focused on the scene in front of you. The body. The blood that had pooled around it, seeping into the carpet like it was part of the apartment itself.

You fumbled with the phone, dialling the precinct, your breath hitching in your throat. The line rang once, twice, before someone picked up, their voice professional, unaware of the horror unfolding in your living room.

“112, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Hwang, badge number 1209. There’s a body on my front door.”

The voice on the other end of the line shifted instantly, now alert. “Detective Hwang, stay on the line. Is the scene secure? Do you need assistance?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to steady your breathing. “We have a body. It's… propped against the door. Get someone here immediately.”

“Understood, Detective. Stay where you are. Officers are on their way. Do not engage with the scene further.”

You glanced over at Namjoon, who was crouched by the body now, his gun trained at the door as he assessed the situation. He didn't flinch or pause, moving with the practiced calm that had always been his trademark.

It took less than 8 minutes for your apartment to be crawling with uniforms, CSU, and of course, Detective Yoongi and Jungkook.

“So,” Jungkook was talking to Namjoon, merely a few steps away from where you sat at the kitchen table across from Yoongi. “Wine glasses.”

“Yeah, Namjoon brought dinner and wine.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Namjoon with a smirk. “Dinner and wine, huh? Cozy night in?”

Namjoon shot him a deadpan look. “It was supposed to be breakfast, too, until we were rudely interrupted by a corpse.”

Jungkook let out a low whistle, shaking his head “Pancakes?”

You glanced over at him, confused.

“So, nothing else happened?” Jungkook continued undeterred.

“Jungkook what are you on about?”

“Well, you know what they say about pancakes.” Yoongi replied, though his eyes were still glued to his notepad.

You narrowed your eyes, glancing between Yoongi and Jungkook. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do they say about pancakes?”

Jungkook grinned like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Pancakes are the best way to say ‘Hey, thanks for that amazing sex last night.’”

You choked on absolutely nothing, spluttering as Namjoon let out the world’s longest sigh beside you.

“Oh my God,” Namjoon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

Yoongi finally glanced up from his notepad, entirely unbothered. “It’s a well-documented theory.”

Jungkook nodded, very seriously. “Classic post-hookup breakfast. Means it was so good that one of you felt compelled to whip up something warm and sweet the next morning.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “It was just breakfast, Jungkook.”

“Was it?” Jungkook teased, crossing his arms. “Because the way I see it, there are two wine glasses on the counter, Namjoon sleeping over, and pancakes on the table.”

Namjoon made a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle. “I hate all of you.”

You threw up your hands. “For the last time, nothing happened!”

Yoongi huffed, and Jungkook shook his head as he jotted down on his notepad “witness refuses to cooperate.”

You gawked at him. “Are you seriously writing that down?”

Jungkook nodded, scribbling dramatically. “Refuses to acknowledge the overwhelming evidence of post-coital carbohydrates-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Namjoon, looking moments away from actual homicide, turned to Yoongi. “Please arrest him for obstruction.”

Yoongi barely held back a smirk. “Tempting.”

[mereelskirata]

Thank you for the tag @desfraisespartout <3

Coffee shop or florist ? >> I think I'm gonna be biased with this one as I have my own AU of it, so Florist xD

AU or Fix-it ? >> Both are good, but I wanna say Fix-It

Enemies to lovers or Childhood friends? >> Hmm. Definitely prefer Enemies to Lovers, if it's written well.

Angst or Fluff ? >> I definitely enjoy fluff more, but I will never say no to Angst >:3c

Love at first sight or Pining? >> Well I mean you can go from Love at first sight into pining, so...... Pining!

Modern AU or Historical AU ? >> Modern AU.

Break up & make up or Proposal & wedding ? >> GIVE ME THE ANGST.

Get together or Established relationship ? >> Definitely enjoy Established relationships more than the progress of getting together. The latter has to be really good tbh for me to read.

Soulmates or Unrequited ? >> Unrequited~

Fake dating or Secret dating ? >> Definitely secret dating. Gotta love the fear of getting caught but still taking the risk to be with someone.

Obvious pining or Domestic fluff ? >> Domestic fluff.

Hurt/comfort or Crack? >> Hurt/Comfort.

Meet the parents or Meet cute? >> I've not read either, but definitely the meet cute.

NPT: @brokenphoenix99 @hastalavistabyebye @mamuzzy-art @loverboy-havocboy @aerjnn @whiskygoldwings @serri-i @insertmeaningfulusername @iffylogic

[tinyluminaryzombie]

WIP Wednesday

thank you @lemonlyman-dotcom and @whatsintheboxmh for the tags!! Hope everyone is having a good start to 2025 💜

I think I technically have three 911 Lone Star wips (ahhh!!) but most recently I've been working on my Favorite Outfit Serries, Nancy Gilligan addition

OPEN TAG since I'm posting later in the day (one day I'll be earlier 🙃)

[gnawing-suspicion]

I have been tagged by @serri-i I think I understand

Did I do this right?? If we’re tagging I tag @blushingunderwar @cedarxwing @some-sick-deja-vu because your names came up first

[onlyhereforvividstasis]

A painting- or at least, a photo of one.

There's a letter attached.

Dear Makoto,

How are you?

I'm sorry you had to miss out this year.

We got a Smeargle to take a little sketch of us to send to you instead, hope this makes you feel better.

He said that it'd be better if we were all fully in frame next time, but I don't know what he meant by that... We're all there, aren't we? Regardless, though.

I do hope Aigiel's getting better... I know you haven't gotten an update in a while, but I'm sure she's fine- the girl's taken a fair few falls, and gotten up anyways.

For new additions to the group this year, though...

Ephim finally convinced Minato to tag along. (I don't know what they're doing in the photo either, but I think some part of him was enjoying it too.)

