#man this took me so long to htink about.

[yume-fanfare]

hajime shino please? 👉👈 also do shu enstars pls.....

hajime!!!! my boy

favorite thing about them: where do i even start. i don't know what to say. everything. he's such an interesting character. he's just like me fr. his growth means so much to me. maybe the fact that he's afraid of change but he is now facing it with a smile! harenohi sugar wave means so much to me

least favorite thing about them: i wish he'd stop getting relegated to support roles and helping others for a bit. i really want a character development story in !! era like romantic comedy or sweet halloween

favorite line: can i copypaste the entirety of sweet halloween. i remember seeing a translator say that it was one of the hardest stories to tl that they had ever worked on alskjdmlsjkdm. but yeah, i have to answer the "if there's a wall blocking your way, then i'll lead you to an alternate route. we should be able to build some muscle as we're walking, and we'll get to experience new things" because i think it's such a nice mentality! if you can't keep going forward to your objective and need to take an alternate route, it's no problem! you're just building muscle

brOTP: said it with tori and i'll say it again: hajitori!!!!!! loev them. besties. and well of course ra*bits as a whole. i love that he has so many friends <3

OTP: tomohaji make me unwell ❤

nOTP: none!

random headcanon: he's autistic guys. he's sooo autistic

unpopular opinion: you guys need to understand that he actually does want to be cute! while he's still in the process of deciding what he wants to do with his future, right now, he wants to be cute and is working to be a cute idol. ive talked about this already but he chose to wear the skirt in his fs1 outfit! because, as he himself said in the story, it is an outfit only the him of right now could wear

song i associate with them: i've been thinking of miraizu..... plus since in his last event there was the scene of him talking to his past self and everything waahh

favorite picture of them: ensemble-stars.fandom.com/wiki/Hajime_Shino/Gall- i think his fs1 is perfect <3 heals your soul

and shu! legend <3

favorite thing about them: theres actually many other things i like but even if it sounds shallow. his aesthetic sense is so good. valk's theme and music are Everything i love them sooo much they go so hard

least favorite thing about them: hmmm. saying things like his treatment of nazuna or anything doesn't really make much sense because he's behind that already so. hmmmmmmmmm i'm not sure there's anything i dislike rn, i'm enjoying his growth

favorite line: man. can i say the entire human comedy monologue. you know the one. "humanity is, for example, the will that one requires to kil that which they love deeply". that monologue. but also, as simple as it may be, "at the same time, i wish from the bottom of my heart to be an artist" really, really resonated with me. yeah, i do, too.

brOTP: the eccentrics!!! <333

OTP: honestly it's not even necessarily in a romantic sense because whatever they have going on is. truly something else, but shmk are. whoa

nOTP: none i think!

random headcanon: pushing my agenda of i think he should be a terrible mentor figure to tori's little sister. they would be so fun

unpopular opinion: ik theres people who get tired of enstars monologues but well i think he should talk as much as possible i eat that up

song i associate with them: the doll's dream's vibes are Off The Charts. it's not necessarily that the lyrics fit but you HAVE to listen to it.

favorite picture of them: i'm a huge fan of his chocofes bloomed!!! love

[mytheoristavenue]

TMNT 2012 Donatello x Reader- Prom

You hummed softly as you sat at your bedroom vanity, gently glazing blush over your cheekbones. 

“Y/N), you almost ready? Casey’s here!” April called from just outside your bedroom door. You smiled reflecting on how your life had changed recently. You moved in with April to help her with rent until she found her father, you’d met the turtles, and had even been training with Splinter to be a partner for April. You’d been so busy with your double life, you’d almost forgotten about you junior prom. And what better to put you into the spirit than your long-time crush, Bash asking you to be his date?

You sighed dreamily, your posture faultering a bit as you daydreamt. “(Y/N)?” April’s voice brought you back to the presence as she began to enter cautiously. You gasped, catching veiw of her. She wore a breathe-taking chamaigne gown that hugged her hips and fell past her ankles, and her hair was down, framing her face with soft ringlets. 

“April! You look beautiful!” She grinned, approaching you, and and engulfing you in a hug. “So do you, now lets go have some normal teenage fun.”

You nodded as you both seperated and exited your room. Casey stood in the livingroom, actually looking pretty nice. He cleaned up well. You giggled at him as he grinned at you. “Wow, Casey, don’t you look dapper? You almost look like a real gentleman.” you teased. 

“Casey Jones is always gentle with the ladies.” he replied tossing you a wink. “And you-” he sighed, deciding not to joke about your appearence, April having told him about your lack of confidence. “You look really pretty, (Y/N), Bash is really lucky.” You smiled shyly, your ears burning a bit. “Thanks, man, that means a lot.”

“So, when is Bash coming to get you?” April asked, proud of the two of you for not bickering, and just complimenting one another. “Oh, he’s meeting me there, I figured I’d just walk.”

“What a jerk? He won’t even come pick up his own date?” Her face scrunched in distain. April never really liked Bash. You were a cheer leader, and he was on the football team, and she never really trusted the way he talked to not only you, but the rest of your squad. “It’s not that serious, April, really.”

She sighed, not wanting to argue and ruin the night. “Well, Casey and I are going to the lair to take pictures with the guys, and they’re gonna drive us to the school on the way to their patrol. At least come with us, I can’t let you walk alone.” You smiled, agreeing, secretly excited to show of your dress to the turtles. 

Entering the lab, the first one to greet you was Mikey, running up to all of you, pulling out his T-phone and really giving you the paparazzi treatment. He took group photos of the three of you, selfies with each of you, and some candids that you were’nt quick enough to pose for. “Wow! You guys look like total celebrities! Are you sure your not on your way to some ninja awards ceremony without us?”

