#(I originally have only watched one piece up to water 7 - maybe parts of the timeskip and sabody - that was YEARS ago)

[spielzeugkaiser]

I come back for a hot second (and go into hiding pretty much right again) with some redrawn screencaps of what I'm watching currently!! 👀 All I have in me are the sillies-

[anakin-pilled]

𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 - anakin skywalker x fem! reader (part three)

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem! reader

wordcount: 9.4k

warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of EDs, body dysmorphia/body issues, fainting, mistreatment, hospitalization, crying, reader being emotional, anakin being a reckless driver, half proofread bc i got lazy (will probably edit another day, its late af as im posting this)

rating: 18+

author's note: hi, i'm so sorry for the delay on chapter three! life got really busy and i found myself not having enough time to write, but now life has settled and i finally had enough time and inspo to finish this chapter. i literally forced myself to stay home this weekend and finish this chapter bc i'll be traveling this week and won't have time to write. i hope i made up for it by making this chapter longer than usual!! let me know if u have any questions or comments. reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated xx

creds to saradika for the divider!

You originally had no plans this weekend, but after much persuasion from one of your closest friends, you decided to attend some party that a friend of a friend was hosting. It was better than being locked up in your apartment all weekend, letting the thoughts of Anakin consume your mind and slowly pick away at your sanity. After all, it gave you the chance to dress up prettily, consume free hooch, and maybe find someone to get under and help you get over Anakin. 

The water in your porcelain sonic tub was doused in a fragrant Crimson Jelly Spire oil and mixed with the fragile petals of a Jasmine flower. The combination of spice and sweetness left your skin refreshed and smelling good. The midday light of Corscant filtered through the windows and cast the nearly all-ivory refresher in an ethereal lighting. The water swished around you as you hugged your knees to your chest and laid the side of your cheek on top of them. You trained your eyes on the refresher’s ceilings before blowing a loose piece of hair out of your face. You ran this bath about an hour ago, but you had yet to get up because your mind was occupied by him. Staying away from Anakin was harder than you anticipated. Your mind recalled, for about the hundredth time today, two instances that happened over the last few rotations.

The first instance with Anakin left you unnerved and unconfident in your self-proclamation to stay away from him. 

The benefit concert was only a few rotations away now, so you started practicing. Even though you were only performing songs that you already performed and rehearsed before, it still didn’t hurt to practice even more. This was going to be broadcast across the Republic, so you had to be perfect. 

You holed yourself up in your practice room for the majority of the day. The only time you saw Anakin was in the morning when your protocol droid prepared breakfast. You told Anakin that you would be practicing with your team of dancers for the day, so there was no need for him to stay with you all day. You encouraged him to take the day off and reassured him that your practice suite was located in a safe building with 24/7 security watch. Anakin insisted that he at least drop you off. He could take the time to stop by the Temple and check in on Ahsoka’s training.

That was hours ago. It was nearing your twelfth hour of continuous practice and you were exhausted, to say the least. Your vocal cords felt raw from the amount of singing you did today, and the legs in your muscles were spasming from the constant repetition of your dancing. You dismissed your team members around two hours ago, you didn’t think they should be subjected to your perfectionist tendencies. One of them, a Pantoran girl named Chione, voiced her concern for you. Chione was one of your oldest dancers, she joined your team during your first mini-tour around a few Core planets and has never left your team since. You considered her one of your closest friends.

“Are you positive that you’re okay to practice on your own? You’ve barely had any food today. I don’t want you fainting with no one to help,” voiced Chione in a dulcet tone. She was always looking out for your well-being, especially because she knew how hard you could be on yourself. Chione was a source of bright life in your life and one of the most genuine people you’ve ever known.

“I’ll be fine, Chione. I had a heavy breakfast, and I’ve made sure to eat energy pudding bars and stay hydrated during our breaks,” you reassured your friend. She looked unconvinced, but you rushed her out of the room with a kiss on her cheek and a promise to send her a message once you arrived home.

Now that you had the studio to yourself, you decided to go through a few more drills and focus on the routines that you struggled with the most. You weren’t always a perfectionist. Back when you lived on Bar’leth, you were neither the smartest student in your grade nor the dumbest student–you were perfectly average. You didn’t feel the need to engage in your classmates’ cutthroat competition or push yourself more than you required. Even when it came to your musical prowess, you sang and studied instruments because you enjoyed it and it brought you happiness. If you were stuck on learning a certain composition or hitting the right note, you would always put in your best effort, but you never lost any sleep over it. You knew that if you were to put pressure on yourself, it would take the enjoyment away. Music was yours, without any strings, expectations, or attachments to soil your relationship with it.

That swiftly changed once you were signed a record deal with one of Coruscant’s most famous record labels, Interstellar Records. You didn’t even know it was possible to become famous at the intergalactic level. Most of the artists you listened to on Bar’leth were artists from your planet. The galaxy’s population is enormous–Coruscant alone has around three trillion people! You never imagined that your name would known anywhere besides Bar’leth. Yet, luck seemed to be on your side on that one fateful day.

The story of how you were discovered is quite simple. Your school hosted an annual festival for the anniversary of the formation of Bar’leth’s government. It’s a joyous holiday where students are encouraged to promote Bar’leth’s culture through food, traditional customs, and performances. Families and regular citizens flock to the school to join and watch the students at the festival. It’s a day you look forward to every year. Each class section is assigned to a particular event. The graduating class of that year is always assigned to open the festival with a choir rendition of Bar’leth’s national anthem. You were asked to lead the choir since the music instructor knew of your talent, which meant that you would be the main singer. Little did you know that one of the executives from Interstellar Records was at the school festival. One of his nephews attended your school, so that was his reason for being there. As soon as you got off the stage and the festivities started, you were immediately pulled to the side by your school’s headmaster who introduced you to the executive. He spoke to you about your talent, and how he believed that you could make something of yourself with proper training and a recording label to manage you.

That was five years ago, and a lot has changed since then. After finishing your last year of government-mandated education, you moved to Coruscant and began your career as a professional artist. Life suddenly flipped. Your upbringing on Bar’leth was humble. You came from a decent, middle-class family and lived in a standard home. Suddenly, you lived in a fancy Coruscant apartment with the former senator Sheev Palpatine, and you were always surrounded by a team of managers who dictated your schedule from morning to night. You were given vocal training, attended dance classes, and sat through etiquette and media training courses all while trying to produce your debut record. The first year of your career was marked by sleepless nights due to the sheer amount of activities on your daily agenda. Many times throughout the first year, you debated if this was a smart decision.

You continuously pushed yourself through it because dreams weren’t achieved by themselves. You had to work to make your dreams come true. This was just part of the process. At least that’s what you said to reason with your inner self to avoid any feelings of regret and anxiety. Yet, throughout that first year, you were also exposed to a darker side of the industry that you weren’t equipped to handle as a barely legal adult. When you signed that contract with the label, you also signed away any right to individuality and personal autonomy. 

You had a certain image to uphold as a public figure and this image was controlled entirely by your label. You were like clay that they could bend at their will–constantly being prodded and 

molded until you were nothing short of perfection. Your clothes were preselected each day, hair was only done in styles the label wanted, and pre-answered scripts were given for interviews. Worst of all, even your diet was dictated by the label. How much you ate, what you ate, and even when you ate was all at the discretion of the executives. They even went so far as to weigh you weekly to make sure you were staying on top of your weight. If you weren’t at their goal weight, they subjected you to intense periods of exercise. It was an abusive cycle that fundamentally altered your self-esteem. Slowly, you became a shell of the person you once were. You didn’t find enjoyment in your career anymore, something you were once so passionate and excited about. The harsh regime of your management extinguished that flame. All that mattered to you was if you were meeting your label’s expectations. You were consumed by the weight of their expectations. You drowned under their judgment, and each criticism was like a blaster shot straight to your heart. The executives weren’t satisfied no matter what you did. Practice hours went from a few hours of your day to half of your day. You slowly cut contact with your friends from home and lied to your family when they asked how you were doing. You couldn’t bear to tell them the truth. You were miserable.

Eventually, the constant overwork and abuse by the label became too much for your body to handle and one day you fainted in the middle of practice. The medic at the medcenter informed you that your body shut due to exhaustion and malnutrition. Due to you being one year away from being a legal adult by the Republic’s standards, the medic was forced to report this incident to the authorities. Holonet tabloids somehow got a hold of this information and leaked it on their celebrity gossip pages. This prompted an investigation from the Intergalactic Federation of Musicians, the trade guild dedicated to musicians, performers, and songwriters, who determined that your label was not properly upholding their side of the contract. The IFM fined Interstellar Records and voided your contract, which left you free and away from their abuse.

It took you a few months to recover from the whole incident. The best course of action was to move back to Bar’leth while you healed. Your career didn’t stop there, however. Right before the situation, your debut album was released. Hence, you were practicing for upcoming promotions the label scheduled you for. The release of your debut album was quiet–until your face ended up on the Holonet’s hot spot after the initial news broke. The people of Coruscant, and even some people from neighboring planets, pitied you. You never intended for anything to be this way, but the story that the tabloids ran against you worked in your favor. You, a young fresh-faced, and doe-eyed girl from a smaller Core planet, were a victim of the cruel entertainment industry. Everyone blamed the label, rightfully so, but the amount of support and influx of love from Coruscant’s citizens catapulted you into fame and stardom. The public wanted to see you win (until they didn’t). Other recording labels were knocking at your door, trying to get you to sign with their company You were hesitant, not wanting to experience the same trauma. Senator Palpatine offered his help in negotiating the contract bids as an apology for not noticing what you were going through before. After all, you were still living with him while you were still signed to Interstellar. You didn’t blame him as you hid your problems well. Regardless, it all worked out in the end as you were signed to a new label, under terms and conditions you saw fit.  Four years have passed since you signed onto Nebula Music Group. Your fame instantaneously increased after signing with them. Gido was assigned your new manager, and you were extremely thankful for him because he played a major role in ensuring you were properly treated and supported by the label. Nebula Music Group had more trust and faith in you than Interstellar, so they allowed you more authority and creative liberties in the music-making process. Because of this, you could produce authentic, critically acclaimed, popular albums. Your last album, Last Words of a Shooting Star, broke a record with the highest sales of sound slugs in history for a female artist. You did mini tours around the inner and mid-Core planets. Despite your initial hardships, life was turning out better than you envisioned. You had a second chance at your dream. You liked to consider yourself fully healed from the situation, but that was far from the truth.

Take now for example.

In moments like this, when it’s only yourself and the mirror, your mind can’t help but flashback to the horrible treatment you suffered at the hands of those people. You know that no matter how much therapy or how far removed from the situation you were, a part of you was still stuck in the past. 

Chione was right to be concerned. This wasn’t the first time you stayed behind and continued practicing on your own, often to the point of exhaustion and breaking down. She’s caught you in these moments before, where you were so focused on perfection that you failed to take care of yourself properly—staying dehydrated, skipping meals, and not sleeping just so you could devote more time to practice. You would gladly damage yourself for it. You couldn’t help it. Insecurity was embedded in your bones. You knew that as a young female in the industry, you had a short shelf life (or at least that’s what your previous label hammered into your brain). Once the industry deemed you expired, you would be nothing. Thus, you needed to be so perfect, that even past your expiration date, people would still want you.  You were nothing without desirability.

You looked at yourself with hard eyes in the mirror. Your eyes landed on the deep, heavy-set eye bags under your eyes. A scowl appeared on your face. You then moved your eyes to your arms, which never seemed skinny enough for you. A knot formed in your throat. Lastly, you laid your eyes upon your stomach. No matter how many meals you skipped, what diet fads you went on, or what food you prematurely threw away to avoid finishing, your stomach never looked the way you wanted. A sigh escaped your throat.

It was futile to worry about these things now. At a time so late in the day, nothing good would come of it. You inhaled and exhaled breathing as if you were absorbing and releasing all of your previous negative energy. Putting on a fake smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you gave yourself one last look before continuing to practice.

The song you were currently dancing to belonged to the glimmick genre–a genre of music that was associated with frenzied sounds and rapid beats. As an artist, you were most comfortable with the sparkle-bop and pop genres. That was your domain, and it was the genre that made you famous. However, you wanted you wanted to experiment on your recent album to get out of your artistic comfort zone and reach a wider audience, so you included songs of different genres, with glimmick being one of them. Due to the nature of the glimmick genre, your song “Atom of the Pneuma,” required an intricate, fast-paced dance with movements that you were not familiar with. The choreography for this dance was sharp and pristine, contorting and bending your body to resemble straight, angular lines. Most of your choreography featured lighter dance moves, with flowy movement and softer forms. It was the reason you stayed later than the rest of your team–you wanted to hone on this particular routine before the benefit concert.

Your legs were bent, hands placed on top of your thighs as you caught your breath and prepared to replay the song just a few more times before calling ending the day. You got into position. The song started and filled the room with a pounding, rich techno bass that bounced off the walls. You began to move your body to the beat while your right arm was simultaneously moving it to create a pattern that extended from your body outward. Your head followed the beat as well, which left you slightly dizzy. You learned to block out any negative sensations when dancing, a practice you learned from the days when you danced on little sleep and little food. The unpleasant sensation went ignored until you spun your body around and lost your balance resulting in an unceremonious fall toward the hard wooden floor. You placed your arms to cushion your fall out of reflex, but the fall never came. A pair of large, calloused hands were placed on your waist, holding you steady. The hands gently guided you toward the floor, forcing you to sit. 

You raised your face toward the ceiling, trying to see who it was that miraculously saved you from your fall. The bright lights of the practice room invaded your eyesight and you could only make out the fuzzy outline of the person. Tiny, black dots swirled your vision as you tried to regain your composure. The feeling was overwhelming. You could feel your breath quicken as you tried to calm yourself. This wasn’t the first time you have fainted from overdoing it, but it was never any easier each time. You hated the feeling, you hated the coldness that washed over your body, you hated how your vision failed you, and you hated the dull panging inside your head. 

You shut your eyes, barely focusing on the person next to you. Your nails dug into your palm, the pain distracting you from the uncomfortable feeling and forcing you back into the present. After a few more moments, you opened your eyes again and turned your vision to the only other figure in the room. You could feel the warmth of their body next to yours–the warmth overpowering the previous coldness your body felt. 

“Anakin,” you whispered. 

“You okay there, pop star?” Anakin softly replied. “You almost took a nasty fall, you could have sprained your wrist or hurt your head. We wouldn’t want that before the big day, now would we?”

His brown curls gently caressed his face as he looked down at you. He was kneeling over you, eyes scanning over your body to make sure you were okay. You didn’t even hear him enter. How did he get inside? Access to this room was only allowed by people with logged fingerprints and/or other DNA indicators.

“Just give me a minute please.” You still felt lightheaded.

Anakin stood up and walked toward your practice bag and grabbed the container of water that was sitting next to it. He then proceeded toward you, sat next to you, and put the tip of the container to your lips. You titled your head back as you drank. After a couple of gulps, you answered Anakin’s question. 

“I apologize if I frightened you. I must have overdone it and got lightheaded because of it. I assure you that I feel better now and can continue my practice,” You tried to stand up before Anakin’s hand caught your wrist and dragged you back toward the ground. Your response was cold and robotic. That’s because you were in a different mode right now, your more “professional” mode which consisted of one thing only–to never give up until you were blue in the fact. It was ingrained in you from your past training that even if you felt like complete bantha shit, you couldn’t stop practicing just because you felt slightly off. Perfection could never be achieved if you stopped every single time you felt bad.

“Just take a moment to relax. You nearly fainted. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you continue to practice in this state,” Anakin reasoned. He pitied you because he knew the exact look of determination on your face. 

“I can’t stop. The benefit is only a few rotations from now. I have to get this routine down, or else I’ll look like a fool on stage,” you argued back. You turned, but Anakin kept a firm hold on your wrist. 

“Stop being stubborn and just take a quick break.” The seriousness in Anakin’s tone made you want to cry. His voice projected across the now silent practice room. You were already feeling bad from almost fainting and now you were being emotional too. You slipped to the ground and hung your head low as tears welled up in your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice wavered. Putting in this state always puts you in a weird headspace. You swallowed the tight knot that formed in your throat. You didn’t want to cry in front of Anakin.

Anakin noticed the waver of your voice and how you refused to meet his eyes. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so harsh, but he didn’t want you to hurt yourself either. 

“It’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t mean for my voice to sound that way,” Anakin hesitated before putting a hand on your shoulder for comfort. He felt slightly awkward. He didn’t know you very well yet, so he didn’t want to invade your personal space, but he recognized that you needed some comfort.

“You should leave. You don’t have to deal with me. I know the Chancellor asked you to watch over me, but this is too much. I promise I’m fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” You don’t know why you let that small detail split to Anakin. Perhaps you just wanted someone else to know that you weren’t fully healed from your past. You tried to do your best to hide it from the rest of your team, only Chione being the most knowledgeable on the subject. 

“I’m not going to leave you. It’s late and you should be heading back to your apartment. I came to pick you up. Gido said you hadn’t arrived home yet and that I could find you here.”

You sighed at Anakin’s response. There were a few moments of silence before you began speaking again. “I’m sorry. You’re just being a decent person, and I’m here trying to push you away. I don’t mean it.” You took a deep breath, “I just get in a weird headspace whenever I’m practicing sometimes.”

Anakin didn’t want to pry, but he could tell there was a deeper meaning behind your words. 

You started speaking before your brain could even comprehend what you were saying. You were desperate to let out all of your negative feelings. “Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough sometimes? Like the whole world is waiting for you to trip and fall?” You glanced at Anakin with glassy eyes.

You continued to tirade. “I know my life may look glamorous, and it is. But no one ever talks about the dark side of being in the public eye, especially as a female. They treat you as if you’re some spectacle for their entertainment as if you’re not a living being with consciousness and feelings. Even those who are supposed to be there for you end up on the same side as the critics and haters.” Your chest was now heaving up and down as a result of your heightened emotion. “Even when I work my ass off to be perfect, so I can meet their standards and so they can finally shut the kriff up, they find another thing to comment on just to tear me down.”

“Yes, I understand the feeling.” And Anakin truly did understand. Anakin wanted to comfort you, he felt empathetic as he watched you cry. Do you remember how I told you how I joined the Jedi at a later age than most?” You nodded as you sniffled. “The Jedi council didn’t want to take me in at first…but Qui-Gon convinced them to take me in because he saw potential in me, potential as the Chosen one. Master Qui-Gon died before he had the chance to train me, so his Padawan, my former master, requested that he take me up as his Padawan. No Padawan had ever been trained at such a young age, but the council accepted his wish as a dying request from Qui-Gon.” Anakin still recalls that day–he was waiting outside the council’s room–in wonder at the grand pillars of the Jedi Temple. It was so grandiose and had a sense of holiness, two things he never witnessed on Tatooine.

“I had to work twice as hard as the other younglings to get up to speed. Most of them already had years of experience with the Jedi, they knew how to properly wield the force and the Jedi scriptures were ingrained into their beings by that point. Eventually, I surpassed the younglings and surpassed the expectations of the council. But even then, the council has never fully trusted me. I feel they’re always scrutinizing me, watching for my next mistake too. I’m not the most conventional Jedi, and I don’t always play by the books, but I’m a Jedi through and thorough. No matter how many times I prove that the council, or even my former master, they don’t believe in me. We’ve been fighting this war for Maker knows how long, and they still refuse to make me master, despite being the poster boy for this war.” 

“Wow, Anakin…I didn’t expect that from you.” You honestly didn’t expect to find yourself relating to Anakin, you were on completely different sides of society. How could you, a pop star, relate to a Jedi? It comforted you in a way, to know that you weren’t the only person to go through feelings of inadequacy and frustration. “How do you deal with it?”

“When I was a Padawan in training, I didn’t deal with it most healthily. I was snarky (he still is), and rebelled against my master’s teachings. I was stubborn, hoping that if I showed off my power, I could finally be appreciated by the council. I was wrong to do that, it’s how I lost my right arm.” Anakin then slipped off his glove to show you the silver mechanical prosthetic. You gasped, not expecting to learn this information. Anakin continued, “I still like to show off, but as I matured, I realized that I didn’t have to define myself by the approval of others. I know that I am capable, and I will keep working hard until the council recognizes that.” 

“You don’t deserve that. I know we only just met, but I’ve only heard remarkable things about you. The Republic wouldn’t stand a chance against the Separatists against you. I mean no offense to the other Jedi, they’re all vital to the war effort too, but we need someone who takes risks and isn’t afraid to be unorthodox. I don’t know much about the Jedi, but I know one day you’ll make a great Master.”

This heart-to-heart chat with Anakin was unexpected but welcomed. You appreciated that he was honest and open with you–someone who was practically a stranger still. He didn’t have to come all this way to pick you up nor did Anakin need to comfort you in an hour of need, but he did. However, Anakin didn’t let the conversation marinate too long, suddenly embarrassed at the information he shared with you. 

Anakin stood up from the ground and reached his hand toward you. You accepted his hand and Anakin pulled you up as well. “Are you feeling better now?”

Despite the dried tear marks on your face and the incoming headache you were about to face, you told Anakin that you did feel better. You weren’t ready to divulge your entire past with Anakin just yet, but maybe one day the two of you could become friends. Did that count as an attachment? You weren’t sure. 

“Let’s get you home, pop star.”

“Thanks, General.”

The second instance with Anakin was in an unconventional situation, but it brought a smile to your face when you recalled it. It was only the fifth day of him being assigned as your bodyguard. The incident at the practice room happened on his third day there. You wanted to speak to him more after that night, but you found yourself pulled in all directions by your management team. You supposed you should be thankful–you promised to stay away from Anakin. The only issue is that you didn’t want to stay away from him anymore.

Anakin walked into your living room after talking with Obi-Wan through his commlink. Obi-Wan was updating Anakin on his most recent diplomatic mission on a nearby planet. A heated conversation was taking place between you and Gido. 

“You’re being ridiculous! It’s not even that scary and you can’t keep on relying on others to transport you places,” Gido said as he pinched his nose with a hand, a look of frustration on his face.

“Of course I can! I’m rich. I can just hire chauffeurs!” you taunted in reply. You knew your argument wasn’t sound, but you just wanted to vex Gido at this point. Deep down, you knew your manager was right. 

“What about when you’re old and retired? Who’s going to help you then? Certainly not I. I’ll be dead!” He pointed an accusatory finger at you.

A glare embraced your face at Gido’s words. You scoffed before turning your body, not realizing that Anakin entered the room. He had to stop sneaking in like that. Those damn Jedi. 

Anakin looked at you two with a curious look. Having joined the conversation toward its end, Anakin did not know what you two were talking about. Heat ran up your neck and toward your face as Gido explained with a deadpan expression.

“My dear friend here does not have her Republic driving license, despite being an adult. I’ve been telling her to get her license for years, but she always manages to procrastinate. And every time I tell her, she brushes me off her shoulder.” He pointed at you with an accusing thumb.

With a high-pitched tone, you defended yourself, “I know how to drive!... Sort of. Look, I just don’t like driving. The skylanes are always chaotic and the last time I visited the Ministry of Transport, it took me hours to update my identification and the workers were extremely rude. I’m not going back there if I don’t have to!” 

“And I keep telling her, she needs to get her license. Kid, don’t be stubborn. Wouldn’t you feel more independent if you could drive around yourself?”

“Oh, stop bullshitting me, Gido. You just don’t want to drive me around because you hate the sky lanes as much as I do!” It was true. Gido groaned and mumbled every time he had to drive you places, complaining that he wouldn’t need to take you to run your errands if you had your own license. You couldn’t help it–you enjoyed dragging Gido along and you knew he secretly enjoyed spending time with you. 

Anakin had a solution to both of your problems. Driving was one of his fortes. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka would disagree, but Anakin knew he was the best pilot in the galaxy. Yes, Anakin could be reckless, but there was never a landing or move he couldn’t pull off. The innate talent he had as a young boy flourished when he moved to Coruscant and began his Padawan training. Having access to much more refined and newer technology allowed Anakin to perfect the craft of piloting. 

“I can teach you how to drive. I’m the best pilot in the galaxy.” The seriousness on Anakin’s face indicated that he wasn’t joking. 

You gulped. The heating sensation returned. You began to shake your head from side to side with wide eyes. Your hands moved in front of you as if to mimic the movement of your head, waving off Anakin’s solution. 

“I don’t think that necessary,” you protested. 

“Actually, I think it’s very necessary. Only the Maker knows how long you’ll push this off. Anakin, would you mind doing this favor? I have a few meetings with the company, we need to finalize the last details for the benefit. Feel free to use her airspeeder parked outside–it’s one of the newest models,” Gido stated.

Anakin grinned. He really did miss his yellow Eta-2 Starfighter, but he would never deny the chance to operate new technology.

That’s how you found yourself outside sitting in a neatly parked J12 Twin-pod on your apartment’s landing platform. The airspeeder belonged to you, though you’d never driven it before. The airspeeder was one of the newer models on the market. The surface was wrapped with a special pink-tinted chrome wrap making the car look sleek and expensive. Gido, your chauffeur, and occasionally Chione, were the only people to ever drive it.

You looked out the window and saw Anakin approaching the passenger side of the airspeeder. “Karking hell, I’m really doing this,” you thought. You detested driving. It made your palms sweaty and shot your nervous system. To make matters worse, you would be stuck in the confined airspeeder with Anakin! So much for trying to keep your proximity from him. You were both scared and embarrassed. Here was Anakin, the most famous Jedi at the moment, teaching pathetic you how to properly drive. Surely he had much better, more important things to do–like lead a war planning meeting or something. 

The passenger door opened, and Anakin effortlessly climbed into the passenger seat and sat down. Your back stiffened, and suddenly the airspeeder seemed tighter. You shot an uneasy glance toward Anakin, who only smiled in excitement.