A new pair- Safira and Higashi, bottom left of it. I gave talking to them a try, and they seemed familiar somehow nice. Apparently they helped stop the natural disasters of the air continent.

There's also Feysara, the Eevee girl- that's her talking to Auren on the right. She's polite, if a bit quiet at times. I have a feeling you'll like her.

Well, hope you're doing alright, partner.

Happy New Year. I'm glad we made it this far.

With love,

Minami

Well. Happy New Year!

This post has been set to go up at sometime in the afternoon/evening of the 31st, meaning this is some of this year's last hours.

So, I'd like to thank you while I still have time.

Thank you all for everything you've done for me, for being so friendly, for caring as much as you have- I don't think I'd be here without all of you.

Now, for some more fun stuff- I don't have refs or anything but I can at least give a lowdown on the picture.

Chronoconvergence is my current idea for a collective name for my PMD stuff, likely to be replaced once I think of something better, but it stands for now. ...I am still too lazy to update tags though.

As said in the letter, Ephim the Lucario is doing ...whatever that is with Minato (Bulbasaur) on the left, with Safira (Skitty) and Higashi (Wooper) talking with Minami (Grovyle, yes, The Grovyle PMD2) right below.

Taking center stage are Everus (Fraxure) and Spark (Ninetales), my Gates team, with Ephris (Mew) hovering close by alongside Serri (Celebi, again, yes, The Celebi PMD2). also nearby is Feysara standing far off to the right

Lastly, is one that might require a bit of explanation- Auren (Dusknoir, you know the drill) talking with... Feysara, the Eevee mentioned in the letter. Just one small problem. Feysara is someone else's name.

Well, Feys (as I've effectively renamed her) is the protagonist of the fic I've been trying to write for a while now called An Empty Reflection which is also meant to serve as the opening act to a grander story called New Future's Dawn. Her story is yet to be told, but I hope to do so soon!

I want to promise when my next big thing or whatever will be but really, I'm probably gonna end up liveblogging Vivid/Stasis Chapter 5 for a bit so I might be occupied with that. As this goes up, I'm probably just finishing up what is effectively meant to be me re-familiarizing myself with the game as a whole.

But just know that writing is not abandoned, and art is not abandoned, both just planned to be pushed to the side as I write this. I'm probably at least thinking of writing by the time you're reading this, so not all hope is lost.

And as a last note... This combination of characters being alive and such is not canon, even if we all (or at least I) wished otherwise. Well, Happy New Year. It's been a hell of a ride so far and I can only hope it gets better from here.

[milkymoonmoikou]

SO DON’T RESIST, WE SHALL EXIST! UNTIL THE DAY, UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!

🌸 : My name’s Moikou! I go by she/her and they/them pronouns.

🌸 : A minorrrrrr ┆ Filipina and Chinese ┆ MIGHT be neurodivergent.

🌸 : <𝟑 Welcome Home .ᐟ ┆ <𝟑 Ace Attorney .ᐟ ┆ CookieRun .ᐟ ┆ Much more…

🌸 : I might post more times than I drink water. I might not post at all. I use custom tags, and I tag my stuff however I see fit.

My DNI list !! X0)

Basic DNI.

Pro shippers/pro fiction type shit.

People that hate the things I like and cry about the fact I like it.

I can interact with anybody, as long as you aren’t a weirdo 🙏🏻

I block with no warning so, be smart X0)

My lil’ tags !! XP

#🌸 : moi’s stage — I talk, surprisingly.

#🌸 : moi thinks — Thoughts I want to remember.

#🌸 : moi’s partners — My baby girls, haven’t reached married status (yet). X0)

#🌸 : moi’s babies — Characters I generally like.

#🌸 : moi’s OCs — My darling creations.

#🌸 : moi’s pen — I like to write, so I’ll send whatever I can to an audience.

#🌸 : moi’s manual — Things that’ll help me, mostly in writing.

#🐄 : moi is ovulating — Anything about my darlings.

#🐄 : moi’s voice — I like songs. I don’t want to sing on Tumblr. I’ll text-scream lyrics.

#🐄 : ouh dear — Sometimes I post before I think.

#🐄 : moi’s schlawgs — Anything that contains my friends. :)

#🟣 : serrie specials — From my dearest Serena. <𝟑

[mammalsofaction]

Rating: T

Ship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Outside POV, post OWCA Files, cast of OWCA files, human Perry the Platypus, eatablished relationship, relationship reveal, TW OWCA Cafeteria

The thing about Heinz, Agent Maggie the Macaw thinks over lunch, was momentum.

When he starts, the man doesn't really know how to stop, oftentimes to his own detriment. This applied to a lot of things: inventing. Fidgeting. Sleeping. And-very rarely-drinking.

Most commonly, she thinks this as he keeps talking.

It used to irritate her the most, especially when they were just starting out. She can tell. It hadn't bothered Perry or Karen at all, respectively due to experience dealing with the man for 8 years, and sheer fuck-all-serry. Harry actually listens. He contributes too. Maggie's convinced he likes it, though their chemistry might be due to Harry's own previous experience in crime and hench-villainy.

She picks up quickly over the course of training that she was the only one permanently bothered, and so keeps her mouth generally shut about it, though she does not hide her agitation. It grows on her quickly enough, because while Heinz rambles, he doesn't try to talk over anyone, and never presumes to speak for any of them. He's stubborn, perhaps, but not cocky, which had always been the most unpleasant side effect dealing with talkative agents back in her years in the academy. Especially with those who were white, male, and older than her.