April chuckled, “No, Mickey, we’re going to a school dance, I promise.”

By this time, Leo and Raph and come out of the woodwork, both grinning smugly and making their way to you. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in?” Raph smirked, giving Casey a fist bump. “Ladies,” he bowed to you and April, taking Casey by the arm. “You both look nice.” With that he drug the male away to give him ‘a talk’ before you left. 

“You guys look great!” Leo said, smiling and lightly hugging you both. “Excited?” 

“Very!” April replied, you nodding in agreement. 

“Well, have a good time, guys, but be safe. Me and they guys are just a call away if you need us.”

You giggled. “Thanks mom, It htink we’ll be fine.”

Just as all the comotion began to die down, the garage door opened, a distracted Donnie wandering out, rambling about something.

“Donnie?” you asked, almost shyly, promting him to look up. Time seemed to stop for him as he halted in his tracks. “(Y-Y/N)?” Suddenly, time caught back up with him and he sped toward you. You smiled, a bit timid as he closed in on you, looming over you.

“Y-You look per-”

The moment was ruined by April gasping, having check the time. “Guys, we’re late, we gotta go!” 

Donnie shook out of his trance, “Right, sorry, let’s go!” 

Ylou all began to pile into the newly improved Shellraiser, now equipped to accoadate eight seats. Once the vehicle was on the pavement and at a good crusiing speed, Donnie swivelled his chair towards yours beside him.

“Ya know, you don’t have to go to this thing? It’s never too late to stay home and watch a movie or something?” He looked into your eyes, trying to mask his jealousy with concern.

“Why would I not go? I’ve been looking forward to this all my life, besides, I’ve had a thing for Bash for like, years.”

“Well, I-I know, but I just don’t trust that guy.” 

You gave him the most reassuring smile you could as the vehicle stopped and you stood up. “I trust him. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Excitement filled your lungs as your group stepped into the dark gymnasium, spinning fractals of light bouncing off your face with the rotation of the disco ball. You glanced around, eagarly ready to be swept off your feet by a six foot tall running back with a dazzling smile, but you came up with blanks. 

“When is Bash supposed to be here?” April asked, also glancing around. 

“I don’t know, let me snap him and see where he is, I’m sure he’s on his way.” you said as you three made your way to a table to sit. You took a seat, opening your snapchat to text him, as it was your only line of communication, when you noticed his story had updated withing the last hour. You decided to check it before typing your question. 

You heart dropped and the color drained form your face. His uploads were all photos of him at a party with other girls. The last one was captioned, ‘So glad I skipped prom for the after partyyyy’. Tears instantly flooded your cheeks as you stood up and bolted for the bathroom before your friends could even ask you what was wrong.

April picked your discarded phone up off the ground, ignoring the now crack screen and boiled at the photos before showing them to Casey. His eyes furrowed. “Go to her, I’m gonna make some calls.” April nodded knowingly, sprinting off to find you sobbing in the corner of the ladies’ room.

‘Hello, this is Donatello?’ The connection to Donnie’s T-phone cracked and buzzed against the call.

“Donnie, it’s me Casey.” He said, his tone all too serious.

‘What do you want?’ Donnie rolled his eyes, suspecting he’d angered April somehow and needed help cooling her off. 

“(Y/N) got stood up, her date completely skipped the dance and went straight to the after party. She like inconsolable, you gotta come cheer her up.”

 ‘WHAT?!’ The turtle’s blood was boiling, rage spilling over into an outburst, before turning to silent anger. He was developing a plan. Casey scoffed.

“Dude, will you be here or not?”

‘Yeah, I’ll be there in ten, have her ready in twenty.’

Back in the bathroom, you sat on the dirty tile, crying your eyes out, April holding you together by the shoulders. “I just feel so stupid! Of course he didn’t really wanna go with me...” She hushed you, rubbing your shoulders, aware than nothing she could say would quail your insecurities now, not for lack of trying. She stealthily clicked the backsreen of her phone on, finding a message from Donnie. As she broke away from you to read it, you tucked your knees further into your chest. 

‘I’m here, bring (Y/N) outside.’

“Donnie was right...I should have just stayed at home and watched a movie with him...”

April stood, suprising you, and offered you a hand. “Well, maybe it’s not too late. C’mon, I’ll walk you outside and we’ll have the guys take you to the lair to hang out. Sound good?” You smiled sadly and nodded, letting her pull you up. As you exited the bathroom, and headed for the exit, Casey caught up to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Don’t sweat it, kid, that block head couldn’t come if he wanted to, he’s in a holding cell by now.”

You sniffled, dabbign oyur face with your finger to collect the last tears with smudging your make up further. “Let’s just say somebody called in an anonomys tip to the NYPD ab his underaged drinking party.” he smirked. “No need to thank me.” You grinned at him, as you passed through the doors to see the Shellraiser parked out front with leo and Raph leaning against it, and Mikey standing just perfectly between you and them. 

“Your chariot awaits, M’lady.” He grinned, with arms outstretched. You walked into his hug, suprised when he only wrapped one arm around you, before pulling you to his side, and pointing some sort of gun toward the top of the school. Before you could respond, he pulled the trigger, ejecting some kind of hook, which zipped you both to the roof of the building. 

“Grappling hook, works everytime.” He winked, before setting you down and hopping off the side again. The was darker, darker than you would have guressed from the ground. You hesitently walked further into it, afraid to fall off the side.

Suddenly, a grasp pulled you into the darkness completely, accompanied by a voice. “Good evening.” 