After the other night in the dance room where you had that conversation with Anakin, you felt less apprehensive around him. He was more human to you and less of a mysterious figure, less of a pretty face who made you nervous. You still found yourself mousy and internally reeling in his presence, but Anakin was becoming akin to a friend. You started conversing more during mealtimes, slowly getting to know each other. 

“Alright, pop star, first we’re going to start with the controls. You have to fire up the engine by flipping this red switch. After the flip is switched, check your mirrors to ensure you can view directly behind and on your sides. Be careful with your blind spots. You don’t want to get rear-ended because you forgot to check for it. Coruscant sky lanes are no joke. With an airspeeder as pretty as yours, I’d hate to see it get destroyed. ” Anakin pointed toward a red button near the right side of the console, located next to the steering gear. “You got that?” Anakin questioned with one eyebrow raised. 

Once again, Anakin felt your energy through the force. It was way calmer compared to the first day, but he could still feel your energy buzzing. Perhaps you realized that his presence was nothing to fear. 

“Go on. Turn it on,” Anakin commanded. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when you heard the baritone voice command you. It reverberated several times in your head. Anakin’s voice was manly, and extremely attractive. You felt jealous that his soldiers got to hear that voice every day. 

You reached toward the switch and flipped it upward with a shaky hand. The airspeeder lit up from inside, indicating it had come to life. There wasn’t an initial turbo–this was one of the main features of this model. It was supposed to fly seamlessly through the air. You placed your hands on each side of the steering gears. Not knowing what to do next, you looked at Anakin for guidance. 

Anakin stood up to stand directly behind you. He reached out his arms and placed his hands on top of yours. He then leaned down to the side of your face and explained, “I’m going to show you how you properly place your hands on the steering gear and how to move it while you’re driving.” Anakin moved your hands toward the middle of the gear. 

“Have a tight grip on the gear. The tighter the grip, the more control you have over the speeder. The higher sky lanes get more wind traction, so it’s especially important to have control in those lanes.” You nodded to show you were following. Anakin suddenly turned the gear harshly to the left, “Don’t do what I just did. When you turn the gear harshly, you jerk the speeder. If you’re switching lanes or turning a corner, switch on your indicators so other drivers know which way you’re going.” Of course, Anakin never followed his own advice, but for your sake, he played it by the books. 

It all felt too intimate. Your head was in a rush, which probably wasn’t the best state to be in while you were about to drive. Anakin’s hands engulfed yours. The difference between his callused hands and your perfectly manicured hands drove you crazy. You could see the veins exposed on his ungloved hand. The sight of the green veins made your stomach turn warm. Much like his face, Anakin’s hand was sculpted by the Maker themself. Not even the finest marble statues could compare to the piece of art that was Anakin Skywalker. 

“...Lastly, when you’re making a turn, do not turn the gear all the way around. The speeder has a built-in function that automatically rotates it. If you turn it all the way, you’ll make a sharp turn, ruining the internal tachyon drive regulator. Do you think you can handle this? Gido told me about the last time you tried to drive.” The last time you tried to drive, it resulted in several fines and almost caused a crash–the tabloids were on your ass for weeks after that.

You completely spaced out while Anakin was speaking, too focused on your inner thoughts. Hearing the teasing tone of his voice brought you back. You hated being undermined. You would prove to Anakin, and Gido, that you can drive perfectly fine and that you have nothing to be scared of. 

“I can you assure that not only can I handle this, but you’ll be amazed at how quickly I learn,” you sassed Anakin back. You were lying. You couldn’t handle this, yet you couldn’t look like a ditz in front of Anakin. 

“Let’s start flying. Don’t be nervous. I’m right here if you need me.” 

Anakin sat back in his seat and observed you as you started maneuvering the aircraft. He directed you toward a sky lane to merge into. “I’m going to guide you to a specific path where the air traffic isn’t so busy. It should be easier for you to fly since there isn’t as much chaos.” 

You kept a strong grip on the steering gear. Coruscant Prime, Coruscant’s only sun, was shining bright. The Weather Control Network did a splendid job at keeping Coruscant’s weather optical today–it wasn’t too windy and the sky was clear. You took it as a positive sign. 

The airspeeder flew steadily through the air. Anakin was surprised. The way Gido described your driving, he assumed that he would need to take control of the speeder earlier. You weren’t doing a terrible job so far. Aside from the occasional jerk or harsh turn, you managed not to crash so far. 

Maybe Anakin thought too soon. “Watch out! Watch out to your right!,” Anakin exclaimed. You tried switching lanes, but the speeder behind you wasn’t slowing down to let you in. You narrowly avoided an accident at the last second by going back into your lane.

“Oops–I didn’t mean that,” you said with a giggle and a shrug of your shoulders. “How am I doing so far?”

“You’re not doing too bad, with some more practice, you should be able to get your license in no time. Why do you hate driving so much?”

While still focusing on the sky in front of you, you explained to Anakin, “I love Coruscant and all that it has to offer. But the sky lanes in Bar’leth are much calmer and less congested. I grew up used to that. Even after all these years of living here, I still can’t stomach the driving here. It’s horrendous! I much prefer to have someone else drive, that way the pressure won’t be on me. I know Gido’s right, I need my license, but can you blame me? We’ve already witnessed almost two accidents! How did you get so good at flying?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a pilot since I was a little boy. I used to tinker in the garage, building and modifying parts for my own podracer. I even won the Boonta Eve Classic on Tatooine,” answered Anakin.

“Why did you want to become a pilot?” you wondered. Anakin seemed like like an intentional type of person–his actions, thoughts, and opinions were direct reflections of him and what he felt inside. 

Not many people outside of the Jedi temple knew Anakin’s true origins–that he was a former slave. The first ten years of his life were filtered solely through this lens, it came to impact much of his opinions on life, politics, and society. He didn’t like speaking about it and avoided the topic as much as he could. Anakin hated his life as a slave and he hated slavery with every fibre of his being. However, Anakin especially hated speaking about this past life now because every time he did, he was reminded of how he willingly chose to leave his mother on Tatooine. Anakin felt like he was the reason she died. He wasn’t strong enough or fast enough to save her from the Tuskens, but maybe, just maybe, if he stayed with his mother instead of leaving with Qui-Gon, Shmi Skywalker’s death could have been avoided. 

Anakin didn’t respond to your question. When you looked at him, his face was scrunched up in a deep thought. 

You were about to say something else when you saw something approaching the speeder from the corner of your eye. You quickly glanced to your left, only to spot a human male nearly hanging off the side of his airspeeder with a cam held up to his eye. You groaned out loud which caught Anakin’s attention. They came at the worst time possible. You were trying to learn how to drive for Kriff’s sake!

“The paparazzi are following! Can’t they just leave me alone” you ranted. You needed them to get off your trail, fast. You had a complex relationship with the paparazzi. You hated the way they invaded your privacy and fed the Holonet tabloids with material to gossip about. For every bad picture, outrageous rumor, and leaked news, there was a paparazzi behind it. They caused you so much pain. At the same time, the very nature of your career relied on the paparazzi to dispel news and reveal your current state of affairs through pictures. They were unofficial members of your public relations team. Every celebrity knew that they needed the paparazzi as much as they hated them. You couldn’t imagine what ridiculous headline they would come up with now.

The man got closer and closer to your speeder as he tried to record you on his cam. He was mere inches away from crashing into the side of your speeder. You started to panic and your hands lost your tight grip as you started to tremble. Even the slightest movement to the left would cause a crash, potentially sending both of your speeders tumbling below. 

“Anakin, what do I do? I don’t know what to do! They’re too close,” you yelped. Any closer and the paparazzi’s camera would touch your speeder’s window. 

“Stay calm, pop star. I got this.” Anakin’s tone was cocky. He had something up his sleeve. This wasn’t his first high-speed chase, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last. Anakin switched into General mode. His hands swiftly moved across the dashboard as he pressed a multitude of buttons and flipped several switches. 

“What are you doing?!” You hated how high-pitched your voice sounded, the fear slipping out of your voice a squeak. 

“Relax. I’m just taking control of the speeder. This speeder model is programmed so that in case of emergencies, the co-passager can take control of the speeder and drive it.” A panel opened on the console and an additional steering gear emerged into view. Anakin gripped the gear and turned it to the right. The speeder lurched to the right, putting more distance between you and the paparazzi. 

No longer needed to grip the gear, you turned toward Anakin and shielded yourself by facing your back toward the window. The Holo Net wouldn’t be getting anything out of you today. Those insatiable nerfhurders had no boundaries sometimes. 

“You better hold on tight. Things are about to get bumpy.” The only way to get these paparazzi off your trail was by speeding up and losing them in the endless zigzags of Coruscant. Anakin wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety. He felt his fingertips buzzing with anticipation–the past few rotations with you have been enjoyable and peaceful, but he needed an outlet for his energy. Ever since the Clone Wars started, Anakin was constantly on the go, so his body and mind were accustomed to this. Fortunately for Anakin, flying was the best outlet for him. 

“What do you mean? Anakin, I’m begging you. Please don’t do anything crazy. I get motion sick-” Your words were cut off as the speeder accelerated. “ANAKIN!!!,” you screamed. You then quickly shut your eyes again. You couldn’t bear to witness the scene in front of you. Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Anakin was driving significantly faster than what was allowed by the law. 

The speeder weaved in and out of lanes. At one point, Anakin squeezed in between two speeders before hitting the turbo boosters. The paparazzi were still hot on your trail, but at least they were no longer directly next to you. You finally opened your eyes and saw that you were nearing the retail district, CoCo Town. Suddenly, the speeder nosedived toward the ground and you tightly clung to the gear in front of you for stability. The paparazzi were still chasing you, their speeder also diving below. 

“Anakin do you have to be so reckless?!,” you shouted as Anakin laughed. 

“My apologies–it was either that or let the paparazzi stalk you. Which one did you prefer? I didn’t have time to ask while you were panicking,” he replied in a sarcastic tone. You were about to rebuttal, but Anakin continued talking. “As soon as I land this on the ground, we’re going to get out and run. Let’s try to lose them in the crowd.”

The speeder lowered onto the ground and Anakin quickly parked the vehicle on a landing platform where several other speeders were parked. The doors unlocked and you both quickly stepped out. Before you could even completely step off, Anakin grabbed you by your waist and lowered you onto the ground. He then grabbed your hand and started running in the opposite direction of the speeder. You looked behind you, only to see the paparazzi had caught up and were now looking for you. After a quick scan, one of their eyes caught yours and they looked toward each other before running in the same direction as you and Anakin.

You could barely think about the paparazzi chasing you down as your mind relished the feeling of Anakin’s hands engulfing your waist. Anakin was a statuesque man, it made sense that his hands would be the same. Your skin burned at the touch. You shook your head to wane off the thoughts and redirect your focus in front of you. 

Anakin’s back was facing you, his wide shoulders moving up and down as you ran through the crowds together. His curls bounced with each step. You apologized to each person you bumped into, slightly embarrassed to be in a situation like this. Why did this have to happen to you? Couldn’t they have picked another celebrity to torment today? You heard from the jogan fruit vine that the Holodrama actress Alexis Cov-Prim was getting out of rehab today. Wouldn’t that be a juicer headline than you learning how to drive? You already had one bad story from driving, you didn’t need another. 

Anakin made a sharp turn around and corner and dragged you into a store named “Madame Acantha’s Emporium.” You kept your head low as Anakin greeted the storekeeper. You didn’t want to risk being recognized again. As you looked around and observed the store, you noticed the store sold a variety of womenswear from dresses to accessories. Anakin scanned the store for any suspicious figures before turning towards you.

“Grab something to disguise yourself with. We can’t stay in here forever.” You started browsing through the racks of clothes, pulling out a large knitted sweater before walking over to the accessory area and picking out a pair of daytime spectacles and a vibrant magenta wig with a bob cut. Anakin couldn’t disguise himself as he was too big for the clothing sold here. That didn’t matter as long as you could disguise yourself. 

You quickly walked over to the changing rooms before switching out your outer layer for the sweater. After putting on the sweater, you grabbed the only elastic on your wrist and tied your hair so the wig could fit on. Once the wig was secured on your head, you put on the daytime spectacles and walked out of the changing rooms. You rushed towards the cashier and quickly asked her to ring up the transaction before throwing your credit chip on the counter. The employee, a humanoid woman of a species you couldn’t name, quickly rang up the transaction before handing you a receipt and bidding you a good day.

You turned towards Anakin and asked, “Does this look alright? Do I look like myself?”

Anakin stepped closer to you and grabbed the sides of your face. He slipped some of the wig’s hair through his fingers before adjusting it so it sat properly on your head. His fingers lingered for a second before he nodded. “I can’t even recognize you. Let’s go before they catch up.”

Anakin walked out of the store first and scoped the street. He looked left and right before quickly going back inside. He grabbed you and shoved the both of you behind the first rack of clothes he saw. You were about to protest when you saw the two men from earlier, the one who was recording had his camera by his side. They went up to the shopkeeper at the cashier and began to converse with the lady, most likely asking her if she had seen anyone with the same description as you. While they were distracted, you and Anakin looked at each other and secretly decided to make a run for it.

You both ran out of the store and into an alleyway nearby. You saw the paparazzi running past the alleyway as you were catching your breath. Then, you started to giggle. The whole situation was absurd. You, standing in an alleyway, with a bright wig and sunglasses–obviously a terrible disguise–and Anakin Skywalker, the most famous Jedi at the moment, dressed in all of his Jedi garb with his lightsaber attached at the hilt.

“What are you laughing at?,” Anakin asked, one of his perfectly shaped eyes arched. You must have looked crazy. 

“I’m laughing at the situation. I look like a clown,” you replied. “Let’s go, I’m hungry after all that running and chasing. Let’s get something to eat–my treat.” You then walked out of the alleyway together. Before you stepped into the public view, you turned towards Anakin, “Thank you, by the way. I don’t know what I would have done without you to save the day.” You gave Anakin a look of genuine gratefulness.  

The both of you proceeded in the direction of the shops.

“Come on, pop star. I know a great diner that my old master loves. It’s called Dex’s Diner. Have you ever been there before?” Anakin asked. 

The both of you arrived at Dex’s Diner and proceeded to order half the menu. You spent hours in the diner, the both of you enjoying each other’s company after the crazy events of the day.

You spent the same evening replaying all of the times Anakin touched you and how each touch made you feel. 

You decided it was time to get out of your head and back into the present. If you stayed in the sonic tub any longer, you wouldn’t have enough time to get ready without feeling rushed. You stood up from the sonic tub and grabbed the plush white robe sitting on the table next to it. You then put the robe on and walked toward the mirror. 

You grabbed the brush and started brushing through your hair to ensure that any tangles and knots were out. After deciding your hair was neat enough, you put the brush down and started moisturizing your body with your favorite lotion. You would let your hair air dry until you figured out how you wanted to style it. The lotion was made from the musk-rose plant and mixed with tiny hints of vanilla. When you were done moisturizing your body and applying your skincare, you walked out of the room and into the closet directly in front of the refresher.

To say your closet was huge is an understatement. When you finally earned enough credits to afford a high-rise apartment, the one thing you told your realtor was that you would not compromise on a small closet. The closet was lined with shelves and racks, each holding either your clothes or your shoes. In the middle of the closet sat an island, constructed with cream-yellow Selonian marble, that stored all of your accessories. A floor-to-ceiling mirror and lounging chaise were perched at the far corner of the room. You walked over to the shelf that held your dresses and began to sift through them. You felt the soft silks, thin taffetas, and the gorgeous gemwebs of your collection.

“Aha,” you muttered as your hand finally landed on the gown you were looking for. The gown, designed by one of the most in-demand fashion ateliers, was a floor-length, demicot silk-lined tight velvet black gown with a curved necklace. The upper half of the gown was pale pink and covered in a multitude of tiny sequins and pearl studs. One shoulder extended out into the shape of a single petal, which was also fabricated with sequins and pearls. You paired it with a pair of black gloves that extended to your mid-bicep. The dress was as much haute as it was a piece of wearable art. If there was one thing you loved about being wealthy, it was the clothes. 

You laid your evening gown on the chaise before traveling to your vanity and beginning on your makeup. Since the gown was extravagant in itself, you decided that a more subtle makeup look would complement the overall look more. You wanted people to focus on the gown and all its intricacies and craftsmanship. After glossing your lips with a matching shade of pink, you finished your makeup and moved on to your hair. You settled on a suitable hairstyle and allowed your loose face-framing layers to enhance the shape of your face. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror once more before deciding you were ready to go. You walked out of your room and towards the living where Anakin was waiting for you. 

To be continued...

(Here is a link to the dress, which was designed by Miss Sohee. One thing I love about the SW universe is the fashion, so I wanted to include a dress that reflected that. Like, come on. Have you seen Padme’s and Satine’s outfits?)

taglist: @angie2274 @bunnylovesani @0709fullofstars @js-favnanadoongi @payton-dixonreader

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

[kagayakuseiza]

So I finished the Netflix live action AtLA last night... it wasn't terrible. The original is still better, of course. Cue string of disorganized thoughts on it...

Is it just me, or does the actor playing Sokka in live action look more like the Ember Island Players version of Sokka than the actual Sokka? Did anyone else get that impression?

One of the first things I noticed was when we got a herd of CGI flying bison, they were blurred into the background and/or obstructed by light beams, so I immediately wondered if they were going to be trying to cover up bad CGI throughout the series. Buuuuut when we see Appa up close as Aang is talking to him, he actually looks decent. CGI Momo on the other hand... he looks very similar to how he did in the cartoon, and that's the problem with him. He looks out of place in the live action series.

The bending effects actually look pretty good. This, coupled with actors that have actually trained in martial arts, makes for decent fight scenes... though I'm probably not the best judge of that.

Not as many fun moments as the original... I guess they were going for a more serious tone, but it did still manage to make me laugh at times. I was glad that they kept in Cabbage Man, and the minstrels that sing the secret tunnel song.

I didn't like how they changed Bumi... Rather than messing with Aang for fun while delivering his message, he just... forces him into a duel to the death to try to teach him about making impossible decisions. Granted, it ends well, but still... eh, just didn't like how that was done, and the points that were made (war requiring impossible choices and Aang knowing that he can rely on his friends) were points that were made at other points in the series, so it just didn't feel necessary to change that part.

Another thing that kind of bugged me was that although Katara still wears her iconic necklace, its significance is not at all mentioned, which is disappointing. So Pakkun changing his mind about women water bending doesn't come from the realization that Katara's Gran Gran was the woman he loved, who left the northern water tribe. Noooo, instead, they have this series go out of its way to say "look how amazingly feminist we are!" Like... the anti-sexism message was clear in the original, and it came across more naturally. This version feels like they're trying too hard to drive home the point.

There were some changes that I actually liked though. Zuko's outburst during the war meeting where he protests the plan to sacrifice the 41st division is there with different dialogue but the same point. But having Ozai then send them with Zuko in his exile saying he can have the 41st division if he's so concerned about them was a nice touch. As Iroh notes, they are alive because of Zuko's sacrifice.

Sooo... as far as live action remakes go, it's ok. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being Dragon Ball Evolution, and 10 being the Netflix live action One Piece, I would give this maybe a 6 or 7. The original is better, but this version still has the same core story so far, and it doesn't suck.

As a side note, I know that one of the reasons for live action remakes is to reach the segment of the audience who simply won't watch something if it's animated. And just... can we please kill the ridiculous stigma that says "cartoons are for kids"??? Animation is simply the best medium for some stories, and it is absolute ludicrous that the medium of a story's portrayal would be what determines what demographic should be watching it. Japan seems to get this; if only the west did, too.

[dr-jem-nutcase]

MvA: The M Files, take-a-peek pt. 3

For starters, thanks to all the likes, shares, & comments. I hope you've been enjoying this

Chapter 3

fake foods from Counterfeit Chemicals: a lot of fast food joints & every other generic food product in America. At least it tastes good...a lot of times. Like, Taco Bell is in no way authentic Mexican food but I LUV it 🌮

This place was Old Man Carl's in the movie and the same company that later brought BOB that ill-fated hotdog stand in San Francisco

That chart lol

Root beer flavored spinach. Sounds gross. I'd also be deathly afraid to try it. Reminds me of the late 1990s/early 2000s when Heinz made purple ketchup, which was NOT a success. But nowadays, different flavored snacks & desserts (particularly ice cream) can be hits every now and then. fake foods (or Old Man Carl's) could've been on the brink of creating a new trend! Okay, moving on

In case anyone has a hard time reading some of the text in the second panel, it says, "it doesn't taste any different from a real tomato". Sorry for the kerfuffle

Designed or created?

Btw, there IS actually a limited edition ranch flavored ice cream

Ranch-flavored tomato. Sounds great with a salad or some types of pizzas

Red 7 lol

This would be. mildly. terrifying. Wth was even in either one of those foods?

Runs away & claims BOB is homicidal. So judgmental & assuming! *fake shocked face*

How'd he grow an eye out of all this?

BOB's quite eloquent for being a "newborn"

Ooh! Monger's a sergeant now!

Eating the building isn't too different from both Blob movies but a much lighter tone than eating people alive. I never saw the newer one but I watched the OG one years ago. A guy walks into a doctor's office agonizing in pain and fear because his arm's covered in this goo that's eating up his arm and in a few minutes the guy is gone before the doctor could amputate the arm. Very G rated

Welp, so much for eating a police car (movie) or a city block (video game)

The third soldier's mouth is missing

Evidently they eat lead. Sorry, wrong story!

So BOB's eye is just part of his anatomy? Not some specially made artificial eyeball?

Like Link's chapter, this is a total jump away from the origin story in the movie. It's a good explanation for the genetically altered tomato & chemically altered dessert topping but a slightly censored telling of BOB's origin. That explosion on the two scientists was a bit satisfying. Again, kids' book *sigh*

Monger's hands are black

So...BOB named himself?

Big lips Monger isn't real. Big lips Monger can't scare you

"Lots of people don't have brains...a politician..." DW, is that supposed to be a burn? Hot dang! Let's get out some aloe vera, cold water, and maybe a trip to the burn unit at the nearest hospital

Some day, son. Some day, you will contribute to society. Just not today

I'm kinda surprised that this building hasn't toppled on top of anyone. Istg, Monger isn't afraid of anything

Now where's BOB gonna go? Also, is Link still on dry ice? Will BOB be on dry ice too? At the end of the OG Blob movie, the blob is frozen/encapsulated in ice and dropped off in the artic/antarctic. Did Monger go in this direction? Capture a monster and then freeze it like Han Solo? Hopefully that monster prison will be in the making soon. Like, REALLY soon. You can only freeze and store so many monsters! Btw, can you imagine trying to freeze the Invisible Man?

Again, this piece of work isn't mine. It all belongs to you know who. See you soon!

[iztopher]

hi. at this point it may be evident what i'm about to say. but for that ask meme: ALL OF THE QUESTIONS

JHFDASK YESSSS okay here we go!!!

1. Art programs you have but don't use: Clip Studio Paint!! I pretty much ONLY use it for the grid and text feature, otherwise I don't like the workflow haha

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even): Drawing in profile is the same to me from either direction, but for 3/4 view, I naturally gravitate towards / find it easier to draw people facing left

3. What ideas come from when you were little: Since I've been into Aveyond for so long, and that's what I mostly draw, I have a lot of ideas that pretty much originated as "I wanted to draw this as a kid and didn't have the skill to"!

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw: Te'ijal and also Galahad. it's the hair.

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself: Finished art I'd say I share a good 90% of it! Once we get into sketches... hoo boy, maybe 40%?

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it): Whatever this is, it's either too specific to the piece or too subconscious for me to think of it

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate: traditional illustration, painting, watercolor...

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in: A heads up that my answer to this is sad but I'm trying to talk about this type of stuff relatively openly, so: spring 2021, I watched Willy's Wonderland for the first time w/ Ishti + Moonie; we kept talking about a Galahad & Mel AU for it. I had two pictures for it planned, and I drew one of them, and... the timing worked out where Moonie never got to see it, and I've lost the motivation to do the second one. But I like the first one and I'm glad I drew it and I take some comfort/peace in the fact that I was working on something I was excited to share with her at the time.

9. What are your file name conventions: I have a folder for all my art, a subfolder for every year, and then a subfolder for every month, which means there isn't that much overlap! so unless I have a funny title idea my file name conventions are generally pretty straightforward: "mella1.sai", "teijalahad.sai", "teijalstudy.sai" etc etc

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw: Does armor count? If not, gambesons.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what: Yes!!! Pretty much always music, occasionally video essays. Usually I'll pick a song and play it on loop, or if I'm in the mood for more variety I'll pick a playlist or an artist and listen through that. I also really like drawing while on call with people.

12. Easiest part of body to draw: I'm so sorry for my answer. Boobs.

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing: I'm not sure I have an answer for this one, actually - there's a lot of artists I like the work of who I wouldn't want to emulate, but that feels different to me?

14. Any favorite motifs: Not really, in theory I really love flowers but I almost never draw them

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth): I used to draw pretty much everywhere, but post chronic pain it's my desk only because using a tablet hurts wayyy less than a sketchbook!

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing: Landscapes / natural areas from photographs lol

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what: Water ALL the time, coffee if it lines up properly

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken: Very few!! Probably less than 10. I mostly draw digitally

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.): ARMOR AND WEAPONS

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy: Hands and armor!

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways: Honestly the art styles unlike mine that I like tend to be ones... I wish I had... I'm really drawn to realistic, somber, softer stuff

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any: Tendon gliding exercises! Tbh I should start doing more, it might help

23. Do you use different layer modes: VERY rarely, mostly not

24. Do your references include stock images: Yessss

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by: I KNOW this has happened but I'm totally blanking on it

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended: I'm not sure if this counts but pretty much any time I get a "cute!" response on a te'ijalahad picture I'm like oh no please do not say that,

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with: I tend to warm up by drawing a headshot of the character I'm going to be drawing, but lately I've been trying to shift to warm ups that are more focused on like, the action of drawing and loosening up

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines): I participated in a zine that ended up not happening, and I've done several fandom exchanges!! Mostly the Aveyond Winter Exchange, but also the Oneshot Podcast Network exchange on AO3 (yeah it was AO3 but I did art for it)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically: Infinity Train!!! absolutely adore it, the art style doesn't really inspire me at all & because I got into it in the thick of my hand pain I never got used to drawing it

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated: None! I mostly draw Aveyond so pretty much all of my art is in the 1-10 response zone so it all feels pretty consistent gdjkgklsdf

[jiminrings]

take five

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

glimpse: dr. min yoongi’s a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand — oh and also, he’s divorced.

alternatively, you’re yoongi’s nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out — he never said anything about accepting though.