Heinz almost never actually expects to be engaged with, at least, or if he was, it is with Perry. Maggie's known about Perry even before she had left her Academy in New York; the man was infamous, after all, and his kids had seats in the Senate on sheer credit. Knowing, and being personally trained by the man, has only since heightened her awe and respect for him. Disciplined, skilled, and deeply intelligent. Quiet, even besides his natural disability. He does not hand trust or respect over easily, and so each small praise were valued as highly as gold. She isn't the only one who regards it as such; she's seen black band agents skipping through the rest of the week on the high of a good word from Agent P, through sparring or shared missions.

And...yes, okay. Handsome, sure. Suave. The clear charm hasn't hurt in endearing her to him, if his patience had not. (Though it had) He's dealt with Heinz for 8 years. She's sure monks have been sainted for less.

Right, Heinz. Like she'd said: she was over it. But sometimes, times like when their meeting runs 20 minutes into their unit break before another grueling 3 hour training session just because he insists on arguing with the Major over mission schedules....it tests her, it really does.

She resists the urge to bang down her cup on the cafeteria table, she doesn't want to attract attention, but not pinching the bridge of her nose as the droning noise of his complaints finally hit home. "Heinz," she says. "Can you please-we get it, okay? It's an unfair assessment for Francis to make about our general incompetence for the training outcomes despite our real mission success rates, but orders are orders and you know-,"

The blissful, startled silence does not stay long, because the man makes a rumbling disagreeable noise in response. "God, Maggie, that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Francis has all this authoritative power but never attempts to actually understand what's needed of him and if he keeps doing that, that's how you lose respect in your subordinates-you know, which reminds me of the time in Gimmelshtump when I-,"

Maggie realizes, belatedly, that she might just have made it worse, and so turns her pleading eyes to Perry, silently drinking mug of coffee while he scrolls through his phone sitting directly beside the man on the other side of the table, adjacent to her. It takes a second for him to notice her, but when he does, he knows immediately what she's trying to get him to do.

The only people who ever tries to get Heinz to shut up was either Perry or her, and she's already failed.

She doesn't know what to expect; she's been sort of hoping he'd reach out to hit the man. More likely he'd clasp a tight hand on Heinz's shoulder, and send him a knowing look. It never takes much for Heinz to understand what Perry's saying, without actually having to say it, and Maggie has noticed he'd been a little off lately, softer if that made any sort of sense where Agent Perry the Platypus was concerned, so maybe he was going to-

Perry reaches out gently, clasping Heinz's chin, and his words stuttering to a stop as Perry pulls him into a kiss, a meeting of lips so sweet and chaste it would not have looked out of place in a christmas rom-com, or a middle school dance. Domestic, lingering, an action speaking louder than a thousand words.

Maggie can feel the bright flush of her cheeks as she stares, mouth agape.

It's not any longer than a minute, at best, before Perry turns back to his phone, drinking his drink, like nothing ever happened. He doesn't meet her eye. Heinz is completely silent, staring into the middle distance. Maggie turns to her teammates to ensure she hadn't been hallucinating, and feels reassured when she sees Harry at least, meeting her gaze with wide eyes even as he continues munching on his burrito, but he doesn't look nearly as surprised as she was, more scandalised.

Karen, naturally, was completely unfazed. Her watch beeps as she balls up her sayan wrap, clearly finished with her sandwich. "Okay?" She asks, and Maggie realizes with a jolt it's 15 minutes past 3, and they needed to be at the gym yesterday.

Shoot. Maggie stuffs her face with the last three bites of her cinnamon roll as Perry gets to his feet, pulling his blazer, and Heinz along with him. Karen wanders off, likely in search of the trash can, and Harry was still devouring his burrito, and would likely continue to do so until they actually got to gym doors. Heinz follows dumbly, still holding onto his half eaten vending machine sandwich, until Perry carefully takes it from him and rewraps the sayan to protect the leftovers. Finish at home, she sees him sign pointedly, which seems to finally break the man out of his stupor. "Home," he echoes, a bit breathless. "Right."

Some spy she was, Maggie thinks. How embarassing.

Just imagined Heinz going on and on about whatever, until Perry be like: “shut up Heinz” and then kiss him.

He succeeded xD

[andaisq]

every time someone makes me think about the talmud i go "i respect NONE of you people i am going to make my OWN talmud out of STICKS AND ROCKS"

then i remember how it ended up when yeshua ben yosef did that and i go "hmm maybe instead i'll just continue ignoring the rules i don't like"

[nctyping]

oh yeah it’s 1 am

[nervousnotion]

@queenoftherodeoo tagged me to put my on repeat playlist on shuffle and post the first ten songs so here we finally go: 1. end of time zara larsson 2. fist fight kite string tangle 3. bite me enhypen 4. crescendo monsta x 5. goddess pvris 6. spotlight serri 7. vinglevingle heize 8. the feels labrinth 9. eve, psyche, and the bluebeard’s wife le sserafim 10. better man ellie goulding i think i did a similar list not too long ago n it’s like still all the same songs but bANGERS are bangers. also olivia 🤝 me spinning end of time by zara larsson nonstop

tagging @davinciae​ @taeminie​ @yglesbian​ @shownuism​ @nfly5​ @dreamaze​

[anchanted-one]

Writer’s First Line

tagged by @jbnonsensework and @captainderyn​ . Thanks guys! This is a chance to go down memory lane. Sorry this is mostly swtor. I think I have a problem. A small one.

Tagging anyone who’s interested. 

edited slightly

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven't written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

I’ll be breaking the rules, since *I SUCK AT WRITING FIRST LINES*!

1. Children of the Storm, Prologue to the Records of Heroes Past.

The skies turned a pleasant shade of purple with the deepening dusk.

2. Book of Storms, Legend of Lightning

“Hold!” Lieutenant Taura Serris screamed at the top of her lungs. “HOLD, DAMN YOU! REINFORCEMENTS SHOULD BE HERE SOON!”