“D-Donnie?” Suddenly, light flooded into the space and you found yourself standing before him, your hand in his. His foot rested on a pedal, with what seemed like hundreds of cords connected to it, leading to a canopy of lights, illuminating a carpeted diy dancefloor and a small picnic.

“Donnie...” you repeated, but in a different tone. You looked into his calm, half lidded eyes with a fluster. “W-Why...?”

Donnie took your other hand held them both, looking deep into your eyes. “Because I’m gonna let you feel unwanted, and I’m not gonna let another change slip by me.”

“A chance for what?”

“A chance to be a teenager with you. I know that I’ll never truely be able to share the things that feel like a right of passage of growing up to you, like getting a drivers license, or graduating highschool, but I can, at least make an effort to salvage your prom. That is...if you’ll have me?” He asked, sinking down to his knee.

“Donatello...are you asking me to prom?”

“I am. What do ya say?”

You grinned, jumping into his arms, “Yes, I’d love that!” He smiled gently at you, pulling you closer and stepping on the pedal once again, prompting soft love ballads to fill the air. Gingerly, as if you were a delicate figure of glass, he lead you into a waltz, swaying with you in the cool breeze. You couldn’t be sure how long youd danced with him for, having melted against his plastron long since, but eventually, he pulled you away, holding you at an arm’s length.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, back at the lair, but...you look perfect tonight.” You blushed and looked away, sadness soon finding it’s way back into you. 

“If that’s true...why didn’t Bash show up?”

“That dirtbag’s not worth your time, (Y/N). He’d never be able to hand a woman of your calibur anyway.”

“My...calibur?”

“Yeah! (Y/N), your a ninja. You’ve taken down idiots way bigger than him without breaking a sweat. You’d probably just hurt his pride by just standing beside him.” Donnie chuckled, hoping to make you laugh a bit, but setting for a genuine smile. He took your head in his hands, cradling it like a newborn. 

“I know I’m gonna sound like Raph here, but, (Y/N), you’re a little badass. Your intelligent, strong, determined, and, well, gorgeous1″ he gushed a bit before coming back to his seriousness. “And anybody that makes you feel less than that is beneathe you.”

You nuzzled his hand, humming softly, before looking back at him. “Your so sweet, Donatello.”

Donnie always melted a bit when you said his name, he never knew why, it just sounded so nice. He cleared his throat. “Ya know what, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m crazy about you, (Y/N). Head over heels. I have been for the longest time.”

Your eyes widened and your blush deepened considerably, but you decided to stay calm, and not question it. “I love you too, Donatello.”

His brows knitted upwards, and his smile widened, in an almost relieved smile. “You do?” Your nod was almost enough for him as he engulfed you in his arms again, cupping your left cheek. “In that case, may I kiss you?”

“You may.”

Slowly an dcarefully, Donnie leaned down, dipping you slightly, catching his bottom lip between yours, melting against your kiss. Time passed in the blink of an eye and suddnely, the world came back to you as you both parted for air. As you both stared into one another’s eyes, it became clear that you were now together, as you both leaned in for another kiss, unable to stop the flow of backed up wanting. 

Rest assured, there would be ridicule later from all your friends, but wouldn’t mind. After all, most teenagers don’t get a prom night this perfect.

[goingknowherewastaken]

Accidentally

Title: Accidentally

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Relationship: McKirk

Warnings: swearing, talk of genitalia, regrets of drinking and nostalgia games, bad decisions, (modern au)

Prompt: THIS!!!!! [with a few small alterations] A huge thank you to @auduna-druitt for helping me find that! 

A/N: *slides in minutes before closing time and slaps this down* Okay, so this is my contribution for @outside-the-government‘s brainchild, Trek Fest 2017!! I was wracking my brain, trying to figure out just what the hell I was going to do for Bones’ week. I’m still working on something for Spock (I hit a snag :( ) and I didn’t want to miss another week so I resorted to seeing if I had anything saved in my drafts. Then I found this little beauty, partially finished, that I had started back around February??? So I thought, why not use this? :D

Accidentally 

An aggressive snort was what woke Leonard late Saturday morning.

An action that he immediately regretted as he groaned in misery and covered his face with his blanket. As his body slowly started to wake up, his stomach and head decided to remind himself of last night and a sudden tug in his abdomen had him scrambling to get to the toilet in time.

"Fuuuuuuck,” Leonard moaned after the first wave of vomit coursed through and out of him. He spat into the filthy water before heaving again. 

And again.

And two more times after that.

He was going to have words with Christine and Geoff.

“Ugh,” he groaned, resting his head on his arm laying on toilet rim. Leonard stayed like that for several minutes, waiting for the next heave, but was relieved beyond belief when that heave never came. Standing slowly, he made his way out and to his kitchen. He needed to find something to get rid of the taste of stomach bile in his mouth.

It was roughly a half hour later as he was making his way through some eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee that his phone started to chime. Leonard paused and tipped his ear in it’s direction before shrugging and going back to his breakfast lunch. 

It was probably just Chris or Geoff making sure he was still alive after last night... 

Come to think of it...

Leonard scrunched up his brows in thought. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really remember much about last night. He set his fork down and massaged his temples, wracking his brain for any memories of the previous night.

No dice.

Covering his face with his hands, he let out a groan of disbelief. He couldn’t remember anything past their late night dinner and...fifth round of drinks? 

Oh God.

This wasn’t good. Anymore, he was smart about his alcohol intake, but if he mixed the wrong ones together... The last time he’d blacked out from over indulging himself was after the divorce. The stretches of empty time had been a welcome alternative to memories of a dissolving marriage and a sweet little girl he wasn’t allowed to see.