[ angst, fluff, unrequited love, so much pining ]

notes: inspired by yang seok-hyeong and choo min-ha’s dynamic from hospital playlist!! you don’t necessarily have to watch it in order to read this :D this idea has been sitting in my notes for like a year now (yikes) and i’ve only found the wILL to do it now!! took a short break because i’ve been mostly just pumping out stem koo for the past months, but here’s a yoongi piece to cleanse everyone’s palate!! this has got to be one of my favorite pieces ever hee-hee

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback/requests/love to my askbox anytime!!

[ part two ]

“Now where the hell did you hear that?”

Yoongi looks at you incredulously and for a moment, you think you’ve actually hit homerun with your stupid myth of the day because not only does he roll his eyes at you, he also scoffs and stops in his tracks.

“Just somewhere,” you mumble under your breath and hope that Yoongi doesn’t ask you for the exact source and citation because he already looks irked with what he just heard. “But they say it’s true though! If you don’t immediately drink water when you start having hiccups, you would have a breakout the next day or hours later, even.”

There is bliss in ignorance.

There is bliss and beauty in ignorance and it comes in the form of knitted brows and an agape mouth on Dr. Min, his eyes trained on you as if you asked him the stupidest question he's ever heard (you probably did) in his career and perhaps his lifetime.

Every week, from Monday to Saturday, Yoongi comes to his own clinic between the window of 8 to 8:15 in the morning wearing a bucket hat and his choice of clothing to wear under his white coat. Only his right hand would be occupied by the Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière 45 bag, which he later tosses as soon as he enters the clinic and see his employees scramble to catch and save it, just to give himself a little chuckle every morning. He really couldn't care less if none of them manage to catch it, but it's kind of nice having a pointless yet joyful routine.

Additionally, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you come to Serendipity Aesthetics at 7:00 AM to drop off your things so you could walk to the expensive coffee shop to buy equally overrated coffee because after all, your place of work is in the heart of the luxury district. Between the window of 8 to 8:15, Dr. Min walks in and throws his designer bag into the air, to which every employee tries to catch so there wouldn't be a single scratch (but everyone knows that he literally wouldn't care if nobody could save it), and every single time, you're the one who catches his bag.

Also, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you make sure that you're Dr. Min's first interaction of the day.

It always starts with a pathetic skincare myth that you ask him to verify while he either confirms or denies it for you while walking to his office, giving him his coffee that you buy with your own money. It originally started with you searching compilations online and eventually, they got so boring and repetitive that you started making up your own.

The more ridiculous it is, the more reaction you get from Yoongi.

You quickly learned that by now and every morning, you get to see the way he furrows his eyebrows and you're convinced that if you say your myth in a defensive and completely-swayed tone, Dr. Min would actually look at you to deadpan.

This time, however, you probably struck gold.

"I would actually fire you if you even thought for a second that it would be true."

Granted, maybe the gold you thought you've struck is just plated and would turn green overnight.

"Very funny, Dr. Min. No explanation today?" you try to coax one from him because the door to his office is looking especially near and he doesn't allow you to enter anyway.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory that I studied to be a doctor for more than a decade, have my own clinic, and threatened to fire you for your useless myth of the day, don't you think?" he hums lowly, wiping his finger to press his code onto his door.

"You do have a point," you sheepishly mumble at being outed more harshly for your tactics, "can I ask you something else though?"

Yoongi's eyes are glued on his phone as he just waves you off to both shoo and acknowledge you at the same time, leaning his weight to the door so he could both watch the highlight reel of a show he watched just last week and carry his bag.

"Later. I'm busy."

"No problem!" you stammer because you're not sure if you're ready to ask him anyway, wordlessly pushing the door open for him because he's deeply immersed on his phone. "Can I ask you over lunch? I-..."

... know a place.

Yoongi's door already closes on your face as the result of him kicking it backwards as he enters, making you take a step back to gather yourself.

You are not ready at all to ask him.

It's no secret that you have a crush on Dr. Min. Not at all. Practically everyone knows how head-over-heels you are for him; even the man himself actually.

It was embarrassing at first when it sinked into you that everyone collectively knows how you trail after him like a stray kitten whose gotten their first feed of the day, but later on, it’s something you actively and unnecessarily took pride in.

That way, you could ward off any other people in the clinic who have an eye on him! Dr. Park says that it’s the equivalent of a dog peeing on a fire hydrant within a street that nobody likes to walk in, but you just dismiss his comment as per usual. You’re sure that it’s impossible that no one likes him a little more than usual as an employee would, but perhaps they’re just not as showy as you are.

You can't pinpoint exactly why you have a crush on him because truth be told, you liked him in entirety. It was gradual, sure, but you liked him as a whole even from the start. Something about him’s so pulling that you find yourself complaining silently sometimes.

Liking him is easy. The variables aren't.

It just so happens that Dr. Min doesn't like you in that way, or in any way at all, but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody starts from zero at one point.

"Not to burst your bubble, buttercup, but you do know that Yoongi used to have a wife, right?"

Jimin, the cosmetic surgeon of Serendipity Aesthetics and Yoongi's business partner, asks you. He has no ill intent — he actually finds it adorable to see you pining after his best friend who's done nothing but turn you down.

It’s harsh, entertaining, but not laughable. Even the secondhand embarrassment and heartbreak makes Jimin look away whenever you ask Yoongi about his weekend. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but the only difference is that the mouse is unfazed and untouchable, and the cat's scared yet determined.

Coincidentally, Jimin's your childhood friend. Both his and your parents would assign him to watch over you even if he's just some years ahead of you. It even strengthened the bond of you treating him as an older brother and him fulfilling the role well, just as annoyingly.

Your communication hasn't been consistent especially when he entered medical school, which is why you've rarely ever heard about Yoongi before you even worked here. None of it matters though because it feels that you’ve been with Jimin for a lifetime in a literal sense, feeling a stroke of fate because somehow, he’s the common string that bridged you and Dr. Min unknowingly.

You like him a healthy amount. In a very respectful, healthy, almost pitiful amount.

"Yeah. I knew that," you sigh dejectedly, stirring your iced coffee that’s already gotten too watered-down for your taste. “She’s the model, right?"

How could you not?

How could you not know who Dr. Min’s ex-wife is because even before you worked in his and Jimin’s clinic, you’ve already heard of her?

You once saw her in an LED billboard once at a prime spot in a busy street. You saw her face on a promotional liquor poster in a convenience store without knowing that she was the wife of your then-crush (who you didn’t know yet) at the time. You see her large signature on the wall at a restaurant you regularly eat at but don’t have the appetite for nowadays.

"Mhmm, Jihye."

Jimin hums in agreement, spooning a portion from your plate and into his mouth because you’re too preoccupied to swat his hand away.

"Is she your best friend?"

Jimin rolls his eyes playful at the tone of your voice who’s suddenly gotten meek. "No, that's you, buttercup.”

You atleast feel comforted that Dr. Min’s ex-wife, whom you barely know, hasn’t managed to snatch perhaps your favorite person in the whole world. She once had Yoongi and that’s something you can stomach because it’s their life you’re not a part of, but something tells you that you’d be a little more bummed to know that Jimin and her are close just like the two of you.

“We were friends at best because I'm close to Yoongi and well... y'know..." He coughs awkwardly, eyes hesitantly looking up at you before he buries his face to the noodles to the point he could feel the steam rise to his face. "I was the best man at their wedding."

Jimin notices the way your mouth is just fixed on your dumpling, unmoving. It's only rare that you ask him about Dr. Min because there's always the guilt that you're just using your friendship with Jimin as leverage to know more about his colleague, but in the few times that you do ask about him, it always has something to do with major facts you can't immediately grasp your head around.

"Don't worry! They were in a relationship for three years, and only married for one. They knew each other even before Yoongi became a resident."

"That does not help me, Jimin. At all."

He only sheepishly scratches the back of his head, going back to his words which he now realizes did nothing to make you feel better.

"Relax. If you say something superlatively dumb enough for your skincare myths, he'll probably take the hint and date you out of pity."

You unclench your mouth on the dumpling, finding no will to chew it now that Jimin, once again, opened his mouth. "Made it even worse, actually."

He's no stranger to you feeling bummed but he knows that he's somehow in a bind because he's in a point of conflict between you and Yoongi, both his best friends. He can't exactly give you false hope in order to cheer you up, but he can't lie either and say that you don't have a solid fighting chance with Yoongi.

You're frowning but he knows you understand, well-aware that you'd recuperate soon enough.

"Cheer up. Just ask him out and if he denies you, then be it! I had a hand in designing this clinic, remember? It's big enough for you to avoid him."

"Not sure if I should feel inspired or discouraged," you tut under your breath, pressing your forehead down the table so you could ignore him while he leaves you alone. "Thanks, Dr. Park."

Jimin rolls his eyes at the nickname you use to spite him and only call him when the other employees are around, in which case there aren't, just because he did the equivalent of making you gulp orange juice after brushing your teeth like his sudden "I was the best man at Yoongi's wedding" revelation.

You don't know how long your forehead's been pressed to the table but it feels long enough to the point you hear a familiar set of footsteps you didn't anticipate to come this soon, immediately straightening your posture.

"Dr. Min! You're here!"

Yoongi looks up from his phone and nods, completely unsurprised that you're here in the breakroom at the exact moment that he comes in.

"Dr. Park bought everyone lunch today, yours is in this bag," you gesture to the meal you've separated and took the initiative of writing his name on so no one would "accidentally" claim it for themselves because it's always the one with the extra sauce and napkins.

He only hums as he plops down to the seat parallel to the paper bag, not registering it at all that you did it on purpose so he'd be sitting beside you. You didn't actually think he'd fall for it, but it's one of the times you feel indebted to his eager attention to his phone because he doesn't notice.

Yoongi sets his phone down on the table as it's held up by his convenient popsocket, immersed in slurping his own noodles to be oblivious of you who's close to losing your shit right beside him.

The opportunity is sitting right next to you and you didn't expect it to come this soon because if you knew that Dr. Min would be setting off your tentative plans unknowingly with how everything's coming to place, you probably would've rehearsed endlessly in front of a mirror.

"Can I ask my question now?"

Dr. Min's in the middle of chewing when you ask but he doesn't flinch, already aware that you ask him so much questions within a day that he feels like he's working with a nosey toddler.

"Go. You're gonna ask it anyway," he replies monotonously and continues chewing, bringing more noodles to his mouth even if his cheeks haven't deflated yet.

His nonchalance is what simultaneously intimidates and eggs you on, finding the words leaving your mouth with no filter at all.

"Can I ask you to go out with me? I'll only ask you five times and after that, I'm gonna get off your tail."

There's no beat of silence because Yoongi keeps chewing and you're sure you heard a chuckle in-between, looking at his side profile while holding your breath. You're just about to apologize for crossing a line you've been toeing for the better portion of a year when he looks at you once, briefly and lazily.

"Okay."

The word doesn't immediately click in your mind as you stumble with spelling out the letters in your head. Are you hearing it right? Is this just a side-effect of Jimin randomly clapping his hands beside your ears when you're getting groggy?

"O-okay? As in, yes?"

"Okay as in yes, you can ask me to go out with you," Dr. Min clarifies calmly, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips when he sees the favorite part of his show appear on-screen. "Asking me to go out with you is different from going out with you."

You're shell-shocked because that's exactly what you asked of him and you're even more surprised that he interpreted it as such, the weight of his approval now dawning on you.

"Of course."

Yoongi only hums but he can't bring himself to get another bite because you don't let a second go to waste, seeing your face plead closer to his peripheral vision that he only manages to give you a side-eye.

“Can we go out later, Dr. Min? I actually checked your schedule and you have nothing booked past 4 PM!”

You try to tone down your excitement and you're glad that the expectation of him answering you in the first try is only an afterthought, because he shoots you down twice as quick as you asked.

“No.”

“Do you have plans tonight then?” you prod with a gentle smile, trying to see if you can sway him even in the slightest.

“Nope.”

“Then why don't you wanna go out with me?” there's a light-hearted frown on your face and as much as you know that it won't elicit a reaction from Dr. Min, it's only playful. There's no real accusation nor anger behind your tone.

“Because I don’t, Y/N," Yoongi actually chuckles and he looks at you as if you're the silliest goose he's ever come across a pond. "You’re on closing duty later, bye!”

( ♡ )

“Good morning to my favorite dermatologist in this whole wide world!”

Yoongi hears you greet him cheerily and it almost makes him flinch because you materialized out of nowhere. He's about to scold you for doing that because who knows if you get mistaken and accidentally give a faint-hearted client with the shock of their lifetime, he really was about to — but he sees his cinnamon bun on your hand (courtesy of Jimin telling you his favorite dessert for the price of one cheek kiss), and all the words melt from his mouth.

“Good morning.”

Dr. Min almost snatches what you're holding and you almost huff, trailing beside him as his fingers quickly undo the familiar teal box packaging of his favorite pastry.

“You forgot 'Y/N, my favorite nurse in this whole wide world'.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything," he adds for good measure but something doesn't quite fit because as much as his hand is holding a box that houses his favorite type of sweet, his other hand doesn't feel warm. There's no cylindrical cup on his hand that makes his palm just the right amount of toasty and he realizes it the hard way because he raises his hand, ready to take a sip of a whole lot of nothing.

"Where's my-"

“Here’s your coffee.”

"Thanks," Yoongi feels the familiar warmth in his hand in a second and he sighs in relief inwardly, but there's just something off. Feels that there's something actively off because it's definitely more warm than what he'd feel in his regular cup. "Huh? Why is it in a mug?"

He wonders out loud and the sight of the ceramic mug is enough culture shock from the usual lidded paper cup he sees almost every morning, looking at you as if you've told him the worst insult known to man.

You didn't exactly think that Dr. Min would react as differently as this because Jimin said that coffee is still coffee to him, but in the process, you've directly forgotten that your friend told you right after Yoongi's coffee preferences — is that he tends to be a creature of habit.

“From the shop. I-I also bought the mug from the coffee shop so I can present it as this.”

You thought Dr. Min would be pleasantly surprised as he holds the too-expensive ceramic excuse for a coffee mug, but you don't know what to anticipate as he casts his eyes down.

GO OUT WITH ME? :), written in cocoa powder amongst the white froth, a product of going to the coffee shop extra early and having to fend off the red-haired barista with the bunny smile because he thought you were asking him out.

"Mhmm," Yoongi spends a second longer looking at the foam art before he takes a big gulp and effectively washes away what you significantly paid higher for than his usual coffee, trapping your wince at the back of your throat. You're looking at his Adam's apple and he looks just one gulp away from finishing it all, and he does right in front of you. "Can't. I'm taking my mom to go shopping."

You awe unconsciously as it's a known fact within the clinic that Yoongi adores his mom a lot and you see her quite often, having extra snacks being delivered personally to the employees each time because she's a nice and sincere woman.

“I can carry the bags?" you're only half-joking, a cheesy grin on your face, but Dr. Min only shakes his head at you and disappears into his office.

That's your second chance gone as quick as the latte disappeared into Yoongi's throat, but atleast you know that he doesn't hate the beverage and he can reuse the mug.

There's still some merit in your attempt somewhere.

There's never an empty instance in the clinic. It's always full. It's a little more high-end than most clinics and you could see it in the design and layout of the clinic itself, but it doesn't mean it's fully-exclusive. You see celebrities and socialites every other day and with the hands-on nature of your work, you're not as starstruck and bothered as you used to be.

There would always be more than a handful of VIP clients but that doesn't mean they're the only clientele. Serendipity Aesthetics isn't that snooty, and it's something you can manage with.

Your work's just as tiring as the doctors' and not a lot of people credit you for it, but it's something you shove to the back of your mind at the end of the day. You only scrunch your nose under your mask when you see the 73rd trustfund baby come into the clinic for the day, unfocus your eyes so you couldn't roll them when they manage to bring in their wealth that wasn't questioned into the conversation, and move on to your next patient.

You've just finished giving a diamond peel to a breadwinner mother (whom you've had a nice chat and laugh with throughout the process) when your eyes immediately lock in to the figure that knows no queues nor other clients as she walks past, walking straight to Dr. Min's procedure room.

And of course, you don't know whether fate is on your side or not, but you're the only assistant available to assist so naturally, Hoseok, the secretary, looks at you with a knowing nod.

You don't know what to expect when you come inside the procedure room, making yourself as small as possible when you knock twice briefly and enter, standing in the corner with your eyes trained on your clipboard.

Yoongi nods at you once in acknowledgement as his attending assistant, and you can barely acknowledge him back because the Jihye, who was Mrs. Min at one point, is in your direct line of sight.

She's sitting down but you can still see her graceful posture then with her shoulders pulled back and her hair framing her face perfectly. The casual sweater ensemble she wears is probably more expensive than your whole closet could be, but the gray of it doesn't dull her out at all. There's creases on the material since she's sitting down and is therefore not taut, but the wrinkles look poised on her figure nonetheless.

Her manicured hands sit prim and proper on Dr. Min's desk and you can't help but think how they used to look with a wedding band on her ring finger, your thought process making you look at his hands that are clasped right in front of him.

She smells expensive and important, just like how Dr. Min does. Not only do they have a figurative scent of gravitas surrounding them, but they also carry it literally. When they shared a home, have they started smelling like each other at one point? Does the intoxicating smell of daisies on Jihye become Yoongi's scent on his white coat at one point?

"What do you want, Jihye?"

You find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of hearing her voice in-person, and it's everything you've ever expected.

"Undereye fillers, please. I have campaigns and Fashion Week back to back so I need a touch-up."

Expensive, important, elegant, sweet.

Yoongi sighs under his breath, standing up from his seat to examine closer. You almost move to stand beside him to assist but you forget that of course, Dr. Min has his own penlight. You're paralyzed at your corner but you can't help but watch.

You watch him press Jihye's undereyes lightly with the pad of his thumb and then with his ring finger, assessing intensively but holding her lightly as if she's made of glass.

"They're not that sunken-in like usual. You still want a touch-up?"

Jihye laughs sweetly, putting a hand on her chest as she tilts her head up at Yoongi.

"Ah. You're still so sweet to me."

Yoongi doesn't indulge her with a laugh but instead just rolls his eyes, going back to his seat as he types into his chart. "Would that be all?"

"That's it for now," Jihye grins, clutching her purse to her chest as she rocks back and forth on her heels even if she's sat down. "Always down for a facial from you though."

"Jihye."

Yoongi clicks his tongue and gives his ex-wife a warning gaze, and just for the slightest fraction, you feel him turning his gaze to you. His gaze that's not for the purpose of feeling sorry you had to hear that, but rather for the purpose of telling his ex-wife that the two of them aren't alone.

"Yoongi."

She drawls sweetly and you could only look away because this banter of theirs doesn't concern you at all.

Dr. Min ignores her and looks at you, a firm line on his lips.

"Get me the materials, Y/N."

"Extra ice too! I wanna munch on some," Jihye adds as you're on your way out and you make the note of getting more ice from the freezer because she asked so, filling up a champagne glass neatly.

You wheel in your cart and you could only reply with a stiff nod when she thanks you eagerly, already plopping an ice cube to her mouth.

You wait as you see Yoongi become gentle, all from the way he injects the filler to massaging the skin underneath Jihye's eyes.

They're divorced and yet they look casual as they've always done this. They probably did and still continue to. They look like they still belong to each other.

You can't deny that Jihye's pretty and although you're not privy to details if she has work done or not, it doesn't change the fact that she's pretty. She must and is the prettiest girl in the world for Yoongi because obviously, he married her. Loved her. Maybe even currently love her even.

You feel silly. A little more silly than usual like what Yoongi points you out to be because after all, you're an assistant at work who's holding the tissues and the icepack, feeling as if you have the right to intrude or even be jealous of the fact that your boss, the one you have a pathetically huge crush on, is laughing with his ex-wife over an inside joke like what all couples have.

Like what all couples, divorced or not, have.

( ♡ )

Yoongi thinks he's actually managed to escape you.

He's in his procedure room simply because the airconditioner blows colder and not because he has a patient to meet at the moment. It's his favorite kind of quiet; no one's daring to knock on his door, no shoes squeaking, no you who keeps asking him questions at every waking moment you could find.

Come to think of it, not only did he barely see you today, but he also barely saw everyone in the clinic. It's unusual to say the least because for the hundred times that he passes by Hoseok, he now realizes that he barely occupies his position at the front desk. He's heard nothing from Jimin either whose office is just right next to his, unaccustomed to not having someone knock on his door until he budges and lets him in because the guy just wanted to hang out even in silence.

Actually, he doesn't know anyone's whereabouts at the moment. The clinic's full even at lunchbreak but it oddly feels quiet, making him put his phone down and debate to whether or not he should check up on everyone.

“Give me a facial, please.”

Yoongi practically jumps out of his seat when he hears someone pipe up from right behind him, goosebumps forming at the back of his neck as he automatically flinches.

He knows it's you but he didn't know it would be you who's sneaked up on him out of nowhere. Sometime in his whole thought process, you've already opened the door to his room without him noticing and he's badly reaping the consequence of not being perceptible enough.

"Holy fuck," he clutches at his chest from the shock upon seeing you that's slowly simmering down, throwing his head back, only to see you smiling at him gently as if you didn't age him atleast two years faster. "A facial?"

Yoongi grimaces at your crude plead, snickering to himself, but when he registers the weirded-out look on your face, he immediately remembers his profession and what you're actually asking from him.

“Yup! A facial.”

You seem to have no qualms about repeating your request and that's because you don't have any, feeling fully confident in yourself because you're certain that he can't deny such a trivial request at the time.

“Do you have a schedule with me? Have you paid to the front desk already?” Dr. Min asks you in succession and tilts his head at you, making his newly-dyed blonde hair bounce from side to side intentionally.

It's cute, really, but you didn't come here unprepared. After all, you believe that it's Dr. Min this time who owes you something.

“But it’s my birthday — you didn’t know?“

That throws him off the loop for a second and he doesn't even actually believe that it's your birthday at first, especially coming from you whom he believes is a big fan of bogus skincare myths and probably eats them for dinner.

He's about to ask you for some ID but the dots connect in his mind before he polices his employee over their own birthday; why everyone's been missing, why Jimin couldn't stay still the whole morning, why he's been seeing random balloons being held by patients in the waiting area, and why there's some bit of frosting left on the side of your jaw.

“Why would I know when your birthday is?”

“You hired me.”

You blink owlishly at what’s supposed to be an obvious answer but Yoongi reads it as being a smart-ass.

“I hired you for your credentials, not your birthday,” he rolls his eyes and you already know he’s fully recovered from the unintentional spook you’ve given him. "Actually, scratch that — Jimin told me to hire you."

You'd like to think that you'd get hired nonetheless if not for Jimin, but the thought lingers heavily on you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue and you’re unaware that it shows on your face because for a second, Yoongi feels as if he should apologize because he may have took it too far. In full honesty, the whole concept of it only struck you now and you don’t know what to think of it, especially in a day you swore you’d only be self-indulgent.

You miss a single beat and the needier part of Yoongi’s guilt feels compelled.

“I’m-…”

“Nevermind. It’s okay! But it’s my birthday, and you told me that you give your employees a free facial as a birthday gift!”

Yoongi feels saved with your smooth transitioning but his eyes narrow once he recognizes the gist of what you’re saying, deeming it to be a little too demanding because all he wanted to do this afternoon was to lay back in between appointments.

"I can just give you a gift card,” he offers and he thinks you’re gonna accept the upgrade which is why he’s about to stand up and retrieve it from his office right this instant, being stopped abruptly when you block his way out of his chair.

“No. I want a facial.”

He hasn’t even started telling you that he has some designer gift cards in his drawer as well but you already shake your head no to what he was about to say, unrelenting when he tries to walk past you that only prompts you to hold your arms out horizontally.

“Fine. It’ll just be a quick one after the last patient and-...”

“Actually, your patient for this hour just cancelled because she has to appear in court for evading taxes or something.”

He blinks once, clearly unnerved. “Oh. Naeun? Again?”

Dr. Min hums to himself about taxes and turns his back on you silently, making you stammer in place because you don’t know if you’d accept rejection at your birthday this early into your attempt. You want to ask one more time if he’s still giving you a facial or not because you’re just standing there as still as an idle video game character, waiting for a prompt that would directly address you.

“What are you doing?” he asks you and you look straight to the mirror that’s in front of him, wide-eyed at being guilty for simply just standing in his presence. “Lie down already. I thought you wanted your birthday present?”

You realize belatedly that Dr. Min’s standing by his employee benefit because while he had his back turned on you because it turns out he was just preparing the tools and equipment he needed for your facial, not because he was annoyed at you and wanted you to take a hint by making you look at his back.

You've never been in this position, actually — the one where you're lying on the patient's bed and Dr. Min's looking down on you, the mix of a scowl and a small smile on his face just to appease you.

He's gentle. Much more gentle that you thought now that you're on the receiving end of his hands. Puts the least amount of pressure in holding up your head to put on a headband before setting you back down, his hands close enough to your face that you could smell the familiar scent of the clinic's hand soap.

You surprisingly melt when Dr. Min dots the cold cleanser to your face and rubs gently in small circles, expecting to flinch because of the overwhelmingly new experience, but there's just something in the way he caresses your face that puts you into ease.

“Jimin and the others prepared me a cake in the breakroom awhile ago.”