3. Book of Respite: Chapter ?: The Informant

Book of Respite is my book 2, which will be an anthology about my other leads. So although they’ll be one book, they’re each a separate story.

This one isn’t out yet, but it will be someday soon. I love how it’s come out; it’s a brief story about Cipher Nine set a short while before she’s dispatched to Hutta for the SWTOR Agent’s prologue (Okay this is crazy... just as I hit ctrl+v, one of the most badass Naruto Shippuden themes started playing on Youtube (’Martyr’). This is destiny. This chapter was meant to be written!)

Mercei Tanniels always took pains to arrive forty minutes before any meetings.

4. Book of Respite Chapter ??: The Poltergeist

This one’s about my Jedi Consular.

Devel Nirol always got picked last. 

5. Eternal War Part 1: Arcann’s War

The low hum of the Silver Pilgrim's Hyperdrive was as familiar and comforting to Arro as that of his Lightsaber.

6. Eternal War Part 2: Mission Scorpion

The bunker was nestled in the bowels of the Undercity.

7. Eternal War Part 3: Phantoms in the Ether

My mental health took a nosedive as I was writing this, so I abandoned it in favor of a full rewrite, which is Records of Heroes Past. You can still read this, but neither it nor its sister part ‘Wrath of the Dead’ will be updated. Not to mention, it will take a long time for me to reach this point in the rewrite. 

It was evening on the newly resettled patch of land on Ossus.

8. Eternal War Part 4: Wrath of the Dead

Jaesa meditated in the Force Enclave in Odessen. Something was calling her, something whose voice teased the outside edges of her hearing, and her gut told her it was highly important. But all her inner eye could see, for miles and miles, was an ocean, dark and deep, stretching out infinitely in all directions. It frightened her, but her resolve held.

9. Deciphered Diaries

This is from a one-shot for my Cipher Nine in both Eternal War and Records of Heroes Past universes. It’s set around the time of the Prequels. It ‘unveils’ my Cipher Nine, but at this point I’ve told everyone who’d listen who she really is, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Archivist’s notes: This cache of datafiles was discovered by the Jedi many years ago, in the abandoned command center of a military Outpost, of the planet named “Odessen”.

10. Shikar Company--The Exiled Hunters

This one is... A CLONE WARS FANFIC!!!!! How crazy is that?! Well... not very, since it’s behind Record of Heroes Past on my list of priorities. But still, this is a hint of what I have in store. Sorry for making this such a long exchange instead of one line, but it felt more appropriate. 

From Chapter 1: the Shame

“Aahhh… Welcome, my dear. At last you’ve arrived.”

“Dooku,” Sumana hissed. Her men surrounded both herself the cornered Count, who looked quite content to let himself get hemmed in.

“I admit, you knocked me off balance back there. Remarkable! I did not know there were Jedi quite like you. That controlled rage, that walk along the razor’s edge between Light and Dark, one which I thought was too blurred to see. Oh well. Forgive me, my child. But it ends here.”

Sumana shook her head in disbelief. “Is this your idea of a surrender?”

“No, my child. It’s my farewell. Captain Shikar? Execute Order Sixty-Six.”

[tlkfanficfest]

TLKFanficFest Prompts - Round 1

This round will be open for two weeks and be done on July 5. 

All the prompts are alphabetized below, into different categories. Anyone can try writing any prompt and all prompts may be filled by multiple people! 

Please remember to tag your completed prompt fill with #TLKFFF2020 and @tlkfanficfest so they can be included in the Fill Post. 

If you write only on AO3 please send your links and what prompt it was for to tlkfanficfest@gmail.com to be included.  

PAIRINGS

Aelswith/Alfred, first meeting

Aethelflaed/Aldhelm, “Why are you awake right now?”

Aethelflaed/Aldhelm, “you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

Aethelflaed/Uhtred, “Ask me what I did while you were gone; I promise I can draw every action I took back to you.”

Eadith/Finan, Eadith trusts Finan with her life, but she needs to convince him she trusts him with her body.

Eadith/Finan, Finan watches Eadith and Aethelstan and wonders how he got so lucky for a second chance at a family.

Eadith/Finan, he teaches her some self defense

Eadith/Finan, it was never about pleasure for Eadith until Finan

Eadith/Finan/Uhtred, After a run in with some Welsh raiders, Eadith tends to both Finan and Uhtred’s wounds.

Eadith/Finan/Uhtred, relationship negotiations

Eadith/Finan/Uhtred, Uhtred won’t intrude on the relationship building between Eadith/Finan, even though they’ve both expressed interest in him joining so they hatch a plan to seduce him, together.

Ealswith (Sihtric's wife)/Sihtric, first meeting!

Finan and Uhtred roadtrip

Finan/Eadith: “I never get a full nights sleep around you.”

Finan/Sihtric, a jealous Sihtric but not the "bad" jealous type, more like insecurity. and Finan being oblivious to it until they talk and actually communicate (so angst with a happy ending i guess haha)

Finan/Sihtric, that first night after Finan knows Sihtric didn't really abandon them.

Finan/Sihtric: "You fought for me."

Finan/Uhtred with Uhtred catching the common cold and Finan loosing it because he thinks it’s “the sickness”.

Finan/Uhtred, “I’m worried about you”

Finan/Uhtred, stuck in a confessional box. Can be as naughty as you like. Bonus for Aelswith coming to pray whilst they're stuck.

Finan/Uhtred, they know each other like the back of their hands.

Finan/Uhtred, we are bound.

Finan/Uhtred/Gisela, Uhtred returns a changed man, but Gisela doesn't mind the Irish warrior he brings with him

Gisela/Hild, hurt/comfort

Gisela/Iseult/Uhtred, Isuelt lives, she travels north with Uhtred and meets the beautiful Danish girl, Gisela. The women want to take their friendship further, will Uhtred mind? And will he be allowed to partake? The women weave a special pagan magic together.