Now though, not so much.

Pushing his plate away, he got up to track down his phone. 

He needed to figure out what happened. 

Luckily for him, ‘Smashed Leonard’ managed to leave his phone on his nightstand. Picking it up, he checked for any signs of a bad idea.

“Huh.” No social media notifications; he was in the clear on that aspect. But there was a voicemail. He chewed on his lip. Those two never left voicemails. He unlocked his phone and punched in his code.

“McCoy, I need you to report to my office immediately following work on Monday.” Kirk’s voice decreed in the recording and Leonard stared at his phone with raised brows.

“What the hell?” He mumbled. He wasn’t sure if he should be confused or concerned at the voicemail.  

James T. Kirk, the youngest chairmen in the history of Enterprise Pharmaceuticals and Leonard’s boss, never called his employees. On Leonard’s first day he was told that, according to Kirk’s rules, there were several numbers he needed to have in case of extreme emergencies. Kirk’s number included. The guy would send out emails, sure, and mingle around the cubicles, but he - in the months that Leonard has been there - has never once called someone despite having their numbers. 

Hell, they’ve barely ever held a conversation that wasn’t work related nor awkwardly stilted. 

A simple fact that gave Leonard a lot of mixed feelings that he tried his best to ignore.

So the flicker of anxiety that formed in his stomach was to be expected. The former surgeon thought he was doing well at his job, but what if he really wasn’t? What if he fucked up?

He was processing his fate when his phone chimed with a text.

From: Chris

You alive?

He exhaled a breath before responding.

To: Chris

 For now?

From: Chris

??

To: Chris

I just got a voicemail from Kirk telling me to report to his office after work on Mon

The texts came one after another.

From: Chris

oh my God

From: Chris

OH MY GOD

From: Chris

YOu DId Not!!

From: Chris

I HAVE TO TELL GEOFF WE THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING

From: Chris 

We didn’t htink you actually did it oh god

Oh no...

To: Chris

????????

From: Chris

You...you don’t remember???

From: Chris 

Leo...check your texts

Filled with trepidation, he opened up his texts. Seeing a thread with Kirk’s name at the very top sent a jolt of fear though his body.

But it was nothing to the pure panic and revulsion that filled him when he opened it.

“OH GOD!” Leonard threw the device onto his bed and crumpled to the floor, clutching his head in horror. Soon though he was scrambling up and dialing Chris’ number. While the call waited to connect, his stomach churned and he began to regret his breakfast. That didn’t stop him the second Chris picked up the call.

“I sent Kirk a dick pic...CHRISTINE -”

“Yes.”

“- WHY DID I SEND MY BOSS A PICTURE OF MY DICK??????” Leonard’s voice went up four octaves with the question.

“Welllll...ya seee...”

“CHRISTINE!”

“Umm, at the bar we were at there was a group of frat boys and at about midnight we started in on a nostalgia trip and that lead us to talking about ‘Truth or Dare’ -”

Leonard gasped. “Noooooo...”

“Yeah.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You dared me to send a photo of my dick to mY BOSS?????” 

“In our defense, we just dared you to send one to your crush...”

He groaned and clutched at his head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. What had started as an off-hand observation during his interview hastily grew to something bigger the more he saw his boss around the office. Those feelings were something that he kept locked up in a tiny box jammed deep into the recesses of his heart. Not to be touched by him and especially not by someone else. 

“Leo, I didn’t know you had the hots for Kirk. I mean, I’m not surprised because the guy is capital H.O.T - HOT! But, still. Leo, you dog! Goin’ after the young hotshot boss!”

Thus continued the most awkward phone conversation that Leonard had ever had the unfortunate chance of being apart of, which - unfortunately - was only the beginning of one of his most stressful weekend to date. 

By the time he walked into work on Monday, he was fully convinced that he was going to be fired. Chris and Geoff felt otherwise; since he probably would have gotten something more formal than a direct and vague voicemail. 

After a picture like that, though, there was no way he was going to be working here after ‘The Meeting’. 

So as the minutes passed and Leonard was pushed closer and closer to the edge of the proverbial cliff, he focused less and less on work and more on avoiding his impending panic attack. He just stayed in his tiny cubicle and counted each and every breath he took. At one point - maybe at lunch - Geoff appeared to drag him out for a break, but Leonard just shook his head before dropping it down between his knees to keep from passing out.

And then he noticed people leaving.

Fuck! Shit! 

He kept an eye on each person that exited the office floor; if he was going to get fired, he’d rather not have an audience. It was only when the final coworker left, and no one came back within five minutes, did Leonard finally stand and make his way to the frosted glass door marked with Kirk’s name.

Standing before it, he gulped and tentatively raised his hand to rap against the glass.

“Come in!”

With one final - and useless - deep breath, he grabbed the silver handle and pushed the door open.

The office of James T. Kirk reflected the man to a ‘T’; pristine, modern, and stylish. Various tones of gray, with touches of black, white, and a very dark blue made up a well-lit room (courtesy of a west wall of windows). There were several filing cabinets and bookshelves (loaded with books) against the walls, a narrow wood cabinet, a handful of chairs, and - in the center - a glass topped desk. It was behind this desk that a black-suited Kirk sat; slightly slouched, with an ankle resting over the opposite knee, and one hand lifted to hold his chin up. No emotions were reflected upon the blond’s handsome face to clue Leonard into what he was thinking, but he did notice the bright blue eyes flickering quickly over his body.

He swallowed again and tried not to think too much into that.