Your eyes are closed and you're relaxed and you don't entirely know if it's still a good look on you because Dr. Min's still rubbing in the cleanser, not entirely lying when he says that he's considering on rubbing in the lather to your mouth because he expected you not to talk this much considering he's already in the midst of giving you a facial.

“I pay all of you and you didn’t offer me any,” he mumbles in faux dejection, but the thought of having cake with the chocolate icing he's swiped from your jaw does sound appetizing.

“You were out on lunchbreak.”

You were out on lunchbreak with your ex-wife.

You withhold the last bit that you came to know because of Jimin, since he was on the way to Yoongi's office to invite him for your impromptu birthday lunch but couldn't even finish his invitation because Yoongi already uttered urgent lunch and Jihyo in the same sentence.

“Do you know what my wish was?” you speak meekly but Dr. Min doesn't notice the dimming hope behind it, one that's about to wear off sooner or later.

“Humor me,” he murmurs and that's when you hear the familiar beep of the steamer in your side, knowing that it would grant him 20 minutes of separation from you which he probably craves.

You've memorized it by now — steaming your face doesn't actually open your pores, and neither does washing your face with cold water close them. Steaming just loosens the pores which therefore allows products to seep in deeper and further.

Apart from that, there's one thing you've also come to memorize.

“That you’ll go on a date with me.”

Dr. Min chuckles and atleast you know that it'll soften the blow you expect by now.

“Nope. I’m watching a movie in the cinema with my friends tonight.”

You open your eyes and he closes them right back because it'll hurt to open with the hot steam, unconsciously doing it with a tut on his lips.

“It’s my birthday," you weakly offer with a pout on your mouth and you're oblivious to the half-smile Dr. Min has on his face because of course, your eyes are closed and have been threatened once again to be fired if you don't keep them closed.

“It’s my movie time.”

( ♡ )

Nothing’s going right.

You watched a movie last night with Jimin and it ended up having a cameo of Jihye, making the remaining thirty minutes in the cinema become a darkroom for all of your doubts and insecurities, while Jimin chews your remaining popcorn as silently as he could (because it would be a waste) while rubbing circles on your forearm.

You drank with him all night but he's counting his shots because he obviously has some clients to attend to the next day. It's not exactly a good look of being hung-over with his eye twitching as he completes a rhinoplasty at 1 in the afternoon.

Your car wouldn't be fixed for another week and when you hitched a ride with Jimin and passed by the shop, it's because your car's in the corner and everyone's working on a flashy blue Maserati, in which he made the off-hand comment that it looks like Jihye's but he isn't entirely sure.

Everything from last night until today makes you feel like you don't have control over anything at all. It's deflating and pitying and it adds to the ever-growing con list of what it's like to have a crush on your divorced boss.

So while Dr. Min's standing in his gown since he's assisting Jimin, and in turn you're assisting them and the two of you are alone because Jimin's still washing his hands outside, you ask.

“Go out with me?”

“Can’t.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi's eyes widen at your straightforward reply, cutting to the chase. There's no pleas, no rebuttals and most of all, there's no underlying curiosity. No sneak-handed question that inquires what exactly were his plans.

It's just a plain okay that he can't wrap his head around, making him look at you whose gaze is set on the patient's gown.

“It’s Jihye’s grandmother’s birthday today. She’s old-old — you get the point. Still thinks we’re together and we don’t wanna break her heart.”

He feels compelled to explain even if you haven't asked him remotely, preparing himself for any added questions you might have.

“M’kay. Have fun tonight.”

The question marks visibly float on top of his head and he doesn't know what he's missing, the opening of the door to the surgery suite signifying Jimin's entrance furthermore making his head cloudy.

“Yup. Gonna have a blast with my ex’s family," he says it either as a snide remark or a half-attempt in getting a reaction from you; either way, it dissipates into the air and he gets nothing.

You accept that nothing's going your way and it rarely does otherwise.

Yoongi keeps looking at you like he's never met you before.

( ♡ )

Yoongi enters the clinic, throws his bag into the air, and his eyes practically pop out of his head when he sees that it's Hoseok who's holding it.

Where are you?

It's emptying, almost. He's not hearing a skincare myth first thing in the morning and he doesn't have a warm cup of coffee on his hand, be it in a regular cup or a mug.

In fact, he's walking alone to his office and he feels the need to keep darting his head around because you must be hiding in one of the many vantage points you could spring out of.

There's a shadow set on the large couch, and he feigns his surprise that it's you who's gonna jump beside him any moment now, but it turns out to be the fake plant in the corner.

It's the big green fake plant they bought for accessories in the event that a patient of theirs would be allergic to a real one, and Yoongi's never felt this much annoyance towards an overpriced leafy hunk of plastic.

Jimin hasn't arrived yet but he assumes that it's because you're with him. You've got to be.

Jimin arrives sooner than anticipated as if to calm the curiosity in Yoongi's mind but immediately furrows his brows at him because he actually looks disappointed that he's here.

Yoongi peers at the empty spot beside his friend, even trying to peer his head further for the familiar package deal named you that he carried in mornings.

"Is Y/N with you?"

"No...?" Jimin tilts his head, genuinely confused that he's asking him about you, but is even more confused to learn that you're not here. "Is she with you?"

"No," Yoongi shakes his head no somberly, awkwardly standing as he tries to look behind him to see if you've already creeped your way there. "Weird."

He exits himself from the situation even before Jimin can question him and they both think it's the logical thing to do, especially since it's concerning you and they've been dancing around the topic of you for some time now — from the perspective of the one being crushed on and a potential love interest, the other being your best friend.

You come in some time later, still early before opening but Yoongi's not used to it at all. This is perhaps the first time he's seen you arrive later than he does, but he's conflicted if he ever wants that to happen again.

He's looking at his schedule for the day yet he can't help but peek at his window, anticipating a you who's trying to steal a glance but there's no attempts made, just walking straight past his office and into Jimin's next door.

Weird.

His whole day started off weird and his first interaction is basically omitted from his book because it doesn't start with his usual habit of fact-checking your myth, leaving a bitter taste on his mouth.

He has his own stash of his favorite snacks in his office but he plans to drop by the breakroom nonetheless after flying through all of his appointments before noon, instead accidentally (but thankfully) walking out to the whiff of your perfume because you just walked in front of him, entertaining a client that must be a walk-in.

"Taehyung?"

You walk to the familiar face you probably last saw just a few weeks ago, seeing his face register you belatedly in warmth and relief.

"Y/N, there you are! I was about to start knocking on every door to look for you," he sighs and you know he sincerely means it, thankful you've showed up just in time because he probably would've caused a ruckus by doing that.

"What do you need? I fell asleep early last night so I didn't get to answer your call."

Yoongi thinks that if he stands still enough, he could be mistaken for a fake plant with a white coat. He tries his best to fix his eyes and not be caught eavesdropping and looking, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the best at it.

This guy calls you? At night too?

"Just my lobes. I need you to stitch them up back to normal. Tried the rubbing oil method for like a month but it barely did anything."

"Ah," you hum in recognition, gently taking Taehyung's earlobe into your fingers that makes him tilt his head to you in obedience so you could examine it closely. "You only had small gauges. 10G, right? 2.5mm is something I can work on alone."

Yoongi manages to conclude that you're somehow familiar and acquainted with this Taehyung guy, easily taking him under your wing and into an empty procedure room as if the two of you do this everyday.

It's a minor procedure. Local anesthesia and some stitches and Taehyung could walk out in less than an hour. Normally, if the gauges are bigger and therefore the earlobe's more stretched out, Jimin's called in to operate but 10G is something you can do without supervision, meaning that you and said guy would be alone together in the procedure room.

“Need help?”

As a doctor, Yoongi's just offering his supervision and guidance — that's all.

Taehyung's already well-acquainted in his position and so are you, the past fifteen minutes he's spent talking and hyping himself up to stroll in as casually as he could already meant giving you much leeway in between.

“No need doc," surprisingly, it's Taehyung who answers, a warm smile on his face which makes his shoulders vibrate in the slightest to which you tut at him. "Y/N’s used to this already.”

Yoongi's surprised but he doesn't let it show, clicking in his mind that the guy seems like a familiar face he's seen before but he can't place it exactly.

“Oh. Are you a regular in my clinic?”

“Hmm? Oh, no! I’m a first-timer here. I just meant that Y/N’s-“ he gets cut off and it's because you bump your knee into his to stop talking and moving, your voice finishing up his small explanation. "Used to stitching him up."

Tae's kind of scared to talk even more because after all, you're the one who's holding the needle to his ear, not wanting to unintentionally test you further so he just whispers to Yoongi instead.

“Exactly what she said.”

Yoongi feels like he's barging into a couple's business whom he's not a part of. He's seeing you in action as you reconstruct Taehyung's earlobes and that's where the familiarity hits him, quietly awing to himself.

Isn't this Taehyung guy famous?

You didn't take his offer up for help but he still shadows you, maneuvering himself behind you instead of standing by the door alone, not even pretending to give you pointers to fill up the uncomfortable silence (for him) because you both know you're doing a great job.

“Hey, remember when I thought that guy was flirting with you in the bakery?”

Taehyung suddenly pipes up and you have to hold still with the needle in your hand, shoulders shaking in a slight laugh.

“Of course. You ended up punching my brother.”

The two of you fondly laugh and it feels extra humorous because the two of you are trying not to move your bodies to the best of your abilities, seeing his cheeks turn red from trying to stifle his laughs as much as he could.

“He didn’t know whether he’d feel mad or proud of me that time.”

Yoongi turns up the light brighter that focuses on his earlobes that makes Taehyung squint. Normally, that's his non-verbal way of saying that the two of you should not be a having a moment right now, especially with him in the room.

He quips his lips to the side but stays quiet, his once-stable breaths dragging out extra slow.

“You free tonight? Minhyung’s staying with me for a week," he complies when you ask him to turn his head slightly, getting a response to his offer just as quick.

“Yeah, sure! Missed him anyway. He’s how old now?”

“Seven. He pokes fun at me now.”

The reminder of meeting Minhyung when he was barely a toddler versus the comparison of bullying his older brother now makes you laugh, remembering all the fond interactions you've had and continue to have with him. Just last month, Tae called you in the middle of the afternoon because Minhyung was suddenly looking for you.

You wrap up quickly and you wouldn't realize if not for Dr. Min who's been standing behind you almost the entire time, a barely-audible bite to his words. "He's finished."

Dr. Min beats you into relaying the aftercare instructions and follow-up check-up, the lax nature of how he usually explains being a stark contrast to how he sounds quick right now.

Taehyung's oblivious to the difference you could notice but he listens nonetheless, bidding you with a sweet warm smile as he exits the room.

“Thanks Y/N, see you later!”

Dr. Min shuts the door behind him and proceeds to clean up the station you've worked on, getting you into work because you don't quite understand why he even came in here in the first place.

“You didn’t tell me you had Kim Taehyung the model for a boyfriend.”

He passive-aggressively murmurs but you catch it, thinking nothing of the unusual nature your superior is exhibiting.

“You know him? He’s that famous now, huh?”

Yoongi, however, freezes. It's far from your easy chuckle and way further from the territory of peace because his face morphs into confusion. “What? I was kidding with you. He is your boyfriend?”

"What?" your eyes glaze at the odd joke you wouldn't have bothered correcting in the first place because you didn't think he'd ask, much less assume, in the first place anyway. “Oh no, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Yoongi genuinely doesn't know what to feel about that.

Is he frustrated over the fact that Taehyung isn't your boyfriend at the moment, or is it over the fact that you're exes and therefore share history together in a way he can't decipher?

He doesn't meet your gaze, the pettiness running through his bones before he could register it as such.

“I don’t believe that. Pretty sure no one would go to their ex’s place especially at night.”

The words he's just uttered basically tells you that he's eavesdropped well and even added his own analysis to it, feeling offended because as what you can recall, you didn't even ask him for his own take.

“I’m hanging out with him and his little brother.”

“Still. No one does that.”

You play off the offense you feel into nonchalance, gritting your teeth as you disinfect the area for the next patient.

“You can be friends with an ex, it’s possible, Dr. Min,” you wipe extra hard at the bed, not even knowing why you feel defensive for a situation that doesn't even involve him. “We didn’t break up in bad terms anyways so it was more than plausible that we would be friends.”

He looks up inhumanely fast, eyes trained on you as if you've grown two heads within a second.

“That’s impossible.”

You humorlessly chuckle and that's the end of it, choosing to tune him out while you clean up as quick as you could because you don't even know if you could stay in a space with him any longer.

Yoongi finds it odd that you're not searching for his gaze, stopping right in front of you when you retrieve the remaining sanitary equipment.

“Have you even checked the schedule? You agreed to him so quick. Who knows, we’d probably do overtime.”

“Then I’m reminding you that I’ve never been absent ever since I started working here, and if we need to do overtime, I’m using my leave.

Dr. Min hardens his glare at you. “That’s against the law, I’m pretty sure.”

“I can ask Tae later, his mom’s a lawyer.”

You add harmlessly as it's the truth and it does make you curious if it's just his unknown pettiness or the law that's talking, seeing his eyes roll at your quip.

“Heh," he narrows his eyes and turns his back on you, quick hands moving into a blur while he goes on his way out. “The gauze’s contaminated now. Get a new one.”

Yoongi can't explain it but he feels like something's changed in his routine and in some way, it has something to do with you.

His entrance every morning feels weird and his arm wants to give out every time he throws his bag into the air because it's not your familiar face that squeezes in so close beside him even if there's plenty of space for you to walk on.

He finds himself looking through windows and wandering through hallways just to look for a trace of you, even if it's the little chocolate nibs you snack throughout the whole day or if it's your extra handkerchief that Jimin uses because he forgets his all the time.

You’re supposed to ask him anytime now, aren't you?

You've used four of your chances in four different occasions with no exact pattern to it, but Yoongi knows. He knows and feels that it's been too long ever since the last time you asked him out (that was two weeks ago) in the procedure room and he doesn't know when the next would be.

He's sure it's a tactic of yours. It must be. You must've been doing it in a certain method that trains him to miss you and look for you unconsciously, even if he's at home and not in the clinic.

Yoongi finds himself lingering around you and he doesn't know if he could just continue hovering and hovering in this way; in a way that's unlike yours because you're unafraid to stand so close to him, talk to him whenever you please, and trail around him like a lost puppy.

He thinks he's had enough when he sees you enter the clinic, just thirty minutes away from opening and goes straight to Jimin's office, walking out later in your scrubs that makes him audibly gasp in surprise.

You enter the breakroom and he finds himself tailing after you unceremoniously, not being able to wait atleast five minutes to enter.

You're just now eating your breakfast because you've had a late start to your morning, also waiting a little later for you to retrieve your car from the shop that took longer than what you initially expected.

You're mid-bite into your cereal when you see a shadow cast onto the table, looking up to see Dr. Min who avoids your gaze as soon as you catch him.

“Yes.”

You chew slowly and cover your mouth when he turns to you, arms across his chest while you try to swallow. “I’m not following...?”

He sighs heavily, not knowing he had to spell it out for you.

Yoongi sits beside you and scoots his chair closer to yours, leaning his face onto his hand that makes you confused even more on how he's willingly sitting this close beside you.

“Yes, I’m going on a date with you.”

You swallow your cereal without a fuss as it registers in your head collectively, a curious and inquisitive quirk to your lips that throws him off.

“I didn’t ask, though.”

“No, this is the part where you use your fifth chance to ask me out and I accept.”

It's quite entertaining to see Dr. Min act and talk so impulsively, not used to seeing him this frustratedly determined. “But I haven’t asked.”

Yoongi closes his eyes once, his shoulders relaxing.

“Then I’m saying yes for the four previous times you asked me.”

You snort to your cereal and you're thankful that it happens before you scoop another spoonful to your mouth, shaking your head somberly.

“That doesn’t count.”

Yoongi pouts childishly, his brows furrowing at the concept of you denying him this time and not getting what he wants.

“Yes it does.”

“I can’t take you out, Dr. Min. I’m actually a little short on some date money because I’ve been buying you expensive coffee every single morning.”

"Just Yoongi," he corrects but doesn't choose to comment on the fact that you haven't been buying him coffee for two weeks now and he's unknowingly formed a dependency on the coffee and you. “Then I’ll pay for the date.”

“Then that means you’re taking me out on a date.”

“I know, which is why I’m saying yes, I’m accepting-“

You stop the flow of words that makes Dr. Min frown even deeper, looking severely dejected but the guilt doesn't hit you as much. “You can’t. That wasn’t our deal.”

“Then ask me to go out with you.”

It's a suggestion he brings up softly, uncertainty lacing his features because actually, it doesn't sound like a suggestion at all — sounds more of a plead than anything.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to think even if you already had a concrete plan for the day. “I’m busy. Dr. Park needs me.”

Dr. Min clears his throat, sitting up straighter and looks at you.

“Please ask me to go on a date with you.”

“Dr. Park needs me.”

Yoongi exhales through his nose and stands up, straightening his shirt and rearranging the bucket hat on his head before he relents, leaving you alone.

You think that's just about the end of it, but you're wrong because you see Dr. Min pop into the breakroom the moment lunchbreak starts, picking up Jimin who's sitting beside you and ushering him out of the door.

"The fuck? Yoongi! Stop — stop pushing me! You seriously can't just throw me out of the-"

Your eyes are still fixed on the door that Dr. Min just pushed Jimin out of and locked him out entirely, barely glancing to the paper bag that he put in front of you.

He occupies the chair beside you and clears his throat once again, clasping his hands tightly.

“Five takes.”

"Huh? Dr. Min, did you seriously just-..."

Yoongi pokes your cheek to get you to look at him, effectively taking your gaze out of the door.

“Give me five chances to ask you out.”

You thought he wouldn't push it to this because you swore you know him — know him well-enough that he doesn't like you and wouldn't care enough to pursue you once you've stopped.

“Why?”

He blinks owlishly because you're still asking him why when he thought he couldn't make his intentions any more clear, the two weeks without the usual you making him realize it further.

“I could say that I’m asking you this so you could give me a taste of my own medicine,” his attempt at what's supposed to be a joke makes you scoff, later chuckling when he waves his hands around desperately to clarify. “But as much as my pride would like that,” he murmurs. “I uh, I do want to go out with you.”

Hearing it from him is surreal, to say the least. It's something you've never thought to hear and it's admittedly something you've given up on trying to hear not too long ago.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m going grocery shopping later,” you tell him and it makes his eyebrows knit in confusion, lips opening apart as he understands.

Yoongi grabs the prescription pad that fits snugly to his white coat, handing it to you as he explains it could be something for you to write your grocery list on.

“Thank you Dr. Min,” you chuckle at the wholesome gesture, a lot of pages left when you could've settled for a single leaflet.

“Great! I’ll be seeing you-“ he stands up and claps his hands, effectively being stopped when you reach out for him.

Then he understands.

“No.”

“I have a rewards card that’s been accumulating points for years now! You can use it," he offers gingerly, a grin on his face.

“Thoughtful, but no.”

“I can drive the cart really smoothly and I can promise you that I won’t even bump to your foot once," he nods for a convicting effect, thinking if he'd pass this time.

“Talented, but no.”

“I can lift all the grocery bags in one trip.”

“Nice try, but no.”

“No?” Yoongi parrots you with a tilt on his head, a slight pout on his face that makes him look warmer.

“No."

Yoongi accepts it and nod his head, pulling himself out of his chair before he convictedly talks again.

“M’kay. That was take one,” he says it out loud to console himself, earning a surprised gaze from you. “Four more chances left, right?”

Yoongi wordlessly stands and grabs a plate from the cupboard, taking out the lunch he's bought for you from the paper bag and sets your favorite food (courtesy of Jimin for a price of one hug) there instead, setting and plating it in front of you.

He taps two fingers on your cheeks, a cozy smile on his face as he tries to earn himself a loving smile from you before he exits the breakroom.

“Four more chances.”

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 112

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 7)

Right there behind the stone statue at the top of the stairs is a wide platform, and behind the platform is a set of derelict buildings stacked out of bricks. It’s eerily quiet on top of the platform as it’s little frequented, and green creeper vines have climbed all the way up from the base of the foundations miles below. Nothing marks the years’ passing in the mountains, as though time itself is frozen here.

“Is this where you trained?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yes. This is White Tiger Hall,” Wu Du replies, climbing the steps with Duan Ling until they’re before the great hall. A plaque is barely hanging on high above them with three characters written in ancient seal script: White Tiger Hall.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. It may still be a bit cold in the mountains, but I think …”

“That’s quite alright,” Duan Ling replies, standing in front of the great hall, he stretches, facing the green hills beyond and their misty clouds. It reminds him of a line of poetry: my mind expands to take in this expanse of clouds; the sight of homecoming birds stretches the edge of my vision.2 From the moment they left Jiangzhou he’s enjoyed the first true days of leaving all his worries behind. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone coming to kill him, and neither does he have to worry about saying anything by accident that can get him killed. They can sleep soundly and let themselves relax.

He turns back to glance at Wu Du. Wu Du is inside the great hall, sweeping the stone paths clean. When he finds a bird’s nest on a chair, he picks up the nest and wipes down the chair before putting it back.

“Eh?” Duan Ling spies a small animal dodging behind a pillar and walks quickly over. It’s a squirrel. When it hears footsteps it stops, turns around, and hesitatingly stares at Duan Ling.

“Animals in the mountains aren’t afraid of people,” Wu Du explains.

“Are there other people here?”

“No. Even back then it was just me, my master, his wife, and Shijie.”

Recalling the Xunchun who lost her life in Shangjing, Duan Ling lets out a sigh.

Once Wu Du finishes cleaning he adds, “Duan Ling, come. Let’s go meet the White Tiger.”

Duan Ling walks to the centre of the main hall, and looks up at a white tiger carved out of white marble enshrined in the altar. Its eyes are sunken as if gems used to be set in them, but they’re long lost, presumably stolen by thieves. A mottled, dilapidated mural of “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”3 has been painted on the wall behind it, with seven Weiqi pieces carved out of marble inlaid into the mural.4

“I’m the seventeenth generation disciple, successor of the lineage of poison,” Wu Du says to the white tiger statue, “current leader of the White Tiger Hall, Wu Du. I’m here today with the crown prince of the central plains.”

Duan Ling cannot help but be awestruck, and his back straightens at Wu Du’s words. Wu Du stands tall in front of the statue, holding the index and middle fingers of his left hand to the back of his right hand to bow as a part of a special ritual on his pilgrimage to the White Tiger. "Lord White Tiger, please bless …

“What’re you called again?” Wu Du pauses to ask Duan Ling.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du speechlessly. Wu Du stares silently back.

“What kind of a sect leader are you?” Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to tell him.

Wu Du whines, “That day you shocked me right out of my head, so how was I supposed to remember anything? Say it already.”

“Li Ruo, here to pay my respects,” Duan Ling takes one step forward. He knows that the White Tiger constellation is the god of soldiers and warfare, in control of everything that has to do with slaughter. He bows. “I pray for Great Chen to triumph in every battle, to be victorious in every war.”

Wu Du cracks a grin, and turns to the statue. “I pray you’ll bless and protect the crown prince of Great Chen, Li Ruo, and to allow him a smooth return to the imperial court.”

They each finish talking to the White Tiger, and afterwards, they look up together in silence, staring at the statue with its missing eyes. A draft brushes them by, pouring from the back of the main hall and rushing out the entrance, setting the fringes of their robes fluttering — as if a fierce tiger has just crossed the forest, setting all the leaves in the trees rustling.

“Where did its eyes go?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“No idea. It’s never had them as far as I can remember, so they must have been dug out long ago. Its eyes can’t see, but it can hear just fine.”

Duan Ling thinks, sounds like that’s true. Perhaps the breeze was its instruction.

Duan Ling has never had so much free time in his life before. That very afternoon, Wu Du takes the stairs down the mountain again to move the bedding and food from their boat to their lodgings. Duan Ling offers to help, but Wu Du just tells him to rest. As soon as he puts the stuff down on the platform he’s off again to the boat for more.

White Tiger Hall has a rear courtyard with a set of houses sectioned into east and west wings, while the main house was the place where Wu Du’s master and his wife used to live. Duan Ling spots an alchemy furnace, still filled with solidified cinnabar and some medicaments, a mixture of something now pitch black. The west wing is Xunchun’s room. Duan Ling opens the door and peers inside to find it filled with cobwebs and dust, devoid of anything else. The east wing is Wu Du’s room. It has one bed, two wooden shelves filled with old things, piled high with worn-eaten ancient tomes.

“What a pity,” Duan Ling says, “you had this many rare hand-copied books, but they got so damaged. Aren’t you worried that the knowledge will be lost?”

Wu Du has drawn water from a creek behind the main hall, and he’s cleaning the house with his sleeves rolled up. "Everyone’s gone. Whether the martial arts knowledge is passed on or lost, there’s no one left to care about that anymore.”

“What’s in here?”

“The elixirs master refined ages ago. He’d always wanted to live forever, follow the Dao and become an immortal. He used to be just fine, but after eating too much of that stuff he couldn’t even fight anymore. When the capital was under attack he took his wife with him and got off the mountain to reinforce the troops, and he should have been able to escape unscathed, but whatever blasted elixir he took stopped his qi from flowing when he needed it, and the Khitans shot him to death.”

“Where’s he buried? Should we go visit his grave?”

“The cenotaph is back there. After the capital was taken by Khitans, Shijie had someone bring back his clothes. We’ll go if we have time. There’s no hurry.”

Together, Duan Ling and Wu Du clean up the room. Wu Du says, “I don’t need any of that stuff. Just toss it all out.”

“No no, they’re too valuable.”

“I’m keeping it all in my head, you know. Don’t flip through them now, they’re dusty. If you do that you’ll sneeze.”

Duan Ling sneezes dramatically more than a dozen times before he manages to reorganise Wu Du’s books, putting them away nicely on the shelves. He plans to make a copy of everything when he has time, and that way it’ll help keep White Tiger Hall’s knowledge intact.