Uhtred/Gisela/Finan is a thing and they need to figure out who is the baby daddy now that Gisela is pregnant.

Uhtred/OC, OC is from Irland and her name is Brigid (like the Celtic goddess) and Finan is like “Lord, we have to take her with us, she needs our help. And I’ll not ‘ave ye cursing us for a second time.” Because he is paranoid if they don’t take her and help her than the Celtic gods will curse the harvest at Coccham.

NO SPECIFIC PAIRING

"A mad ardour upon you to race horses, where the serried host is ranged around; very splendid is the bounty of the cattle-pond, the iris is gold because of it." - from an Irish poem, 'May-time', 9th-10th century, author unknown

"Keen is the wind, bare the hill, it is difficult to find shelter; the ford is marred, the lake freezes, a man could stand on a single stalk." - from a Welsh poem, 'Winter', c.11th century, author unknown

"The ocean is full, the sea is in flood, lovely is the home of ships ... the rudder is swift upon the wide sea." - from an 11th century Irish poem, A Storm at Sea, author unknown

A night with Erik

Aldhelm has a Nice Day for once

Aldhelm, resting and thinking back on his life, Finan and Sihtric come across him. They talk.

An Aethelflaed focused story inspired by Queen of Peace by Florence and the Machine

Any pairing welcome, but Osferth would be a great pick, It’s too cold outside and we should share body heat. For survival only of course. Or not... hehe !

Coccham crew get drunk and start flyting against each other

Coccham squad in a naturist camp

Father Pyrlig sneaks healer reader out of King Edwards court for Uhtred and his men to keep safe. She has made an enemy out of Aethelhelm.

Finan and Uhtred roadtrip

Finan has to reconcile his past as conversations with Irland bring his brother back into his life.

Finan, "Don't pretend like you're asleep. Should I find a way to wake you up?"(obvs on the smutty side... I can see it already!)

Hild watches the guys train. They show off for her.

Jealous possessive Finan please!

Mafia AU, any pairings

Osferth saves Finan and Sihtric’s life from Danes and has a little smirk at the end.

Osferth, Edward, and Aethelflaed following Alfred's burial

Radio station AU of any description. Wessex FM, Bebbanburg Beats, Mercia Magic...

Sihtric and Osferth bonding over being bastards

Someone attempts to kidnap Osferth much to his friends dismay. They want revenge against Uhtred.

The Coccham crew get a little tipsy and Sihtric ends up with his most interesting haircut yet

The Cookham squad mourn the death of Steapa.

Uhtred has the hiccups

Uhtred is visited by the actual Night Walker and they have a philosophical conversation around the campfire.

Alfred requests Uhtred's company on a brief pilgrimage to the sea at the south of Wessex. Uhtred is suspicious of his motivations, especially given the dissenting nature of their religions, but he soon realizes that perhaps Alfred has a bit more than God on his mind when he's praying.

IMAGINES

Finan, Finan shares his cloak with the reader at the fire to keep them both warm. His hands wander occasionally.

Finan, him being soft and him caring for kids in my life

Finan, reader makes sexual noises to turn him on

Finan, with a Dane reader

Finan/Reader, Finan comes home to find reader gone. They had gotten into a fight that day before he was to go off to battle with Uhtred. She told him that if he left she wouldn't be there when he got back. Lots of angst with a sad ending.

Sigfried, reader saves Siegfried from an assassin.

Sihtric rescues the reader from drowning.

Sihtric/Reader, Enemies to Lovers, smut should definitely take place. They have been on opposite sides for years until one day changes everything forever.

Sihtric/Reader, reader is a spy sent by Haesten to spy on Uhtred and his men. Sihtric finds her and marches her back to their camp by sword.

Uhtred, the reader is half trapped underneath a horse and Uhtred stays with her while Osferth goes for help. Uhtred flirts and comforts her.

Young Ragnar/Reader, ex-lovers meet again on one fateful day. There is some angst but it has a happy ending.

RPF

Alex/Eliza, accidental kiss at dusk

Alex/Eliza/Mark, it kind of just happens

Alex/Mark, Alex is in love with Mark, Mark is oblivious. Alex comes up with more and more excuses for them to rehearse together. How long can Mark hide his feelings when they rehearse hugging scenes AGAIN?!?

Alex/Mark, unspoken promises

Eliza/Everyone, Eliza’s just touchy feely with her friends

Ensemble (any pairings), some of the cast goes to a music festival for the weekend

Mark raids Eliza’s closet and tries on a few things. (bonus points if what he tries on is garters/suspenders)

[mereelskirata]

List your 10 favorite characters from 10 different Fandoms, then tag 10 people!

tagged by @mamuzzy and @the-starry-seas <3

Tup and Dogma, The Clone Wars (Do not seperate. I cannot choose between them.)

Rinoa Heartilly, Final Fantasy VIII

Anemone, Nier: Automata

Jill Valentine, Resident Evil

Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Moon

Raiden Shuga, Eighty Six

Iori Fuyusaka, 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim

Hatsuharu Sohma, Fruits Basket

Korra, The Legend of Korra

Atin, Republic Commando (Okay this one is a cheat since y'know, Star Wars, BUT THINKING UP 10 DIFFERENT CHARACTERS IS HARD AND HE'S MY FAVOURITE.)

NPT: @iffylogic @rubybahamut @five-oh-thirst @runicmagitek @adhd-coyote

@serri-i @brokenphoenix99 @rooksunday @whiskygoldwings @lesquatrechevrons

[merryfortune]

Day 6

Social Interactionism 2021

Day 6: “I’d like to formally propose that you hug me.”