The young blond kept an even gaze on him as Leonard crossed the man’s office. He sat down in one of the chairs, making eye contact for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. Long fingers tapped the desk in contemplation before Kirk rose and slowly made his way the narrow cabinet shoved against the wall. “Know why I called you in here?” He said it leisurely enough, but Leonard new better. 

This was it. 

This was the moment where Leonard would get fired again. Only this time - this time it would be solely his own fault. 

No snobby ex needed.

He didn’t turn to watch the man, just stared blankly at the dark gray carpet and waited for the axe to fall onto his already ravaged dignity. 

“Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.” Might as well get this over with.

“...Accidentally?”

The dam fractured with the confession. “I’m very sorry --”

“Accidentally?”

“I was drunk. It was highly unprofessional. And - and - I –”  Why - why was he trying to excuse himself?

“Accidentally?????”

“What?” The distress in Kirk’s voice had Leonard finally focusing on the man and his eyes widened at the sight of an upset Kirk holding -

- two flutes of champagne?????

“You - you only sent that to me on accident?” He sounded pained and hurt.

Why did he have champagne?

“Ye-yeah, I wouldn’t dare do that in person,” Leonard replied, slightly confused. And he wouldn’t. Joce never even got one and she used to be his wife. Then again she saw his cock on a regular - well, mostly regular basis.

Kirk’s face fell before he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the floor, shuffling awkwardly in place. “Oh.”

For a grown man, he looked more like a hurt puppy and Leonard’s heart clenched at the sight. It was almost like he was disappointed that - oh. 

“Were - Were you hoping that I had sent you a picture of my dick on purpose?”

Why?

He picked up his head then and gave Leonard a sheepish shrug. “I mean - yeah. I sort of thought that maybe...” He trailed off, shifting again; the sparkling gold liquid swirled in the two glasses. 

No. Did he mean...?

Leonard rose from the chair, licking his lips, and turned to fully face the younger man. His heart thumped away a mile a minute in his chest. “You thought...what, exactly?”

Kirk let out a sigh and looked out the wall of windows, briefly biting at his lip. Whatever it was he was debating inside that head of his wasn’t processed for too long. Before Leonard could realize what was happening, Kirk had nodded to himself, placed the flutes back on the cabinet, and strode across the room to grip Leonard’s face between his hands and smashed his lips against Leonard’s own.

For one split second, Leonard’s body locked up and his mind screeched to a halt as he tried to process the moment. After that second, though, he felt that tiny, neglected box burst open.

Oooooh god!

Closing his eyes, Leonard leaned into the kiss, reaching out to wrap his arms around Kirk’s lean waist to pull the man tightly against his body. The groan that he managed to pull from Kirk with the action encouraged Leonard to deepen the kiss, lifting one hand to cradle the back of Kirk’s neck, and he let out his own moan when he felt the hands on his jaw move to card themselves through his hair.

All too soon the kiss was broken as Kirk pulled his head away with a gasp and Leonard briefly listed forward in an attempt to establish another lip-lock. When he heard a soft chuckle, his eyes fluttered open to see those beautiful blue eyes gazing back at him with a startling amount of adoration. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Well, sir, aren’t you eloquent,” Leonard said with a smirk, moving his hands back down to Kirk’s waist. Who would have expected this turn of events?

“Jim,” he replied, tipping his head to the side. “I think it would be more fitting to call me Jim.” Jim dropped his hands to brush along Leonard’s shoulders - delicately, like he was checking that this was real - before looping themselves around his neck. “And I usually am; you, Leonard McCoy, just have the ability to completely wreck my thought process.”

Leonard quirked an eyebrow at that. “Could have fooled me.”

“Why do you think our talks were so short?” Jim said it with such honesty that Leonard felt his heart flutter in his chest. 

“I just thought you were a busy big-wig.” That earned him a mega-watt smile that lit up Jim’s face. As much as he wanted to bask in the glow of his smile, Leonard pursed his lips as a sudden thought struck him. “Aren’t there rules about fraternizing between co-workers?” 

Jim shrugged and leaned closer into Leonard’s chest. “Who cares?”

“The board will, Jim.”

“Not if we’re professional.” Jim flashed him a charming smile and Leonard gave him a look. He highly doubted that was the case, but he couldn’t bring himself to rain on the kid’s parade.

Or his own, for that matter. This was something he didn’t dare bring himself to dream about for months.

Of course, this was the moment that Jim decided to say, with unconcealed hope, “Since we’re gonna be a thing, can I count on more pictures like that one?”

Leonard gave him an unamused look. “No.” At Jim’s pout, he added, “And you’re not seeing it again until at least the third date, because,” he leaned forward, brushing a quick, light kiss against plush lips. “I like to be wooed.”

Jim snorted and smirked. “Well I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t delete it then.”

“Jim!”

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[liliumwallichianum]