It’s getting closer to dusk. Wu Du has half finished cleaning the place. He gets a fire started then, and begins making dinner for Duan Ling.

Watching Wu Du busying himself, Duan Ling feels as though he’s back to being a little kid again. He recalls those words once said to him: there will always be people who disregard all else to be good to you, no matter who you are. If I’m not the crown prince of Southern Chen, would Wu Du still have brought me here?

Duan Ling ponders this, and comes to the conclusion that Wu Du probably would.

Spotting an antique, worn-out case under the shelves in the room, Duan Ling bends down to open the lock. Once it’s opened, he discovers that it’s filled with wooden puppets of horses and people, carved with a small knife. They must have been toys carved by Wu Du for himself when he was all alone as a little kid. Underneath the toys is a red cloth sack, and Duan Ling’s about to open it when Wu Du notices and says, “Um … Don’t touch that!”

Thinking that it’s some deadly poison, Duan Ling quickly puts it back, but Wu Du is hurrying into the room, a crimson blush in his cheeks as he puts the cloth sack back in the lowest level of the case.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” Wu Du looks a bit embarrassed, which only serves to make Duan Ling even more curious and to keep pestering him. Self-conscious, Wu Du leaves for the kitchen to get more water so he can start steaming the fish, but Duan Ling follows him around the whole time until he gives up under the badgering. “It’s a baby wrap.”

Duan Ling pauses for a moment before he breaks out in side-splitting laughter. Wu Du sounds a bit irritated. “Don’t laugh!”

A thought occurs to Duan Ling and he thinks he understands. “You wore it when you were little?”

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, “when the master’s wife found me, that cloth was the only thing on my person.”

“Was there a birth certificate? Your parents’ names?”

“No idea. Even if there was one, my master would have burned it.” Wu Du says without minding him, “Assassins can’t have mom and dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t know when your birthday is?”

“Well let’s just treat … the day she found me as my birthday.”

Duan Ling only comes to that realisation then. “Which day is it?”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything, and Duan Ling seems about to press him, so Wu Du can but tell him, “I’ll tell you when it comes up.”

Duan Ling stretches out his pinkie, and so Wu Du gives it a little shake with his own. “Go wait for dinner, but don’t run off. Maybe no one is going to kill you here but getting lost in the mountains is no joke.”

Wu Du limits Duan Ling’s roaming range to the area between the stone steps and plank walkways, extending all the way to the platform, and he can wander through the buildings of White Tiger Hall as well, but he can’t go to the mountains behind the halls. Duan Ling walks to the edge of the platform to view the clouds, where they flow like an ocean in the mountains; the mist has risen, and in the mountains it’s as quiet as the land of the immortals.

The racket and prosperity of Jiangzhou, the strife between people — all of it can be left behind for now. They all feel like nothing more than a dream Duan Ling had during an afternoon nap.

If he can stay here for the rest of his life, maybe no one will ever be able to find them?

If he stays here for the rest of his life, maybe he won’t ever have to worry about anything else anymore.

An idea occurs to Duan Ling as he stares out at the cloud sea. If he’s able to accomplish all his goals and retire in comfort someday, this will be his final and only resting place. After experiencing so much, there’s nothing happier than to live the rest of his life in peace, with someone by his side … as he thinks this he turns to look back inside White Tiger Hall. Wu Du just happens to be banging some metal together to make a clanging noise, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

“Scram! I’ll hit you!”

As Duan Ling heads inside, he sees Wu Du scaring off a monkey that’s come out of nowhere. The monkey wants to come closer and beg him for some food, but it doesn’t dare get too close. It stares at Wu Du with wide puppy eyes, then it turns them on Duan Ling. Duan Ling can’t help but laugh soundly, tossing it a bit of dry rations. The monkey immediately grabs it and runs off.

“There’s another one over there.” Duan Ling looks around and finds the big monkey rushing to give another, smaller monkey the food after it successfully begged for some.

“If you want food, eke out a living for yourself.” Wu Du jokes around. “If you want to be lord and master of the household, you’ve got to support your family.” Then Wu Du pushes against the great doors with his shoulder to close them.

During the evening, a solitary lamp swings back and forth in the mountain breeze, and beneath it the two of them have rice with plates of side dishes, along with the live fish they bought on the river. There’s even a couple of cups of wine to go with it.

After they finish drinking, Wu Du says to Duan Ling, “I’m going to take you somewhere. Let’s go.”

It happens to be a full moon tonight. Wu Du takes Duan Ling towards the mountains behind the halls, and they turn a corner through a narrow path, coming to the other side of the mountain where the sky seems to open up; the desolate wilderness of the mountains makes the moon look even brighter, and silvery light fills their vision.

Lit by moonlight, throughout the mountains, this is the only place planted full of peach trees; out in the mortal world peach blossom season has reached its end, but in the mountain temples they’re in full bloom. Amidst the mountain ranges the peach blossoms bloom in brilliant clusters, and the mountain breeze takes millions of petals off their branches to flutter beneath a bright moon.

“What do you think?” Wu Du asks with a smile.

Duan Ling is nearly unable to get any words out at all; he stares in a daze at the scenery before him.

“Only for about ten days every year,” Wu Du says, “do you get a view like this.”

“It’s too beautiful.”

Wu Du comes over to him, and they sit down on a rock together. He takes out his flute, and holds it to his lips. Music rings out, and in that instant, Joyful Reunion once more drags Duan Ling’s mind back into the faraway past.

When the song ends, Duan Ling and Wu Du quietly meet each other’s eyes.

Wu Du’s lips move imperceptibly, his breathing growing slightly urgent, and wearing nothing but an unlined robe and short pants, he’s sitting quite close to Duan Ling on the rock. Moonlight spills onto their snow white underclothes, and Duan Ling can vaguely make out the rugged and beautiful lines of Wu Du’s body.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says suddenly, “I … have something I want to say to you.”

Without knowing the reason for it at all, Duan Ling is starting to feel tense as well. “Wha—what?”

Wu Du looks down at him. They’re both quiet for at least several breaths, but then Wu Du is turning away to look towards the mountain streams, then up at the bright moon above, seemingly on edge.

“What did you want to say?” Duan Ling reaches out, his hand folding over the back of Wu Du’s hand, but Wu Du has turned his hand over to hold onto his.

“Do you …” Wu Du turns the thought over and over in his head before he appears to make up his mind and asks, “Do you like it here?”

Duan Ling smiles, and it’s like a million peach flowers blooming beneath the moonlight, how brilliant their blossoms.

“Earlier today I was just thinking,” Duan Ling tugs on Wu Du’s hand, “maybe someday I’ll just live here in the White Tiger Hall and never go back to the earthly world.”

“Oh no no,” Wu Du says immediately, “now that won’t do. I … you …”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling thinks about his duty, and that’s bound to be a heavy subject. He jests, “It’s just a thought.”

“No, that’s not …” Wu Du collects himself and says, “What I was thinking is that … aside from this place, I also want to take you … other places. And if you want … you can … take your time to pick, pick the place you love the most … anywhere is fine. The edge of the oceans, the ends of the earth, as long as you want to be there, I’ll be at your side.”

Duan Ling stares at him in startled silence.

“I … What I’m thinking is …” Wu Du doesn’t dare look at Duan Ling, and he can only stare off anywhere else, his handsome face turning crimson to his collarbones; even the skin under his tattoo is glowing red like he’s been drinking. His grip on Duan Ling’s hand grows tighter subconsciously and he stammers through his speech.

“Afterwards, I’ll also take you … to all those places you want to see. I’ll take you to Diannan, take you to … see the ocean. You … Shan’er, that day … when you called me ‘milord’, I know maybe you were just joking, but I’ve taken you here because I wanted to ask you … if you’re willing to … for the rest of our lives …”

By now Wu Du has already calmed down. The words have already left his mouth so he’s not going to be nervy anymore.

“In front of other people, you and I will be as we always were.” Wu Du doesn’t know where his courage is coming from, but he’s staring into Duan Ling’s eyes as he says solemnly to him, "Even if you’ve returned to the imperial court, I don’t need you to make me anything official. As long as you still think of me as you do in your heart today, I will find you the Zhenshanhe and guard you for the rest of your life, until the day I die.

“I know that in the future you’ll become the emperor. But I really … really … really want to be … with you …”

As he says this he’s getting nervous again. “I think … if you’re willing, I’ll definitely treat you well. Whenever we’re alone and there’s no one else around, I’ll … treat you … treat you as I would treat … my wife, and you’ll … yield to me as you would …”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, and Wu Du realises now that he’s still squeezing on Duan Ling’s hand and hurriedly lets it go. He reaches into a pocket in his robe and takes out a string of beads.

Wu Du unfolded his fingers, holding the beads in front of Duan Ling, and he moves his hand forward a little, as though he’s a mere humble human being presenting a tribute he made with all his heart, in a gesture more reverent than making an offering to the gods of their world.

The tribute is a bracelet strung with rosary peas.

Duan Ling’s cheeks turn scarlet in an instant as he comes to realise what Wu Du has left unsaid — to his surprise, Wu Du is wooing him. Even before this Duan Ling has had a vague feeling that this is the case, and the present moment is reminding him of that evening as the sun was setting, and Wu Du had taken his hand and told him all those things in the maple forest.

In a flash, the Duan estate’s dark woodshed, the snowstorm oppressive above the frozen Yellow River, those unfamiliar and gloomy days in Shangjing, a war that shook the earth beneath him, a night of panicked escape that feels like it happened yesterday, that harsh winter in Luoyang, his father’s death … in his mind these memories all shatter one by one.

They were each alone in the world as children, and now they’re beneath a sky filled with fluttering peach petals, silently facing each other.

In place of those memories are all those dreams once promised to him in that endless river of time, all those colourful, dazzling hopes, with the life he wants to lead.

Duan Ling seems able to see himself, and he’s able to see Wu Du as well — the Wu Du who grew up orphaned and alone is finally all grown up, and has made his way to him.

Wu Du’s hands have once solemnly taken hold of the sword that represents the last of the central plains martial artists; they have also blocked the sword that came at him with a force great enough to shatter the firmament itself outside Tongguan. But now they’re somehow overtaken by a slight but uncontrollable trembling.

“I …” Duan Ling takes a deep breath as he tries his best to restrain the excitement rushing about in his heart, but he notices that he’s unable to say anything at all. When he raises his eyes to meet Wu Du’s though, it seems Wu Du has come to a different conclusion. Noting that Duan Ling hasn’t taken the bracelet from him, his expression grows sad, and forcing a smile tinged with agony, he nods as though he already knew this would be the answer.

But to his surprise, instead of taking Wu Du’s bracelet, Duan Ling has thrown his arms around Wu Du’s neck, and closing his eyes, he leans in and presses his lips to Wu Du’s.

A mountain breeze blows by, sending a rustling through the leaves; flower petals scatter to fly through the air.

Wu Du’s eyes widen, and his entire body freezes as though he’s been struck by lightning. Not daring to move an inch, he holds the pose with their lips touching. When he comes to himself in the next moment, he stares at Duan Ling, his heart beating madly in his chest.

The two of them pull apart and Duan Ling takes Wu Du’s bracelet from him. He grips it between his fingers, breathing rapidly, wanting to say something but has no idea where to begin. They’re both red in the face, blood rushing through their ears, but Duan Ling is wearing a small, shy smile on his face.

And yet in the next moment, without a word at all, Wu Du gets up and runs into the forest of peach trees.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls him, but Wu Du isn’t stopping at all. In two shakes he’s run so far not even a shadow of him can be seen anymore.

Duan Ling stares into the dark speechlessly, no idea what’s happening, but when he chases over he finds Wu Du turning somersaults under a tree, following them with a sweeping kick and several punches, whipping up the leaves and flower petals so they flutter like a cloud around him.

Duan Ling laughs, and Wu Du suddenly turns around. When he realises that Duan Ling’s spotted him, he dodges behind a tree trunk.

Duan Ling puts on the bracelet. Meanwhile, Wu Du has closed his eyes with his back against a peach tree, revealing that slightly roguish yet captivating smile.

Duan Ling has no idea what he should say. It seems as though everything has changed through this one evening, and the scenery before him has taken on a special meaning. I actually kissed him earlier! Where did I find the courage to do that? Wu Du’s lips were scorching hot and soft, not at all the way he’d imagined them to be, and he’s still thinking about the sensation he had in the very instant he kissed him.

Wu Du turns his head to peer from behind the tree, and finds Duan Ling sitting on the rock, stock still, with his back to him, facing the mountain range and valleys beneath the moon.

Flute music begins again, but this time it’s an elated, cheerful melody. Duan Ling turns to look; Wu Du is standing beneath a tree, playing another tune that sounds like a folk song. A smile spreads over Duan Ling’s face.

“What song is that?”

When Wu Du finishes playing it, he puts the flute away and answers him with a smile, “Little Water Clock. I only ever heard the master’s wife play it once, so. I don’t even remember if that’s exactly how it goes.”5

Wu Du returns to his seat by Duan Ling’s side, and they look at each other, smiling without words.

Then, Wu Du turns a fraction, and reaches out to wrap his arm around Duan Ling’s waist. He puts his other hand over Duan Ling’s cheek, and with a slightest tilt of his head, he seals Duan Ling’s lips with a kiss.

Duan Ling touches Wu Du’s face; the bracelet is wrapped around that wrist.

This kiss lingers on and on, as though long suppressed emotions have finally breached the surface, and in the blink of an eye their feelings have transformed into a raging flood, thoroughly drowning them both.

Wu Du doesn’t want to let go of Duan Ling even for a moment; he has his arms wrapped around Duan Ling’s waist, and almost pressing him against the rock, licks into his mouth. Duan Ling feels his cheeks growing ever hotter under this assault, and as time drips by he’s more sure that Wu Du is growing more impertinent in his plunder.

Duan Ling really is getting way too nervous, and he can’t help but struggle. As he does, Wu Du loosens his hold on him and swallows, staring into his eyes as though he has also realised that he’s gone a bit overboard. He lets go of him at once and asks uneasily, “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. He’s not sure why, but the scene he spied in the Bouquet Pavilion is surfacing in his mind again and it really is too exciting. However, he can’t seem to accept something like that just yet.

“Let’s … head back.” Duan Ling thinks that if they’re going to kiss then they’d better kiss indoors — at least they’ll have a roof over their heads.

Wu Du has come to his senses as well and says, “It’s windy, you better not catch a cold. Let’s go.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du slot their fingers together, and holding hands they stroll leisurely through the mountain paths back to the house.

“Mi … lord.” Duan Ling suddenly remembers what he called him, and smiles at the thought.

Wu Du is finding that funny as well, and the corner of his mouth is turning up before he knows it. His gaze goes from Duan Ling to the path before them, a narrow path passing through a boundless cloud sea, shimmery with moonlight, cutting through towering mountains.

As they go to sleep at night, Duan Ling can’t help reaching out to touch Wu Du’s chest, and they’re wrapped in each other’s embrace again; Wu Du leans in and kiss him cautiously, their bodies rubbing against each other through two thin layers of cloth, both of them growing scorchingly hot. It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever done anything like this, and it just happens to be spring when brand new desires are starting to bloom, while Wu Du has been studying the martial arts for years, and with no avenue of release for his longing, his breath burns him, wishing he could hold on to Duan Ling and simply have his way with him.

They kiss and kiss again; Wu Du’s hand slides under Duan Ling’s waistband, but when it goes over the curve of his hip and reaches his ass, Duan Ling starts to gasp urgently, and Wu Du swallows.

“Do I have to … to … do that?” Without warning, Duan Ling suddenly feels a bit scared.

Sobering, Wu Du thinks about this for a moment. “It’ll hurt you a lot, so not right now. Let’s do that some other time.”

Duan Ling nods and relaxes somewhat. He holds onto Wu Du, studying his features. Wu Du gives him another kiss and whispers, “I can’t bear to hurt you.”

And so Duan Ling smiles again. They’re pressed up against each other, with that hard thing between their legs rubbing together through the thin cloth of their pants. Even if it’s behind a sheet of fabric Duan Ling can still feel how big and hard Wu Du is — so much bigger than his own. Duan Ling just thinks it feels so good to rub against him like this, and he’s getting wet down there as he does so.

Wu Du’s breathing trembles, feeling so good he shivers all over, and soon enough he decides to simply turn them so that Duan Ling is beneath him, so that his weight is pressed down on Duan Ling as he kisses his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth.

After embracing each other for a while, they both somehow feel calmer, and neither of them say anything at all, just stare into each other’s eyes. Wu Du still can’t help smiling. “It’s like I’m dreaming.”

They’ve been kissing each other over and over yet Duan Ling isn’t prepared to do this or that … but he feels somewhat curious about it after all. “Does it really hurt a lot? Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. Zheng Yan was the one who said that … yeah.”

“He’s tried it?”

Wu Du isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He reaches into Duan Ling’s shirt, touching him until it tickles. Duan Ling’s hands are behind Wu Du’s neck though, so he has no way of fighting back, and all he can do is beg for mercy repeatedly until Wu Du lets up. “He’s a ne’er do well who has a tendency to paw at pretty young men. I’ve been told that if you’re not careful it can hurt a lot. I don’t want you to develop a fear of it. When we get home I’ll get some … uh … at any rate I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Duan Ling understands now, and comes to think that is perhaps true. But he thinks that’s fine too — Wu Du’s tall figure pressing down against him gives him an overwhelming feeling of safety.

“I’ll take you home too, in the future,” Duan Ling whispers, his eyes roaming over Wu Du’s handsome features.

“You’ll go back some day.”

Wu Du thought Duan Ling was talking about the palace, but what Duan Ling meant was Xunyang. He’ll go there with Duan Ling at some point also. It’s springtime in Xunyang right now; the flowers must have already bloomed.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

From Du Fu’s poem, 望嶽 / “Mountain Gazing”. ↩︎

You can see the painting here. ↩︎

Also known as Go. ↩︎

The original here actually says Little Water Clock · Golden Hairpin, but the first part is the melody, while the second part is the lyrics. Golden Hairpin is a poem about love. ↩︎

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vii

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 3.2k

part 6 ⚬ part 7 ⚬ part 8 (coming soon)

untouchable m.list

—

“Here ya go.”

Osamu sets down a small cup of water, letting it clink against the bar’s granite surface. There’s no ice in it, but you can tell by the condensation on the glass that it’s cold. Osamu tosses a plastic straw toward you and it lands conveniently right next to your cup.

Throwing him a quick smile, you reach to take a sip but pause when you hear the click and gentle hiss of a drink can.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

It’s a reminder of street vending machines and roadside shops. Of summer walks on hot pebbled pathways and after-class escapades with old high-school friends. 

But, just to be sure, you glance over to study the object in the hands of the man next to you.

Yes, you confirm, Miya Atsumu has indeed brought a can of green tea into his brother’s restaurant. And, yes, you are quite amused.

You choke down the rising laughter in your chest, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. This is the dorkiest thing you think you’ve ever seen on a not-date before.

 “Where the hell were you hiding that?” You tilt your head, leaning toward him to get a closer look at the drink.

“You’ll see.” Completely unfazed, he reaches for his coat, which hangs on the back of the chair, and digs into the pocket…

And, if what you’re seeing is true, he’s just fished out a second can. The paper covering the aluminum has a pink, floral print and reads, “Matcha-” but his thumb covers the rest of the lettering.

“What? Did you want one?” Atsumu tilts his head and places the can next to your water glass.

You stare at it, curious about two things. 

The first thing being his massive fucking pockets. They must be something of a void for him to fit two whole cans in the same pouch. Well, it’s more like you assume they were contained in a single pocket. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed a sloshing, aluminum object bumping up against your side as you two walked arm-in-arm.

The second thing that struck you is that he actually thought to bring two. Did he plan on drinking both? Was it originally for his brother? Or did he intend to offer you one right from the start? 

You do happen to like this brand of tea.

Atsumu leans back into his chair, tossing an arm over the back of the seat. “My friend tells me it’s good for digestion,” he explains and takes a sip.

“My digestion is just fine, thanks. You can keep it.” 

Your eyes crease in mirth. He has some interesting friends, that’s for sure. And why does he care about digestion? He’s fit and muscular and... is he constipated or something?

Yeah, that’s not something you should ask about.

“I’m gonna try not to imagine what else you could be hiding in those pockets,” you say, twisting your face in concern and pinching your eyebrows together.

Atsumu grimaces, shifting in his seat. “Did ya have to say it like that?” 

“I think I have every right to say it like that. You could be a freak for all I know.”

“Um, I think it’s entirely possible that you’re the freak here.” He shoots right back at you through mock-judgmental eyes.

Your jaw drops in amused surprise. You shove his arm playfully, but his balance hardly wavers. He grins in response, golden eyes glimmering. Your hand lingers briefly as you mimic his smile, but you notice and drop it quickly.

“Gettin’ comfortable now aren’t we?”

A faint flush dances across your skin. Maybe you were being a little touchy… but flirting hasn’t been this fun in so long. Anyway, he was the one who had you walking arm-in-arm with him earlier.

That thought alone makes your heart jump.

You look away, grasping the straw in your glass and twirling it around. “You got all comfy first,” is all you can huff out.

“Well, yeah.” Atsumu places an elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand, “I mean, this is a date isn’t it?” He takes another sip of his drink, acting as though what he said wasn’t headline news.

Huh?

So apparently this whole not-a-date but possibly-a-date situation had an obvious answer… to Atsumu that is. It still felt about as clear as rocket science to you though.

“Is it?” The words flow from your lips before you can stop them.

He blinks. “Hm.” 

You swallow, “Is this a date?” 

He gestures a hand at the two of you, “I mean... I thought it was.”

Well, yes. You’re both sitting across from each other. Neither of you knows the other well. Atsumu had taken you to his brother’s restaurant.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour screams, “date.”

And, yet, it’s all too strange.

Suddenly the wooden barstool is much less comfortable. You readjust, crossing your dangling legs. You can hear every uneven as it leaves your body - hopefully his ears aren’t too keen.

Did you really change the atmosphere with just a few words?

Should you have assumed that this was a date from the beginning? But you were protecting yourself… 

Thank God Osamu is in the back right now. You don’t think you could handle someone else (especially your date’s brother) hearing this conversation. The embarrassment would be way too real.

“But if you’re not okay with it bein’ a date, then that’s okay.” Atsumu is quick to speak, straightening up in his chair. “I probably forgot to clarify…” He searches your gaze for any change in reaction.

Yeah, he’s probably not adept at these sorts of situations. But neither are you.

There’s a noticeable tint to his cheeks. You’re sure it must burn because your own face has already burst into flames. Great, you’ve made him feel like he’s screwed up. 

Atsumu mumbles a quiet “shit” under his breath, which would’ve found funny if it weren’t for your own pounding heartbeat.

Dammit, how can you salvage this? You might as well be fanning a flame at this point. If you weren’t careful, you could burn this entire opportunity to the ground. 

“Ah, that’s not what I mean,” You respond, waving your hands out in front of you, “I just- I don’t know, you never said anything about it being a date over text, so I just assumed it wasn’t. Not that I would mind it being one...”

If you keep talking, the words will only get more muddled. You clamp your mouth shut so as to not say anything ridiculous.

Suddenly, the blank wall opposite the blonde is very interesting. Maybe if you survive the next 5 minutes you’ll suggest that ‘Samu add some art pieces to soften the stark white paint. It might also make avoiding eye-contact a little easier.

Despite not wanting to face him, you can’t exactly ignore the man sitting an arm’s length away from you. You glance back to him, bracing yourself for a face wrought with confusion.

But Atsumu looks… amused? Relieved? The lines of worry on his forehead have smoothed back out.

Well, whatever emotion he’s conveying, it’s better than the ones you saw earlier.

“Alright, then how about you tell me whether you want this to be a date or not?”

You bite your lip in thought. Partly because a male has just respectfully asked you if you’d like to go on a date (a date you’re already on.) That, in itself, is a rare sight indeed. 

But mostly because he actually wants to go on a date with you.

Did you really meet him only a month ago? Was he ever a stranger to you?

He’s a little too friendly for that. But friendly isn’t the right word. Atsumu is understanding. And simple… but in a good way. Things are smooth like velvet when you’re around him.

You, who’s been shit out of luck over the past few years. You, who had to frantically accept a less than ideal job after moving away from your entire support system. You, who tried to abate loneliness with blind dates and Tinder matches... but only ever ended up shoving breadsticks in a bag before escaping through the backdoor of a mediocre restaurant.

After all the tears and life changes and dating apps and heartbreak, you finally have a choice that you can make by yourself without any serious repercussions.

And it’s a simple yes or no question.

“I’m gonna say, yeah. This is a date.”

A grin that could light up the city of Tokyo spreads across his face. You don’t know why he’s so happy, but it’s making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grabs his drink, taking another sip.

Even you can feel the earnest smile on your face reaching your eyes. 

“So, can I ask ya somethin’?”

You sit up in silent anticipation. “Uh… sure.”

Atsumu clears his throat, looks away from you and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. Given Atsumu’s display of nerves, someone watching from the outside might think that this man was either about to break up with you or propose marriage.

Thank God it couldn’t be either of those things. But your hands clasp at your thighs anxiously anyway.

“Why’d you want to see me again?”

You find yourself holding your breath, letting his question sink in. 

It’s a good question. An important question. Why exactly are you here? With him?

You’re usually better about setting your intentions before you dive into something new. Plotting out big decisions has saved your ass a multitude of times.

But this opportunity fell into your lap at the most peculiar of times.

In all honesty, you didn’t give his request too much thought. Hell, you didn’t even ask him if he’d give you time to think about your decision. 

Thinking back, you really should’ve been way more careful… but you’re already here.

You lean back into your chair and meet his gaze head-on. 

“Do you want an honest answer? Or would you rather me make something up?” You ask, a glimmer in your eye.