Event: @hugsaku​

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Aoi/Go/Yusaku

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags:  Post Canon, Canon Compliant, Fluff with a Little Bit of Angst

AN: Big thank you to Serry for hosting Hugsaku, thank you so much, I’ve really enjoyed participating <333

  “Bye, bye, Shima, see you tomorrow.” Aoi said.

  Naoki scratched the back of his head and laughed, “Yeah, see you two Duel Club slackers tomorrow.”

  Yusaku exhaled funnily hearing the slight hypocrisy in that statement but he waved goodbye to Naoki as well, who was no doubt thinking to himself how unfortunate it was that he didn’t live in that general direction like they did. Then, they could be a real trio going to and from school. Although, what he didn’t know was that Aoi didn’t live in that direction either, but she did have plans with the hot dog van. Plans involving hopefully reviving Aqua but that was getting ahead of things.

  As a pair, Yusaku and Aoi shuffled along. It was getting a bit late, the skyline was dyeing orange with the evening as they walked in silence to the park. It was a comfortable silence, however, as they were both introverts and both knew that if any developments had happened during the day, then they would have much to talk about later, so it was best to save their breath.

  Or, at least, that was the unspoken agreement before they happened along upon an unexpected encounter.

  They were close to the park now, having walked for about fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes and there were a fair few people fanned out along the paths and such. The old man under a tree, reading a book; the mother pushing along a stroller with groceries tucked under the carriage; and the office lady with a reusable cup of coffee in one hand and her smartphone in the other. A whole host of people and with mild interest, Aoi and Yusaku observed just one: the runner in a dark navy hoodie who was up against the iron fence, catching his breath.

  He pushed off against the fence with his two fists tucked in and his shoulders square. He was ready for another round of long-distance running, it seemed, as his pace was staunch and somewhat slow. He passed by Aoi and Yusaku by a shoulder and out of curiosity, both of them flicked their gazes up to him and they met his eyes. Heavy set, a steel blue. He blinked.

  “Onizuka Go.” Aoi gasped with recognition.

  He let go of the tension in his muscles that kept him tight and compact, ready to run and run for miles. He looked at them both, tentatively confused but had the courtesy to bring his hood down even though he liked to keep his eyes on the prize like a racehorse in blinders.

  “Do I know…?” he murmured before his eyes glistened. He recognised them back. Well, at least one of them. “You… Your Zaizen’s sister.” He turned his head to Yusaku and studied him closer. There was something familiar about him but he couldn’t place it and Yusaku, instinctively, shied away from the attention, all but scurrying to hide his identity – or, in this case, identities given it was Go. “And… do I know you?” he asked. “Like, from way, way back?”

  “Sort of…” Yusaku mumbled.

  Aoi glanced at him and Yusaku nodded awkwardly. “It’s good to meet you properly, Onizuka, it’s been a while.”

  “Y-Yeah,” he said, “and we never got that match, huh, Blue Angel?”

  “Yes, that is a shame.” Aoi said.

  Go rubbed the back of his neck, “I know I just had a breather, but I’m thinking we should sit down, maybe?”

  “I’d like that.” Yusaku piped up.

  They looked around and found an unoccupied garden bench in the park, in the shade of some trees. They sat, with not much space amongst them, with Yusaku in the middle, of all places. He felt just a little bit claustrophobic between them but did his best to withstand that middling pressure.

  Looking up at Go, even just in stolen glances, it was heartening to see that he had put some of his lost weight back on. He wasn’t quite as showstopping muscular as he once was but he had padded out to what looked good and healthy on him.

  He sat with his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs, and he looked at Yusaku, “So, you a fan?” he asked.

  “Kind of.” Yusaku replied. “My name is Fujiki Yusaku, but you might know me better as Playmaker.”

  Go’s eyes widened. He didn’t believe it – or maybe he didn’t want to believe it.

  “And just as I’m Blue Angel, as you know, I’m Blue Girl and Blue Maiden as well, but maybe you already knew.” Aoi added, she did her best to not sound wracked with surprise as she hadn’t been expecting Yusaku’s easy admission of his other self.

  “N-No, I believe it.” Go said but it seemed more to Yusaku than to Aoi.

  “I figure, since we have this chance to talk, you deserved to know.” Yusaku said.

  “Thanks.” Go said because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

  He hadn’t been expecting that Playmaker would be some gawky, awkward kid but it made sense to him that such a stoic person might be stoic because he was socially graceless more so than hardened and intense like a criminal.

  “No, I should be thanking you.” Yusaku said, feeling a little bit stronger and certain with what he wanted to use this opportunity for. “Or,” he added, “I should be apologising to you. But maybe both. I think both works so I’ll start with thank you. Thank you for trying your best to defend the Link VRAINS from the Knights of Hanoi. I was distraught when you were defeated by Revolver, admittedly, because I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Playmaker…” Go breathed.

  Yusaku prickled. “I was scared. I tried pushing you – you and Aoi – away because I didn’t want to see you get hurt but that’s the thing about bonds, connections… even if you try your hardest to sever them all, push people away first, it just magnetises you to them all the more.”

  Go laughed. He tried not to sound bitter, but he did just a touch. He supposed that that was exactly what happened. He was pushed away by losing to Playmaker, by feeling unacknowledged by him, but that just made him go full throttle which in turn caused him to combust. But his laughter turned into a quiet smile.

  “I realise this doesn’t change the past but its how I felt – and continue to feel.” Yusaku said. He glanced at Aoi. “I don’t want you to feel left out, I’m sorry and thankful for you as well.” He told her.

  “It’s okay.” Aoi replied.

  “So, what now?” Go asked. “I still have a lot of my work-out routine to get through, sure you two have to hurry on along. But we should catch some up some more.”