journal entry 7/7/19 from DEN

Yo tumblr, long time no see. basically writing this here becuase I’ve been super into journaling but I am not with my journal right now :( but basically me, mom + dad came to denver to visit our family and go hiking and stuff. it’s been amazing and i really love love love denver and my dad said I could make it a once a year thing anytime im stressed to come hike here :))))) god i love that man. I realize that the reason he’s an amazing dad is because he has 4 younger siblings that he took care of growing up and so basically before me he had 5 tries to be an amazing caretaker. he definitely succeeded with preethi and he does a beyond amazing job with me. so anyways, besides the actual city and scenery of Denver I came here to talk about the family we are staying with. super nice people and I love my thatha + ajji here (they are my grandma’s brother + sister in-law), my moms cousin is exactly as I would expect her to be, and the person im mainly in awe with is the cousin’s husband. this man has like full fledged ocd i’m pretty sure (he has vaccuumed every single day we have been here, their house is WEIRDLY clean like not a single thing on any counter, all of their master bedroom’s bathroom stuff are empty, etc.) just weird quirky things i’ve noticed that i’m assuming is because of him? idk. My mom who is a super blunt person was ilke So M****, do you vaccuum every day brotha. and my moms cousin quickly jumped in to defend him which is CLASSSSSSIC denial of mental health problems in indian families and communities. Another problem I think they have is that my family is super brahmin and like basically brahmin snobs and this man is not brahmin so maybe that contributes to his need to prove that he’s clean or something? idk im just throwing out theories here becuase i’m so in awe but basically they all boil down to the fact that indian culture/brahmin culture is just so extreme and pushes people to edges that they really shouldnt be at but whatever. the reason this has bothered me so much is because i can see it affecting the kids. Both the mom and dad are suuuuuuper scared of everytihng and not risk takers, and the kids are exactly like that. the older 13 year old daughter cant even answer the door without being scared, the younger one doesnt even walk out of the house in shorts becaue she’s scared that she’s going to trip and fall and scratch her knees. Kids shouldnt live in fear like this?!?!? I really hope to never raise my kids like this, i want them to be fearless and try all things with courage and to just always be bold. maybe i’m being judgemental here (which honestly i dont htink i am i think i’m right to say that kids should not live with this many fears... like the younger one doesnt even swim? my mom threw me into a swimming pool even before i could walk?!?) and maybe I should maybe see things from their perspective but i’m having a hella hard time here lol. 

We also have these family friends and the younger son in the family is also similarly very scared of everything and vacuums like religiously so I’m wondering if he may grow up to be like a M***** uncle and I reallly don’t want to see that happening. If Indian families would just acknowledge mental health issues like they do any other health issue there would be just a way more productive way of handling people who need help to just live a normal and mentally healthy life. I honestly gave up trying to change the older generation but when I see it affecting the kids THATS what frustrates me. Honestly though maybe i know absoltuely nothing and when I have kids of my own i can raise them any way I want and i should just STFU now, but just my opinion out here.... :p  