“Oh, yeah I love bein’ lied to, go right ahead.” He throws you a look through squinted eyes.

You laugh, “I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“And you’d be right.” Atsumu’s chin sinks back into his hand, awaiting your honest answer.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, leaning back into your chair and relaxing your body.

It’s best to keep things brief - you’d hate to overwhelm him with your own life. And something tells you he has his own complicated shit to deal with. 

“I’ve had a rough few years here and my social life is about as interesting as a brick right now.” You glance over to him, “Plus you seemed a little weird. But fun.”

This is all true. But there’s so much more you’d like to say.

Stuff like, 

“You’re so easy to be around.”

“Your voice is comforting.”

“I’ve felt like shit but you’ve given me something good to think about.”

“I feel a little less lonely lately and I think it’s because of you.”

But you know that would be overstepping some major boundaries. You’d play it cool and keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

“A bit blunt, but I’ll take it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re pretty blunt yourself.” You fake a frown, but can’t suppress your smile for long.

“Okay, sure, I’m not the most tactful… but you should’ve seen me in high school.” He sighs, eyes growing fuzzy with memories. 

But he’s quick to snap back to the present.

You snort. “I bet you were a hoot.”

Osamu’s voice rings from the back, “He was a lot more than that.”

So he was listening in, your cheeks burn a little at the thought. 

“Oi, shaddup, ‘Samu.” He lifts his head, calling back with a playful growl in his voice.

“I have video evidence, don’t tempt me to share it,” Osamu warns, but he gets back to business.

Your eyebrows raise. Now that’d be fun to see.

He notices your curiosity but is quick to furrow his brows. “Oh, no, no. I want you to get to know me, but not that well,” Atsumu says, slightly perturbed. 

“Not yet, at least.” He adds, after a few seconds.

Your eyes soften. 

That makes sense. 

Although, you hadn’t even expected him to show you the videos. You’d just wanted to tease him a little since that seems to be something he’s very comfortable with. You like that it’s a “not yet” instead of a “never,” though.

But instead of continuing this part of the conversation, you divert to asking his question back to him.

“Well, I think it’s your turn to tell me why you asked me out.”

And you swear you must’ve just said something ridiculous because he looks hilariously surprised. Like a deer in headlights. A jammed highway of car-headlights with the brights on full blast.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that he hadn’t even thought about it. That or he didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, you deserve to know at least this much. You wait with your hands placed patiently in your lap and a trained indifference in your eyes.

—

Okay, so maybe he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.

Atsumu knows he has a good reason for asking you out… he really does. 

But it wasn’t the kind of reason one could eloquently verbalize. I mean, shit, what does Atsumu do that is eloquent?

It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. 

But he’s sure if he told you that he wanted to date you based on “instinct” that you’d laugh and promptly flee the restaurant like a prison escapee jumping the walls holding them captive.

He pulls himself together because he’s sure you can sense his discomfort. He’s never been great at disguising his emotions - he’d only ever learned to mask them with nonchalance and angry outbursts… and that’s a no-go when it comes to the press. Atsumu had to drop those reactions like a hotcake.

“I…” he swallows but gives a wry smile, “Y’see… I live a bit of a complicated life.”

He scans your face like he’s searching for his next words within your eyes. But you’re must be a blank page because they don’t come to him.

“Okay, now, don’t go telling me you’re wanted for some sort of federal crime.” You tease him as your lips brush against your straw, lightening the atmosphere in the process.

Atsumu’s lips open to let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “Ah, ya got me. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” He responds dryly.

“That’s so sad. And I really thought this was going well, too.” You hum and take a sip of water.

He clears his throat, loosening his shoulder with a stretch. For someone who’s lived most of his adult life in the limelight, he hasn’t had to talk about it much. People either know he’s famous or they don’t.

You’re so kind. You listen well. There’s something about you that he’s magnetized by. Something that continuously draws him back in.

So if you were to learn about his life and see him differently? It would be a door slamming into his face, sealing his fate to be a really fucking lonesome bachelor. Which is a funny concept until you are the lonely bachelor.

So what exactly is he supposed to tell you?

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his hair… but he freezes before he can run his fingers through it.

Because the words are coming to him like a lone flower petal drifting to the ground. Soft and solemn.

He asked you out because his chest hasn’t ached like this in so long.

The warmth you’ve brought him in such a short time flares inside of him; why should those flames to die down anytime soon?

Because when’s the last time he spoke with somebody new and felt so normal? He’d never craved simple conversation back in high school. Even in his early 20’s, he’d just been searching for quick flings and easy getaways - those were easy to manage and feelings almost never got involved.

But being with you is like honey to hot, bitter tea. Like chowing down on a hot meal when he’s hungry.

No, it’s not easy to explain, but your presence is somehow satiating to his soul. Osamu even said that he’s been “less of a dick” since he started talking with you, so that must count for something.

You don’t need to know all of that. That’d be really weird. But if you were already being honest with him (even if you hadn’t spilled your entire life’s story) then he can be honest with you. 

But with this groundbreaking realization comes the hard part. Saying it out loud. And while he’s sometimes smooth in terms of flirting, he’s absolute shit at explaining himself.

The words come out slow and awkward. “I’ve been havin’ a hard time with… people.” 

Okay, that’s not at all what he meant to say. 

There are a million things you could’ve gleaned from that useless sentence. ‘I have a hard time with people?’ I mean, if that didn’t sound like a red flag, then what does?

“Oh, really?” Your eyes are wide and thoughtful and he swears he sees a glint of amusement flash through them. 

Shit, this would be harder than he thought. 

“Well, dating in particular, but that’s because my life is out of wack.” He presses on, but it only comes out worse.

Maybe he should’ve taken that communications class back in high school. It would’ve saved his ass in his interviews and, more importantly, here.

You nod along, folding your arms. “Mhmm.”

It’s both unfair and such a relief that you’re finding his verbal blunders funny. 

“Okay, gimme a minute, this is comin’ out all wrong.”

“Take your time,” you smile and your eyes crinkle. “I’ll be here all night.” 

But is it possible to soften what he’s about to say? To give you something to chew on rather than a bunch of information to choke on?

Being candid with you is the only fair way to do this. If he isn’t straightforward with you, you could end up getting hurt. Even being with you here at his brother’s restaurant is a risk — he should’ve thought through that decision better too. Not that he visits his brother there in person much, but it’s still not a gamble he likes to make.

Anyway, what’s done is done. He’s just got to tell you.

Atsumu sits up, resting his clenched fists on his thighs and knitting his brows together.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

You shift in your seat, mouth closed and eyes fixed on his. There’s a tension in your posture, but he tries not to let it deter him.

“But I’m...”

—

[heauxzenji]

Hot Fuss, Full Panic

Pink Lips: Semi Eita x f!Reader

Warnings: this banner being bad, alcohol/drinking, sex under the influence but really it’s like maybe 2 shots for liquid courage- idk of lipstick counts as marking but fuck it we ball, unprotected sex, sex outside... in an alleyway, orgasm denial on his end, semi calls reader ‘toots’ yay sleazy musicians

Wc: 2.7k... well 2698 to be exact but we round up in this house

A/N: yes this is named after both a killers album and a lipstick. For the lovely Two in the Pink, One in the Kink Collab by the Sewer. I loved writing this it’s been done for weeks now and I’m so excited to see everyone else’s! Check the mlist here and support all the other creators, bc it’s v sexy! ~squeak squeak~ 💕

“You all alone tonight?”

“I’m alone every night, Sem,” you chuckled, continuing to clamor through empty glasses, wiping the sticky, rum-coated bar clean. Knowing him by name, you quickly poured up his usual gently sliding it his way. Jameson & Ginger Ale, for nights when he performs- any other time he’d get through the night on a few Dark n’ Stormys, saving at least 2 Kamikazes for you throughout the night until he stumbled back into whatever sewer hot pseudo-troubled musicians came from- probably one downtown, not too far from you.

“Well yeah, but no one’s bought you a shot tonight…”

He raised the glass to his lips, slowly knocking back down the stiff one you poured. He grimaced, clearing his throat and pushing the glass back toward you, blowing out a whistle as he cleared his throat.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t think anyone would like it if their date bought the bartender a shot.”

He pointed to the silver bottle of Milagro on the top shelf, sending you a wink. Taking the hint, you let out a half laugh- grabbing two double shot glasses and tiny slivers of lime, pouring both glasses to the rim.

“To a day just like any other,” you sighed, leveling yourself with him. Your disdain for February 14th was just as palpable as the months of innuendo laced conversation and shared shots with the local band’s d-list ‘celebrity’ frontman- the mutual desire pulling ahead by just a hair.

“To a wallet full of tips and a bar full of people getting lucky,” he shot back, tapping his glass with yours. The tequila was smooth, but being your first shot of the night, the burn was present and crisp as it went down, sending a shiver up your back. You slapped the shot down, pink lipstick stain imprinting the glass as you harshly sucked down your lime. Semi slid a $20 across the bar to you. As you neatly tucked it in your bra and took the glasses, he stood up to adjust his shirt and get his bearings.

“Have a good set!” you called after him. But he was already in the crowd. A sliver of light expanded and disappeared as you watched him slip into the backstage opening.

“Here ya go boys- on the house.”

The small tray you carried into the bar’s makeshift green room was filled with glasses of pink drinks, each adorned with a little lime slice and sugared rim.

“Pink Whitney… how original,” one of his bandmates remarked, knocking back the glass and setting it on top of a rusted filing cabinet.

“Be grateful,” you scoffed. “It’s the only thing I could manage to sneak past here for free.”

A chorus of sighs and clinking glasses resounded in the room, reassuring you the band would be happy regardless of what drew alcohol you bought them for the night. As long as the guys had an ounce of liquid courage before their set, you knew it’d go off without a hitch. You noticed one of the glasses still full on your tray- and Semi was nowhere in sight.

“Hey where’s-“ you started to ask, not really expecting an answer.

“Probably out back smoking,” a voice answered before you could even get his name past your lips. Picking up the small offering, you had half the mind to guzzle the glass down on your own- after all, it was already starting to water itself down. You poked your head up against the tiny door window, peering out slightly before sticking your head out to find the musician in the middle of his usual pre-show activities.

“There you are.” You spotted him.

He was leaning against the wall of the brick paved alleyway, cigarettes pursed between his lips.

“You shouldn’t be smoking those y’know,” you teased, bounding over to him. Finishing his drag, his smoke plumed into the crisp night air. His eyebrow cocked toward you as he placed it back to his lips. Gingerly, your own fingers scissored around the white tube, pulling it from his mouth and bringing it to your own lips with a soft smile, taking a deep inhale.

“They’re bad for your voice,” you exhaled away from his face and into the night. The mouthpiece was now coated in the same rosy markings as your shot glass. You stamped it out, much to his dismay.

“You got something better?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

With a pursed-lipped smile, you pushed the pink concoction to his lips, the sweat from the ice causing the sugar to run down the rim and over your hands. As Semi sucked the drink down, the glass was ripped from his lips and replaced by two of your saccharine coated digits. His tongue suckled your fingers as you pulled them out with a wet smack, neatly tucking them into your own mouth, then trailing the hand down your body to dry at the hem of your skirt. Your eyes fell just in front of his, glossed over in a heavily lecherous gaze. His lips found yours suddenly, hungrily- the fading flavor of pink lemonade and sugar on both your tongues as his body caged yours into the wall. Your face felt hot and your head was barely swimming from the rush of the shots you’d taken prior, but the surprise of the contact had knocked enough air out of you that you were gasping into the kiss, clawing at the back of his dip-dyed head of hair. The small glass in your hand slipped through your fingers, shattering and sending shards scattering against the asphalt beneath you.

The back door swung open, a head peeking out just enough behind the frame.

“Yo, Semi!” It was one of his bandmates, sticking his head out of the door. “Hurry it up we’re on in 10!”

He clamped a head over your mouth, sticking his head back to yell unintelligibly- or at least you couldn’t hear with the blood rushing to your ears and heartbeat pounding in your head. The loud thud of the heavy door tore through your spine, snapping you back into this present moment: the one in which you’d basically just made out in a cold, damp alleyway with Eita Semi- on Valentine’s Day. Of all days, you just had to do something about the months of mounting sexual tension between you two… on Valentine’s Day.

He moved his hand, freeing your lips as he checked to see how clear the coast was before turning back to you.

“I think I can get you there in 8,” the way he whispered reverberated in your chest and core almost simultaneously. His lips connected to your neck, slowly tracing upward, stopping to nip at your earlobe.

“Whaddaya say?”

He was telling you more than asking at this point, closing the finite space between you and already starting to slowly hike up your skirt with his fingertips. His eyes had become tenfold darker than originally, and the head rush you were feeling left you little to no time to oblige, not that you didn’t want to anyway. Your head began to loll to the side as it flew back, allowing him more access to your neck, his tongue gliding against the exposed skin while his calloused fingers began toying at your already exposed, and already slick pussy. You were putty in his hands at that point- no matter if you never wore underwear in the first place.

“Fuck,” Semi hissed against your collarbones. “No panties and you’re already nice and wet for me, hm? What a nasty little thing… good girl.”

He traced the pad of his index finger up and down your slit, collecting your essence as you shuddered yet again under his tough, a soft whine spilling from your throat. He couldn’t hold back a laugh, teasing you gently while grinding his bulging cock into the soft flesh of your exposed thighs. Your hands balled at the fabric of his shirt as you lifted it just enough to find his belt buckle, fidgeting with it and having absolutely no care for the heavy metal pieces rapping against your knuckles- if anything the small twinges of pain only added to the euphoria you were already starting to drown in.

“Hurry it up Y/N, we only got 7 minutes left…”

Obeying his command you unzipped his jeans, immediately hooking your thumb between the waistband of his boxers and the skin of his lower abs. You started to sink to your knees as you freed his cock from the confines that held him, mouth already watering. Just as you parted your lips, though, a harsh tug of your hair pulled you back onto your feet, spinning you and pressing your face against the cold brick. Your skirt was now pulled completely up and at your hips as Semi pushed your back down, arching you at his perfect level and holding your arm behind your back.

“Ah-ah,” he reprimanded with a smirk, sending two rough slaps to the meat of your ass. “Not enough time for that toots- maybe after the show.”

He lined himself up with your now glistening hole, teasing it with the tip for a few swipes before beginning to prod at your pretty pink insides. The stretch was slow and searing, but you were so wet that your walls immediately sucked him in, offering barely to no resistance. Your face pushed impossibly further into the wall in front of you as he started to build up an even pace, the head of his cock just barely grazing against the spot inside of that would render you absolutely and irrevocably cockdrunk.

“S-sem-ah-fuck!” Just as you started to speak he pulled out completely, arching your back even more as he buried himself deep in your aching pussy. Your back arched like that of a cat’s- leaning into the sensation with a wild, lewd mewl. He was speeding up now, groaning as he watched you coat his cock with a milky white sheen.

“That’s it,” he spanked you several more times, coaxing you to fuck yourself on his length as he spread your ass apart for a better view. “You think you can get yourself off on my cock in 5 minutes? C’mon, you can do it- go ahead, it’s all yours…”

You felt yourself growing even slicker at his words, his voice was like velvet and he wasn’t even singing. You started working your hips so fervently, so earnestly against him that the pace you were going had you white knuckling the railing next to you for stability as he continued to pull you down onto him with the hand behind your back. The smacking of skin against skin filled the air of the dark, damp alley, echoing out into the street as you could see the hazy lights of cars passing by though your eyelashes. His hands found your hair, pulling you up and back into him, matching the speed of his own thrusts to yours.

You could barely get out anything other than choked out moans and gasps. As you got closer and closer to your high, you started to feel dizzier and dizzier. You could feel your insides slowly starting to flutter as your conquest slipped from where you needed him, the displeased moan was halfhearted as he flipped you back around, closely holding your head into his chest.

Semi hoisted your leg up, holding it up at the knee, pushing the head of his cock just past your gleaming lips, walls greedily pulling him in with a slick smacking sound made by your wetness.

“Please, I’m so close- ‘mso fucking close,” you sobbed, rubbing your face against his chest. He smelled like cigarettes, cardamom and sweat. Combined with the carnal scent of sex wafting through the outside air, you gritted your teeth as your walls started to spasm and clench around him.

“Good girl, ngh- good fucking girl.” His praise had you spilling over, gushing over his cock with a shrill cry of his name into the night. He didn’t ease up, fucking you though the high, clutching you closer as your body went limp on your comedown.

“Time’s up, toots- but I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

Your breath was shaky and haggard as he pulled out of you, neatly trying to tuck his still hard cock into his pants. You were too hazy to make a point at how he hadn’t cum, but he helped you into your feet and up the stairs leading back to the green room. He picked up his guitar, swinging open the door and letting you go through first, leaving you sprinting on wobbly legs to your post at the bar.

“Y/N!” He called after you. You whipped your head back, mouth still ajar and eyes glossed over as your thighs continued to tremble.

“Stick around after we finish the set- I’ve still got to get what I want,” he said, flashing you a smile dripping with self- righteousness.

You still nodded though.

Creeping back behind the bar, you stopped just in time to not be noticed by the other 2 girls working with you that night, falling right into the chaos and clamor of everyone getting a drink before the house lights started to dim.

The lights on staged tuned a neon pink as Semi and his band took the stage, the chorus of screaming fans and adoring groupies filled the small space so much so that it felt like a stadium show, so much for the feeling of being a small town secret.

“Hey everyone, we are Hot Fuss”, he said into the mic, the cheers once again following as he set up with his guitar, the strap resting softly against the three undone buttons of his shirt- the shirt covered in the soft pink that previously adorned your lips. It was Everywhere, perfect little smeared kiss-marks, ever present reminders of how he had you bent over in an alleyway not even five minutes earlier, fucking you within an inch of your sanity. He shifted the guitar to rest behind him, exposing his chest, and the perfect imprint of your lips adorned his soft skin, the light giving it a glow almost, another round of mostly feminine squeals pierced the air again as someone whistled at the sight of Semi’s tousled physique.

“What’d you get up to Tonight, Semi-Semi?” His drummer teased, egging on the crowd. Your cheeks were so hot you felt like you’d melt. Semi just laughed, taking a soft strum while tuning his guitar onstage, leaning into the microphone and sending a look toward the back of the bar.

“I’m just dressed for the theme,” he joked, winking at several girls in the crowd. He strummed a couple more notes, pushing up against the microphone stand- and showing of his still present bulge, thick as the mic handle in his hand.

“We’re very grateful that all of you chose to be here tonight instead of getting laid,” he began, keeping the banter engaging while the rest of the band continued to set up.

“The night is young though, I guess.  And hey, the bar’s still open,” he looked back again, this time seeming to scan for you. You could feel him on your skin still, his touch was feather light, yet lingered on your skin so heavily.

“Ask your bartenders to help you get lucky!” The crowd laughed again, this time earning a lot of raunchy cheers from the men in the audience.

“All right enough shooting the shit though, you all came here for music, right?”

Loud applause filled the bar again as you stopped to watch him, propping your elbow up and onto the bar, fixating your eyes to see him in the shades of pink across a sea of heads.

“Well then let’s do it. Our first song for the night is very fitting…”

He found you. Your eyes locked on one another and stayed still. You could feel your heart freeze as you ran cold. He winked at you.

“Sing along if you know this one… it’s called Valentine.”

[dameronology]

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’) 

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work 

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it 

enjoy 

- jazz 

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth. 

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse. 

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you. 

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain. 

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life. 

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you. 

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore 

‘You look like shit.’  

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before. 

 The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once. 

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured. 

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally. 

 ‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way. 

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead. 

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you. 

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured. 

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

-- 

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing. 

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony. 

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be. 

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably. 

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’ 

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it. 

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it. 

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day. 

 There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities. 

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about. 

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye. 

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.  

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’ 

‘Mmm?’ 

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’ 

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’ 

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’ 

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

--

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter. 

That was the problem. 

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be. 

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever? 

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find. 

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you? 

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing. 

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked. 

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him. 

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’ 

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. 

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked. 

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later. 

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now. 

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.  

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either. 

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed. 

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around. 

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.  

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human. 

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost. 

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

[scuttling]

Heatwave

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 2,854 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Temperature play, Oral sex, Dom/sub, Unprotected sex, Hand jobs, Sex toys, Thirsty Hotch Summary: The East Coast is currently experiencing a heatwave, and so is Aaron Hotchner.

The East Coast is currently experiencing a heatwave, and so is Aaron Hotchner.

Temperatures are in the nineties in the daytime, seventies at night, and Sophie has taken to wearing the shortest shorts and skirts anywhere she can get away with it—tight spandex shorts at the park, black denim skirt at the bar, pretty embroidered shorts when they go out on a date, high-waisted pajama shorts around the house… Even the cocktail dress she wears when he takes her out to dinner is absolutely minuscule. (He absently wonders if he could get away with fingering her under the table cloth, but he doesn’t want to end up on the nightly news, so he doesn’t test the theory.)

Her hair has been almost exclusively up, too—he knows she’s self-conscious when the humidity makes it frizzy, but he loves it because that’s part of her—and he gets to nip and nibble at her throat more often than usual throughout the day, lick it and bite it in bed… the point is, he’s hot and horny all the time, and according to channel 4, there’s no end in sight.

That night, they eat cold leftover Chinese for dinner because they don’t want to cook anything, heat anything, or touch anything hot, and then they strip down and lay on top of their bed with the fan blowing on them, because even with AC, the bedroom is a nightmare.

That, of course, inevitably leads to sex, because he’s been insatiable, eyes always on her bare, toned legs, which lead up to her perfect ass, which is almost always threatening to peek out of whatever pair of shorts she’s wearing—honestly, he should be commended for even continuing to go to work everyday and not just keeping her home so he can have his way with her 24/7. He’s fairly certain that anyone who’s seen her would understand if he did.

“Oh, baby,” he sighs as she moves on top of him, rubbing her pussy over the length of his dick, her fingertips pressing back against his thighs. She’s very wet, sliding over him easily, and he aches with the urge to lift her up, slip inside, and let her fuck him until she can’t support herself for a second longer, until her thighs quake with effort.

She wants slow, though, this evening, and he’s gotten his way a lot lately, so he just rubs her knees and studies the way her mouth falls open when she grinds against the head.

“Feels so good,” she breathes, rolling her hips, flexing her fingers. One long, curly strand of hair has broken free of her messy bun, and he reaches up to tuck it behind her ear, then runs his palms over her damp throat, her breasts, her stomach, earning a groan. “Feels good but you’re like, 200 degrees,” she says, closing her eyes with a soft laugh.

“Aw, baby’s too hot,” he pouts, teasing her, and she opens her eyes, tilts her head playfully.

“At least the heat is only affecting my body; I’m pretty sure it’s melting your brain.”

He’s pretty sure she’s right, but there are at least one or two good ideas still rattling around in there; he moves his hands to her back, rolls them over, presses her arms down against the bed.

“Be right back. Don’t move.”

When he returns with two glasses—one with ice water, one with ice cubes—she’s lying just where he left her, and her tongue sweeps over her lips at the sight of him.

(Maybe her brain is a little bit melted, after all.)

“Whatcha gonna do with that?” she asks, a little breathless, and he takes a sip of water, grins, leans down for a kiss that makes her shiver. “Mmm. My brilliant man.”

“Even when the rest of my brain is useless, you can rest assured I’ll figure out a way to get you off happily,” he murmurs in her ear, and she grins for him, so sexy.

Since she wants slow, he starts by trailing an ice cube from the inside of her wrist to the inside of her elbow, then up to her shoulder. Her breath hitches, and she looks up at him like she wants to skip the foreplay and be pinned down by him—which he would happily oblige, any other time, but he really wants to watch her squirm.

He slides his ice over her collarbone, then up the long line of her throat; his mouth follows that trail, and she moans, turns her face toward his for a kiss. He repeats it all on her other side—throat, shoulder, arm, wrist—and then pops what’s left into his mouth and leans in for a kiss.

“Think I’m gonna come just from that,” she pants against his lips, and he smirks a little, pleased with himself.

“You can, if you want to, but I’d pace yourself.” She tips her head back, groans, and he nips at her chin.

The next piece of ice is just for teasing: he draws a line down between her breasts, her stomach, but doesn’t slip it over her nipples like he knows she’s aching for. He drags it over her left hip bone, down her thigh, all the way to her foot, and then finishes the circuit along the right side of her body. There’s just a little left, and he sits her up, presses it to her lips, pushes it inside her mouth, and kisses her until it’s gone.

When he pulls back to look into her eyes, it’s clear she’s become completely submissive, without him even trying. His cock is so fucking hard.

He nestles a cube into her bellybutton—her stomach muscles are trembling—and they both just wait, breathing, until the heat of her skin melts it; it drips down her pussy, one long line of icy cold sensation that’s enough to make her shudder and come, clutching at his arm. “Oh, god,” she gasps softly, looking up at him, and he gently presses his lips to hers.

“I’m just getting started, baby girl. I warned you to pace yourself.” He grabs a pillow, lays it behind her back, and guides her against it so she can be a little more comfortable; when she’s settled in, he takes another ice cube, slowly traces it around her breast, drawing a spiral that gets tighter until he’s sliding it over the ridge of her nipple. She moans, loud.

He does the same to the other breast, but rubs the ice roughly back and forth over her straining bud; her knees come up, and her hips move like she’s looking for friction down there, but he’s not ready to give it just yet. He dips down, sucks the nipple into his mouth, and her whole body tenses, and she comes again, body bowing off the bed, gripping his hair tightly in her fist. He could almost get off just looking at her: her open mouth, heaving chest, flushed face, bitten lip. She squeezes her eyes shut, shivers, and he holds her body tightly in his hands.

“Gorgeous girl, that was incredible. So sensitive for me, and you like the cold.” She nods, and he softly kisses at her neck, the sweat at her hairline. “I want one more thing, okay? Can I do one more thing?”