  “Y-Yeah,” Yusaku stuttered out, words clogging in his throat only to turn into an awkward deluge, “but before you go, I formally propose that you should hug me.”

  Go laughed again. Playmaker was cute. His stoicism truly did not come from cruelty but from a place of hurt and awkwardness. Knowing that, his memories of their duel and other encounters made more sense to him in this new frame of context. His laughter was full-bellied and strong; Yusaku’s mouth twitched and then, without seemingly no warning, Go obliged.

  His arm flung up and then hooked around Yusaku with an energetic voracity. Go pulled Yusaku in close, to the crook of him and Aoi watched with a giggle. Yusaku stiffened as he had never been hugged quite so exuberantly before and Go grinned.

  “To better futures and all that, eh?” Go reckoned.

  Yusaku smiled as he put his hand on Go’s thick forearm, “Y-Yeah, something like that.” He said. “I’d really like to duel you again.”

  “I’d like that as well – oh and, Blue Angel, you get in here too, don’t want you feeling left out, we never got our Charisma match after all.” Go bellowed in good nature.

  “T-True, we never did.” Aoi agreed but she inclined to Go’s invitation.

  She leaned in on Yusaku, almost skittish, and hugged him from his other side. She put her hands on his shoulder and nuzzled in. Yusaku breathed with difficulty in the lock of Go’s arm but it was as strangely nice as it was overbearing. He smiled with hopeful thoughts.

[snipehuntpotatosack]

Unofficial Commentary on the text tagged [Chronic Metaphor] – A Servo-Subsystem Research Program Summary in Four Cantos; with Addendum re site visit

Initial apologetics (if the term is applicable and/or recognized) are due concerning the graphic or “pronunciatory” form in which the material herein discussed was/is presented, even tho the unit(s) generating said material were not at any time under my direct or indirect personal control. Yes, I identify myself as a “person” in the oldest and most trivial sense in addressing you herein, and the form I use will continue to be the prosiest, fussiest and most boringly irritating of proses. As for why precisely a psychoneurotic pseudopoet with a rusty valve stuck open seems to have generated an idiosyncratic 255-line precis of the non-results of an actual very official, time-consuming, and quite expensive archeologic-epistemic study in astrocognitive phenomena in a species of volatile vers libre rather than the usual lethal academic sludge-speak: as part of one of the cyclical waves of good-heartedness affecting managerial disposition toward the treatment of the “semi-sentient,” a random selection of report writers were encouraged to experiment with other linguistic models which might more effectively package complex/banal-seeming information so as to attract more network attention, this being regarded as an a priori goal for some reason…It is not clear whether the composers of the CM text had any particular literary models in mind (and I can assure everyone that no ‘machine’ time has been spent on investigating this uninteresting question); I think it more likely that the inspired creator(s) attempted to place breaks similar to physical speech rhythms – as in the incantations of Druidical sages gone cybermad – into whatever data it occurred to them to convey (partly suggested by the fact that the “speaker-units” under study imitate the rhythms, the rushes and caesuras, of persons talking – while of course making no sense whatsoever).

 Regardless of the semi-bizarre form in which the summary report has been assembled, and even taking into account its various semi-snide sidelights on the assumptions, motivations or delusions of participants in this and other official research ventures, having been called upon unofficially to comment on its usefulness at this stage in our reckoning with what we have encountered, I can only add the following:

I have nothing further to add.

Whatever follows should not be expected to modify our overall evaluation of the project or of any potential for further expenditure or non-expenditure; it represents only my particular, that is personal, inclination to fill in some background details regarding this overall puzzling, unsatisfyingly incomplete area of inquiry. (As intimated in a particular line of Canto C, “breadth” without “depth” of information can be particularly irksome to the curious mind, though whether my extra depths may lead anywhere is doubtful.)

Standard trans-galactic probe techniques did in fact encounter (and retrieve detailed information in a wide range of sensory and mathematical categories), at a date not too far from the beginning of our current technocratic era, with a nearly perfectly planar solid object consisting entirely as far as we know of the element Carbon, in the form graphite, at a location which remains constant though classified. Its planar quality is “nearly” perfect, of course, since the sheet does possess some top-to-bottom thickness – exactly 256 molecules. Otherwise, no limit to its extent has yet been found, by any sensing or calculational means possible, in any direction. (We can, of course, access its “other side”, by approaching from the other direction). The object is thus referred as “finite but boundless,” in the sense that before contact is made with the planar surface, there is no graphite; once contact is made, there is.

 This description would seem to imply that the plane slices the megaverse in half; and so it would, except for its orientation in Riemann space. You will appreciate that this point cannot be expanded on using semantic language.

 The entire “population” of the plane is a transfinite (that is the word, as per Canto A , – and there’s no other; we simply cannot know how many) set of black carbon nano-fiber cubical audio speakers, of an extremely basic design, with one smallish vibrating sound-producing diaphragm each. Forgive me if I slip into homey jargon – each one is about knee high, and they sit there about one-and-a-half arm’s length from each other in a very exact pointillist array, all facing in the exact same direction, if there was a way to define that direction, which there isn’t. Tomography indicates a small disk at the interior base may be their power source, though what activates and deactivates (or uses up) this power source is beyond our ken. In addition, a small white light of the simplest construction on top of the cube lights up with modest wattage when the speaker-unit operates, and goes out afterward.

 Yes, of course we’ve tried to sample the graphite. Of course we’ve tried to disassemble a speaker and microanalyze its parts, in situ or, if it could be arranged, at another location. They cannot be picked up, moved, pierced, bent, melted, dinged, crushed, drilled, lasered, or physically affected in any way. This although they are quite physically real; you can trace its contour through your glove, and if you bang your knee against one of the corners (through the leg of your e-suit) it will raise a lump. It cannot be detached from the surface of the plane by the application through torsion of a force sufficient to propel an object free of the gravity of galactic center. No, we have not attempted to destroy any smaller or larger part of the plane and its population using the most fearsome destructive tools known; logical analysis could not project any conceivable gain in information through this procedure.