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Knowing Not Knowing

"Early in the spring of 1997, singer and songwriter Jeff Buckley headed down to Memphis to begin pre-production on what would have been his second full-length album. A few weeks after Buckley arrived, his bandmates flew in from New York to join him. He was in high spirits: the songwriting was going well, and he was reunited with his group. The same night his band arrived Buckley went out for a late-night stroll to a Memphis harbor and waded into the river. He had always admired Led Zeppelin, and was singing "Whole Lotta Love" when a boat passed in front of him. He lost his footing, perhaps dragged into the water by the boat's wake, and was never seen alive again. He was thirty years old, two years older than his father, the folksinger Tim Buckley, had been when he died of a drug overdose.   "I first met Jeff Buckley and saw him perform about two years before he passed away. It was near midnight and Buckley was sitting int he back office of a Tower Records store in lower Manhattan. Buckley had become a scion of the Lower East Side antifolk scene, and was preparing for an in-store performance in support of his album GRACE.   "But first he needed to do something: he insisted on listening to a crackly old recording of "The Man That Got Away" by Judy Garland, in the pretext that he wanted the store manager, who had given the CD to Buckley, to understand how magnificent a gift it was. Buckley needed to demonstrate the album's beauty. He had also picked up gratis CD reissues of vintage Aretha Franklin and Nina Simone records, and two albums by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who had a major influence on Buckley's singing. While Buckley could occasionally summon the same kind of ecstatic vocal power that was Khan's trademark, his singing had more in common with Garland's delicate, vulnerable warble.   "Buckley was an unglamorous star. That night he was wearing a wretched pair of weathered combat boots- the sort you occasionally see homeless men selling- a frumpy gray cardigan sweater, and jeans that hadn't been washed in a long time. Ditto his hair. In an oddly white-trash bit of accessorizing, Buckley's wallet was attached to his belt by a chain, in the style favored by motorcyle gangs. Three days of beard growth rounded out his anti-coif, but his sex appeal remained intact: a nervous girl approached to ask if, as she suspected, he was a Scorpio. Another pressed a poem she had written for him into his hand. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket, as though he would cherish it forever. Maybe he did.   Buckley was at an odd moment in his career when he died. Having moved to New York several years before from California, where he was raised by his mother, he crawled his way up through the ranks of teh insular lower Manhattan music scene. He had beome a mini-star in that highly circumsribed mircrocosm, perched on the cusp of national and international success. That night at Tower records the line between Lower East Side local hero and international stardom seemed pretty thin. On one hand, his debut album sold several hundred thousand copies (although more in Europe than America), and there was a trhrong of photographers and autograph-seekers pressing around him. ON the other hand, he wasn't above hauling his own gear onstage, more or less indistinguishable from the half dozen stringy-haired sound men and roadies who were putting together the sound system in the first place.   "Buckley had no video in heavy rotation on MTV, largely because he insisted that people judge the music on the way it sounded before supplying them with an accompanying image. For the same reason, he refused to even suggest a single to radio deejays. 'What I'd love,' Buckley said, 'is if a deejay had a lineup of songs, and he'd just use one of my songs as part of a really nice evening. But that's the way I would deejay, not the way they do it. They usually have playlists.'   "For a guy with folksinging in his blood, Buckley had assembled an arsenal of prog-rock guitar effects you'd expect at an Emerson, Lake, and Palmer show and had set his amp at cat-spaying volume. (In fact, he had been raised on Led Zeppelin and Kiss.) Several dozen more stringy-haired people with assorted rings in their lips and noses (his fans) materialized. AS he stepped onto the makeshift stage, a grumpy security guard began clearing some fans from a stairway, but Buckley interjected: 'Wait! Those are my friends! Can they stay there? I give them special permission.' What started as dispensation for four friends ended up being extended to anybody who wanted to stay.   "The set began with a ghostly wail from Buckley, and a mildly Middle Eastern guitar line. He sang with a vibrato that quivered like the tongue of a snake. It was so atmospheric that you hardly realized his bandmates were rocking their tits off. That was the tension: Buckley ululating in sensual falsetto, the band churning out mid-seventies Led Zep knockoffs. He seemed a strangely ethereal cherub in the midsst of all that visceral thrash.   "After the show, Buckley signed autographs, taking several minutes with the thirty or so fans who lined up for an audience with the tousle-haired singer. Rather than just scribbling an autograph, he wrote a personal note to each person. Everything he did seemed to place poetry before commerce, but I couldn't help wondering if it was all an elaborate ruse, a crafty stance aimed at those disenchanted with the slickness of pop posturing. Didn't Buckley, after all, want to make a lot of money and sell records?   "'If it happens it'd be great,' he said later that night, over omelettes and wine at an all-night eatery, 'but we just play to express. I want to live my life playing music, so that we can be immersed in it. In order to learn how deep it goes, you have to be in it.'   "As to why he took so much time with each of the fans who asked for an autograph, Buckley articulated his basic anti-rock-star stance: 'The way I experience a performance is that there's an exchange going on. It's not just my ego being fed. It's thoughts and feelings. Raw expression has it's own knowledge and wisdom." He trailed off, as though humbled by the mere thought of his audience wanting to hear him play, or asking him for an autograph. 'I've been in their position before and all I wanted was to show my appreciation to the performaer. So I feel like it's kind of generous of them to even be asking me for an autograph.'   "'It's true that there's also the people who want a piece of you,' he conceded. 'But it's pretty hard to keep feeling protective all the time, because there's really nothign to protect yourself against. Sometimes people shout at me on the street, and they feel they know me through my music. But that doesn't substitute for a real personal relationship. I don't feel like people know me, I just htink we share a love for music in common, and for some reason they key into the way I play. I feel appretiative when people come up to me, and I feel good when we connect. Usually, it serves as a nice comedown after a performance. Any other conduct would bust the groove, because I'm buzzing when I get offstage, and I'm consciously protecting that connection because that's what got me through the performance in the first place. It's an invocation and worship fo this certain feeling, this direct line into your heart, and somehow music does that more powerfully than anything else. It's like ! a total, immediate elixir.'   "By all appearances Buckley conformed to the stereotype of the poetic artist: largely lacking the practical, thick-skinned psychic barrier that separates most of us from the harsh realities of life. With a rabbit-like nervous disposition and a hypersensitive vulnerability that bordered on the tragicomic, he looked like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. His face was contorted and slightly tortured-looking during most of the interview, though I got the impression it wasn't so much the experience of being interviewed that was torturing him but the pain of grappling with his own thoughts and the world around him.   "Relationships were at the heart of Buckley's world. Although he was marketed as a solo artist, the attitude he had toward his listeners mirrored the relationshiop he formed with his three-piece backing band. 'Playing with a band is all about accepting a bond, accepting everything the way it is. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of taking chances with each other. It wakes seeing each other in weak and strong lights, and accepting both, and utilizing the high and low points of your relationship.'   "It wasn't only interpersonal relationships that Buckley held sacred-- he was aware of making his music in relation to all the sounds around him. The environment was Buckley's co-composer: to his ears, no melody or rhythm was separate from the sounds going on in the background. 