“You... can do anything.”  Oh, yeah, that’s one of his absolute favorite phrases. He takes a minute, exhales against her throat, and she shivers again.

He lays her back down, grabs one last piece of ice, and crawls between her legs, drags it over her pubic mound, her clit, slowly between her lips; his other hand gently squeezes her ass, and she swallows, runs a hand over her chest like she’s soothing herself.

“Does that feel good?” She nods, looks a little overwhelmed, but okay, and he rubs the ice over her lips, then glides his tongue along them. Her stomach and pussy are quivering, and he groans, a little overwhelmed himself. He presses the ice to her clit again, slides it down to her soft, slick opening, and rubs it up and down between the two until it melts to nothing. He follows that with his tongue, inserts one finger about halfway inside her, and she grinds against him and comes, quiet and gentle. He sighs, leans up, and roughly jerks his cock, spilling hot onto her pussy and making them both groan.

He snuggles in beside her, pulls her close, and they kiss steamy and sweet, her hands in his hair. A couple days later, he’s sitting on the couch, in his boxers, reading a book, and she comes up behind him, takes it out of his hands, and leans in to nibble his earlobe. It makes for an instant hard-on, and he licks his lips, wonders what she’s got up her sleeve; it’s clear she’s trying to initiate something, but she hasn’t dropped any hints throughout the day, so he’s left curious.

“Are you still hot?” she asks, her voice wrapping around him like a sultry caress, and he thinks dumbly, um, yes, want to feel it? Then he realizes she means temperature-wise, and since it’s their eighth straight day of record highs, he nods his head. “Hmm. Good. Can I try something?” He nods in response to that, too.

She leaves, heads to the kitchen, opens up the fridge or freezer; when she pads back into the room, sinks down beside him on the couch, she’s got a soft ice pack in her hand. She gestures to his boxers.

“Can you take those off for me?” She bites her bottom lip, knows he likes when she looks innocent and slutty at the same time and that that’s a great way to achieve it. He ducks his head to kiss her there, and then does as she asked, pulls them off, sits back with an extremely hard cock at attention for her. Her eyes flick over his body, back up to his face, and she puts her hand on him, pumps her fist a handful of times, making him groan. Then she switches hands, rubs the head with the cold one, and he moans a lot louder than he normally does, his hips twitching up for more.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, and she continues to tug for few seconds before switching back to the warm hand.

“Does that feel good?” He brings her close for a rough, wet kiss that answers her question and then some, and she smiles against his mouth. “I saw this online, thought it was worth trying out. I know you liked teasing me the other day,” she accuses, switching hands without warning and making him grunt in surprise, “so I wanted to reciprocate.”

He leans his head back against the couch, because it does feel really good; the transition from very cold hand to less cold hand to very warm hand—especially now, as she tucks her warm hand under her thigh for extra warmth—is pleasurable, and not knowing when she’s going to switch keeps him on edge, his muscles tense. She scoots closer to him, kisses the bare skin of his arm, since that's really all she can reach, wraps her cold hand around him, and looks down at his lap like she finds his dick fascinating.

He doesn’t know why that’s so arousing—maybe because of his melted heatwave brain, or just because it’s her—but he groans, ready to come; she quickly looks up at his face, then takes her hand off of him and replaces it with her hot mouth, sucking tight until he spills.

Running a hand through his hair, he exhales long, and she touches his body, kisses it; the difference in the temperatures makes him shiver. “You should put that in me while it’s still hard,” she murmurs, pushing down her shorts and panties, and he pulls her into his lap, happy to oblige. “Mmh. I’ll be quick, promise.”

She kisses him, wraps her fingers in his hair, and rides him hard, rubbing her breast through her tank top with the other hand. “God, you’re sexy,” he breathes, and he quickly realizes he should be helping her get off and not just staring at her like a creep; he squeezes her ass, drops a couple of fingers to lazily rub her clit, and she tosses her head back, grinds down on him. “Fuck. Come on my cock, baby girl. It’s all yours.” She rotates her hips faster, leans in for a kiss, and she does come, moaning against his throat and tugging on his hair.

He lays her back on the couch, pulls out, because now that she’s gotten what she needed he’s sensitive, soft; they cuddle very briefly, but then they’re both too hot, so they force themselves up and take a cold shower instead. Saturday night, they each mention a couple things they could go do to get out of the house, but it’s still so fucking stifling that he doesn’t even want to. What’s the point in putting on clothes, suffering, sweating with the rest of the damn city, when they could not do that, and suffer in the comfort of their own home? At least they could be naked, and it’s always good when she’s naked.

(Apparently, the heatwave has made him thirsty. He thinks that sounds too stupid to say out loud, but it’s also probably true.)

Ultimately, they don’t go anywhere, just lounge around the house—Sophie reads, he watches the news halfheartedly, rubs her feet in his lap—until she eventually sighs, drops her book onto the table.

“Do you want to have sex?”

“Yep.”

They’re halfway to the bedroom, her in his arms, when he stops, pivots, and heads for the kitchen. He’d actually planned on something for later, but he forgot all about it when she asked him about the sex. Stupid, melted brain.

“Wrong way, big guy,” she says, laughing, but when he deposits her on the kitchen island and opens the fridge, pulls out the slim glass dildo he’d tucked away for the sake of surprise, she looks serious and turned on instead. “That’s for me, huh?” she says, sounding kind of melted herself, and he kisses her lips, her neck, her breasts, and lays her back on the counter.

“Technically, yes, but it’s also for me, when I get to do this.” He spreads her open with a thumb, presses it inside—it’s chilled, cold to his touch, but it’s got to be an extreme sensation for her when he slides it deep, because she starts moving her hips right away, like she’s desperate for it, even though she’d only suggested sex in the first place because she was bored.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck.” She releases a moan that’s almost a squeak, and her hands scrabble about the counter, knocking a notepad onto the floor, a couple of reusable grocery bags. He moves it inside of her at an easy, steady pace, watches, a little dazed, as she fucks herself on it as well, forcing it deeper than he would have himself. He’s going to have to remember about this one even after the heatwave has passed. “Yeah, oh, yeah.”

It’s not long before she’s coming around it, slamming her hips, squeezing her breast so hard it has to hurt—if the sounds she’s making are any indication, it hurts very good. He pulls it out of her and replaces it with his cock, and she calls his name, so sexy it makes his toes curl. He leans down for a kiss, and she leans up, her hands on his neck so she can keep him close. Both of his palms are flat against the countertop for leverage, and he kisses her, pounds her, and they come within seconds of each other, hips still frantically crashing together until they’re both satisfied, until he’s panting against her lips. She flops back against the counter, and he rests his head on her stomach; her nails feel so good as they scrape over his scalp.

“The weather’s supposed to break soon,” he says a couple of minutes later. The kitchen is the coolest room in the house, and the marble counter doesn’t feel half bad, so they’re making up for lost cuddles, holding each other closely. “Heard it on the news.”

"Aww. That kind of sucks.” He looks up at her like she’s crazy, because she’s been complaining about the heat as much as he has, but she only shrugs. “I’ve liked you being this thirsty for me. It’s hot. Soon, your brain won’t be soupy anymore, and I’ll miss it.” He rolls his eyes, leans up, presses several soft kisses to her face and mouth, and then slides down so his head is between her legs.

“I’ve always been... thirsty for you,” he says with a swipe of his tongue—he can taste them both, and he doesn’t hate it. “And I promise, I always will be.”

She says aww again, but it’s not long before he has her screaming his name.

[beifongsss]

playing with fire pt. 7 [sokka]

Pairing: Sokka x reader

Summary: You’re a Fire Nation citizen who saves Sokka and Katara from some angry villagers. Aang “convinces” you to come along with them, finding your knowledge of the nation useful. Not everything is smooth sailing though as both Water Tribe siblings have their doubts about you.

this will be a series :D this is a filler tbh set in the serpent’s pass

w.c.~3.1k

prologue. one. two. three. four. five. six.

.masterlist.

if you want to be added to the taglist PLEASE use the taglist form in my bio!

~

It had been a few days since the truth had been revealed and things had only gotten rougher. 

As you trudged through the desert with the rest of your group, you couldn’t help but think about just how twisted the relationships between you were. Tensions between you and the Water Tribe siblings were still sky high and the only people talking to you were two twelve year olds. Things on Toph’s end hadn’t gotten any better considering Aang blamed her for losing Appa. During the sky bison heist, you had been outside the library with Toph but had been knocked unconscious before the fight even began. As pissed as the group was with you, this was something that they couldn’t blame you for.

You still couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing that blaming Toph wasn’t the right thing to do. She was so young, she definitely didn’t need that type of pressure placed upon her. Aang had been so upset that he had flown off to who knows where, claiming that he would be able to find Appa on his own. 

Things had come to a head when you all encountered the sandbenders again and Toph had told Aang that she recognized one of their voices. After finding out that they had muzzled Appa, Aang had entered the Avatar State and attacked before Katara managed to calm him down. It was then decided that the group would travel to Ba Sing Se and look for the sky bison there.

And that’s how the five of you found yourselves at the Full Moon Bay ferry station, tagging along with a family as you tried to get to the famed city. 

“I can’t believe how many people’s lives have been uprooted by the Fire Nation,” Katara commented casually, shooting you an unreadable look before glancing at the people who were anxiously waiting to escape to Ba Sing Se. You looked down uneasily, clenching your fists as you tried to ignore her words. 

You all approached the ticket lady, cowering slightly when she snapped at Aang and Sokka before Toph stepped forwards confidently. She placed something on the counter before glancing up. “My name is Toph Beifong and I’ll need five tickets.”

The lady’s eyes widened at the sight of the flying boar before glancing at all of you. “Ah, the golden seal of the flying boar! It is my pleasure to help anyone of the Beifong family.”

“It is your pleasure. As you can see, I am blind and these three imbeciles are my valets,” Toph stated plainly before turning to point to you. “And she is my most trusted companion.”

“But the animal-”

“That’s her seeing eye lemur,” you quickly interrupted, ignoring Aang’s snort. “She needs him with her at all times.”

Momo chittered quietly, nuzzling against Toph’s neck to add dramatic effect. 

“Well, normally it's only one ticket per passport, but this document is so official ... I guess it's worth five tickets,” the lady commented, stamping five tickets and handing them over. 

“Thank you very much,” you said, smiling softly as you gathered the tickets and guided Toph away. 

You all walked away, Sokka commenting on how cool it was that Toph was able to scam the lady. You were trying to tune out his words before silence ensued and you turned to see Sokka being held back by a guard. 

“Tickets and passports please.”

“Is there a problem?” you asked politely, catching Katara’s panicked gaze and giving her a simple nod. You stepped up next to Sokka, avoiding his surprised gaze. The girl looked at you briefly before turning back to Sokka. 

“Yeah! Is there a problem?” Sokka asked, repeating your words as he tried to stay calm. 

“Yeah, I got a problem with you! I've seen your type before. Probably sarcastic, think you're hilarious and let me guess, you're traveling with the Avatar,” the girl said. You exchanged a scared glance with Katara. 

“Do I know you?” Sokka asked, leaning in slightly to get a better look at the girl. 

“You mean you don’t remember? Maybe you’ll remember this!” the girl leaned in suddenly, placing a brief kiss on Sokka’s cheek. His eyes widened almost comically and he casted a panicked look at you, only to see you looking down as you turned and walked away. 

“Suki!” Sokka exclaimed, rushing forwards and gathering the Kyoshi Warrior up in his arms. 

“Sokka! It’s so good to see you,” Suki replied, hugging him back tightly. Greetings were exchanged as the Gaang reunited with their old friend, with the exception of Toph. Noticing the way you had abruptly left, she went after you, finding you seated alone as you stared off at the water. 

“What’s wrong, Princess?” Toph asked, coming to a stop next to you. “Are you really moping over him?”

You smiled softly at Toph’s words. “I don’t know, shortcake. I guess so.”

Toph sighed dramatically as she leaned against the railing, turning to face you. “If you really like him you can go talk to him. Or fight for him.”

Copying Toph’s actions, you turned around, your back now against the railing. Your gaze landed on the pretty girl standing in front of Sokka, watching her as she smiled widely. “She’s pretty.”

“And?” Toph replied, crossing her arms and huffing lightly. 

“I’m not going to fight for him,” you muttered. Toph opened her mouth to argue but you quietly shushed her. “They’re right, Toph. I’m Fire Nation and I can’t change that no matter how hard I try. I’m going to try and do my part to help Aang defeat the Fire Lord but when the war is over, I can’t simply go on and live my life. I’m either going to have to return to the capital and claim the throne or I’m going to be hunted down as a traitor to my nation. I can’t be focusing on my dumb feelings when there are bigger things at stake.”

Toph hummed lightly before she punched you in the arm. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say but whatever. C’mon let’s get going, Princess.”

You rubbed your arm before trailing after the small girl, noticing that the family that had arrived with you was frantically talking to Aang. The group moved over to the ticket lady and you could faintly hear Aang arguing with her before turning and walking back over to the family dejectedly.

~

Five minutes later, you all found yourselves walking back the way you had come from. Nervous glances were exchanged all around as Aang declared that he was going to lead you all through the Serpent’s Pass, and you found yourself lagging behind in order to make sure that no one was getting left behind. 

“Hi.”

You looked over to your left to see the girl from before: Suki. She had joined the group after changing into a green dress, makeup covering her face in a style reminiscent of Avatar Kyoshi’s. You nodded softly, acknowledging her presence as you came to a stop. 

“We haven’t met yet,” she continued, shooting you a wide grin as she stood next to you. “I’m Suki!”

“I’m (Y/N),” you introduced yourself before bowing deeply. “It is an honor to meet a Kyoshi Warrior.”

A blush spread across Suki’s cheeks, partially hidden by her white face paint.She smiled bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she started to walk slowly. “You’re too kind. Really, there’s nothing special about us.”

“I beg to differ,” you replied quietly, walking next to her. “Kyoshi was a powerful Avatar. Your group is equally as amazing.”

Suki opened her mouth to reply only to be cut off when the ground underneath Than, the man you were traveling with, gave away. Toph reacted instantly, bending a piece of the cliff out in order to catch the man. 

“I’m okay!”

“They’ve spotted us!” Sokka yelled, pointing to the Fire Nation ship that Suki had pointed out earlier. “Let’s go!”

Aang took off into the air on his glider, deflecting the fireball that was coming your way. It crashed into the cliff behind you, sending multiple large chunks of rock flying everywhere. You heard Suki yelp lightly and looked over to see multiple chunks of earth heading her way. Without thinking twice, you threw yourself at her, tackling her and sending the both of you out of harm’s way. You landed roughly, your body curling around Suki’s to protect her from any wayward debris before Toph came in to save the day. Suki was the first to sit up, throwing her arms around you as she muttered multiple ‘thank you’s’. You hesitantly wrapped your arms around her waist, helping her up before separating and brushing yourself off.

“It was nothing,” you replied quietly, shooting the girl a small smile. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Suki! Are you okay?” Sokka asked worriedly, rushing over and wrapping the girl up into a tight hug. “You have to be more careful! Come on!”

Suki gave you a warm smile as she was pulled away by Sokka, leaving you standing alone with Toph. The earth bender turned to you, opening her mouth to make a comment that you had no doubt would be sarcastic. You quickly spoke before she could. “Thanks for saving my life Toph.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear, Princess.”

~

The group had settled down for the night, exhausted after running from the Fire Nation. You were unrolling your sleeping bag, sighing softly as you searched for a decent spot to set up in. Your eyes drifted to Suki, who was placing her sleeping bag down a little aways from you before it was pulled away by Sokka. 

“Suki, you shouldn't sleep there. Who knows how stable this ledge is, it could give away at any moment!”

Suki looked at Sokka with concern, following him as he walked away from the ledge. “Sokka, I’m fine! Stop worrying! Besides, (Y/N) no doubt had a bigger scare today. Fuss over her instead.”

Sokka ignored her words and you looked down, setting your sleeping bag down close to where Suki was originally going to place hers. Ignoring everyone else, you slipped into it, curling into a small ball as you stared up at the moon. You felt all your worries subside as you fell into a deep sleep, a small smile spreading across your face as you mentally thanked Yue for being there for you. 

When you woke up, you felt well-rested and refreshed and ready to reach Ba Sing Se. Once again, you trailed behind everyone else, keeping an eye out for any Fire Nation ships that could be tracking you. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice everyone coming to a stop, causing you to bump into Sokka’s back before tumbling to the ground. You muttered out a soft sorry, picking yourself up when he ignored your words. 

“Everyone, single file!” Katara called out, her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed that the path in front of her was underwater. “Aang I need help!”

Katara proceeded to bend the water out of the way, clearing a path for your group as Aang conjured up a large air bubble to surround you. You chuckled softly when you noticed Momo’s curious gaze aimed at the water, a full blown laugh escaping you as he dived into the water to chase the fish. Your laughter died down when he leapt out of the water, clutching onto you as he curled himself around your neck. 

“What’s wrong, Momo?” you asked, softly scratching the back of his ears. He was trembling, chittering softly as he hid his face in your neck. You glanced at the walls of water surrounding you, flinching when you saw a large shadow pass you on your left. “G-Guys?”

“What is that thing?” Katara whispered, also noticing the large shadow. The thing in the water broke through the walls Katara had created, forcing Toph to bend the earth and send you all back up above the water level. 

“I think I just figured out why they call it the Serpent's Pass!” Sokka yelped, stumbling as the serpent sprung out of the water with a large screech. “Suki, you know about giant sea monsters, make it go away!”

“Just because I live near the unagi doesn’t mean I’m an expert,” the girl retorted, panic clear on her face.

Sokka walked over to you, taking Momo from around your neck and holding him up. “Oh great and powerful sea serpent, please accept this humble and tasty offering. Thank you.”

“Sokka!” you and Katara cried in unison, irritated expressions on both of your faces.

“I’ll distract it!” Aang yelled. “Katara, get everyone else across!”

Katara nodded, creating an ice trail for all of you. Everyone sprinted across, leaving only you and Toph standing on the chunk of earth she had sent up earlier. You took a deep breath and began to walk across, pausing when you realized Toph wasn’t following. 

“Toph!” Sokka yelled from the other side. “Come on, it’s just ice.”

“Actually, I'm going to stay on my little island, where I can see!” Toph replied. You turned back, noticing that the serpent was approaching. You quickly lunged for Toph, grabbing her hand and tugging her behind you just as the serpent hit the earth she was previously standing on.

“Sorry, shortcake,” you said quietly, gripping her hand tightly. “We need to get across. I won’t let you go.”

Toph nodded meekly, gripping onto you as you proceeded to move forwards. You were moving slowly but surely, trying to focus on not being taken by surprise by the serpent. 

“You’re doing great! Just follow that sound of my voice,” Sokka yelled, watching the two of you closely.

“Well it’s kind of hard to ignore!” Toph yelled back, causing you to let out a snort. 

“You’re almost there!”

Just as Sokka said those words, the serpent reappeared and crushed the ice trail. The impact separated you and Toph, sending the two of you flying in opposite directions. Toph fell into the water unceremoniously and you found yourself landing on the tough rocks that the rest of your group was standing on. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring everyone’s worried looks before frantically searching for Toph. You could see her bobbing up and down a bit away, struggling to stay afloat. 

“Help! Help! I can’t swim!” Toph yelled out, causing everyone to panic. You noticed Sokka taking off his shoes and Suki getting ready to jump but before they could, you launched yourself into the water, desperate to reach Toph in time. Everyone watched with bated breath as you reached the small girl, grabbing onto her and pulling her up so she could breathe. 

“I got you,” you whispered, already starting to head back to the group. Toph clung onto you, gasping for air.

“Thank you, (Y/N)” she whispered back, hugging you tightly. You smiled softly, glad that she was now safe. You reached the rocks quickly enough, being helped up by Suki. Aang and Katara quickly rejoined the group, having taken care of the serpent for the time being. With a small cheer, you all kept going, smiling widely when you saw the walls of Ba Sing Se. 

Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan and you soon found yourself sitting alone while Katara and Suki helped Ying give birth. Hope was born soon enough, all of you cooing over the newborn as Aang stepped away from the group. 

“I promise I’ll find Appa as fast as I can,” you heard Aang say as you approached him and Katara. “I just really need to do this.”

“See you in the big city,” Sokka whispered.

“Say hi to the big fuzzball for me,” Toph chirped.

“Stay safe. Please,” you said, stumbling back when Aang threw himself at you and hugged you tightly. 

“You’ll find him, Aang,” Katara said, smiling sadly. 

“I know. Thank you, Katara,” Aang said, letting you go. “You ready, Momo?”

With a chirp from Momo, the two of them took off. It was silent after their departure and you suddenly felt more awkward than you had in a long time. Without Aang, you were left with Toph and two people who you were sure hated you. Sokka stood off to the side, talking quietly with Suki. You couldn’t help but watch them, not noticing Katara sidle up to you. Your heart fully broke when Sokka lurched forwards, connecting his lips with Suki’s as the girl wrapped her arms around him. 

“They’re cute together, aren’t they?” Katara asked quietly, turning to face you with an unreadable look. “She’s good for him. Don’t ruin it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you breathed, trying to ignore the tears that wanted to well up in your eyes. “You have nothing to worry about, Katara, I know I don’t deserve someone like him.”

Katara’s expression softened as you walked away, gathering up your stuff before you continued to walk along the path. You had barely gotten more than a few steps away before you were stopped by a hand on your wrist. You turned slowly to face Suki, a determined look on her face. You looked at her curiously, tilting your head to the side as you waited for her to speak.

“Come with me,” she breathed, taking you by surprise.

“W-What?”

“Come with me,” she repeated more confidently. “The Kyoshi Warriors could always use someone like you. You’re strong and care about others. Join me.”

You paused for a few seconds, looking around at your companions (who were pretending to mind their own business) before facing her once more. Toph was the only one who would miss you and you knew that the Water Tribe siblings wanted you gone. Aang would find you eventually; they would tell him you had joined Suki. You nodded once, causing Suki to smile excitedly and pull you away. You dug your heels into the ground, stopping her before you could get any further.

“Suki. Before I go with you, you need to know-”

“That you’re the Fire Nation crown princess?” Suki interrupted. You looked up at her, bewildered. “I’ve seen the family portraits, silly. I know you’re the princess but I don’t care. You saved my life and you saved Toph and you’ve been helping Aang out for a while. I don’t care about your family. You’re a good person and I want you to join the Kyoshi Warriors.”

Overwhelmed by her words, you hugged her tightly. You nodded once again, tears dripping down your face as you laughed lightly. 

“Okay. I’ll join the Kyoshi warriors.”

~

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[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Drowning Part 7

I felt like writing today, so you guys have two Drowning parts today. Enjoy, but beware that I did not edit this.

Masterlist

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: possessiveness, medical whump, odd medical practices, anesthesia, major descriptions of vomit, striped of clothing (not sexual), restraints, IVs, needles, knives, surgery (intense descriptions)

~

Hero blinked her eyes open, taking in the scene around her. She wasn't in the chair anymore, she could move her arms and legs and there wasn't the consistent beep of the monitors hooked up to Supervillain's skin.

Her hands must've have recovered some of their strength for she dug them into the object she was laid upon. It sunk down, but rebounded when she released pressure.

A bed.

Her head was also set gingerly upon a soft pillow- caressing to give her optimum comfort.

Light streamed in through a window, landing on her torso. Hero stiffened, noticing a shadow pass through her abdomen where it stopped.

"Look at me."

Hero hesitantly brought her head up to meet Villain's blue eyes. Memories of their encounter streamed through her head, blocking any other thought process.

"There we go now dear," Villain sat on the foot of the bed, tracing some form of shape into the ruffled covers with a smug smile on his tanned face.

"What do you want?" Hero asked, though she halfway knew the answer.

"You, of course, my dear," Villain said with such confidence that it almost sounded arrogant, cocky...

Possessive.

"Well, now you have me," Hero stated, her tongue feeling bitterly dry. "Where's Supervillain?"

"You still care about him? I thought the doctor- oh sorry, your friends- did a pretty good job of taking those feelings away," Villain tutted. "What breakfast? I made a smoothie bowl." Then he added with a twinkle to his gaze, "Your favorite."

"Hmm no thanks," Hero smiled, still glaring at Villain as if that would remove him from her sight. His whole fit body was a vulgar sight.

Villain sighed dramatically. "Can't I do anything right for you?" He asked, voice in a bitter snarl. "Nope," he answered himself. "No because Hero is too righteous to take anything from a villain..."

"Quit with the guilt tripping. It is not working," Hero informed him, rolling her eyes. "I don't want anything because I don't need anything."

"You can't walk."

"Can to," Hero retorted, crossing her arms, relieved that those at least had some strength in them.

"Try it," Villain dared, leaning against the bed with his palms dug deeply into a mattress, a twinkle in his eyes. Hero vaguely noticed the decrease in swelling, the near fading scar on his right temple- a reminder of how long she had been caged up.

Hero swung her legs to the other side, dangling them down before putting all her weight on the shaky muscles. Gripping the sides of the bed, she pushed herself off and...

She fell, only to be caught by strong arms.

"There now. Proved you wrong dearie, now how does breakfast sound?" Villain asked, smiling down at his little captive.

Hero snarled, tucking her chin to her chest, before nodding subtley. Villain grinned even wider and carried her to the kitchen where she was sat down at the table.

"What are they doing to Supervillain when I'm not there?" Hero asked, looking down at her hands.

"Probably healing him up," Villain replied as he dished flax meal and chia seeds on the berry smoothie bowl. "And then do who knows what."

"We should rescue him," Hero said, nearly a whisper. Villain cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He asked nonchalantly. Hero nodded and took the cold metal spoon and began to eat the more than delicious breakfast.

"That is, hmm, not happening," Villain scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Why not?" Hero asked, pausing her eating.

Villain didn't answer. He just left and began to wash the dishes.

"Hello?" Hero called, but received no answer in return.

Within the next fews days of movement, Hero built up enough strength in her legs to carry herself across the house without as much as breaking a sweat.