 And yes, as the lumpiness of my description indicates, I have been personally to Site F, as the wags call it (short for many possible terms). Only once. Continued data collection of any sort of data anyone or anything could ever dream up obviously continues via automatic installations on site; budgetary questions only arise  concerning whether to continue analyzing this Leviathan of unappealing input as it grows dusty in our virtual ledgers. As for the considerable resources entailed in dispatching any more eyewitnesses to F, in corpore, I suspect the only reason this is not now completely ruled out is a kind of inchoate, cosmic superstition – having never successfully peered into the mind of function f, if any such thing exists, we can’t stop peeking sideways to see what it might do next; and we certainly wouldn’t want it to feel slighted in the meantime.

  Approaching F from a series of eccentric hyperbolics, one’s first impression is of a dimly pearlescent Cupid’s bow, of the radius of a gnat, then an inchworm, then perhaps a comb jelly, performing rather silly flips and inverted rotations in the blackness as your perspective gyrates round that of the approach trajectory. When very close indeed, the sense of a gargantuan flat dance floor – picked out in midnight streaks not by F itself but by our own, stationary illuminators – grows alarmingly, and then vanishes completely as one comes to rest – on an array of cubes, rather than the actual floor, which makes no difference. (An odd sensation, being deposited on a perfectly flat plane – it immediately popped into my head that our own technology approaches nothing similar.)

It is simple to make shoe-soles that love graphite. The environment of F is pure, dead-vacuum, intergalactic space, with a floor to walk on. Unfortunately, the floor is studded with solid shin-busters whose regular spacing will not spare one without considerable practice, so travel groups are collectively lighted from above. There is not much of a walk to reach the Activated Area, no matter when you go, since one can land anywhere; but tourists are given about fifteen minutes approach time to allow the pupils to adjust.

 You are advancing on foot into the maw of trillion-diamond Tiara City, the scintillating illusion building intricately to past fifty, sixty degrees above the horizon even tho every individual photon originates mere centimeters from the surface. The walls and webs of light are thickly constructed to the sides of you and behind you, and seem to be narrowing and crowning upward ahead – the parabolic arch now spanning well more than a billion active electrified entities of unknown origin and purpose. Two hours walk, three, and the illusory multidimensional effect has worn thin as you near the focus; adjusted retina now perceive a flat broad white light everywhere, neither intense nor interrupted, utterly transparent, and yielding a perspective at once completely repetitive and monstrously surreal, as the twinkling cubes march in serried ranks to the horizon.

 Then, your automated guide introduces the next phase of your learning experience. Your earphones, which have been shut completely till now, are slowly – over a period of many minutes – exposed to what is really filling the air around you, reaching and remaining at a level approximating eight percent of the true volume level –

 Did I say the AIR?

 Indeed Madam or Sir, without which there would be no way to hear, record, analyze the Speech of the speaker cubes. In fact, when Site F was first discovered, millions upon millions of active speaker-units were gabbling away freely – as evidenced clearly by the tremblings and agitations of their sound-producing diaphragms - and producing no sound at all in the vacuum of space.

Nor did they, until our researchers filled the surrounding space with ambient gases appropriate to the operation of the speaker units in producing phonemic sound. Verbal sound. Innumerable combinations of gases with and without particulate additives have been tried for this purpose, but only one maximizes F-Site speaker performance: the exact proportions of nitrogen and oxygen found on what our dear dead ancestors were pleased to call home.

Our poetic prologue omitted this as a mere technical detail; the notion that indestructible space-born units would be sent on an eternal mission, i.e. to talk – and not only not given anyone to talk to, but no way to be heard if there was –

did not interest our core analytic cadres compared to the potential or hypothetical mathematics of the mother-ship f function.

.

So now, fellow voyager, we have reached the final revelation, laid bare to our senses. As hovering tanks emit invisible atmospheres toward all and sundry, we finally hear the Star Speech of the mysterious Speakers. They talk, and talk, and talk, in every direction.

As far as anyone can understand, it means nothing at all….

except for one small detail.

There is one other thing about their conversation, which the Poem did not mention.

 They don’t just talk. They whisper, they moan. They bellow, they proclaim in profound orotund baritones. They shriek like the demons of Macbeth’s blasted heath. They burble, grovel, compliment, snarl, sob, ululate, snicker, mimic, plead, project, perorate, bloviate, gargle, snivel, boast, wheedle, insinuate, denounce, exaggerate, hype, summon, denounce, deceive, chatter, natter, blather, yammer, wail, mourn, elegize, mesmerize, scandalize, ingratiate, stutter, sputter, mew, whinge, neigh, hector, harp, emote, ejaculate, envision, exclaim, erupt, elucidate, yowl, yak, jape, jest, jabber, greet, grandiloquize, chisel, charm, chuckle, chitter, crow, brag, argue, segue, toast, threaten, ameliorate, pray, parry, aver, avow, acclaim, attest, affirm, achoo, agree, account, accept, accredit, auction, authorize, augur, theorize, temporize, tantalize, tongue, tang, teeng, tong, and tan two tonsils for every top ticket in town

And there’s one other thing we know. Not from ourselves, because we’d have to die first. But from the machines, who can stay there long, long after we’d wink out.

 If you just stand there, and wait until all the quintillions around you have had their say, they all wink out, night falls; and The Perfectly Clear Light, and then The Trillion Diamond Tiara City, and then The Pearly Cupid’s Bow, move on, on, on into the Inky Way, talking, talking forever