'It's not like music begins or ends. All hinds of sounds are working into each other. Sometimes I'll just stop on the street because there's a sequence of sirens going on; it's like a melody I'll never hear again. In performance, things can be meaningful or frivolous, but either way the musical experience is totally spontaneous, and new life comes out of it, meaning if you're open to hearing the way music interacts with ambient sound, performance never feels like a rote experience. It's pretty special sometimes, the way a song affects a room, the way you're in complete rhythm with the song. When you're emotionally overcome, and there's no filter between what you say and what you mean, your language beco! mes gutteral, simple, emotional, and full of pictures and clarity. Were you to transcribe it, it might not make sense, but music is a totally different language."   "'People talk all day in a practical way, but real language that penetrates and affects people and carries wisdom is something different. Mayve it's the middle of the afternoon and you see a child's moon up in the sky, and youfeel like it's such a simple, pure, wonderful thing to look at. It just hits you in a certain way, and you point it out to a stranger, and he looks at you like you're weird and walks away. To speak that way, to point out a child's moon to a stranger, is original language, it's the way you originate yourself. And the cool thing is, if you catch people in the right moment, it's totally clear. Without knowing why, it's simply clear. That sort of connection is very empirical. It comes from the part of you that just understands immediately. All these types of things are gold, and yet they are dishonored or not paid attention to because that kind of tender communication is so alien in our culture, *except* in performance. There's a wall up between people all day long ,but performance transcends that convention. If pop music were really seen as a fine art or if fine art were popular, I don't know what the hell would happen-- this wouldn't bee the same country, because if the masses of people began to respect and really open to fine art, it woudl bring about a huge shift in consciousness.   "'Music is so many things. It's not just the performer. it's the audience and the architecture of the song, and each builds off the other. Music is a setting for poignancy, anger, destruction, total disaster, total wrongness, and then- like a little speck of gold in the middle of it- excitement, but excitement in a way that matters. Excitement that is not just aesthetically pleasing but shoots some sort of understanding into you.'   "Buckley's songs were composed with made-up chords, bright harmonic clusters that seem too obvious not to have been written before, yet they rarely feel formulaic. There's a lot of open strumming, suggesting that the songs were written largely for the sheer physical pleasure of playing them. He and his band modified the arrangements during each performance, playing with an elasticity and openness typical of Buckley's personality. 'Hearing a song is like meeting somebody. A song is something that took time to grow and once it's there, it's on its own. Every time you perform it, it's different. It has its own structure, and you ahve to flow thorugh it, and it has to come through you.'   "Buckley's entire career reflected on his outsider's approach to the music business. When he arrived in New York, rahter than recordings a demo or finding an agent, he simpley began to perform for free. He palyed at a small cafe on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and before long, crowds were lined up out the door. As a result, representatives of record companies sought out Buckley, rahter than the other way around. 'There is a distinct separation of sensibility between art as commerce and art as a way of life. If you buy into one too heavily it eats up the other. If instead of having songs happen as your life happens, you're getting a song together because you need a cetain number of songs on a release to be sold, the juice is cuked out immediately. That approach kills it.'   "Still, it took a strong belief in one's art to sit in a small cafe and trust that the world's record companies would come calling. buckley palyed down his seemingly effortless approach to career as though it were common-sense. 'I just wanted to learn cetain things. I wanted to just explore, like a kid with crayons. It took a while for me to get a record contract, but it also took a trememdous amount of time for me to feel comfortable playing, and that's all I was concerned with. And I'm still concerned with that, mainly.   "'I don't think about my responsibility as a musician in terms of any kind of religious significance. I don't have any allegiance to an organized religion; I have an alligience to the gifts that I find for myslef in those religions. They seem to be saying the same thing, they just have different mythologies and expressions, but the dogma of religions and the way they're misusued is all too much of a trap. I'd rather be nondenominational, except for music. I prefer to learn everything through music. If you want divinity, the music in every human being and their lvoe for music is pretty much it. It's the big indication of their spirituality and their ability to love and make love, or feel pain or joy, and really manifest it, really be real. But I don't believe in a big guy with a beard on a throne, telling us that we're bad; I certainly don't believe in original sin. I belive in the opposite of that: you have an Eden immediately form the time you are born, but as you are conditioned by your caretakers and your suroundings, you may lose that original thing. Your task is to get back to it, so you can claim responsibility for your own perfection.'   "buckley considered the development of awareness to be the main goal of his life. 'I think of it as trying to get more aligned with the feeling of purity in music, however it sounds. I think music is prayer. Sometimes poeple make up prayers and they don't even know it. They jsuit make up a song that has rhyme and meter, and once it's made it can carry on a life of its own. It can have a lot of juice to it and a lot of meaning: there's no end to the different individual flavors that people can bring to the musical form.   'In order to make the music actual, you have to enable it to be. And that takes facing some ting sinsude you that constrict you, your own impurity and mistakes and blockages. As yo uopen up yourself, the music opens up different directions that lead you in yet other directions.'   "Asking most pop musicians if they're satisfied with records sales is liek asking moleds about the aging process: they say they don't care, but it's hard to believe. For commercial recording artists, sales are the only objective indicator of whether they're doing things right- that fans are sincerely motivated to walk into records stores by the tens or by the millions, pull out their wallets, and pay for the music. But with his quiet, unaffected boice nearly a whisper, Buckley steadfastly maintained tha the really didn't want to sell a million records- and it was strangely believable. When he talked aobut multiplatinum-selling bands who felt "disappointed" by a mere five million copies sold, the disgust he felt for commercialism was palpabale. 'The only valuable thing about selling records, the only thing that matters, is that people connect and that you keep on growing. You do many choices based on how many poeple you reach, meaning, now that I have a relationship with strangers worldwide, I have to try not to let it become too much of a factor and just accept it. The limited success we've had in the past is definately a factor, it's just there. It jsut is. The whole thing is such a crapshoot, you can't really control what your appeal is going to be. My music ain't gonna make it into the malls, but it doesn't matter. I don't really care to make it into the malls.   "'Whether I sell a lot of records or not isn't up to me. You can sell alot of records, but that's just a number sold- that's not understood, or loved, or cherished.   "'Take someone like Michael Jackson. Early on he sacrificed himself to his need to be loved by all. His talent and his power were so great that he got what he wanted but he also got a direct, negative result, which is that he's not able to grown into an adult human being. And that's why his music sounds sort of empty and wierd.   "'Being the kind of person I am, fame is really overwhelming. First of all, just being faced with the questions that everybody faces: Do I matter? Should I go on? Why am I here? Is this really that improtant? All that low self-esteem shit. Your'e constantly trying to make sure that your sense of self-worth doesn't depend on the writings or opinions of other people. You have to wean yourself off acclaim as the object of your work, by learning to depend on your own judgment and knowing what it is that you enjoy. Youhave to realize what the difference is between being adored and being loved and understood. Big difference.   "'I don't really have super-pointed answers to the big questions. I'm just in the middle of a mystery myself. I'm not even that developed at having a real psycho-religeous epistemology about what I feel. All I can tell you is that I feel. It's just the same old fitht to constantly be aware. It's an ongoing thing. It'll never be a static perfect thing or a static mediocre thing, it just has it's rise and fall.'" The following chapter has been transcribed from Shambhala Publishers' _Inside the Music: Conversations with Contemporary Musicians about Spirtuality, Creativity and Consciousness_, by Dimitri Ehrlich; ISBN #1-57062-273-6