"I want to watch a movie tonight," Villain said once when Hero was helping clean up after dinner.

"What movie?" Hero asked, never giving him an joy-filled statement once in her stay.

"Thor," Villain replied. "The first one."

"Why don't we watch Iron Man? The first one. Or whichever one Tony gets drunk at the party and fights Rhodey."

"Because Stark sucks, Loki is the best."

"Uh, nooo. Loki is the definition of bad acting," Hero rolled her eyes as she set a dirty plate into the sink.

"Stark is the definition of a crappy character," Villain retorted as he handwashed a knife. Hero studied him, watching as the soapy water drenched his long sleeve shirt. His soft blonde hair trickled into his icy blue eyes as his pink lips were pulled tight into a concentrated purse.

"Or maybe we watch the Kissing Booth," Hero murmured and joined Villain to rinse off the plates and utensils to put them in the dishwasher.

Villain smiled, but it wasn't his usual broad, creepy smile that made shivers run down Hero's spine. It was a smile one, a contented embarrassed one. Tied with his blushing cheeks, Hero would've even called it cute.

That was if he never betrayed her, or never kidnapped her.

If he never kept her from rescuing Supervillain in that wretched place.

Yes, Hero noticed that doors that could only be unlocked by Villain's fingerprints. The sealed windows that refused to budge.

And the fact that the one story trailer house was different from Villain's previous home that consisted of three stories with a gym room and a gaming room.

He was moved, or moved himself, specifically to keep Hero locked in.

Not even his charisma could change that foreboding fact.

《~~》

"Welcome Supervillain to the lab."

Supervillain blinked slowly as LED lights brushed past tender eyelids. The rolling floor memorized him slightly as he watched the equally placed lines fall under the gurney's wheels.

The gurney took a turn, causing a nauseating lurch of vertigo to pass through his stomach. He held back the urge to gag and instead burped repeatedly until he tasted the beginnings of vomit.

Tossing his head over to the side, Supervillain opened his mouth a threw up. He wanted to lurch, but the restraints around all points of movement other than his head and neck forbid that. He was left to allow the puke to streaming down his front, landing on his bound hands.

"Look at you!" One of the heroes chastised, slapping Supervillain hard across the face with a backhanded slap. The world around Supervillain whirled and he nearly threw up again if it wasn't for the gag- no, metal bit- shoved into his mouth, hitting his teeth and sending yet another gag reflex through his esophagus. But this time, he was forced to keep the vomit within and threw up inside his own mouth. Groaning and eyes rolling up slightly, Supervillain laid his head back against the thin pillow that protected his head against any form of head injury. Eyes fluttering closed, he tried to draw more sleep in.

Only for a sudden release in pressure to wake him up from his momentary slumber. The bit was removed and his body was held under a faucet for his mouth to be washed out. Someone came behind him and dumped a bunch of listerine into his unsuspecting mouth. Sputtering from the numbing taste of strong original mouthwash, Supervillain allowed his head to dangle- black hair wetted by the flowing hot water.

Next, his soiled clothing was removed- even his pants- and replaced by a faded pair of shorts. His torso was left bare.

The next movement was of him being laid across a metal table, his limbs once again being held in place by the four-point restraint system- padded metal contraptions barricading any form of movement or escape from the inevitable pain that was to come.

"Patient is restrained, begin procedure."

Nurses bustled around, two on each side of him, one by his feet, and one by his head.

"We are going to force the water out of his lungs," another voice, one that was not owned by any of the nurses surrounding him. Out of the corner of Supervillain's eye, he saw the doctor. The doctor, pacing around not even once looking at the stretched out patient before him.

"This will be painful, but we need the patient entirely conscious for this to work," the doctor instructed. "We are going to insert a tube directly into his lungs- on both sides-, piercing them, and using a sort of plunger instrument to force the liquid through his trachea. To ensure he does not choke, Medic and Nurse, once the plungers are released, you ladies need to unrestrain him and roll him over to his side. We go slow and the second all the fluid is expelled, we need to anesthetize the patient to due emergency surgery to stitch the lungs back together. Estimated recovery time is a couple days with the rapid-healing drug we will administer. Any questions? Prep the IV, Nurse2 be ready there."

The hairs on Supervillain's arms stood up and goosebumps picked his skin. The order from the doctor made him struggle against the restraints, pulling aggressively against them.

"Oh please don't do this," he blubbered, tears spilling from his ducts. "Don't do this. I can't do this. Oh please, please, please, please." He started sobbing, terrifed, as a nurse stuck his elbow with a needle.

"Prepare insertion."

Two sharp metal pieces found their home right below Supervillain's rib.

"Ultrasound."

A cool gel was squirted between the two sharp pricks before a rectangular object was placed upon it.

"Ultrasound ready."

"Begin incision."

A buzzing sound, right before a knife cut in his skin. No, not once, that was a lie, but two.

Two sharp, agonizing knives.

Supervillain screamed, wailed pitifully, as his body thrashed around.

"Stop, stop!" He begged, picking his head up only for hands to shove it back down. His fingers stretched out, clenched, anything for the torture to end.

"Left, move yours towards the ribcage a bit so you don't cut the liver."

Supervillain tensed, clouded thoughts coming to the surface. Cut my liver..., he thought before attempting to evade the knives cutting into his body.

"Don't, don't, don't!" he screeched. "Please."

"Prepare to pierce the lung."

Supervillain shoved himself downwards, but it did nothing with the unrelenting cuffs keeping him close to rock still.

The pure agony that he felt when the knife pierced the lung, then the way the knife evolved into a plunger, was indescribable.

Supervillain screamed. Screamed so loud that even the practiced nurses flinched. The doctor though stayed still, watching the procedure with his authoritive gaze.

"Release the patient."

His wrists and ankles were quickly let free by the wave of a card. He tried to curl in on himself to avoid the operation, but professional hands kept him stretched out.

"Start pumping at Level One to begin."

The horrendous feeling of the machine inside of Supervillain changed into a coveted one when the same machine started to pump. A plunger hit the liquid, sending it up and into his trachea.

Supervillain coughed, rolled over to his side. At first, he imagined that the left plunger would quit working as if it was kinked, but found out that it must've been electrically powered.

Mucus, blood, and water shot up through his trachea. Pain forgotten, Supervillain gagged and coughed the abhorrent liquid out until blackness began to crawl at the edges of his vision. It clouded his thoughts, but he body still involuntarily gagged, coughed, and spat all of his lung's content out.

"Stay awake," a rough voice sounded as his body was shook. Supervillain complied and returned to his coughing fit, agony once again returning to his veins and muscles.

Then, as soon as it started, the pressure ceased as soon as it started.

"Administer the anesthesia promptly."

A dial clicked, though Supervillain hardly registered it. Even before the sedative started pumping through his veins, he was losing consciousness.

A mask was placed above his mouth just as the world descended into blackness.

[getitinbusan]

I've Got a Coupon (18+)

Part 1

The Valentine Plan:

Yoongi spun his chair. Stretching out his muscles, he let out a huge yawn. 

"What's with the arts and crafts?" 

Multiple shades of red, pink and white craft paper littered the  studio coffee table where you sat. Picking up one of the cut out hearts he smiled fondly. 

"I'm making naughty coupons for Valentine's Day." 

"They must be really dirty considering what you let me do to you regularly. I can't wait to redeem them." 

"It's awfully bold of you to assume they're all for you. If you give them a count I think you'll find there's seven." 

"You do know you're my girl right?" 

"Yes, you remind me of it every couple of days for about 20 minutes." 

"Ouch," he clutched his chest feigning hurt. 

You stood up to let him wrap you in his arms. "Not everyone's as lucky as us Yoongi, it's Valentine's and the boys are lonely." 

"You're too good to them sweetheart,  they're never going to look for their own girlfriends." 

"Are you going to help me cut these out or just stand around distracting me?" 

"You're asking me to help make coupons for my friends to, and I'm just going to assume here, fuck you in procarious ways?"

"Yep, I gave you what you wanted for your birthday now you can give me what I want for Valentine's." 

"How romantic, I can't wait until your mom asks what I gave you."

He sat down at your makeshift workstation. "Fine, pass me the damn scissors." 

February 13th. 

After sending out the group text you stood in the kitchen waiting for everyone to arrive. With dishes of Ramen placed around the huge island, feeding them would be the only way to keep them quiet long enough to explain your plan. 

Clearing your throat you set the large paper filled bowl in front of them. 

"As you all know, tomorrow is Valentine's day." 

There were more than a few sneers and eyerolls before they went back to slurping their noodles. 

"Hey, idiots! If you care to pay attention I'm trying to let you fuck me." 

Jin dropped his chopsticks, Namjoon choked on his water and Yoongi just sat back, arms crossed chuckling at their reaction. 

"So now that I have your attention here's what's going to happen."

Holding up the bowl you tilted it so they could see. 

"Inside each envelope there's a special coupon."

Jungkook reached out to grab one but you swatted his hand away.

"You will all pick one envelope. Inside that envelope is your coupon and your place number. Tomorrow you will each have a 2 hour designated time slot to live out whatever the words on the card mean to you. Any questions?" 

The sweet boys were dumbfounded, jaws slack and eyes wide, while exactly as expected, your dirty boys had mischievous smirks and full blown pupils.

"Can I pick first Noona?"

The others sighed, Jungkook, always eager, reached in to pick before you could answer.

Sliding his finger under the envelope's adhesive he broke the seal. All eyes were on him while he pulled the card out gently. 

"Erotic Movie Night." He read it slowly out loud. "#6 / 7:30" 

"You can watch him beat off, sounds like a good time."

They all laughed at Jin, not necessarily for his quip, but for the way he cracked himself up afterwards."  

"Well, Jungkook can take a break from making me cum everyday if that's what he wants to do."

Leaning over the table you gave his smirking lips a small kiss. 

"Wha?" Taehyung let out in surprise. "This is a thing that happens regularly?" He looked around at the other men to see if they were as surprised as he was. "Just with Jungkook?" 

Yoongi's jaw clicked in aggravation. "Believe it or not I still fit in there somewhere." 

Sensing the tension shift Hobi reached for the bowl, "Well I certainly want a piece of this." 

Tearing it aggressively he yanked it out. "Lap Dance, #2 / 9am!" He raised his brows and smiled. 

"Shit." You swore under your breath, "of course the choreo teacher gets the dance card."

"For the record, I think this is a great idea." Jimin took his. 

"Voyeur, Look but don't touch, number # 3/ 11:30 am."

His face looked disappointed. "I retract my statement. Can I trade? I don't think it's fair that I don't get to touch you." 

"No, no trading. You have until tomorrow so use your imagination to make the best of it and stop whining Jimin." 

Yoongi smiled, enjoying Jimin's disappointment.

"You should be glad she's doing anything for you at all. Why don't you pick mine babe." 

Mixing the remaining envelopes you handed him one. 

"Anywhere you like, #7 / 10 pm. Does that mean a room, or does that mean your mouth?" 

"It means what you want it to mean Yoon, you're creative, figure it out." 

He seemed satisfied. Folding his in half he tucked it into his pocket like he already had a plan.

"Jin why don't you go next." 

You knew Jin was excited but he'd never let it show.

"Naked Chef, # 4/ 2 pm. Do I at least get an apron?" 

Taehyung reached in and took the last envelope. Reading before he shared, he grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

"Trip to the sex shop, #5/ 4:30 pm" 

"Nice, you high fived him. AND you get an extra half hour for travel and shopping time."

"That's so not fair," Jimin pouted. 

Namjoon laughed, "You think it's not fair? I don't even have an envelope." 

He was always the most apprehensive to follow along with these games. You thought he maybe even seemed relieved. 

"That's odd, what number is missing?" 

They all showed each other their cards and counted quietly. 

"One is missing." they quickly sumized in unison. 

"Well then Namjoon I guess you're up first." 

Picking up your bowl you walked away from the kitchen.

"See you all tomorrow."

Series Masterlist

Catch up on the original Studio Sessions here

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1017 - Initial Thoughts

Back from another break but the fondness is the same

more One Piece is good One Piece and we were left on the cliffhanger 2 Tobi Roppo down, Sanji squaring to Queen, Yamato squaring to Kaido and Tama has the floor

Now let's see how we develop

Spoilers below and Support the Official Release

A Buggy cover page today, looking like something from Cubix...who's old enough to remember Cubix?

Tama has the stage, but she also has the stage fright. Queen having a go at her isn't helping either

Finally over to Jimbei and Who's Who is using his cat harem to pick away at Jimbei too

We also cut to Franky but he's not fighting Sasaki, being chased by grunt forces makes you wonder how that went down

Inu is being outnumbered too though, because Jack is a bitch

And all the grunts and gifters have come to fight the ones who turned on Queen for him not caring about their lives

Oda really highlighting the numbers advantage huh?

Encouraged by Nami and Usopp though, Tama makes the call, the Dango Gifters are on our side now

Momo's still got his heights problem, seems to imply that they didn't drop to land, they're still on Onigashima

Luffy though is just getting the water out of his lungs, still not physically conscious so we're not getting answers about what he did anytime soon

I dunno why but 'Briscola-san Why!?' tickled me

If he can't punch you the gorilla on his hand will!

The gifters are now evening the numbers for Jimbei, Inu and I'm guessing Franky

White-eye from CP0 is sensing the shift, while Tama's getting some much deserved hugs

Sanji stops Queen from attacking her though, Monster Trio all having protected the precious child

Sanji also doesn't like that Queen keeps calling him Judge's son, turns out they were in that science team, which is apparently called MADS, which also means that Queen worked with Vegapunk

Into the hybrid form now, but with some extra cyborg claws and a sword that appeared out of nowhere, Sanji ain't fussed

OH MY GOD TINY CHOPPER!

'Baby Gramps' is a weird name, I wonder if it has to do with the formality of Chopper's speech in these scanlations. Watch the WG only see this and up his bounty to like 200 because the pet can shri-TINY TINY CHOPPER! That's it, that's his new nickname, Tiny Tiny Chopper

They've got a drug for Cactus Zoro to take, he wants it even though it'll add to his pain later, they can recover when the fight's over

Though we should probably be worried what happens to Zoro's body after this, irreparable damage is not what we want from him

Back to Who's Who though, and his big sword is ...a tiny dagger

Huh, Blade Pistol, kinda like Shigan...

Then Soru and Rankakyu...this dude knows Rokushiki, he must've been Cipher Pol

Tekkai too, and now he's in his hybrid form

Ah, a rogue CP9 agent, busting out of prison too - must've been well away from Impel Down then

A rival to Lucci as well, that's high praise and explains why they both got Carnivorous Cat Zoans, wonder how things are now though since Lucci is CP0 and CP0 are dining with him

Fang Pistol now? What's next, the Rokuogan? But joking aside I do like that Rokushiki is coming back as relevant, it was such a big deal in Water 7 not fully explored outside of Geppo, I mean Tekkai got made redundant by armament Haki and nobody talks about Kami-e so it's nice to get a variant showcase

Turns out Who's Who was arrested 12 years ago from a mistake he made

Wait, WHAT!? He was guarding the Gomu Gomu no Mi!?

This changes things

For one, it means that the Gomu Gomu no Mi is a commodity for the World Government, something they wanted kept away from people. Part of me does worry that they're gonna make it some OP thing because I think a lot of Luffy's charm is the absurdity of his powers. I have faith in Oda to know that though, perhaps an enemy of theirs had it in the Void Century and there's the potential to inherit something from it - like how Sabo refers to his flames as Ace's will. Secondly though it means that Shanks stole it, Pre-Yonko Shanks stole this from a Government Ship which screwed over Who's Who, and went to Dawn Island where Luffy ate it. We have to ask ourselves what Shanks' original intentions for the fruit were much more intently now, you don't steal from CP9 just to make some booze cash. Who's Who may be someone we'll see beyond Wano because of this Shanks connection - I wonder how that encounter went during Marineford? - maybe via CP0, it also makes sense now how he could sniff out Drake's Deception (yes I know that's an Uncharted reference), but I still want Jimbei to kick his ass and steal his cat harem.

But I did like the more setup we have with Sanji vs Queen too, more to be told from MADS but I think the main thing to wonder is when Sanji opts to use the Raid Suit again. Tiny Tiny Chopper is a highlight, kinda means his new Rumble Balls have a Gear Third limitation on them, I wonder how long it does last. And Zoro getting back in the fight could imply a stand off with King - who has been very quiet along with Marco.

With Chopper tiny it means that he will probably not fight anymore, but the heroes still outnumber the villains in terms of named characters; Usopp hasn't had his fight, Apoo has just fell off the map with Drake, Neko has had a bit of Zoro-brain in his directions and Kawamatsu and Izo are probably just chilling wherever Marco is. We do need more enemies for them to get fights, Luffy's still needing time to undo all that drowning he did, also we kinda need a status report on Sasaki because it isn't really clear what happened between him and Franky, and where's Denjiro?

Thankfully there's no break this week but damn do the questions pile up

[jenniferstolzer]

Babylon 5 rewatch Episode 2.22: The Fall of Night

Babylon 5 is at the center of not one but three conflicts as John Sheridan agrees to shelter a wounded Narn cruiser. The Centauri don’t like this. Earth doesn’t like this. The Shadows don’t like this. But Sheridan has a strong moral compass and what he doesn’t like is how much the institutions around him are willing to sacrifice in the name of forging some kind of cursory peace.

Things I liked about The Fall of Nighit

1, Lennier and Vir’s friendship. If you ask me Vir, could be friends with literally anyone. He’s such an understanding soul. Lennier is by nature a little judgey. More closed off. So when they sit down next to each other and discover how much they have in common both of them look at each other like “hello what” and automatically agree to meet again. But even this exchange is done almost like spies meeting and I don’t think we stop to think about that very often. These are the attaches of two ambassadors for two of the most powerful races in the galaxy… they could very well be exchanging state secrets instead of expressing solidarity for their equally frustrating jobs.

2,  The Centauri are apparently willing to put their ships on autopilot and black out from g forces if it means when they come to they’ll be in a better firing position. This seems extremely reckless and VERY Centauri. It is the spacebattle equivalent of the hair. Big. Flashy. Not well thought through.

3, In the wake of the mass driver bombing, Sheridan gives Londo an opportunity to speak and Londo is like “NOPE” and jets before he says something that’s going to get him and his whole race in more trouble than they already are. Garibaldi then reads Londo like a literal book, delivering one of my favorite analyses of the character. Everyone thought Londo was a clown, indulging in opulence, going into debt at the casino, drinking himself to a stupor in public, but Garibaldi was his friend and knows that Londo’s not dumb, he’s actually very smart and his mind moves really fast. His error is in his judgment and priorities and he’s currently in waters he did not expect to tread. He’s scared, and he’s going to keep darting in and out of cover until he feels like he has a handle on things or he gets picked off by a hunter, whichever comes first. Also a very classic JMS line “He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt.” Hunt for that or similar lines in other JMS stuff, he loves that line.

4, The ache of watching McCarthysim at work is very effective. Zach knows the guys he’s ratting on don’t deserve to be ratted on and even says so. “They’re just fooling around” but we can tell by the level of interest and tone of the Nightwatch captian’s voice that they’re gonna get blackballed. Zach can’t deny that they said what they said, but can tell that ratting them out is the wrong thing to do. In the end he relents with a bunch of qualifications but the Nightwatch doesn’t want qualifications. They want names. Thank you for your service.

5, I love that the guy there to ally with the Centauri is from the Ministry of Peace. So poignant. They’ll get peace all right, by paying off the aggressors.  

6, When the Narn ship was coming under threat by the Centauri warship, Sheridan opened a line to Londo just to spit in his face and hang up. It was amazing. Also during this crisis, Sheridan whips out a law book to smack the Nightwatch guy back in his hole. Sinclair would be proud.

7, Watching B5 come under attack is so emotionally stirring. Even on a rewatch, I don’t want to see it hurt.

8, We have arrived! The scene where Kosh reveals himself. I love that G’Kar is hiding in the plants – like he’s not a huge gecko man who people are going to notice. I also love how plaintiff his voice is, thinking if he speaks on Sheridan’s behalf it’ll help him in the political shitshow he’s currently in. I mean he’s issuing this apology for helping a Narn ship and G’Kar is very very very grateful for that. Also B5 blew up a Centauri warship so he’s pretty grateful for that too, I mean come on… I like that B5 has like a standard subway system in the middle of it and that they let the Puppet Friends ride. I miss the puppet friends. I love that the rotational gravity system means there’s a weightless portion in the center of hydroponics and that we used that to our advantage in this story. Also the vorlons in their native form play on the perception of the lesser races. They are light beings, and humans see them as angels. The rest of the races see them as prophets or gods, but none of these perceptions are perfect. We see wings and white robes and think Angel, but Kosh didn’t appear like a rennaissance painting. He’s got a butterfly look to him, too. The face he wears is a facsimile of a human not an exact human. He’s not perfect, we’re just in awe. Love that.

9 And finally a lot has been said about why Londo doesn’t see anything when Kosh appears. He’s been touched by the Shadows, so he can’t be converted by the Vorlons b/c we’re playing a game of Othello today I guess. Maybe because he doesn’t actually believe in his pantheon of gods so he doesn’t have any deities to witness. Maybe he’s lying because what he saw was his own greed and vanity. The general consensus is the first – that he’s incapable of seeing the light because he’s in the dark. For a fresh take on it, let’s look at the Vorlons through this lens. Kosh said before that if he revealed himself everyone would know him… I take this as being a side effect of being Vorlon. Vorlons are a feeling not an image. Like Magenta. Magenta’s not a real color, it exists on the color wheel because something has to connect red and purple on the color spectrum… but the spectrum of visible light is actually a straight line. The wavelengths for red and purple are far from touching, but our brains can perceive when they’re both present, so Magenta occurs. It’s imaginary, but we see it for real with our eyes. That’s Vorlons. Perhaps Londo saw a shapeless light thing in the sky, perhaps that’s what Vorlons really are… or perhaps they have no visible representation at all until they hit our brains. Our eyeballs behold something, but our brains have to construct it out of pieces. When the rest of the galaxy looked at Kosh they used the color wheel to construct him, but Londo was only given the wavelengths. He saw nothing, because nothing was there to see. I really wish there was another Centauri there to be like “I saw the goddess Li welcoming me to her arms!” and Londo’s over there like “I’m the problem” instead of not really answering that question. Maybe it’s answered in season 3, I don’t know. Did Vir see anyone up there? He must have been on break.

What I like Less about 22

1, So here’s where I’m going to talk about Keffer. I know the origin story…. that he was an unwelcome addition to the cast added per network request, but who the hell is he other than that? I think its remarkable how he slips right out of my head the minute he is off camera. We know he’s a pilot, that he was close to Carlos (whose story/death you may recall I was laughing at in a previous episode because its significance ALSO came out of nowhere), and that he made friends with the GROPOS grunts (who we incidentally learned to care about enough in that one episode that we were sad when they died…. Awkward considering Keffer’s contribution to this episode…) Honestly the most interesting thing about him is that he’s got an old-timey fighter pilot scarf he wears and he believes in ghosts and I bet you all forgot about the ghosts. Honestly, the most interesting thing about Keffer is how he’s a lesson in how not to write an interesting character – and no shade on JMS for that, I know he did it on purpose. Significant things happening to a character does not automatically make them a strong character. Keffer experienced loss, came face to face with the shadows, got in fights… a lot of stuff happened to him, but he was almost always the only named character in those scenes. We cared about the GROPOS because they cared about each other and we responded to that. Keffer was there to play cabbage head and ask questions. He’s not tight with any of our main cast who we’ve had tons more time to grow attached to, and dies for plot reasons without leaving an impact with his loss. Heck, you can see the value of interpersonal relationships on character development in action when the show used a shoehorn to try and force some in in context to Carlos a second and a half before he died. We had him drinking at the bar with command staff suddenly, we had him die as a result of a flight mission Sheridan was part of to make Sheridan feel guilty about it. Everyone was standing around going like “No, Not Ramirez” and if you recall on my previous episode writeup I was LAUGHING at how tortured this sudden human connection was. Keffer could have been made interesting. Follow me on this.

My treatment on how to make Keffer interesting:

Let’s say Keffer was introduced as an old friend of one of our characters – Fraknlin let’s say. He was a friend from the Minbari War days that helped him sneak behind enemy lines. Perhaps he was complicit in the covering up and destruction of Franklin’s notes on Minbari anatomy. As a result, the two hang out in medbay sometimes, talking about old times and comparing the current war to the one they fought together. We learn that Keffer has a fire for justice. Hates bullies. Sees the strong as absolute defenders of the weak and that any stronger race picking on a weaker one is a bigger coward than the unvierse can hold. Then when Carlos gets killed by the ghost he starts researching what it could be. Kosh and Delenn tell him to stay out of it. The audience assumes he’s going to uncover something and bring Franklin and other characters into Delenn and Sheridan’s confidence about the shadows through curiosity and honor, but we’re learning through the episodes that the Shadows are IMMENSELY powerful and have no patience for flies. When he breaks off from his squad to go have a looksee at what he suspects led to his personal friend Carlos’s death, we know this is going to kill him. He ignores the warnings of those who have more awareness and dies to bring back evidence of the Shadows to the station. Sheridan recognizes how Keffer’s curiosity and sense of judgment led to recklessness, something Sheridan himself is prone to. He vows not to let Keffer die in vain, but also states that the proof he got has changed everything… and that Sheridan would have done the same. Killing your men in the name of a mission is never the goal but there’s a line everyone crosses when the safety of the universe is at stake and sometimes things are worth dying for. Franklin walks into medbay, casts a look to the counter where Keffer used to sit all those nights, and turns away.

But that’s not what happen. Keffer’s dead now and I don’t miss him. Glad he emailed the Shadows to ISN five nanoseconds before he died.

Babylon 5 is now the last best hope for victory because sometimes peace is another word for surrender and because secrets have a way of getting out. On to season 3!